Mr. Irresistible Page 8

  Wow, was that actually remorse she heard? Not that Kate considered herself his charge. Still, it was time some of the torture went the other way.

  She injected a feeble note in her voice. “Don’t worry about it.” Groaning, she struggled pathetically to her feet. “Really, I’m fine.” A girl didn’t go to convent school without learning how martyrdom worked.

  “You need a massage.”

  “No!” Dropping the guilt trip, Kate gritted her teeth and forced her back to straighten. “See? I’m fine.” No way was he touching her after last night’s awful realization that she was still attracted to him. “Paddling will loosen me up.”

  “That’s for me to decide.” He left before she could argue.

  Shit! Painfully Kate pulled on clothes, twisting into them like a demented snake, and crawled out of the tent.

  Camp was a hive of activity. Mike and Andrew were dismantling the tents, Jordan crouched over the stove frying breakfast, and Dillon was buttering bread. “Hi, Kate! Wanna see what I caught?”

  “Sure, buddy, in a minute, hey?” All her attention was on Jordan. “Look, I’ve loosened up already.” She swung her arms to show him. They flopped like two strands of overcooked spaghetti. Her bare foot touched something wet and slimy; Kate looked down and leaped back with an involuntary screech. An eel lay on the grass, its dead eye staring up at her.

  All the guys laughed except Dillon, who dropped his knife and hurried over. “Don’t stand on breakfast.”

  “Well, at least there’s nothing wrong with your legs,” Jordan commented. He looked at Mike. “You need to see this.”

  Mike hobbled up and Kate realized she wasn’t the only one suffering this morning. His eyes widened when Jordan showed him her palms. “I’ll get the first aid kit,” Mike offered.

  “Next time,” Jordan said, “don’t argue with me.”

  The other man stopped in his tracks. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

  “Our fault, yeah.”

  “Well, I won’t accept it. Like you said, you’re the leader. The buck stops with you, not me.”

  “Dad,” Dillon said, clearly scared.

  “It’s okay, Dil-boy,” Jordan said quietly. “Mike and I just needed to get something clear. I think we’ve done that now, haven’t we, mate?”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re the big—” Mike saw Dillon’s face and stopped. His son was near tears. Mike thrust out a hand, and Jordan shook it. “Yeah, mate, we’re sorted. Dillon, come help me fix Kate up.”

  The boy was desperately trying to control himself. Kate wailed as plaintively as she could, “We’re not really having eel for breakfast, are we?”

  Dillon’s sob came out as a laugh. “You’re such a girl.”

  “I know,” she said meekly. “But I really am trying to be one of the guys.”

  “Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes,” Jordan called after them, adding ominously, “and then we’ll discuss that massage, Kate.”

  She didn’t answer, following Mike to where his gear was stowed. He sat her on Dillon’s rucksack, produced a comprehensive first aid kit and started dressing her hands with a competence she hadn’t previously seen in him.

  Dillon didn’t hang around long. He’d hoped for blood or open wounds, he told Kate cheerfully as he left. She and Mike exchanged grins. “Great kid,” she said.

  “Not due to me, I’m afraid. His mother raised him.”

  “I’m sure he inherited something from you.”

  “Yeah—” Dillon’s twinkle suddenly appeared in Mike’s brown eyes “—his height.”

  It was the first time she’d seen his sense of humor. He must’ve noticed her surprise.

  “I am a nice guy, really,” he said. “Being around King always brings out the worst in me.”

  Kate found herself in the interesting position of being in complete sympathy with Mike, yet needing to defend Jordan for Dillon’s sake. “I think…” she began vaguely, then stopped. “You need to find something in common.”

  “I’m a poorly paid computer technician whose most exciting hobby is gardening. He’s a millionaire entrepreneur who excels at extreme sports. You find it.”

  There was silence for a few minutes as Kate racked her brains. Mike finished covering her blisters with a protective plaster. “I know who I’d choose if I were a twelve-year-old boy,” he said.

  Dillon ran over. “Breakfast is ready.” He giggled. “Kate, we saved you the head.”

  She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “I think I’m going to swoon.”

