Читать книгу The Summer Wedding: Groom Wanted / The Man You'll Marry - Debbie Macomber - Страница 9

Three

Jill glared at Jordan. He had no idea how devastating she’d found his kiss. And the worst of it was, she had no idea why she was feeling this way.

“Jill?” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. “What does my kissing you have to do with a dress?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “It doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she blurted without thinking, then quickly corrected herself. “It’s got everything to do with it.” She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. All he’d done was kiss her! There was no reason to behave like a fool. She had a good excuse, however. It had been a long and unusual day compounded by Shelly’s letter and the arrival of the wedding dress. Who wouldn’t be flustered? Who wouldn’t be confused—especially in light of Shelly’s experience?

“You’re not being too clear,” Jordan told her.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What dress are you talking about?” he asked patiently. “Could you explain yourself?”

Jill didn’t see how that was possible. Jordan wouldn’t understand. Not only that, he was cynical and scornful. The man who placed power and profit above all else would laugh at something as absurd as the story about the wedding dress.

She drew in an unsteady breath. “There’s nothing I can say.”

“Was my kiss so repugnant to you?” It didn’t appear that he was going to graciously drop the matter, not when his male ego was on the line.

Forcing her voice to sound carefree, Jill placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him square in the eye. “I’d think a man of your experience would be accustomed to having women crumple at his feet.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His habitual frown snapped into place.

“I’m not,” she said. Best to keep Jordan in the dark, otherwise he might misread her intentions. Besides, he wouldn’t be any more enthusiastic about a romance between them than she was. “The kiss was very nice,” she admitted grudgingly.

“And that’s bad?” He rubbed a frustrated hand along his blunt, determined-looking jaw. “Perhaps you’ll feel better once you’re back in your room.”

Jill nodded eagerly. “Thank you. For dinner,” she added, remembering her manners.

“Thank you for joining me. It was … a pleasure meeting you.”

“You, too.”

“I probably won’t see you again.”

“That’s right,” she agreed resolutely. No reason to tempt fate. She was beginning to like him and that could be dangerous. “You’ll be gone in a couple of days, won’t you? I’m here for the week.” She retreated a couple of steps. “Have a safe trip home, and don’t work too hard.”

They parted then, but before she walked into the hotel, Jill turned back to see Jordan strolling in the opposite direction, away from her.

* * *

Jill awoke late the following morning. It was rare for her to sleep past eight-thirty, even on weekends. The tour bus wasn’t scheduled to leave the hotel until ten, so she took her time showering and dressing. Breakfast consisted of coffee, an English muffin and slices of fresh pineapple, which she ate leisurely on her lanai, savoring the morning sunlight.

* * *

Out of curiosity, she glanced over at Jordan’s room to see if the drapes were open. They were. From what she could discern, he was sitting at a table near the window, talking on his phone and working with his computer.

Business. Business. Business.

The man lived and breathed it, just like her father had. And, in the end, it had killed him.

Dismissing Jordan from her thoughts, she collected her purse and hurried down to the lobby, where she was meeting the tour group.

The sightseeing expedition proved excellent. Jill visited Pearl Harbor and the U.S.S. Arizona memorial and a huge shopping mall, returning to the hotel by three o’clock.

Her room was cool and inviting. Jill took a few minutes to examine the souvenirs she’d purchased, a shell lei and several colorful T-shirts. Then, with a good portion of the day still left to enjoy, she decided to spend the remaining afternoon hours lazing around the pool. Once again she glanced over at Jordan’s room, her action almost involuntary. And once again she saw that he was on the phone. Jill wondered if he’d been talking since morning.

Changing into her bathing suit, a modest one-piece in a—what else—Hawaiian print, she carried her beach bag, complete with three different kinds of sunscreen, down to the swimming pool. With a large straw hat perched on her head and sunglasses protecting her eyes, she stretched out on a chaise longue to absorb the sun.

She hadn’t been there more than fifteen minutes when a waiter approached carrying a dome-covered platter and a glass of champagne. “Ms. Morrison?”

“Yes?” Jill sat up abruptly, knocking her hat askew. “I … I didn’t order anything,” she said uncertainly as she reached up to straighten her hat.

“This was sent compliments of Mr. Wilcox.”

“Oh.” Jill wasn’t sure what to say. She twisted around and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked up. Jordan was standing on his lanai. She waved, and he returned the gesture.

“If that will be all?” the waiter murmured, stepping away.

