and happy. If you ask me, Kathryn was sucking the life out of him.”
“That we can agree on,” Sheryl muttered. His family had never been fond of his former wife, finding her haughty and aloof on the few occasions they’d gotten together.
“Speaking of wicked women,” Dean cut in, “did you see what Mrs. Portman has done to the trees on her property?”
“Oh, I know ,” said Lorraine disapprovingly. “It’s a travesty. Those arbutus trees were just gorgeous when they bloomed in the spring. What was she thinking?”
Vowing to thank his brother-in-law later, Clay dug into his potato salad. As the conversation moved on to other topics, his attention wandered elsewhere. After a few minutes he chanced a sidelong glance at Jordan. She was eating quietly, no longer contributing to the discussion. She looked melancholy, keeping her eyes mainly on her plate. Clay cast Sheryl a searing glance, though she wasn’t looking at him. Why did she insist on clinging to her resentment of Jordan? He didn’t know what the future held for him and his former fiancée, but he did know his sister’s transparent disapproval wasn’t going to help things.
Suddenly Jordan looked up from her plate, her eyes meeting Clay’s. He didn’t look away, holding her gaze for a lingering moment. He’d almost forgotten the incredibly vivid, luminous green of her eyes when sunlight set them aglow. The voices of his family faded to a murmur, his thundering pulse overwhelming them.
For a second he thought he saw something flicker across her features—was it a beseeching look?—and then she turned away, returning to her half-eaten plate of food. Damn it, what was she thinking? Was her heart pounding violently like his? Or was she keeping it hardened against him, happy to catch up with her old flame over a weekend but intending to say a final goodbye at the end of it? It was an unbearable frustration that in that moment, when his compulsion was to draw Jordan into his arms and bury his face in the enticing curve of her neck, Clay could only sit and wonder what was going on in her mind .
* * *
Jordan hadn’t realized she’d been nodding off until the scrape of the patio door sliding on its track jolted here awake. She blinked heavily, aware of the droning voice of a news anchorman on the television.
“The girls are all asleep,” she heard Clay announce, and she looked up from the sofa to see him stepping in through the open patio door.
“At last. I’m surprised they weren’t sleepier after the day they had,” Lorraine muttered. She was ensconced in an armchair on the far side of the living room, knitting a bright red garment beneath a gooseneck floor lamp. Behind her, Sheryl and Dean sat playing a languid game of Crazy Eights at the dining room table.
Jordan glanced at her watch. It was after ten o’clock. Time for bed. Stretching her arms, she rose to her feet and grabbed her empty tea mug from the end table next to the sofa.
She was heading to the kitchen with it when Clay stopped her, grasping her elbow.
“Come with me,” he said quietly, taking the mug from her and setting it on the coffee table.
She looked at him, puzzled. “Where?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to attempt to seduce you,” he whispered. “I just want to show you something.”
As he headed back out onto the patio, Jordan followed him into the crisp night air, pausing to button up her cardigan.
Clay nodded upward. “You don’t see a sky like this in the city.”
Following his gaze, Jordan turned her face up to the sky. “It’s magnificent,” she breathed, filling her eyes with the array of stars scattered like glittering diamonds across a swath of inky black. She smiled to herself, enchanted by the dazzling display above her.
“Come down to the beach with me,” Clay said.
Jordan looked at him, meeting his steady gaze. He looked younger in the dark, as he had during the blackout at her house a few weeks back. Not answering him at
“That we can agree on,” Sheryl muttered. His family had never been fond of his former wife, finding her haughty and aloof on the few occasions they’d gotten together.
“Speaking of wicked women,” Dean cut in, “did you see what Mrs. Portman has done to the trees on her property?”
“Oh, I know ,” said Lorraine disapprovingly. “It’s a travesty. Those arbutus trees were just gorgeous when they bloomed in the spring. What was she thinking?”
Vowing to thank his brother-in-law later, Clay dug into his potato salad. As the conversation moved on to other topics, his attention wandered elsewhere. After a few minutes he chanced a sidelong glance at Jordan. She was eating quietly, no longer contributing to the discussion. She looked melancholy, keeping her eyes mainly on her plate. Clay cast Sheryl a searing glance, though she wasn’t looking at him. Why did she insist on clinging to her resentment of Jordan? He didn’t know what the future held for him and his former fiancée, but he did know his sister’s transparent disapproval wasn’t going to help things.
Suddenly Jordan looked up from her plate, her eyes meeting Clay’s. He didn’t look away, holding her gaze for a lingering moment. He’d almost forgotten the incredibly vivid, luminous green of her eyes when sunlight set them aglow. The voices of his family faded to a murmur, his thundering pulse overwhelming them.
For a second he thought he saw something flicker across her features—was it a beseeching look?—and then she turned away, returning to her half-eaten plate of food. Damn it, what was she thinking? Was her heart pounding violently like his? Or was she keeping it hardened against him, happy to catch up with her old flame over a weekend but intending to say a final goodbye at the end of it? It was an unbearable frustration that in that moment, when his compulsion was to draw Jordan into his arms and bury his face in the enticing curve of her neck, Clay could only sit and wonder what was going on in her mind .
* * *
Jordan hadn’t realized she’d been nodding off until the scrape of the patio door sliding on its track jolted here awake. She blinked heavily, aware of the droning voice of a news anchorman on the television.
“The girls are all asleep,” she heard Clay announce, and she looked up from the sofa to see him stepping in through the open patio door.
“At last. I’m surprised they weren’t sleepier after the day they had,” Lorraine muttered. She was ensconced in an armchair on the far side of the living room, knitting a bright red garment beneath a gooseneck floor lamp. Behind her, Sheryl and Dean sat playing a languid game of Crazy Eights at the dining room table.
Jordan glanced at her watch. It was after ten o’clock. Time for bed. Stretching her arms, she rose to her feet and grabbed her empty tea mug from the end table next to the sofa.
She was heading to the kitchen with it when Clay stopped her, grasping her elbow.
“Come with me,” he said quietly, taking the mug from her and setting it on the coffee table.
She looked at him, puzzled. “Where?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to attempt to seduce you,” he whispered. “I just want to show you something.”
As he headed back out onto the patio, Jordan followed him into the crisp night air, pausing to button up her cardigan.
Clay nodded upward. “You don’t see a sky like this in the city.”
Following his gaze, Jordan turned her face up to the sky. “It’s magnificent,” she breathed, filling her eyes with the array of stars scattered like glittering diamonds across a swath of inky black. She smiled to herself, enchanted by the dazzling display above her.
“Come down to the beach with me,” Clay said.
Jordan looked at him, meeting his steady gaze. He looked younger in the dark, as he had during the blackout at her house a few weeks back. Not answering him at
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