CHAPTER SIX

      JORDAN managed to make it home without shedding a tear. Pride prevented her from breaking down in the hotel, or during the taxi ride home. But the moment she was alone, with her door safely locked behind her, everything came crashing in around her.

      Her legs suddenly buckled and she sank to the floor where she stood. Her knees hit the tiled foyer first, and her cry was not one of physical pain but of emotional distress.

      ‘Oh, Gino,’ she sobbed as her head tipped forward into her hands.

      And there she stayed, as if she was in prayer.

      But she wasn’t praying, she was weeping. And despairing.

      For there were no illusions left for her now.

      All these years she’d thought that her memory of Gino had been spoiling her relationships with men. And maybe that was true. But it had been a bittersweet memory, because she’d always believed Gino had loved her.

      But he hadn’t loved her. He’d merely wanted her, the way he’d wanted her tonight. Not for anything lasting, just for sex.

      That discovery had been bad enough. Finding out that his whole persona had been an illusion was even worse. He wasn’t some struggling Italian immigrant, trying to make a good life for himself through hard work. He was a silver-tail, slumming it for a while up here in Sydney. Roughing it—with her.

      Tonight had just been a shorter version of what he’d done ten years ago.

      Okay, so he probably had been going to change his flight till Sunday. But his motive had still been totally selfish. After all, why look a gift-horse in the mouth?

      And, brother, what a gift-horse she was where he was concerned. Fifteen miserable minutes and she’d been up there in his room, ready and willing to take her clothes off. Ready for just about anything.

      If she hadn’t found that plane ticket he would have had his wicked way with her for the whole weekend, then flown off back to Melbourne, to his real life and his real girlfriend.

      Thinking about that had Jordan sitting back on her heels and wiping the tears from the cheeks. What on earth was she doing, crying over such a man? He was a bastard through and through.

      Scooping in a gathering breath, Jordan got to her feet and walked quickly to her bedroom. No more was she going to let Gino Betolli spoil things for her. No more. When Chad rang her in the morning she would accept his proposal of marriage, and she would do her level best not to think of Gino ever again.

      But such resolves were easy to make, Jordan came to realise, once she’d stripped off and stepped into the shower. Living them was not so easy.

      Her body—especially her naked body—kept reminding her of Gino, the after-effects of his torrid lovemaking conspiring to keep him in her mind. Just moving the soapy sponge lightly between her legs made her belly tighten and her breath catch.

      This was what had happened to her when she’d lived with Gino. She’d been in a perpetual state of arousal. Her flesh had craved his constantly, craved release from the sexual tension he created in her.

      It craved release now…

      Jordan dropped the sponge, then slowly slid her back down the wet tiles till she was sitting on the shower floor. Her arms lifted to wrap around her drawn-up knees, her head dropping forward as she surrendered once more to tears.

      ‘Oh, Gino,’ she cried. ‘Gino…’

      The phone woke her, its persistent ringing getting through the blissful oblivion which had finally descended on Jordan last night, courtesy of the painkillers she’d taken—strong ones she used when she had a migraine. Unfortunately, they had to tendency to leave her a little groggy the next day.

      Rolling over with a groan, she picked up the extension near her bed and shoved it between her ear and the pillow.

      ‘Yes?’ Not exactly a breezy hello.

      ‘Jordan? Is that you?’

      The sound of Chad’s voice had her sitting up and pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. A glance at the bedside clock shocked her. It was nearly ten.

      ‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said more brightly. ‘Have you arrived yet?’

      ‘Just. Thought I’d ring you before I got out in the New York traffic. You sounded sleepy just now. Did I wake you?’

      ‘Sort of. I…um…I had a late night.’

      ‘A late night doing what?’

      A rush of guilt had Jordan being grateful Chad couldn’t see her. Not that he was all that intuitive. Chad was the sort of man who only saw what he wanted to see. He honestly thought her turning down his proposal was just her playing hard to get. He clearly had no doubts that she would say yes, even leaving the engagement ring with her—a family heirloom which had belonged to his grandmother.

      ‘Working,’ she lied. ‘I have to wrap up the Johnson case on Monday, remember?’

      ‘You’ve become a bit obsessed by that case, don’t you think?’

      ‘No.’ Her client was a young woman whose husband had been killed in a train derailment. Shock and grief had sent her into early labour, with their premature baby boy not making it. When the government had finally offered her compensation, several years later, they hadn’t included anything for the pain and loss of her child. They’d called her son a foetus, not worthy of consideration as a human being. She’d come to Jordan wanting not a fortune, but justice.

      Jordan aimed to get justice for her. Which she would—if she could get her head into gear and prepare a killer of a closing argument this weekend.

      ‘You work too hard, Jordan.’

      ‘I enjoy my work, Chad.’ More than enjoyed. She’d feel totally empty without it.

      ‘Have you thought about what I asked you the other night?’

      Jordan’s chest tightened. She’d known he’d get round to this sooner or later.

      ‘Yes,’ she said.

      ‘And?’

      This was it: the moment of truth. Did she have the courage of her convictions?