Mr. Irresistible Page 7

  “No, I’ll help.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, you and Andrew unload. Mike, you collect wood and get a fire started. Dillon and I will pitch the tents.”

  “I’ll pitch the tents with Dillon,” Mike said.

  “Fine,” Jordan snapped. “I’ll get the wood. Andy…”

  But Andrew had already disappeared. Kate followed the teen down the hill, wondering if she should ask him what was wrong. Her attempts at conversation today had been answered in mono-syllables and grunts. Still, it seemed she was the only person willing to try.

  She waited until they’d brought up all the gear, then followed him back down to the boats. A cold moon had risen over the forest, making stark shapes of the trees and glistening off the black water. Andrew was sitting on a boulder, with his arms wrapped around his knees.

  For a moment she hesitated. This was really his uncle’s job…. Then she heard a sob and forgot everything but the need to comfort. For the sake of Andrew’s pride, she made a lot of noise going down, and saw him give his face a hurried wipe.

  “Oh!” Kate feigned surprise. “I thought there was more gear to bring up.”

  “No. We’re done. You can go.”

  Instead she joined him on the boulder. For a few moments they looked out over the water. A fish jumped, probably an eel, and Kate shivered. “It’s beautiful here,” she lied.

  “Umm.” Andrew didn’t encourage her.

  “Listen, I know we’re virtual strangers, but if you need someone to talk to—”

  “I’ve got Jordan.”

  “Yeah, well, I couldn’t help notice today that…” She trailed off. What? That he’d brushed Andrew off a couple of times? Had lost patience with his nephew? Neither seemed the right thing to say.

  “I know,” said Andrew, interpreting her silence, “but it’s because he’s under pressure. Normally he’s not such a…” Now it was his turn to fade out.

  “Jerk?” finished Kate. Another fish splashed, closer this time, and she pulled her feet higher up the rock. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “The jerk is the only guy I’ve ever met.”

  The only new thing she’d learned about Jordan today was that he didn’t fight just with her, he fought with everybody. Except Dillon, and that was only because the boy thought he could walk on water. Kate was tempted to suggest Jordan try.

  “He’s only a jerk around you,” said Andrew, suddenly fierce. “And he’s nothing like the guy you wrote about in your column. He’s…well, he’s my hero. It sounds lame, I know.”

  Not lame, thought Kate. Tragic.

  “And if he’s being a jerk,” Andrew continued, “it’s because he has to make you like him.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” she replied quietly, and realized with relief it was true. “All he needs to do is convince me he’s fit to be involved with a kids’ camp. Wait a minute, didn’t I come down here to give advice to you?”

  At last he smiled. “I don’t know you well enough to spill my guts. Sorry.”

  Well, that put her in her place. Using his shoulder as a prop, Kate struggled to her feet. “Fair comment. But if you want someone to talk to…”

  “Thanks, but it’s guy stuff.” He turned back to the river, politely dismissing her. Halfway up the hill, she looked down. The plaintive cry of a morepork owl and the vast blackness surrounding the shadowy figure only accentuated the boy’s isolation.

  It hurt Kate to see Andrew’s loneliness, and then it made her angry.

  JORDAN WATCHED DILLON and Mike putting up a tent together. Of course Mike would be doing it the hard way.

  Jordan dumped the bundle of firewood he’d collected in the clearing. He had no right to feel jealous; he knew that. But that didn’t stop him.

  Putting the pot he was holding on the camp stove, Jordan went to build the campfire. Sure, he’d supported Dillon’s passionate interest in reconnecting with his father, but he hadn’t done it out of altruism. He’d done it out of guilt. If Jordan had only married his mother, Dillon wouldn’t have needed to scrape the bottom of the barrel for a father.

  Crouching, Jordan cleared the ground around the site he’d chosen for the fire. It had taken two years of dating Claire before he’d realized he was considering marriage not because he wanted to be her husband, but because he’d love to be Dillon’s dad.

