A Better Man (9 page)

Jordan leaned down and kissed the top of Riley's silky hair. “Thank you, sweetheart. I'll keep that in mind.” He tossed a look to his aunt. “Can you hold off dishing up that spaghetti for a few more minu
tes?”

“Take as long as you n
eed.”

“Might take a while.” He pushed a breath of clogged air from his lungs. “I don't have all this figured out. But I'm working on
it.”

“Don't forget,” Pippy said. “You've got four brothers who are all pretty smart. So don't go thinking you have to do everything on your
own.”

His brothers already had their hands full. And lucky for him, Lucy would be by his
side.

“I know you believe you've got some making up to do,” Aunt Pippy said. “But that's only from your side of seeing thi
ngs.”

He glanced up the stairs. “Pretty sure it's the way Nicki sees things
too.”

“Just give her some time. Like Riley said, she'll come aro
und.”

He hoped so, but he wasn't willing to bet o
n it.

With a nod, he curled his fingers around the bag in his hand, and went up to the baby dragon's lair. Not surprisingly her door was closed. He'd expected her to slam it when she'd rushed up the stairs, but somehow she'd refra
ined.

He knocked. Of course, she didn't respond. He knocked again. And again. And again. Until finally she yanked the door
open.

“What's it going to take for you to go away?” she ground out between clenched teeth. “I know you're dying
to.”

He held out the white paper bag. “This is for
you.”

She eyed the bag curiously, somehow maintaining the stink-­eye in the process. Talent. Pure talent to do that. It had taken him years to perfect the stink-­eye on the ice. For him it had been no easy task—­like patting himself on the head and rubbing his stomach in circles at the same
time.

“What's that?” she a
sked.

“It's a surprise.” He jiggled the bag. “For
you.”

She continued to eye him suspicio
usly.

“Just some stuff I picked up that I thought you might like,” he explained. “I promise nothing will jump out and bite
you.”

While she continued to glare at him, he pushed past her and moved into her
room.

“You can't just barge your way in h
ere.”

“Too late.” He set the bag down on her bed. On his way out the door he stopped where she stood in the center of her room with her arms crossed, tapping the toe of one pink Converse high
-­top.

“Keep it. Toss it. Doesn't matter,” he said. “What does matter is that I'm not going anywhere. And I'll be back tomorrow to piss you off some more.” As he made his way toward the stairs he heard her sputter an obscenity. Then her door closed and he heard the distinct rattle of the paper
bag.

A smile crossed his
lips.

He hoped the pink floral journal and set of colored gel pens would give her the inspiration to start writing down what was on her mind. The king-­sized Snickers bar had just been pure bribery. Whatever she chose to do with the contents of the bag tonight didn't have any weight on his plans for tomo
rrow.

He'd be
back.

Chapter 7

S
tanding on the front porch of Lucy Diamond's little two-­story Victorian cottage, Jordan realized he might be overstepping his bounds. Well, there was really no
might
in it. He was definitely breaking boundaries. She'd given him her phone number, not her address. He'd taken it upon himself to find out where she lived. He hoped she wouldn't see him as a stalker. Then again, that's exactly what he'd think, so he could hardly fault her if she
did.

The soft glow of the porch light provided enough illumination to see the surrounding rosebushes and the blue trim on the door frame and windowsills. A clean white picket fence bordered the yard. And from the large tree, an old wooden swing swayed in the gentle breeze, which made him wonder if Lucy had
kids.

He hadn't thought of
that.

The house was the kind of place one would picture in a fairy tale, and it didn't exactly fit Lucy's straitlaced-­teacher, kickboxing-­tough-­girl image at
all.

Night had fallen hours ago and the air was crisp and cool as he knocked on the door. It took a minute, but then from behind the barrier, he heard the sound of scuffing footsteps approach. A long pause hinted that she might be peering at him through the peephole. Finally the door op
ened.

“Jordan. What are you doing h
ere?”

The response tangled on his tongue as he looked her up and
down.

Lucy was dressed in a pair of baggy plaid pajama bottoms and a white tank top with straps so thin they looked like spaghetti noodles. By the sheerness of the fabric and the dusky hint of her nipples showing through, he knew she didn't have on a
bra.

Not that he mi
nded.

Her hair was still pulled up in that sexy, messy bun on top of her head. Her dark framed glasses had slipped partway down her straight nose. And she wore a pair of fuzzy slippers on her feet. She held an open paperback book in her hand, and from somewhere in the house the sultry beat of JT's “What Goes Around” pl
ayed.

“Hel
-­lo?”

He dragged his gaze up from her black and yellow bumblebee slippers. “
Huh?”

