Sparring Partners (2 page)

How in hell was he going to find a wife by
Friday? He ran his fingers through his hair, loosened his tie until
it looked like someone had tried and failed to strangle him with
it, and set off at a clip most people reserved for jogging toward
the art museum. He needed a quiet place to plot his next move.

He retied his hair punishingly tight at his
nape. Jordon just wanted to think, not scare the patrons, and he
was sure his countenance was scary enough without his hair sticking
out like Einstein's.

...

"Find a wife by Friday. You have thirty days
to make her love you."

"And the hits just keep on coming." Jordon
said, under his breath, grateful the museum's patrons were giving
him wide berth. Jordon thought he must look as crazy as he felt.
Talking to himself as he stared sightlessly at a giant stone Buddha
probably wasn't helping him blend.

"I need to enroll in Sensei Schwartz's dojo
today before I put my fist through something or someone I
shouldn't." Jordon laughed to himself without mirth. "That is,
right after I find some nice,
real
, woman to marry me".

Jordon looked around.

The woman at the ticket desk scowled at him.
He winked at her and headed toward the coffee shop before she
called security.

There were a number of obstacles he was
going to have to overcome. First: Jordon didn't know any real
women. Every woman Jordon slept with over the last two decades,
with the exception of an Australian opera singer, was either a
model or an actress, and William knew it.

Second: He didn't have time to fly to
London, Paris, or Milan to find a real woman, marry her, and bring
her back by Friday.

Third: Even if he managed to find some poor
deluded soul to marry within William's ridiculous timeline, how on
God's green earth was he going to convince this mystery woman to
love him? Jordon knew, with the kind of certainty seven-year-olds
reserved for Santa Claus, that he was not loveable.

Jordon stopped outside the coffee shop door,
pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the
tension headache beginning to build in his temples. He closed his
eyes, concentrating on slowly breathing in and out, in and out.
After seven seconds of rhythmic breathing, his headache receded and
he felt almost human again.

That was until the coffee shop door smacked
him in the face.

It took Jordon a tenth of a second or so
after his eyes flew open and his brain recognized he now had a
physical reason for the pounding in his head to register the cold,
wet, gooey substance seeping through his silk shirt, making its way
down his hand tailored Italian suit pants.

His eyes narrowed and he let out an audible
growl just as a gangly teenager stepped around the tempered glass
door and started awkwardly to rub Jordon dry with a handful of
rapidly dissolving tiny paper napkins.

"Ah, hey, man. Sorry. Didn't see you
there."

Jordon moved to still the boy's hand before
the kid put a hole in his shirt. Not that it mattered, the shirt,
like the life he'd had when he woke up this morning, was
unsalvageable.

A tiny but strong hand manacled his wrist
before Jordon could disengage the kid.

"Don't you touch him." There was such menace
and promise of dread in that voice that Jordon couldn't help but be
surprised by the red-headed elf attached to it, as she pushed her
way around the much taller kid and glared up into Jordon's eyes.
She looked like a fuzzy orange kitten trying to protect a docile
Rottweiler. Useless. Futile even, but spitting mad anyway, even in
the face of obvious danger.

Jordon almost laughed, but something in her
eyes made him stop. In that moment he recognized a kindred soul.
Before him stood a woman who would do anything to protect those she
loved, including standing up to what had to be Goliath to her
David.

Before him stood a real woman. She certainly
was no model, not topping out at five foot nothing, sporting a mop
of unruly red hair, and a scowl that would frighten the devil
himself. A real woman, with real love in her heart. He could work
with that.

Jordon smiled at her. Her eyes flared and he
must have surprised her because she dropped her hand and stepped
back, careful to keep the kid, who topped her by at least a head
and a half, behind her.

"Are you crazy"? She asked, clearly
believing he was.

"Apparently."

The kid spoke, drawing Jordon's attention
reluctantly away from the elf's widened blue-green eyes.

"I'm sorry about your shirt. I'll have it
cleaned for you. Your tie too." The kid sounded sincere. He was
polite, about sixteen, and he managed to hold Jordon's gaze without
wavering, something men twice his age had trouble doing. Jordon was
impressed despite himself. The kid's demeanor spoke well of him and
the elf.