“Yes … Oh, just a moment.” Jill scrambled in her beach bag for a tip, which she handed to the young man. He smiled his appreciation.

Curious, she balanced the glass of champagne as she lifted the lid—and nearly laughed out loud. Inside was a large array of crackers topped with caviar. She glanced up at Jordan a second time and blew him a kiss.

Something must have distracted him then. He turned away, and when Jill saw him again a few minutes later, he was pacing the lanai, phone in hand. She was convinced he’d completely forgotten about her. It was ironic, she mused, and really rather sad; here he was in paradise and he’d hardly ventured beyond his hotel room.

Jill drank her champagne and savored a few of the caviar-laden crackers, then decided she couldn’t stand his attitude a minute longer. Packing up her things, she looped the towel around her neck and picked up the platter in one hand, her beach bag in the other. After that, she headed back inside the hotel. She knew she was breaking her promise to herself by seeking him out, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Muttering under her breath, she took the elevator up to Jordan’s floor, calculated which room was his and knocked boldly on the door.

A long moment passed before the door finally opened. Jordan, still talking on his phone, gestured her inside. He didn’t so much as pause in his conversation, tossing dollar figures around as casually as other people talked about the weather.

Jill sat on the edge of his bed and crossed her legs, swinging her foot impatiently as Jordan strode back and forth across the carpet, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

“Listen, Rick, something’s come up,” he said, darting a look in her direction. “Give me a call in five minutes. Sure, sure, no problem. Five minutes. See if you can contact Raymond, get these numbers to him and call me back.” He disconnected the line without a word of farewell, then glanced at Jill.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she returned, holding out the platter to offer him an hors d’oeuvre.

“No, thanks.”

She took one herself and chewed it slowly. She could almost feel his irritation.

“Something I can do for you?”

“Yes,” she stated calmly. “Sit down a minute.”

“Sit down?”

She nodded, motioning toward the table. “I have a story to tell you.”

“A story?” He didn’t seem particularly charmed by the idea.

“Yes, and I promise it won’t take longer than five minutes,” she added pointedly.

He was obviously relieved that she intended to keep this short. “Go on.”

“As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t know a lot about the world of high finance. But I’m well aware that time has skyrocketed in value. I also realize that the value of any commodity depends on its availability.”

“Does this story have a point?”

“Actually I haven’t got to the story yet, but I will soon,” she announced cheerfully.

“Can you do it in—” he paused to check his watch “—two and a half minutes?”

“I’ll hurry,” she promised, and drew a deep breath. “I was nine when my mother signed me up for piano lessons. I could hardly wait. The other kids dreaded having to practice, but not me. From the time I was in kindergarten, I loved to pound away at the old upright in our living room. My heart and soul went into making music. It was probably no coincidence that one of the first pieces I learned was ‘Heart and Soul.’ I hammered out those notes like machine-gun blasts. I overemphasized each crescendo, cherished each lingering note. Van Cliburn couldn’t have finished a piece with more pizzazz than I did. My hands would fly into the air, then flutter gently to my lap.”

“I noticed you standing by the piano at the dinner party. Are you a musician?”

“Nope. For all my theatrical talents, I had one serious shortcoming. I could never master the caesura—the rest.”

“The rest?”

“You know, that little zigzag thingamajig on sheet music that instructs the player to do nothing.”

“Nothing,” he repeated slowly.

“My impatience was a disappointment to my mother. I’m sure I frustrated my piano teacher no end. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t make me understand that music was always sweeter and more compelling after a rest.”

“I see.” His hands were buried deep in his pockets as he studied her.

If Jordan was as much like her father as she suspected, she doubted he really did understand. But she’d told him what she’d come to say. Mission accomplished. There wasn’t any other reason to stay, so she got briskly to her feet and scooped up her beach bag.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Thank you for the caviar. It was a delightful surprise.” With that she moved toward the door. “Just remember what I said about the rest,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

The phone pealed sharply and Jill grimaced. “Goodbye,” she mouthed, grasping the doorknob.

The phone rang again. “Goodbye.” Jordan hesitated. “Jill?”

“Yes?” The way he said her name seemed so urgent. She whirled around, hope surging in her heart. Perhaps he didn’t intend to answer the phone!

It rang a third time, and Jordan’s eyes, dark gray, smoky with indecision, traveled from Jill to the telephone.

“Yes?” she repeated.

“Nothing,” he said harshly, reaching for the phone. “Thanks for the story.”

