reached the stone steps that descended to the patio. As she moved ahead, her perfume drifted up to him—a light floral fragrance with a sexy undertone that slammed into his senses, spinning him back in time.
He’d only meant to comfort her that night in his car. But before he knew it the situation had grown too hot to handle. By the time his fingers brushed Angie’s bare thigh, Jordan’s manly urges had taken over. Hang the consequences, he’d wanted her.
Angie’s blistering slap had brought him back to his senses. He’d deserved her rebuke that night, and he’d done his best to accept it as a lesson learned.
But the sweet, hot feel of her had burned into his memory—and into his conscience. Now the damage was done, and there could be no going back.
“I need to apologize for waking you up last night,” she said. “I’d have waited till morning, but after that scare—”
“No, you did the right thing. And you didn’t wake me up. I was just … busy.”
“Oh.” There was a world of knowing in that single syllable.
“I’d have shown up this morning to help you move, but I had some important business in town. I only just got home.”
“Business.” She shook her head. “Justin always said your business was the great love of your life. He claimed that sometimes it was all he could do to drag you away from your desk to spend time with him and your parents.”
They’d entered the older, central part of the house. The living room had been left dark, but lamplight glowed through the open door of the dining room on the far side.
“There’s more than one way to see to family,” Jordan said. “If it weren’t for my investment business, we’d be selling off parcels of land to keep this place solvent. Picture ugly housing tracts in all directions.” He paused, dismissing the subject. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
Jordan’s smile was forced. Just being with Angie ripped open old wounds, probably as much for her as for him. They were both playacting tonight, making believe the past didn’t exist. But how long could they keep up the pretense before the masks fell away?
The hand-hewn table was medieval in size, a relic of the days when the ranch had entertained flocks of guests. Tonight Angie and Jordan sat alone at the end nearest the kitchen, eating chicken and sausage paella with crisp green salad and red wine. Carlos, Marta’s shy young nephew who’d served the meal, had been friendly. But, then, he hadn’t been here four years ago, Angie reminded herself. Odds were he and Justin would never have met.
Her gaze shifted to her dining partner. She’d never had a problem telling Justin and Jordan apart, mostly because of how they’d behaved toward her. But tonight, with Jordan making an effort to be pleasant, the resemblance was uncanny. Except for the awkwardness that hung between them, it could’ve been Justin sitting across from her, smiling and making small talk.
“My calendar’s clear for tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking Lucas would like to see more of the ranch—with you along, of course.”
Hadn’t he resolved to keep his distance? Angie squelched the urge to argue. Lucas, she knew, would love an outing. “What a coincidence. My calendar’s clear, too,” she said.
“I know you’ve ridden a little. We can take horses up to the springs for a picnic. You’ll want to hold Lucas on your lap, but I’ve got a gentle old mare that’ll be fine with that.”
“Sounds good.” It was like Jordan, she thought, to plan the day and assume she’d just go along. Justin would’ve come up with the idea, then left her to carry out the details.
The silence had grown awkward. Angie scrambled for a new subject. “I’m surprised you aren’t married by now, Jordan,” she said.
“I was. Three years ago. Needless to say, it didn’t work out.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“About what you’d expect. She wanted a social life. I was always working. I wanted a family. She wanted fun. Somebody else came along.” He took a sip of Cabernet. “Can’t say I blame her for what happened. After eight months we were both ready to pull the plug.”
“You wanted a family?” Somehow that surprised her.
“After Justin’s loss, I felt I owed it to my parents to continue the Cooper line. But it was a bad idea. I don’t have the patience to be a decent husband, let alone a decent father.”
Angie had gone cold beneath her sweater. Was this why Jordan had brought Lucas here—to serve as the ready-made family heir?
It was a monstrous burden to place on a small boy. But then, she should’ve guessed what Jordan had in mind. He wasn’t thinking of Lucas. He was looking for a convenient way to discharge his family duty.
What would that mean for her? Was Jordan planning to ease her out of the picture? What if she chose to leave? What if she met someone and wanted to get married? Would Jordan fight her to keep his brother’s son?
Her first impulse was to confront him. But a blowup on her first night here wouldn’t be wise. She would bide her time, Angie resolved. She would watch and be wary. Any decision she made would be in the best interest of her son.
Even if it meant taking him away from this place.
She stared down at her half-finished plate, her appetite gone. “I should get back to Lucas,” she said, standing. “He might wake up and be frightened.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Jordan had risen, too.
“No, it’s all right. Finish your dinner.” She spun away from the table and plunged into the shadowed living room. With her eyes unaccustomed to the darkness, she could just make out the stairs. She headed straight for them.
“Angie! Wait—!”
Something crashed to the tiles as she stumbled against a side table. Her first frantic thought was that whatever she’d broken had to be expensive. As far as she knew, Meredith Cooper had never paid less than eight hundred dollars for a piece of pottery.
Her second thought was that she’d hurt herself. A sharp throbbing came from just above her knee, where she’d struck the edge of the table. Clutching the spot, she crumpled onto a nearby footstool.
“Are you all right?” Jordan’s face emerged from the darkness. He crouched beside her.
“I’ll pay for what I broke,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “No matter how much it cost or how long it takes… .”
“The damned thing’s insured. Don’t worry about it. Let’s have a look at you.”
Switching on a table lamp, he lifted her hand away from the injury. As his fingertips explored the rising lump, their touch sent shimmers of heat up her thighs. She was acutely aware of his nearness, the scent of his hair, the sound of his breathing. A moist ache stirred in the depths of her body.
“You’ve got a nasty bruise,” he said. “We keep an ice bag in the kitchen. Hang on.