  And even then he’d dragged out the relationship for another year. Why the hell weren’t young men given lessons in emotional intelligence? It would save young women so much grief. He sorted the wood, looking for kindling.

  When he’d met Claire, her son had been two, an exuberant bundle of mischief. The day he’d had the guts to break it off had been Dillon’s first day at school, and Jordan’s twenty-fifth birthday.

  She’d been offered a great job as a legal secretary in Wellington, which, of course, she was going to turn down because of him—the guy with a hundred reasons why getting married now wasn’t a good idea.

  It was that day Jordan realized he couldn’t keep pretending they were going to live happily ever after. It wasn’t fair to Claire, whose only fault was that she relied on him for her happiness at a time when he was already buried under other obligations.

  And because Claire was so great, she’d let him stay in contact with Dillon, initially, Jordan suspected, because she’d hoped he’d change his mind about marriage; and later, because she saw how much Dillon loved him. And how much Jordan loved her son.

  Jordan couldn’t resist calling, “You’ve got a loose guy rope on the left.”

  Mike shot him a look. “We’ve got it, thanks.”

  Jordan went back to building the campfire. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so guilty if Claire had found someone else, but she hadn’t. After all these years, they were good enough friends to talk about most things, but the one issue they never discussed was whether she was still in love with him.

  He struck a match, and the kindling smoldered and caught. Jordan stared at the growing flames. He’d learned his lesson. He only dated women who felt the same way about commitment. Strong women he couldn’t hurt.

  Kate approached from the river, a martial light in her eyes, and Jordan realized that was exactly why he was so attracted to her. She fit his criteria. The knowledge came as a relief.

  “Your nephew’s unhappy and he needs you to listen.”

  “I know that,” he said, curbing his irritation. Be nice, Jordan told himself. “He’s not ready to talk.”

  Kate put her hands on her hips. “I said listen, Jordan. Maybe if you weren’t so hung up on trying to impress me, you could find time for him.”

  Jordan narrowed his eyes. “What’s Andrew been saying?”

  “That you’re not a jerk.”

  That gave him pause. “And did you believe him?”

  “What do you think?” she said scornfully.

  Jordan tossed the matches aside. “That trying to get you to see past your prejudices about me is a complete waste of bloody time. I’ve tried to be nice….”

  “By insulting my intelligence with phony compliments? Mate, if you leaked any more oil, you’d be an environmental disaster.”

  Over by the tent, Mike laughed. “Take Dillon and collect more firewood,” Jordan said to the other man. There was no room in his tone for argument.

  Mike picked up a torch and the two of them left without a word. Jordan became aware that the lid of the pot on the camp stove was banging. His temper wasn’t the only thing under pressure.

  “The possum’s trying to escape,” he commented, giving the saucepan a vigorous shake as he brought it over to Kate. She shrank back when he lifted the lid, and he realized she thought he’d been serious.

  “It’s popcorn,” he said dryly. “Comfort food to keep us going until I make dinner.”

  She stared at him. “You cook?”

  “Did you want to add sexism to my other failings? Sorry, I can’t oblige on that one.” Jordan allowed himself a little sarcasm. “How does this fit with my womanizing? It must make things messy for you.”r />
  “Not at all,” she replied, taking a handful of the warm, buttery popcorn. “Nothing is more seductive than a man with domestic skills. It’s a mandatory part of any modern Casanova’s tool kit.”

  She was looking at him through her rogue-tinted spectacles again. You’re not letting her provoke you into a fight. “I’m not a Casanova,” he said patiently. “Just a guy who’s not ready for marriage.”

  “Do you tell that to the women you date?”

  “Yeah, I do. Right up front, I say I travel around a lot and I’m not looking for long-term.”

  “A challenge like that must make you all but irresistible.”

  God, she was clever. He had to admit it did. “We were talking about my nephew.”

  “Andrew said you’re trying to impress me. Stop. If you’re trying to sell the real you, then have the guts to be the real you.”

  That pissed him off. “This from the woman who takes offense every time I’m honest with her.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she snapped back.