  He hooted; Mike chuckled. They wandered back, Kate trying to appear supple and loose limbed. Mike stopped her before they got within earshot. “Hey, I’m really sorry for yesterday. I can see you’re in a lot of discomfort.”

  “Shh,” she replied. “I’m trying to hide it.”

  Jordan handed out bacon and eggs. The eel, thank God, was nowhere to be seen.

  “Your choices are treatment or rest,” he said, passing her a plate.

  “But resting will add another day to the trip.”

  Mike didn’t look too thrilled, either. “Have the massage,” he urged.

  Passing out cutlery, Jordan said quietly, “You won’t enjoy it, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His blue eyes teased her. “I’m talking therapeutic, not sensual massage.”

  “I know that,” Kate snapped, hating the rush of heat to her cheeks.

  She took her plate and sat next to Andrew, who looked as if he’d had the same poor night’s sleep she’d had. With his blond hair in tufts, he had the faint indentation of a sleeping bag zipper across his cheek.

  Kate realized she hadn’t brushed her own hair yet, and touched it experimentally. Oh, God. She flattened it as best she could, caught Jordan hiding a smirk, and turned her back on him to talk to Andrew. “How are you doing this morning?”

  “I’m okay, I guess,” he said. “And you missed a bit.” She felt a tug as he pulled a curl straight.

  “Thanks.” Kate ignored Jordan’s laugh. She stopped trying to cut her bacon—she simply couldn’t apply enough pressure—picked it up and bit into it ferociously. Then stopped when she realized everyone was staring at her.

  “Okay,” she said, “I’ll take the massage.”

  “Hey, Jord,” Andrew called, “can I borrow your pebble?”

  Dillon, Mike and Kate watched with interest as Jordan felt in the pockets of his pants, then handed over a tiny stone.

  “Is it gold?” Dillon asked. Jordan shook his head. “Silver, maybe? A diamond?”

  “It’s only a pebble, Dil.” Andrew pocketed it. “I’ll give it back to you later,” he said to his uncle.

  “What’s it for?” Dillon couldn’t let the subject rest.

  “Andrew will tell you if he wants to,” said Jordan.

  “I don’t,” Andrew said, which only made Dillon more desperate to know. He kept pestering until the teenager said, “It’s for making decisions, okay?”

  Dillon was clearly puzzled. “How does a pebble make a decision?”

  “Come closer,” said Andrew. Dillon did. “Now listen, very, very hard, and the pebble will speak to you.”

  “You’re fooling.”

  “Okay.” Andrew shrugged. “If you don’t want to know the secret…”

  Kate watched the child and the adult in Dillon struggle. The child won. “All right, all right.” He sat next to Andrew.

  “Listen hard…” The teen held the pebble to Dillon’s ear. “Are you listening, Dil-boy?”

  He nodded, half embarrassed, half entranced. Andrew leaned forward so his mouth was next to the pebble. “You’re a very gullible little boy.”

  Dillon fell on the laughing teenager. “I knew you were tricking…I did,” he protested, starting to laugh himself. The two tumbled on the ground and rolled around in a mock fight, which somehow ended up with Jordan holding Andrew down so Dillon could tickle him.

  “You can tell they’ve been doing this for years,” Kate commented as, la
ughing, she and Mike retreated to a safer spot.

  “Yeah.” His smile was both wistful and bitter as he watched Jordan and his son play the payback game. “How can I compete with that?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  TO HER MORTIFICATION, Kate had to ask for Jordan’s help taking off her T-shirt.

  “You must really have pushed the pain barrier yesterday if you can’t even lift your arms above your head.” Gently he slipped the garment off. “You’re the last person I’d expect to have a problem speaking up.”

  Intent on dragging a pillow against her front, Kate didn’t bite back. She didn’t own sensible underwear—a secret vice she wanted to keep secret. Fortunately, her track pants covered the thong.

  Lying facedown on her air bed, she tensed as Jordan expertly undid her bra.

  “Relax, Kate, I’m not going to jump you. I said all the running was yours, so unless I get an explicit invitation, you’re safe.”

