“I was quite taken with him, too.”
A flicker of emotion passed through Jordan’s eyes, one so fleeting, so transitory, she was sure she’d imagined it.
“I’d like to thank you, if you’d let me,” he said.
She was dropping tea bags into her best ceramic teapot. “Thank me? You already have.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of dinner.”
Jill’s first thought was that she didn’t have anything appropriate to wear. Not to an elegant restaurant, and of course she couldn’t imagine Jordan dining anywhere else. He wasn’t the kind of man who ate in a burger joint.
“Unless you already have plans …”
He was offering her an escape, and his eyes seemed to challenge her to take it.
“No,” she said, almost gasping. Jill wasn’t sure why she accepted so readily, why she didn’t even consider declining. “I don’t have anything planned for tonight.”
“Is there a particular place you’d like to go?”
She shook her head. “You choose.”
Jill felt suddenly light-headed with happiness and anticipation. Trying to keep her voice steady, she added, “I’ll need to change clothes, but that shouldn’t take long.”
He looked at her skirt and blouse as if he hadn’t noticed them before. “You look fine just the way you are,” he said, dismissing her concern.
The kettle whistled and Jill removed it from the burner, pouring the scalding water into the teapot. “This should steep for a few minutes.” She backed out of the kitchen, irrationally fearing that he’d disappear if she let him out of her sight.
She chose the same outfit she’d worn on the trip home—the Hawaiian print shirt with the hot pink flowers. Narrow black pants set it off nicely, as did the shell lei she’d purchased the first day she’d gone touring. Then she freshened her makeup and brushed her hair.
Jordan had poured the tea and was adding sugar to his cup when she entered the kitchen. His gaze didn’t waver or change in any way, yet she could tell he liked her choice.
The phone rang. Jill darted a look at it, willing it to stop. She sighed and went over to check call display.
Shelly.
“Hello, Shelly.” She hoped her voice didn’t convey her lack of enthusiasm.
“How are you? I haven’t heard a word from you since you got home. Are you all right? I’ve been worried. You generally phone once or twice a week, and it’s not like you to—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“You seem preoccupied. Am I catching you at a bad time? Is Ralph there? Maybe he’ll take the hint and go home. Honestly, Jill, I don’t know why you continue to see that guy. I mean, he’s nice, but he’s about as romantic as mold.”
“Uh, I have company.”
“Company,” Shelly echoed. “Who? No, let me guess. Jordan Wilcox!”
“You got it.”
“Talk to you later. Bye.” The drone of the disconnected line sounded in her ear so fast that Jill was left holding the receiver for several seconds before she realized her friend had hung up.
No sooner had Jill replaced it than the phone rang again. She looked at call display, cast an apologetic glance toward Jordan and snatched up the receiver. “Hello, Shelly.”
“I want it understood that you’re to give me a full report later.”
“Shelly!”
“And don’t you dare try to return that wedding dress. He’s the one, Jill. Quit fighting it. I’ll let you go now, but just remember, I want details, so be prepared.” She hung up as quickly as she had the first time.
“That was my best friend.”
“Shelly?”
“She’s married to Mark Brady.” Jill waited, wondering if Jordan would recognize the name.
“Mark Brady.” He spoke slowly, as though saying it aloud would jar his memory. “Is Mark a tax consultant? I seem to recall hearing something about him not long ago. Isn’t he the head of his own firm?”
“That’s Mark.” Jill nearly told him how Shelly and Mark had met, but stopped herself just in time. Jordan knew about the wedding dress—though not, of course, its significance—because Jill had inadvertently let it slip that first night.
“And Mark’s married to your best friend?”
“That’s right.” She took a sip of her tea. “When I said I’d met you, Mark knew who you were right away.”
“So you mentioned me.” He seemed pleasantly surprised.
He could have no idea how much he’d been in her thoughts during the past two weeks. She’d tried, heaven knew she’d tried, to push every memory of him from her mind. But it hadn’t worked. She couldn’t explain it, but somehow nothing was the same anymore.
“You ready?” he asked after a moment.
Jill nodded and carried their empty cups to the sink. Then Jordan led her to his car, opening the door and ushering her inside. When he joined her, he pulled out his ever-present cell phone … and turned it off.
“You don’t need to do that on my account,” she told him.
“I’m not,” he said, his smile tight, almost a grimace. “I’m doing it for me.” With that he started the engine.
Jill had no idea where they were going. He took the freeway and headed north, exiting into the downtown area of Seattle. There were any number of four-star restaurants within a five-block area. Jill was curious, but she didn’t ask. She’d know soon enough.
When Jordan drove into the underground garage of a luxury skyscraper, Jill was momentarily surprised. But then, several of the office complexes housed world-class restaurants.
“I didn’t know there was a restaurant here,” she said conversationally.
“There isn’t.”
“Oh.”
“I live in the penthouse.”
“Oh.”
“Unless you object?”
“No … no, that’s fine.”
“I phoned earlier and asked my cook to prepare dinner for two.”
“You have a cook?” Oddly, that fact astounded her, although she supposed it shouldn’t have, considering his wealth.
He smiled, his first genuine smile since he’d shown up at her door. “You’re easily impressed.”
He talked as though everyone employed a cook, and Jill couldn’t help laughing.
They rode a private elevator thirty floors up to the penthouse suite. The view of Puget Sound that greeted Jill as the doors glided open was breathtaking.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered, stepping out. She followed him through his living room, past a white leather sectional sofa and a glass-and-chrome coffee table that held a small abstract sculpture. She wasn’t too knowledgeable when it came to works of art, but this looked valuable.
“That’s a Davis Stanford piece,” Jordan said matter-of-factly.
Jill nodded, hoping he wouldn’t guess how ignorant she was.
“White wine?”
“Please.”