Until she spoke again. "This isn't your
fault, Jesse. He's the one who was standing in front of a glass
door with his eyes closed." She captured Jordon's gaze, narrowed
her eyes, and sweetened her false smile. "Just how drunk were you
last night, and why are you walking it off in an art museum? You
look like someone tried to strangle you with that tie. Shouldn't
you be sleeping it off near the airport instead of growling at
strangers?"

Well she got the strange part right and she
wasn't far off on the tie. Even so, Jordon didn't like mouthy
women. He especially disliked sawed-off ones with more bravado than
sense, even if they sported ocean colored eyes, a mouth meant for
sex, and enough curves for a man to hold onto even if he had to
pick her up to kiss her.

"Reed, please, I hit him with the door.
Remember? If I hadn't tripped, he wouldn't be wearing my breakfast.
Give the guy a break." Jesse said.

"Seems to me he shouldn't be standing with
his eyes closed right in front of a door."

"He's the one with the ruined clothes. This
really isn't his fault. He doesn't look or smell like he's been out
all night. Why are you being so hard on him? It's not like you at
all."

Jordon heard enough. The art museum needed
to post a sign saying:
No red-headed elven harpies with great
eyes escorting yogurt throwing, overgrown teenagers allowed.
Violators will be spanked by the throw-ee
.

He sent one narrow eyed searing glance
toward the leprechaun from Hades, nodded toward the kid and turned
and walked away without a word. What was the point? He'd had enough
stress for one day. He couldn't wait to start at Sensei Schwartz's
dojo. He really needed to hit something soon.

He heard rapid footsteps behind him before a
small hand gripped his arm. He let her stop him because it was the
most efficient thing to do. He was not going to engage with her
though. Jordon couldn't see any up-side to that conversation. He
didn't turn around, he made her come around to him.

"Jesse is right. I am sorry I acted so
rudely". She said, sounding like she meant it. "I saw your thousand
dollar suit, and something inside me shouted, "Warning, jerk
alert"."

Jordon couldn't decide if he should continue
to be offended by her outrageousness, or laugh. The sincerity on
her face as she insulted him, coupled with the twinkle in her eyes,
made him smile. He had a few warning bells of his own going off
inside his head, but surprisingly, his headache was gone.

"I
am
sorry." she said again.

She didn't sound like she believed herself,
and the flush on her cheeks gave proof to her lie. He quirked a
brow, and the flush deepened. She held his gaze though and stuck
one foot out, like she was gearing up to argue the point. He
waited, curious to hear what she'd come up with. She didn't
apologize again. Instead, she held out her small hand and
waited.

When he didn't respond quickly enough, she
demanded, "Give me your tie. If I can't get it cleaned I'll buy you
another one. And another shirt."

"You can't afford them." He said.

Withdrawing her hand before he could shake
it or disrobe into it, she cocked her head at him and smiled,
sending her mop of red-gold curls bouncing. When her eyes narrowed,
he knew he'd pissed her off. For some perverse reason he couldn't
name, Jordon was enjoying her reaction. Since he didn't have to get
back to work, and he didn't have any place he needed to be for the
next month, he could afford a few more minutes in wet clothes while
he watched her steam.

"If I have to dance naked on a street corner
shaking a tambourine and whistling Dixie, I'll find the cash to
replace your overpriced shirt and tie." She said, sticking out her
chest and batting her glorious eyes at him, hand extended again
like she really expected him to turn over his tie.

"As much as that image appeals to me, and it
does, have dinner with me instead. You can dance after I feed you.
Or before. " Jordon shrugged. "I could go either way." Some of the
tightness he'd felt since his meeting with William eased as she
stood toe to toe sparring with him.

"I don't own any overpriced clothing."

"Doesn't matter. Especially if you're intent
on dancing naked. What you've got on now will do." Jordon shrugged,
looking at her well worn concert-t-shirt. "Although I prefer
Aerosmith to Alice Cooper."

"Why?" She asked.

"Alice Cooper's a little one dimensional for
my taste."