  “Maybe we should go back to Mr. Slick. I’d forgotten how arrogant you could be…”

  This is exactly like being at the physiothera pist’s, she told herself, except her therapist didn’t make her tremble when he laid his hands on her bare skin. Then the cold salve hit her back, and Kate had an excuse to shiver.

  “You know,” Jordan said conversationally, “I’ve been wondering why you haven’t mentioned your fiancé in over twenty-four hours. You must be missing him.”

  “Desperately.”

  Jordan started working the ointment into her skin. “Now that we’re back to being honest with each other, I want to ask you something that’s been bothering me. Don’t you think it’s dishonest accepting one man’s proposal when you really want another?”

  She tensed. “Don’t flatter yourself. And Peter didn’t propose, I did.”

  The revelation was supposed to crush him. Instead Jordan laughed delightedly.

  “What the hell does that mean?” she demanded.

  “Nothing.” The salve grew warm under the friction of his palms, and Kate thought, This doesn’t hurt. Then his strong fingers started relentlessly teasing out the knots in her shoulders and upper back. “Don’t resist, go with it.”

  Yeah, right. Biting her lip, she tried to relax into the heat being generated by the firm strokes, but it seemed for every painful muscle that dissolved under Jordan’s remorseless ministrations, another, more tender one was uncovered. “Stop,” she ground out when she couldn’t stand the agony any longer.

  Jordan laughed callously. “After I’ve done your triceps.”

  If anything, that was worse. She ended up panting and damp with sweat. “You’re killing me,” she croaked.

  “No pain, no gain.” Jordan rehooked her bra, then toweled her down as vigorously as if she were a wet dog. “Turn over so I can do your biceps.”

  Shakily, Kate sat up and turned around. “Look at this,” she accused, holding out her trembling arms. “You’ve crippled me.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  Mollified, Kate lowered them. “Remorse is all very well, but how—” Then she saw he was staring at her breasts through her semi-transparent lace bra. Hastily, she crossed her arms.

  “Damn it, all that does is accentuate your cleavage.” He turned away, adding harshly, “Get dressed.”

  Kate grabbed her T-shirt and tried to shrug into it, but her muscles were jelly. She kept struggling until, with an oath, Jordan turned back, seized the shirt and started dressing her.

  Except, with his eyes averted, she ended up with her head jammed into one of the sleeves. It wasn’t a good time for Kate’s sense of the ridiculous to kick in. Still, she couldn’t choke back her laughter.

  If anything, Jordan got angrier, untangling the T-shirt and trying to yank it over her head. “What are you doing, wearing underwear like that on a bush trip? You should be wearing some kind of sports bra.”

  Beneath the shirt, Kate started laughing in earnest. She ached like a sore tooth, she was light-headed with fatigue, and the incongruity of being scolded by this man for wearing sexy underwear struck her as exquisitely funny.

  She’d dreaded this massage, convinced it would be a sensual assault. Instead she’d been tortured and pummeled, and now Jordan was acting like an outraged moralist. Her head popped through the neck of the T-shirt.

  “Oh, you think this is funny?” He twisted the cotton so it tightened like a straitjacket around her arms, which were still caught inside. But she knew he got the joke. It made him incredibly appealing.

  Her urge to kiss him was unexpected and overwhelming. Jordan saw it and his eyes darkened. She started to struggle and immediately he released her. Breathless, Kate wriggled her arms into the sleeves. “I’m doing the running, right?”

  He nodded. She got up and ran.

  JORDAN WATCHED KATE. She sat rigidly in front of him, staring straight ahead and paddling like grim death.

  The morning air smelled alpine fresh under the ice-blue sky, and the wild beauty of the forest dazzled the eye. But she was oblivious to their surroundings.

  Despite being a stickler for the truth, she seemed to have trouble digesting it sometimes. She’d wanted to kiss him and nearly had.

  He’d resisted the scrap of lace she called a bra, reminding himself that he had more important priorities now than pursuing a romance with Kate. But then she’d looked at him in a way that jumped all over his common sense.

  He’d have blown it if she’d stayed. Completely and utterly blown it.

  Jordan put no credence in her sudden engagement. How could he after that incredible kiss? If Kate wanted to kid herself that it was a one-off aberration, that was fine. He knew differently.

