Tall, Dark & Scandalous: Jordan St Claire: Dark and Dangerous. Carole Mortimer

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      Stephanie hadn’t slept that well herself the night before, aware as she had been of Jordan’s presence somewhere in the house, and discovering this morning that there was nothing she could eat for her breakfast—not even bread for toast!—hadn’t improved her mood.

      A quick telephone call to Lucan St Claire, to confirm that she had arrived safely and so far hadn’t been bodily thrown out into the Gloucestershire countryside, had resulted in his informing her that Jordan had already telephoned him during the night with the same news. Although in Jordan’s case it had obviously been in the nature of a complaint. A complaint that the older St Claire brother didn’t appear in the least concerned about. In fact, his comment had been the one Jordan had predicted—that any response from Jordan was better than the uninterest he normally showed to everything and everyone nowadays.

      Stephanie waited until Jordan had taken one of the croissants onto his plate, smothered it in butter and taken a bite before speaking again. ‘I decided to refrain from telling your brother that you had decided on sexual innuendo as the best way of getting rid of me.’

      Jordan continued to slowly chew the first mouthful of food he’d had for a couple of days, swallowing the buttery pastry before answering her. ‘Only because you knew Lucan wouldn’t be interested.’

      She shrugged. ‘Or maybe I’m just saving that complaint for another day.’

      Jordan decided there was a lot more to Stephanie McKinley than that unusually coloured hair and a taut and supple body. It surprised him how curious he was to know exactly what that lot more was.

      He leant back in his chair. ‘I should have asked last night whether or not there’s a Mr McKinley waiting for you at home.’

      She glanced down at her bare left hand. ‘No ring.’

      ‘Not all the married women I know wear a wedding ring,’ Jordan drawled.

      ‘That’s probably because the married women you meet don’t want you to know that they’re married,’ Stephanie pointed out.

      Jordan’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t get involved with married women.’

      ‘No?’

      His mouth firmed. ‘No.’

      ‘Because of your parents’ divorce?’

      Jordan drew in a sharp breath. ‘And what do you know about my parents’ divorce?’

      She shrugged as she stood up to place her empty plate neatly inside the dishwasher. ‘Only that during interviews you use it as an excuse for never having considered marriage yourself.’

      ‘It happens to be a fact, not an excuse.’ He pushed his empty plate away to stand up abruptly.

      Stephanie knew she had annoyed Jordan intensely with her mention of his parents’ divorce. Not quite the reaction she’d wanted from him, but it was probably better than no reaction at all!

      She gave a knowing smile. ‘I can’t imagine any woman ever daring to be unfaithful to the famous Jordan Simpson.’

      His eyes glittered a bright, intense gold. ‘My father was unfaithful, not my mother.’

      Reason enough, Stephanie decided, for Jordan never to know that she was being named—albeit completely falsely—as the ‘other woman’ in an ex-patient’s divorce!

      He thrust a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be in my study for the rest of the morning.’

      ‘Doing what?’ She moved so that she was standing in front of the door that led out into the hallway.

      He frowned at her. ‘None of your damned business!’

      ‘Maybe I could help?’

      ‘And maybe you could stay the hell out of my face!’ He glared down at her.

      Maybe getting in his face hadn’t been such a good idea, Stephanie recognised uncomfortably, as she became aware of the heat of Jordan’s body and the glittering intensity of those mesmerising gold-coloured eyes. ‘When I spoke to Lucan this morning, he mentioned that there’s a heated indoor pool at Mulberry Hall…’

      Jordan raised a brow. ‘And?’

      ‘And a swim might be fun.’

      Those gold eyes hardened. ‘Am I right in thinking it might also be regarded as good exercise to strengthen the muscles in my leg?’

      Stephanie felt the guilty heat of colour in her cheeks and her expression became defensive. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

      He shrugged those wide and powerful shoulders. ‘Absolutely nothing.’ His mouth thinned. ‘If I wanted to exercise the muscles in my leg. Which I don’t,’ he added emphatically.

      She sighed. ‘Why don’t you?’

      A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Get out of my way, Stephanie.’

      She gave a firm shake of her head, her chin raised. she refused to move. ‘Not until you explain to me why you don’t even seem to want to try to get back the full mobility of your leg.’

      A red haze seemed to pass in front of Jordan’s eyes as this woman’s persistent questions managed to pierce his armour once again. ‘Don’t be so stupid!’

      ‘So you do want to get back the use of your leg?’

      ‘What I want and what I’ve got are two different things,’ he said pointedly.

      Stephanie put a hand on his arm. ‘Then prove me wrong and come swimming with me this morning.’

      ‘Now who’s playing games?’

      ‘Come on, Jordan, it will be fun,’ she cajoled.

      ‘Don’t force me into making you move, Stephanie,’ he bit out between gritted teeth.

      ‘Could you do that?’ Her chin rose another determined notch. ‘Do you really think you’re physically capable at the moment of making me—or anyone else—do anything?’

      Jordan’s fingers tightened about his cane as the taunt struck him with the force of a blow. ‘You vicious little—!’

      She gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘No one said you had to like me in order for me to help you.’

      ‘I don’t remember asking for your help,’ he ground out as his eyes glittered down at her in warning.

      ‘Whether you ask for it or not, you certainly need it.’

      Jordan breathed deeply as he continued to glare down at Stephanie McKinley’s five feet six inches of slender shapeliness. And stubbornness. Let’s not forget the bone-deep stubbornness so evident in her determined expression, Jordan told himself.

      He deliberately, slowly, allowed his gaze to move lower, to where her breasts pressed against her T-shirt.

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