She waved that away. "My son just ruined
your clothes. Why take me to dinner?"

Jordon lost the smile he didn't know he was
sporting until it was gone. "My apologies. I didn't see a ring. I
didn't realize you were married. Don't worry about the shirt and
tie. No problem." He took a step towards the exit, but she blocked
him.

"I'm not married. Not anymore."

Jordon's shoulders relaxed and the acid in
his stomach seemed to neutralize. Then he remembered the kid called
her Reed. "Your son calls you by your first name?"

She waved that away too. "Jesse's only been
my son for two years. It's a long story."

"Tell me over dinner." Jordon didn't
normally have to ask twice, but this time he wanted to. "Come on.
I'll bring a tambourine."

The smile she gave him transformed a
perfectly pleasant face into a beautiful one. She had the kind of
fresh faced attractiveness that he knew from experience would get
more beautiful every time he saw it. That kind of beauty was
dangerous, it never grew old. He should have just kept walking. He
didn't really have time to enjoy himself, and, he didn't need a
relationship. He needed a wife.

Jordon was about to tell her he'd forgotten
a prior commitment when she pulled a card from the back pocket of
her well worn jeans and slapped it into his hand.

"Pick me up at seven." Grinning widely, she
winked at him. "Wear the tie. We'll add some salsa stains for
variety." Reed turned and bounced back toward her son of two years,
who looked to be at least sixteen. She looked back over her
shoulder at him, before pulling Jesse away. She was interested, and
interesting, and she wore trouble like a neon warning sign around
her neck.

Instead of doing the smart thing, Jordon
looked at the card.
Reed M. Mohr - Mediation Specialist
.
Judgmental little thing, for a mediator. He put Reed's card in his
pocket, pulled out his cell, turned it on and punched one on his
speed dial. His friend and head of security, Henry Platske,
answered before the first ring ended.

"Where the hell are you?" Henry yelled into
the phone. "You left B.H. without me. Not cool. Do you want me to
station two of my guys with you 24/7? You're lucky you didn't get
your ass kidnapped."

Jordon pinched the bridge of his nose again.
He'd forgotten all about Henry when he fled B.H.'s conference room
after meeting with William. "Are you done?"

"Stay where you are, I'm coming to you."
Henry said.

"Henry, take your bodyguard hat off for a
second and just be my friend." The silence on the other end of the
phone meant Henry wasn't done tracking him yet.

"Give me a break, Henry. I need you to run a
name for me. Not just the average background check, I want
everything you can find. And I need it by five."

"Shoot." Henry replied, all business.

"Reed M. Mohr. She does mediation at this
address."

Jordon heard some clicking sounds right
before Henry said, "Got her. What's so important about this
woman?"

"Don't know yet, but I want to know
everything about her. Find out her ring size too. Just in
case."

CHAPTER THREE

William Bennett brushed a lock of silver
streaked dark brown hair from his lover's face as she slept,
wondering just when she'd give in and marry him. He'd been asking
for the past eight years, she'd been a widow for ten, surely she'd
had enough time to get used to the idea. As sick as he was of all
the sneaking around, he'd never give up on Lily. He'd loved her too
long and too deeply to ever let her go.

William's hand trailed into the sheets as he
pulled them up farther on his chest. He liked to sleep with the
windows open, enjoying the light breeze off Lake Michigan. It was
cool for mid-June in Milwaukee, cooler than Omaha, where his home
office was. Hopefully he'd be on a plane back there soon, just as
soon as Jordon settled in here, and the Milwaukee office was
running efficiently. Then he would drag Lily to the altar, kicking
and screaming if he had to. William wanted to be her husband, not
her secret.

Lily opened her sleepy blue eyes, softly
wrinkled at the corners, proof of how often she laughed and how
quickly she smiled. She was smiling sleepily at him now. Remnants
of last night's mascara still smudged the small circles under her
eyes. Lily was never more beautiful to him than when she was in
this gloriously tossed state, still sleepy from making love most of
the night before. Her smile remained as youthful as the first time
he'd seen it, when she came home in the arms of his brother,
wearing his brother's ring. William loved her then. He loved her
still, but, he didn't return her smile.