Page 33 of Moonlight Over Seattle

Jordan sucked in a breath at her quick, impulsive hug. It might have been brief, but the softness of her curves felt imprinted on his body.

“It, uh, it’s a remarkable sight,” he said, annoyed that he was practically stuttering. Nicole wasn’t the only beautiful woman he’d known, or the only one who’d hugged him.

“I’ve heard they can be even more intense during the winter. Isn’t Seattle great?”

“You sound as if you’ve fallen in love with the area.”

“I have,” Nicole said simply. “It has a different kind of energy that’s refreshing, though I don’t have anything against Los Angeles. The LA area has all sorts of things that make it an exciting city—Disneyland, the Tar Pits, the Getty and the Coliseum, to name a few.”

“Don’t forget the Dodgers and Angels baseball teams.”

“True, but up here I’m cheering for the Mariners. I’ve got a soft spot for people who’ve endured long losing streaks.”

“Ah, so you like underdogs.”

“Everyone roots for winners. Somebody needs to care about the losers.”

“Is that one of the philosophies behind your agency?”

Her low, sultry laugh sent blood surging into his groin.

“Jordan, stop being an interviewer for five minutes and just watch the northern lights. This is a rare opportunity and you aren’t taking advantage of it.”

He made mental notes, trying not to think of Nicole standing there in the close, intimate darkness, or the heated imprint of her body against his. A cool breeze across the park did little to dispel it.

Focus, he ordered silently. For example, he should ask why she and her partners had chosen Seattle when there was such an active fashion industry in Southern California. Hollywood was there, too. Considering Moonlight Ventures was obviously interested in areas beyond modeling, they were a significant distance from some of the most lucrative markets to place their clients.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Nicole asked. “I can practically feel the tension emanating from your body, as if the questions are charging through every cell and exuding from your fingertips.”

Actually, it was hormones charging through his system. Focusing on journalistic questions was the only thing keeping him sane.

The devil with restraint. He tugged on Nicole’s arm and pulled her close. Lord, her lips felt good and her soft, sweet scent filled his nostrils. Threading his fingers through her silky hair, he deepened the kiss. Her mouth opened and he could swear the lights in the sky had gone shooting through his veins.

Nicole gently pushed on his chest. He let go with a gasp, barely hanging onto his self-control.

“I’m afraid that was my fault,” she said, her voice almost even. “I gave you the wrong idea when I hugged you.”

“Oh, that’s… Don’t worry about it.”

“Maybe we should leave now.”

“Sure.” Jordan took deep breaths, willing his body to calm as they got back in the car. He started the engine and programmed the GPS for Nicole’s address.

Back at the house she got out quickly. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Scrambling from the car himself, he hurried to the porch with her.

“You aren’t invited in,” she told him.

“I didn’t think I was, but it’s only right to walk you to your door.”

“Such a gentleman.”

Her faintly mocking retort was annoying. Besides, Jordan didn’t feel like a gentleman. He felt like a caveman—or a skunk for letting Nicole defuse the situation with that excuse about a hug. Perhaps the kiss had been partly prompted by her spontaneous act, but he wasn’t innocent in the situation.

Nicole opened the door and he heard the beeping of a security system. The latch clicked behind her and he strode back to his car. No point in bemoaning his lack of restraint. The kiss had happened and he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t. But it didn’t have to happen again.

He grinned at himself and thought of how Syd would chide him if she knew. He’d love to back out of doing the article, but he couldn’t. The two of them had been through hell together more than once in his early days as a reporter. She’d been the veteran and taught him a lot. Once, when they’d been faced with a drug dealer, she had talked them out of a dangerous standoff, possibly saving his life. The least he could do was hit the off switch on his hormones and write the articles she needed for PostModern.

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