  “That’s the truth.” He regarded her with exasperation. “If you want me to be real, then give me a fighting chance and make this a real truce, Kate, not one you’re paying lip service to.”

  Unable to meet his eyes, she stared across the circle of firelight into the blackness. “Okay, here’s a compliment—I can’t believe the transformation. This place is almost homey.”

  “I can make a home anywhere. It’s one of my things.”

  Envy and loneliness suddenly tugged at her heart. After her mother’s death, she’d fashioned a comfort zone for her younger siblings and convinced them that work, not women, kept their father away. But for Kate, home had died with her mother. Her dream had been to make a new one with Peter.

  “Cuckoos can make a home anywhere, too. They simply steal other birds’ nests.”

  The dregs in Jordan’s mug hit the fire with a hiss as he stood up. “That was a short-lived truce.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “You’re right…I’m sorry,” she said wearily. “Let’s start again. I realized when I was talking to Andrew that I don’t have to like you, I just have to be fair. It came as a huge relief to me.”

  To her surprise, Jordan laughed. “And to me, if it means I don’t have to charm you.”

  “No. To be honest—since we’re being honest with each other now—it turns my stomach.”

  “It was turning mine,” he admitted. “And you’re not going to change your mind the first time I say something you take offense to…because you know it’s going to happen, Kate.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but I won’t change my mind.”

  “In that case—” Jordan gestured to the food barrel “—be a good girl and peel the spuds while I go talk to Andrew.”

  TIRED AS SHE WAS, Kate couldn’t sleep in her tiny tent. Everything ached—her body, her brain and her heart.

  She hadn’t thought about her personal worries all day. But now Peter and her father jostled for room in her tired mind, along with anxiety about the work commitments she couldn’t meet while she was out here without a phone.

  She’d been the first to call it a night after dinner, but others had quickly followed, Mike muttering something about “bloody Jordan” fixing his tent.

  The boys had finally stopped grunting and snuffling outside Kate’s tent. They’d found her book on porcine attacks during dinner and had been teasing her mercilessly ever since. “Guys,” Jordan had warned, but he hadn’t been able to stop laughing, either. The real Jordan King was definitely back.

  Now, an hour later, only Jordan still sat by the fire. Thinking what, Kate wondered. Andrew had come back with him from the river, if not cheerful then at least with a teenager’s appetite, which had to be a good thing.

  On their return, Jordan had answered Kate’s unspoken question with the tiniest nod. At least someone’s problems were being resolved.

  Another twenty minutes passed while she tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the thin air bed. Through the side of her tent, she watched the fire glow, then Jordan doused it and her eyes followed the flashlight as he went to bed.

  She fumbled for her own flashlight, touching it for reassurance. All that stood between her and wilderness was one thin sheet of waterproof nylon. Only two separated her from the man contributing to her insomnia.

  Huddling deeper in her sleeping bag, Kate suddenly remembered her jacket still hung outside. It would be saturated with dew by morning.

  Reluctantly, she got out of her bag and unzipped the tent, shivering as the damp air pierced her cotton T-shirt. She scanned for wild animals then crept out into the clearing.

  Jordan and Andrew’s tent glowed in the darkness. She recognized Jordan’s outline as he sat against his backpack, reading.

  Kate retrieved her jacket and was halfway back to her tent when she remembered that wild animals could also drop from trees. Glancing up nervously, she forgot everything.

  So many stars winked and twinkled in the bright stillness of the moonlit sky.

  Shrugging on her jacket, Kate stared until she couldn’t bear the cold any longer. Then, strangely comforted, she crawled back into her tent.

  Reaching for the zipper, she saw Jordan’s silhouette as he stood up. His arms crossed to grab hold of the T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. He paused there a second, every muscular curve of his arms and upper body thrown into sharp relief.

  Kate’s mouth went dry.

  He tossed the shirt to one side and his hands moved to the front of his jeans. His long hair fell forward as he bent to take them off, a movement that also accentuated the flat planes of his stomach, even in shadow.