“I asked what you're doing here.” The book in her hand snapped shut—­a romance judging by the couple kissing on the front cover—­and yanked his attention back to where it should be. “And how did you know where I live any
way?”

“Which one do you want me to answer fi
rst?”

She sighed, and he realized that for the most part, the females in his life seemed to constantly be frustrated with
him.

“Curiosity begs to know all of the above,” she
said.

Before she could close the door on him, he made the quickest, most ridiculous, and most desperate move of all time. He stuck his foot in the door. “I have something really important to tell you. And Goo
gle.”

“People were so much safer before the age of the Internet.” She shook her head. “And this ‘something really important' is . .
 . ?”

“You're trying not to smile.” He pointed at her luscious lips. “I can t
ell.”

“Yes, well, we all have our mome
nts.”

“Mind if I come
in?”

“It's late. This can't wait until tomor
row?”

“Yes, it's late. Yes, I shouldn't have just appeared on your doorstep. Yes, you should slam the door in my face.” He took a breath. “But I hope you wo
n't.”

At that moment the gods of mercy took pity on him when a golden retriever ambled to the door. Jordan grabbed the opportu
nity.

“Hey. Nice dog.” He moved past Lucy into the house, where the dog swept his tail from side to side. Jordan leaned down and gave the dog a nice rub over the top of his large head. “What's his n
ame?”

“Ziggy. I'm thinking of getting a second dog.” Lucy closed the front door. “Probably a German shepherd or something with sharp teeth and a lot of
b
ite
.”

Jordan looked up. “Wouldn't do you any good where I'm concerned. Dogs love me.” He continued to pet the dog, who now wore a goofy doggy
grin.

“Apparently.” She crossed her arms. “And I don't remember inviting you
in.”

“Oops.” He gave her a sheepish
look.

“Word to the wise, that look doesn't work for
you.”

“I gave it my best eff
ort.”

“You might try to be more convinc
ing.”

He grinned. “If you let me stay, I promise I'll work on
it.”

“Please don't trouble yourself on my behalf. I try not to put myself in the gullible categ
ory.”

“Teasing, Lucy? That's so unlike
you.”

“You don't know the half of it. And if you'll excuse me I have to go upstairs to get my twelve-­gauge.” She started toward the stairs and then turned back around to face him. The hint of a smile playing at her lips sent a tickle through his heart. “Don't steal anything while I'm g
one.”

That smile convinced him she wasn't all that mad he'd popped up on her door
step.

“No worries. I left my cat burglar bag at home,” he
said.

When Lucy disappeared up the stairs, her dog flopped down at his feet. Jordan took the opportunity to check out the nearly all white living space. Small pops of color came in the form of pale blue, pink, and yellow and made him feel like he'd stepped inside an Easter egg. The good news was that the ultra feminine décor told him a man didn't live here. He hadn't been one hundred percent sure before. He was now. Any man worth his weight in testosterone would destroy a place this immaculate within min
utes.

He had to laugh because everything he'd bought for his own apartment either came in leather so it could be wiped down, or in some kind of dark fabric that didn't show the dirt. When the boys decided to come over for a night of poker he didn't need to worry about the mess they'd leave be
hind.

Yes, he had a housekeeper who took care of the cleaning and stocking his refrigerator. But when he'd brought in a local designer to make the place livable, he'd requested the place be a typical guy's paradise—­big TV, ear-­splitting surround sound, and plenty of beer in the fr
idge.

Lucy's cozy house felt like a
home.

Minutes later when she came back downstairs she'd covered up with a fuzzy white robe she'd probably put on for protection against his wandering eyes. Too bad her efforts came a little too late. He had a great imagination. And because he'd already seen her in the skimpy top, all he could picture was what was under that robe and how he'd like to peel it
off.

As a teen back in high school he'd liked Lucy. Enjoyed her company. Appreciated the way her mind worked. But he'd never looked at her like he wanted to strip her down and mess he
r up.

But he sure was looking
now.

N
othing seemed crazier than Jordan Kincade standing in the middle of her living room looking both incredibly out of place and amazingly hot in jeans that fit like a lover's hand, a snug black T-­shirt, and his black leather jacket. Wickedness dripped off him like tempting dark choco
late.

For the past few years Lucy had tried to put away those kinds of feelings toward the opposite sex. She'd been fooled once by a pretty boy exterior; she didn't need a second go-­r
ound.

On second thought, Jordan wasn't pretty. He was manly and gorgeous. With his dark, wavy hair casually pushed off his forehead, those thick almost black brows lowered over a pair of striking blue eyes, and at least two days of beard scruff on his chiseled jaw, he looked intense, powerful, and passio
nate.