“You’re welcome.” With nothing left to say, Jill walked out of his room and closed the door. Even before the lock slid into place she heard Jordan rhyming off lists of figures.

Her room felt less welcoming than when she’d returned earlier. Jill slipped out of her swimsuit and showered. She was vain enough to check her reflection in the mirror, hoping to have enhanced the slight tan she’d managed to achieve between Seattle’s infamous June cloudbursts. It didn’t look as though her sojourn in the tropics had done anything but add a not-so-fetching touch of pink across her shoulders.

She dressed in a thick terry robe supplied by the hotel and had just wrapped a towel around her wet hair when her phone rang.

“Hello,” she said breathlessly, sinking onto her bed. Her stomach knotted with anticipation.

“Jill Morrison?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t Jordan. But the voice sounded vaguely familiar, although she couldn’t immediately place it.

“Andrew Howard. I sat next to you at the dinner party last night.”

“Yes, of course.” Her voice rose with pleasure. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her chat with the older man. “How are you?”

He chuckled. “I’m fine. I tried to phone earlier, but you were out and I didn’t leave a message.”

“I went on a tour this morning.”

“Ah, that explains it. I realize it’s rather short notice, but are you free for dinner tonight?”

Jill didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I am.”

“Good, good. Could you join me around eight?”

“Eight would be perfect.” Normally Jill dined much earlier, but she wasn’t hungry yet, thanks to an expensive snack, compliments of Jordan Wilcox.

“Wonderful.” Mr. Howard seemed genuinely pleased. “I’ll have a car waiting for you and Wilcox out front at seven-thirty.”

And Wilcox. She’d almost missed the words. So Jordan had accepted Mr. Howard’s invitation. Perhaps she’d been too critical; perhaps he’d understood the point of her story, after all, and was willing to put business aside for one evening. Perhaps he was as eager to spend time with her as she was with him.

* * *

“I wondered if you’d be here,” Jordan announced when they met in the lobby at the appointed time. He didn’t exactly greet her with open enthusiasm, but Jill comforted herself with the observation that Jordan wasn’t one to reveal his emotions.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he added. That was when she remembered he was hoping to interest the older man in his shopping-mall project. Dinner, for Jordan, would be a golden opportunity to conduct business, elicit Mr. Howard’s support and gain the financial backing he needed for the project.

Jill couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “I’ll do my best not to interrupt your sales pitch,” she said sarcastically.

“My sales pitch?” he echoed, then grinned, apparently amused by her assumption. “You don’t have to worry. Howard doesn’t want in on this project, which is fine. He just likes to keep tabs on me, especially since Dad died. He seems to think I need a mentor, or at least some kind of paternal adviser.”

“Do you?”

Jordan shrugged. “There’ve been one or two occasions when I’ve appreciated his wisdom. I don’t need him holding my hand, but I have sometimes looked to him for advice.”

Remembering her dinner conversation with the older man, Jill said, “In some ways, Mr. Howard must think of you as a son.”

“I doubt that.” Jordan scowled. “I’ve known him all this time and not once did he ever mention he’d lost a son.”

“It was almost thirty years ago, and as I told you, it’s the reason his company’s done so much cancer research. Howard Pharmaceuticals makes several of the leading cancer-fighting drugs.” When Andrew Howard had told her about his son’s death, a tear had come to his eye. Although Jeff Howard had succumbed to childhood leukemia a long time ago, his father still grieved. Andrew had become a widower a few years later, and he’d never fully recovered from the double blow. Jill was deeply touched by his story. During their conversation, she’d shared a little of the pain she’d felt at her own father’s death, something she rarely did, even with her mother or her closest friend.

“What shocks me,” Jordan continued, “is that I’ve worked on different projects with him over the years. We’ve also kept in touch socially. And not once, not once, did he mention a son.”

“Perhaps there was never a reason.”

Jordan dismissed that idea with a shake of his head.

“Mr. Howard’s a sweet man. I really like him,” Jill asserted.

“Sweet? Andrew Howard?” Jordan grinned, his eyes bright with humor. “I’ve known alligators with more agreeable personalities.”

“Apparently there’s more to your friend than you realized.”

“My friend,” Jordan repeated. “Funny, I’d always thought of him as my father’s friend, not mine. But you’re right—he is my friend and— Oh, here’s the car.” With a hand on her arm, he escorted her outside.

A tall, uniformed driver stepped from the long white limousine. “Ms. Morrison and Mr. Wilcox?” he asked crisply.