  Kate held her breath as he started peeling the jeans slowly down his body. So slowly, she had time to realize what she was. A voyeur.

  “Are you enjoying the show, Kate?” His murmur reminded her they were the only two awake.

  Horrified, she ducked back into her tent and scrambled into her sleeping bag, pulling it over her head like a cocoon.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DILLON ROSE at first light, hauled on his clothes as quietly as he could, and tiptoed out of the tent he shared with his dad.

  He’d rather have shared with Jordan, but he knew it would hurt Mike’s feelings, so he hadn’t suggested it.

  Passing Kate’s tent, he was tempted to do some pig snorts, but he resisted it. This time alone with Jord was too precious to share with anyone else.

  Jordan was already sitting on a log, waiting, two steaming hot mugs of cocoa beside him. Sharing conspiratorial smiles, they silently left camp and headed down to the river. From one of the storage barrels Jordan extracted two telescopic fishing poles and some eel bait.

  Only when they sat on boulders, lines hanging in the water, did Dillon feel the tension ease from his body. He dipped his tongue in the mug, where a marshmallow melted into the sweet chocolate, and then breathed steam into the still morning air. “Hey, I’m a dragon.”

  Jordan did it, too, and they forgot about fishing in the heat of competition to see who could send a steam ball the farthest. Dillon won.

  “You let me,” he accused, wrapping his legs tighter in the blanket. The sun hadn’t climbed over the forest yet and it was cold.

  “Did not.”

  “Did, too.”

  “Did not.”

  “Now you’re being childish,” Dillon said with dignity.

  “Am not.”

  Dillon grinned. “Are, too.”

  They fished for a while in comfortable silence, Dillon checking the bait occasionally, like Jordan had taught him. When Dad had first offered to take him fishing, Dillon had explained, “I can do any kind—spincast, spinning, baitcast and fly. Here’s a picture of me with my first fish. I caught it with Jordan on his launch.”

  Except Mike had looked funny and said, “Well, I guess a simple rod and reel cast over the side of a borrowed dinghy isn’t going to cut it.” Dillon had assured him that any kind of fishing was fine by
him, but somehow they’d ended up playing computer games all weekend instead. Dillon loved it, but Mum got grumpy when she heard about it. That reminded him…

  Dillon raised the question that had been bothering him since yesterday. “You don’t mind that I asked Dad to come, do you? Mum thought it would be a good idea.”

  Jordan shot him a surprised glance. “Did she?”

  “I’d rather it was just us.” It seemed important Jordan know that.

  Jord patted his shoulder. “Really, it’s fine.”

  “He can be a bit…funny sometimes, but he’s okay, really. I mean, do you like him?”

  Jord never lied to him, so Dillon knew it was dangerous asking, but…

  “I don’t know him very well yet,” Jordan said carefully. He changed the subject to other things—school, sport, friends—and Dillon was happy to do it. Because he was suddenly terrified that Jordan was going to ask if Mike liked him.

  Yesterday, Dillon had realized with a horrible creeping feeling that Dad didn’t, and Dillon didn’t know what to do about it. The tension crawled back into his slight shoulders. Then an eel jerked on the hook and he forgot about everything but reeling it in.

  KATE ROLLED OVER with a groan, every muscle in her arms and shoulders screaming. Her upper body had obviously been stolen in the night, beaten to a pulp and reattached with a rusty hinge. Even her breasts were sore. Hauling herself upright, she rubbed them tentatively.

  “Want some help with that?” Jordan grinned through the clear plastic window.

  She scowled. “Go away.” The zipper whizzed upward and the rest of him appeared, the picture of male vitality. He waved a cup under her nose…real coffee. Kate took it, biting back a yelp as her palms contacted hot metal. Jordan turned her hand over and looked at her blisters. His smile faded. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

  “It’s no big deal, I just need a plaster.” The tent felt too small with him in it. She started crawling out of her sleeping bag. “I’ll get dressed.”

  But he was watching her pained movements. “This is my fault. I should never have let Mike goad me.”