  But he couldn’t convince her otherwise until she’d written a positive article about him and the kids’ camp. Then he’d…What?

  Kate said curiously over her shoulder, “What’s so funny?”

  “A pig just flew overhead.”

  She frowned. “I’m getting tired of people making fun of my fears.”

  “I’ll stop,” he promised, because she’d hit their problem bang on. She was scared of their attraction because of her assessment of his character. Change the foundations and everything else would fall into place. One brick at a time, little piggie, he reminded himself. Don’t be tempted to shortcut with straw just because a woman tempts you to get the bedroom built.

  The episode in the tent had been a close call—and a timely reminder not to lower his guard just because Kate had agreed to a truce. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  Jordan stopped paddling and checked his river notes. “Over here, everyone,” he called, and noticed Mike listened to him now. At least that was one problem solved. They paddled out of the current and beached in the shallows. “We’ve got our first rapids coming up.”

  Yahooing, the two boys slapped the water with their paddles.

  “Andrew, give Dillon the kayak and go down with Mike…sit at the back and steer.”

  “What’s the grade?” Mike asked. “If it’s not high I’d like to try it.”

  Jordan hesitated, then realized he was doing so only because it was Mike. “You’re right, you can handle it. But I want Dillon and Andrew changing places…just in case.” The boys tumbled out of the boats.

  “In case of what? Capsizing?” Kate’s face was the same dusty chalk as the cliff behind her.

  “It won’t happen,” Jordan reassured her, “I’m only taking precautions because Mike’s steering his first white water.”

  “And you think I’ll cock it up.” The antagonism was back in Mike’s tone.

  Jordan realized the problem wasn’t solved, and pinned the other man with his gaze. “It’s not up for negotiation.”

  Mike broke eye contact first. With bad grace, he shifted forward in the canoe.

  Heart pounding, Kate fumbled for her paddle and stared fearfully ahead as Jordan ferried their canoe back out into the current. They drifted around a bend in the river and, sure enough, saw a long stretch of white water heaving and bucking in the
distance. She jumped as Jordan’s hand tightened reassuringly on her shoulder.

  “It’s a baby.” He shifted back to his seat.” Just paddle how and where I tell you, and enjoy the ride.”

  Kate gripped the paddle harder. Then they hit, and as they tipped and lurched through the flumes of spray, she found herself struggling for balance and trying to follow the rapid-fire instructions coming from behind her. In a brief respite between rapids, she wiped the spray out of her eyes with a shaky hand.

  “You’re doing great. You’re a natural.” Jordan’s easy assurance soothed her. The next time it was easier, because her terror abated to manageable fear. Two more stretches of rapids, then suddenly—flat water.

  Having proved there was life in the old girl yet, the river reverted to a stately promenade through the gorge. The gurgle and hiss of white water died and the sounds of the bush—noisy with the hum of insects—reasserted itself.

  Exhausted, Kate slumped forward, but she was aware of a curious exhilaration. The other craft passed them, Andrew and Dillon hooting and hollering, Mike grinning from ear to ear. “We done good, Kate,” he yelled, giving her a victory sign.

  “Here, have a barley sugar,” said Jordan.

  Taking the sweet, Kate noticed adrenaline had upped the voltage that powered Jordan’s blue eyes. Her pulse, only just beginning to settle down, sped up again, and she finally stopped kidding herself. No matter what her mind told her, her body reacted to Jordan’s sexual magnetism as though he was true north.

  Strands of wet hair clung to his face and he paused to pull them back into a ponytail. It occurred to Kate that she’d been wrong in one of her assumptions about him. He wasn’t vain. In the past twenty-four hours there had been none of the gestures that marked a narcissist. “Why is your hair long?” she asked curiously.

  He returned to paddling. “Are you reviewing your ‘vanity advised by bad taste’ theory?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I wear it long because it annoys people.”

  “And we know how you like annoying people.”

  “It annoys a particular sort,” he clarified. “The sort that think there’s one right way of living and being. Not surprisingly, always theirs. It’s also a personal reminder not to judge by appearances.”