Jordan nodded, and the chauffeur ceremoniously opened the back door for them. Soon they were heading out of the city toward the island’s opposite coast.

“Do you still play the piano?” Jordan asked unexpectedly.

“Every so often, when the mood strikes me,” Jill told him a bit ruefully. “Not as much as I’d like.”

“I take it you still haven’t conquered the caesura?”

“Not yet, but I’m learning.” She wasn’t sure what had prompted his question, then decided to ask one of her own. “What about you? Do you think you might be interested in learning to play the piano?”

Jordan shook his head adamantly. “Unfortunately, I’ve never had much interest in that sort of thing.”

Jill sighed and looked away.

Nearly thirty minutes passed before they reached Andrew Howard’s ocean-side estate. Jill suspected it was the longest Jordan had gone without a business conversation since he’d registered at the hotel.

Her heart pounded as they approached the beautifully landscaped grounds. A security guard pushed a button that opened a huge wrought-iron gate. They drove down a private road, nearly a mile long and bordered on each side by rolling green lawns and tropical flower beds. At the end stood a sprawling stone house.

No sooner had the car stopped than Mr. Howard hurried out of the house, grinning broadly.

“Welcome, welcome!” He greeted them expansively, holding out his arms to Jill.

In a spontaneous display of affection, she hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. Come inside. Everything’s ready and waiting.” After exchanging a hearty handshake with Jordan, Mr. Howard led the way into his home.

Jill had been impressed with the outside, but the beauty of the interior overwhelmed her. The entry was tiled in white marble and illuminated by a sparkling crystal chandelier. Huge crystal vases of vivid pink and purple hibiscus added color and life. From there, Mr. Howard escorted them into a massive living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Pacific. Frothing waves crashed against the shore, bathed in the fire of an island sunset.

“This is so lovely,” Jill breathed in awe.

“I knew you’d appreciate it.” Mr. Howard reached for a bell, which he rang once. Almost immediately the housekeeper appeared, carrying a tray of glasses and bottles of white and red wine, sherry and assorted aperitifs.

They were sipping their drinks when the same woman reappeared. “Mr. Wilcox, there’s a phone call for you.”

It was all Jill could do not to gnash her teeth. The man was never free, the phone cord wrapped around his neck more tightly than a hangman’s noose.

“Excuse me, please,” Jordan said as he left the room, his step brisk.

Jill looked away, refusing to watch him go.

“How do you feel about that young man?” Mr. Howard asked bluntly when Jordan was gone.

“We met only recently. I—I don’t have any feelings for him one way or the other.”

“Well, then, what do you think of him?”

Jill stared down at her wine. “He works too hard.”

Sighing, the old man nodded and rubbed his eyes. “He reminds me of myself more than thirty years ago. Sometimes I’d like to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, but I doubt it’d do much good. That boy’s too stubborn to listen. Unfortunately, he’s a lot like his father.”

Knowing so little of Jordan and his background, Jill was eager to learn what she could. At the same time, a saner part of her insisted she was better off not hearing this. The more she knew, the greater her chances of caring.

Nevertheless, Jill found herself asking curiously, “What made Jordan the way he is?”

“To begin with, his parents divorced when he was young. It was a sad situation.” Andrew leaned forward and clasped his wineglass with both hands. “It was plain as the nose on your face that James and Donna Wilcox were in love. But, somehow, bitterness replaced the love, and their son became a weapon they used against each other.”

“Oh, how sad.” Just as she’d feared, Jill felt herself sympathizing with Jordan.

“They both married other people, and Jordan seemed to remind his parents of their earlier unhappiness. He was sent to the best boarding schools, but there was precious little love in his life. Before he died, James tried to build a relationship with his son, but …” He shrugged. “And to the best of my knowledge his mother hasn’t seen him since he was a teenager. I’m afraid he’s had very little experience of real love, the kind that gives life meaning. Oh, there’ve been women, plenty of them, but never one who could teach him how to love and bring joy into his life—until now.” He paused and looked pointedly at Jill.

“As I said before, I’ve only known Jordan for a short time.”

“Be patient with him,” Mr. Howard continued, as though Jill hadn’t spoken. “Jordan’s talented, don’t get me wrong—the boy’s got a way of pulling a deal together that amazes just about everyone—but there are times when he seems to forget about human values, like compassion. And the ability to enjoy what you have.”

Jill wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Frankly, I was beginning to lose faith in him,” Mr. Howard said, grinning sheepishly. “He can be hard and unforgiving. You’ve given me the first ray of hope.”

