Her apartment was modern, minimalist, but surprisingly homely and welcoming. One of the two black leather sofas was scattered with papers. There were more papers on the coffee table and a mug of something in the middle with steam coming off it. The expansive drapes were drawn but he’d bet there was an amazing view of the city and harbor beyond from her thirteenth story apartment. The walls were bare except in the dining nook where two large, striking sketches faced each other above her elegant dining table. One depicted a 1920s couple sitting at a table, the woman looking coyly away as the man held her arm by the wrist and above the elbow, kissing his way up her arm. The other was a couple dancing, maybe the tango, he decided.
The bar had everything he could want but Nick wasn’t in the mood for alcohol. He walked to the sofa, sweeping the papers into a pile and setting them on the coffee table.
There was a property listing on top, torn from a real estate magazine. It depicted an old villa in the Marlborough Sounds at the top of the South Island. Not the sort of place Jordan would be interested in, surely. The lady could afford to buy the entire South Island. She was luxury all the way. What use would she have for a broken-down old villa?
Then again, what did he know of her likes and dislikes outside of the bedroom?
While waiting for her return, he glanced at the next item on the pile and saw a newsletter headed The Elpis Foundation. He only took note because the author was Reverend Russ Parsons, an old family friend.
Before he could read the contents, Jordan returned, her face clean and her hair released from the headband. Nick nearly smiled when he saw she’d changed. A cream sweater and soft black pants were probably safer than the lovely but flimsy pajamas. She obviously didn’t trust him to keep his hands to himself.
Jordan perched on the arm of the couch, her hands restless. Her feet were still bare, toenails pearly-pink and gleaming. Nick swallowed the remnants of his unwarranted anger and jealousy, thinking that this was how she looked alone in the evenings. Freshly bathed, by the clean scent of her. Her hair brushed out and gleaming. Skin scrubbed and glowing.
She fidgeted under his scrutiny, her mouth a little sullen.
“Nice apartment,” he commented pleasantly.
She glanced at his empty hands. “Did you not want a drink?”
He wasn’t bothered but then again, he liked the idea of her waiting on him. It would also serve to prolong his visit, break the ice, open the way for him to try out a little charm.
“A Scotch would be good.”
She hadn’t expected him to say yes, he knew by the little twist of her mouth. He settled back while she prepared his drink with a kind of polite displeasure. No smile when she handed it to him, either.
Nick reached for the mug on the coffee table. The liquid inside was cooling by the pinched look of the surface. He handed it to her, thinking how improbable this was. Jordan Lake home alone on a Saturday night with only a face mask and mug of chocolate for company.
She took the mug. An awkward silence descended.
“Looking to invest in some property?” he asked, picking up the leaflet. It would be a good investment. Marlborough Sounds boasted some of the most desirable real estate in the country.
“I already bought it.”
Nick looked up in surprise. “Can’t see you in the DIY store, somehow.”
Her mouth twitched but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’d be surprised.”
He leaned back, spreading his arm along the back of the couch. Their eyes met and held for long seconds and that old familiar awareness arced between them. She was so naturally beautiful, larger than life beautiful, even with little or no makeup on. Nick’s chest swelled when her eyes widened and then hazed over with her own recognition of the incredible desire between them. She felt it, too, he exulted, this pull that gripped his throat and stole his breath. Every time was like their first meeting in a sterile elevator. An unquenchable desire that hit him like a bullet between the eyes.
Just like now.
Jordan broke the spell and looked down into her drink. “You’re—different,” she said. “What’s changed?”
She shifted one foot to rest on top of the other, her restlessness showing insecurities he didn’t know she had.
Nick faced her fully. “I want you, Jordan,” he answered truthfully. “That hasn’t changed.”
She looked up under her lashes. “And you can have me. On Fridays. At the hotel.”
It didn’t surprise him that she’d picked up on his recent change of behavior toward her. In their brief conversations to date, she’d shown a perceptive intuitiveness, eroding his assumptions that she was nothing more than a spoiled heiress who liked making an exhibition of herself.