He played a violent game for a living, one that drew thousands to pump their fists in the air when blood was drawn. She'd seen a few of his games on TV and she'd been astonished at the level of brutality. Knowing what he was capable of and the way those intense blue eyes looked at her now, she should feel threatened. At the very least, t
ense.

Incredibly, she felt something very diffe
rent.

On a weird, illogical, purely core level, Jordan made her feel . . .
safe.

The idea almost made her laugh out
loud.

“I'll make some tea,” she said, breaking the spell. “Then you can fill me in on your ‘something really importan
t.'
”

“I'm not really a tea kind of guy.” He followed her into the kit
chen.

Tail wagging, Ziggy brought up the rear, completely demolishing his part of the whole I'll-­protect-­you-­and-­you-­protect-­me
deal.

“In that case”—­she reached into the cupboard for her jar of green tea—­“I guess you can say whatever you have to say and then be on your
way.”

“On second thought . . .” He sat down at her antique whitewashed table and Ziggy lay at his feet with a groan. “Tea sounds gr
eat.”

“You don't seem very s
ure.”

“I'm totally onboard. I . . . Ummm.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “I think your dog j
ust—­”

“Oh. Yes. He does that.” Lucy held back a laugh. “A
lot.”

“You probably buy a lot of air freshe
ner.”

“As a matter of fact I do.” The conversation was odd and it did nothing to alleviate the awareness wrapped around her spine like a boa constri
ctor.

He pointed to the bench on the opposite side of the table. “Is that a church
pew?”

“It is. I found it at a flea market in Oregon last sum
mer.”

While she put the kettle on the stove and dropped the teabags into mugs, he studied her kitchen from a chair that seemed two sizes too s
mall.

“A chandelier of Mason jars. A vintage hotel sign. And cupboards filled with milk glass. You sure like old and white st
uff.”

“I'm fond of the simplic
ity.”

“I'll say. Is there something specific that prompts t
hat?”

“What do you m
ean?”

He shrugged. “Usually when someone cuts clutter from their lives there's a reason behind
it.”

Yikes. Nail on the head. “So I can't just like clean and sim
ple?”

“You can like anything you want. You've made a really nice home here. Maybe all this white just makes me think of the trips I've taken to an ER to stitch something up or put it back in pl
ace.”

The idea turned her stomach. “I'm sure you get injured a lot in your
job.”

“More than I'd l
ike.”

“Judging by your tone I'm guessing it's not the injuries themselves that you're opposed to so much as losing the bat
tle.”

“I definitely don't like to l
ose.”

The wistfulness in his voice made her wonder if for him, losing the battle could also mean losing loved
ones.

There was nothing harder to see than a gladiator brought to his knees by something he couldn't control. Sympathy unexpectedly tugged at her heart. Before she got too buried in it, like a saving grace, the teakettle whistled. She pulled it from the burner, poured the hot liquid into mugs, and set one in front of
him.

“I like su
gar.”

“I'm sure in your line of business you can use all the sweetening you can get.” She handed him the sugar bowl, then she sat on the church pew and set her mug on the white linen placemat in front of her. “So, Mr. Kincade, tell me . . . exactly what is your ‘something really importan
t.'
”

“Ah, ah, ah. Private moment, Lucy.” He dropped two spoonfuls of sugar into his mug, and stirred. “Aren't you supposed to call me Jor
dan?”

She smiled. “Aren't you supposed to quench my curios
ity?”

“Cagey.” He grinned. “I like t
hat.”

“Don't get used to it. Sp
ill.”

“Something came up toni
ght.”

“And it couldn't wait until tomor
row?”

“Sometimes things can't wait.” A frown crinkled the smooth skin between his eyes as he sipped the hot tea. “The one thing I've learned in the past couple of weeks is that
nothing
can wait. If something needs to be said, now is better than later. You never know when your time is up. And if I'm going to help Nicki get past this trouble she's going through, it has to be now. No one ever knows if they'll get another tomor
row.”

“I'm sorry.” Unable to meet the dark emotion in his eyes, Lucy briefly glanced away. “Of course. I completely understand your urgency. So how can I h
elp?”

“I bought her a journal. You know, one of those fancy ones with flowers all over it. And I got her a set of colorful gel pens too. I thought maybe if she had something pretty to look at she might be inspired to write things down and get them out of her sys
tem.”

His thoughtfulness and sincerity touched her deeply. Lucy didn't know why it surprised her that he'd gone the extra mile for his sister with no prompting from anyone, but it definitely made her take an extra look. The man sitting at her little kitchen table appeared to be nothing like the person she'd imagined all those y
ears.