Jill took a big swallow of wine.

“He needs you. Your warmth, your gentleness, your love.”

Jill wanted to weep with frustration. Andrew Howard was telling her exactly what she didn’t want to hear. “I think you’re mistaken,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “I doubt that, but I’m an old man, so indulge me, will you?”

“Of course, but—”

“There’s a reason you’ve come into his life,” he said, gazing intently at her. “A very important reason.” Andrew closed his eyes. “I feel this more profoundly than I’ve felt anything in a long while. He needs you, Jill.”

“No … I’m sure he doesn’t.” Jill realized she was beginning to sound desperate, but she couldn’t help it.

The old man’s eyes opened slowly and he smiled. “And I’m just as sure he does.” He would have continued, but Jordan returned to the room then.

From the marinated-shrimp appetizer to the homemade mango-and-pineapple ice cream, dinner was one of the most delectable, elegant meals Jill had ever tasted. They lingered over coffee, followed by a glass of smooth brandy. By the end of the evening, Jill felt mellow and warm, a dangerous sensation. Jordan had been wonderful company—witty, charming, fun. He seemed more relaxed, too. Apparently the phone call had brought good news; it was the only thing to which she could attribute his cheerfulness.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she told Andrew when the limousine arrived to drive her and Jordan back to the hotel. “It was a lovely evening.”

The older man hugged Jill and whispered close to her ear, “Remember what I said.” Breaking away, he extended his hand, gripping Jordan’s elbow. “It was good of you to come.”

“I’ll be in touch soon,” Jordan promised.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you. Let me know what happens with this shopping-mall project.”

“I will,” Jordan said.

The car was cool and inviting in the warm night. Before she realized it, Jill found her head resting on Jordan’s broad shoulder. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled through a yawn.

“Are you sleepy?”

She smiled softly to herself, too tired to fight the power of attraction—and exhaustion. “Maybe a little. Wine makes me sleepy.”

Jordan pressed her head against his shoulder and held her there. His hand gently stroked her hair. “Do you mind telling me what went on between you and Howard while I was on the phone?”

Jill went stock-still. “Uh, nothing. What makes you ask?” She decided it was best to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Then why was Howard wearing a silly grin every time he looked at me?” Jordan demanded.

“I—I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.” She tried to straighten, but Jordan wouldn’t allow it. After a moment she gave up, too relaxed to put up much of a struggle.

“I swear there was a twinkle in his eye from the moment I returned after my phone call. It was like I’d been left out of a joke.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

Jordan seemed to ponder that. “I doubt it,” he said.

“Hmm.” She felt sleepy, and leaning against Jordan was strangely comforting.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said this afternoon,” he told her a few minutes later. His mouth was against her ear, and although she might have been mistaken, she thought his lips lightly brushed her cheek.

“My sad but true tale,” she whispered on the end of another yawn.

“About your trouble with the musical rest.”

“Ah, yes, the rest.”

“I’m flying back to Seattle tomorrow,” Jordan said abruptly.

Jill nodded, feeling inexplicably sad, then surprised by the intensity of her reaction. With Jordan in Seattle, they wouldn’t be bumping into each other at every turn. Wouldn’t be arguing, bantering—or kissing. With Jordan in Seattle, she wouldn’t confuse him with the legacy behind Aunt Milly’s dress. “Well … I hope you have a good flight.”

“I have a meeting Tuesday morning. It would be impossible to cancel at this late date, but I was able to change my flight.”

“You changed your flight?” Jill prayed he wouldn’t hear the breathless catch in her voice.

“I don’t have to be at the airport until evening.”

“When?” It shouldn’t make any difference to her, yet she found herself wanting to know. Needing to know.

“Eight.”

Jill was much too dazed to calculate the time difference, but she knew it meant he’d arrive in Seattle in the early morning. He’d be exhausted. Not exactly the best way to show up at a high-powered meeting.

“I was thinking,” Jordan continued. “I’ve been to Hawaii a number of times but other than meetings or dinner engagements, I haven’t seen much of the islands. I’ve never explored them.”

“That’s a pity,” she said, meaning it.

“And,” he went on, “it seemed to me that sightseeing wouldn’t be nearly as much fun alone.”

“I enjoyed myself this morning.” Her effort to refute him was feeble at best.

His fingers were entwined in her hair. “Will you come with me, Jill?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper. “Share the day with me. Let’s discover Hawaii together.”