Damn his brother for putting the thought in his head. Damn his mother for the will and her belief that he was the perennial dutiful son, and his father, too, for being such a vindictive, intransigent bastard. But for their interference, Nick would be perfectly happy with the prior arrangement. The thrill of a forbidden pleasure. A once-weekly event that, while momentous at the time, belonged in a compartment of his brain that had no bearing on how he lived his life or the decisions he made.
“Perhaps it’s seeing you in court every day,” he suggested. It was as good a lie as any, he supposed.
She nodded. Her feet were still playing with each other, he noticed. “By the way, I’m sorry about my father’s behavior the other day.”
Jordan shrugged, drawing his attention to her front, his interest quickening when he saw she wasn’t wearing a bra under the soft wool.
“They’re as bad as each other,” she responded.
“What would Syrius do if he found out about us?” Nick probed.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
Nick knew that was his major stumbling block. He had to get her so interested, so wound up in him that she’d forget about her father’s wrath.
“And yours?” she inquired politely.
He sipped his drink, wondering how truthful to be. Lies had a way of tripping you up, so it was best to keep things simple. “He wouldn’t like it,” he said slowly, “but it’s not up to him, is it?”
Jordan sighed and looked away. “Maybe we should…”
Nick’s whole being jolted in rebellion. He knew what she was going to say. Stop? No way! He was already on edge after only a week’s abstinence. It was torture sitting in that courtroom day after day, watching her every move out of the corner of his eyes. Her mile-long legs crossing and uncrossing, the drift of her expensive scent, an occasional hot-blooded glance in his direction. Nick was at the end of his tether. He shook his head adamantly. “I’m not ready to give it up just yet.”
Jordan pursed her lips. “And the photos?”
Nick had had enough. The desire he felt for her was too close to the surface. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to allow her to see that she affected him. Intensity so often created the same interest in the recipient.
He stood abruptly, looming over her. She raised her head just as his hands dived her hair, lifting her face to his. “You think I want this? Need this?”
Her eyes were wide with surprise. She gasped in a quick breath.
“You’re like a drug to me,” he gritted, glowering down. “An addiction. Every Friday, I leave that hotel and think, yes. This time, I’ve got her out of my system. This time…”
Despite this being about knocking her off-kilter, his own body was primed like a detonator. He exhaled, fighting for control, searching for the innate good manners and responsible behavior that had shaped his life. He was a businessman, dammit, not one of her playboys.
He gentled his hands, stroking her hair. Soothed by the silky soft strands running through his fingers. “But then I change my mind, start thinking about next Friday.”
He caressed her cheek and her eyelids fluttered as he knew they would.
“It’s just sex, Nick,” she whispered, turning her face to press a kiss in his palm, that one small act softening her cavalier words.
In her hurry to wash, she’d missed a tiny patch of green by her earlobe and he rubbed his finger over it, his own excitement rocketing when her lips parted involuntarily on a sigh.
“Yes it is,” he murmured. He stroked one finger down her throat, felt her pulse leap. She ghosted a fraction closer while keeping her backside in contact with the arm of the sofa. Her head fell back even more in invitation and he bent to nuzzle the fragrant skin under her earlobe. Soft and smooth, her skin was still slightly damp from being freshly washed. Whatever she’d used in her face mask smelled good enough to eat, to taste, again and again.
She strained up, her face turned to his. Darned if he could remember what they were talking about when her mouth bumped against his cheek. It was too much of a temptation, even though he was pretty sure he’d started the body contact not intending to kiss her, only to tease a little. To make the point that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Just before his lips met hers, he touched his index finger to the corner of her mouth and frowned down into eyes that smoldered with electric blue desire. “I won’t give it up just yet.”
Her expression softened. Dipping his head, he took her mouth, filled her mouth, sank in welcome relief. His desire flowed from him into her and back again in a heady rush. She moaned low in her throat, trying to rise, pressing up into him. Happy to help, he slid one arm down her back and brought her hard up against him. The kiss deepened, she opened for him, hungry, appealing for more, her tongue eagerly seeking his.