Page 7 of Jordan

She had to take deep cleansing breaths, or she felt as if she was about to explode. The nerve of that family! The damn nerve. How dare they intrude on her time of grief. She wasn't going to sell. Even if she had the intention of doing so, this cemented her decision. To hell with them.

Suddenly she felt as if she was completely alone in the world. Feeling the tears threatening again, she rubbed a hand over her face.

"Richard has always been an asshole with lousy timing."

The deep voice at her right had her jolting. She knew who he was of course. There was no mistaking the tousled dark hair that was begging for a barber's scissors. Jordan Wainwright had not changed much, but was even more wildly attractive, his body lean and rangy in faded denims and a slate gray sweater.

"But the poor sod was just doing his job." Amber eyes studied the brightness in the dark brown eyes and the strain on her lovely face. He had attended the funeral to pay his respect and sat at the back of the church, watching her. And between the time he had stepped inside the chapel, until she had walked behind the coffin that was carried out by men he knew worked at the funeral home, he had come to a decision.

"Go away," she whispered hoarsely, humiliated that he had seen her distress.

"I have a feeling you could use a friend."

"You're not one."

His thick brows lifted. Taking out a slim silver case, he released the clasp and took out a slender cigar. Keeping his eyes on her face, he flicked the lighter and touched the flame to the tip. Her eyes went to the smoldering flame as he drew on it.

"I'm on your side."

"Is that so?" The sarcasm was rife in her surprisingly sultry voice. To his surprise, he had the strangest urge to just pull her in his arms and wrap his hands around her. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his scarred leather jacket, he continued to stare at her.

"Oh, just go away, will you?"

"I have a proposition for you."

Her eyes widened, and she felt the laughter bubbling up inside her. "Another one? Did your daddy send you as a backup in case that--that lawyer did not succeed?"

"No one sends me anywhere."

"I'm not interested. Now please go away." She turned away from him and waited until he had left. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she gave into the grief that gripped her.

*****

He was waiting for her on the top step of the slightly sagging porch. Waiting, with long legs crossed at the ankles, looking for all the world like he belonged there. She was drained and emotionally exhausted. The repast had been held at the funeral home and the constant expressions of sympathy along with the questions about her life in the big city had her feeling as if she could just curl up in her bed and sleep for a week.

"What are you doing here?"

"I have an offer for you." Rolling to his feet, he stepped aside for her to climb the steps.

She stood there, her arms crossed as she tried to stare him down. "I am not interested."

"You haven't heard what I have to say."

"I am not interested." She started up the stairs with the intention of slamming the door in his face, but he was too quick. Stepping in behind her, he closed the door with a snap.

Hissing out an annoyed breath, she tugged off her jacket and tossed it over the coat tree. "Go away."

"I think you're going to love what I have to say."

"I strongly doubt it." She stalked off in the direction of the kitchen. A loaded plate had been handed to her by one of the caterers, but she had barely nibbled on the canapes. Her brother had called to check on her and the sound of his voice almost had her crying again.

"What--" She broke off and simply stared as he put the kettle on.

"Sit," he ordered.

"I don't need your help."

"Where are the cups?" As if she had not spoken at all, he started opening cupboard doors. Sitting at the counter, she folded her hands on the faded red and white tiles, her expression mutinous.

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