A Haunting Obsession. Miranda Lee
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away and climb into another bed? What made them so vulnerable to that one particular woman that they could think of nothing and no one else?
Such obsessions were the result of a sick mind, he used to believe. Or a weak character. Suddenly, he was gaining a different perspective on sexual obsession. And he didn’t like it one bit.
Jordan wanted no part of such a weakness, no part at all!
His inner torment was getting out of hand when his usual ruthless logic came to his rescue. This obsession—for want of a better word—was due to nothing more than an acute case of male frustration. He’d been working incredibly long hours over the past few weeks. Why, he hadn’t even had a spare hour to write, let alone make love.
Erica, of course, had been very understanding, which was only to be expected. Her lack of any real physical passion was something Jordan actually found reassuring. Hell, the last sort of woman he wanted for a wife would be one who actually needed sex. How would he be able to trust her when this sort of thing happened after they were married?
He could still remember that awful Saturday afternoon when he’d come home injured from soccer practice, only to stumble across his mother ‘entertaining’ a man who wasn’t his father on the sofa. He’d been just fifteen and up till then had thought his mother little short of a saint.
He’d stood there, white-faced and shaken, while she’d scrambled into some clothes and shuffled the man out of the back door. When she’d returned to face her son, she’d launched into a muddled explanation, all the while floods of tears running down her flushed cheeks.
Jordan had listened to her pleas for understanding with a chilled heart. She’d claimed she still loved his father but that he was hardly ever home, his ambition to become a judge taking up all his spare time. She’d sobbed that she needed company, needed to be loved.
Needed to be screwed, more like it, he’d decided, having seen the man she’d chosen for her lover. He’d been very good-looking and very common, with tattoos over his arms. Not the type to know much about love, only sex.
She’d begged him not to tell his father, and he hadn’t. But someone else must have, for he’d overheard his parents having a bitter row that night.
Nothing was ever the same after that. His parents hadn’t divorced, but an air of cold remoteness had descended on their relationship which never thawed. Adultery had destroyed his parents’ marriage, plus his own respect for his mother. It was the ultimate betrayal, in his opinion, and Jordan wanted no part of it!
He decided then and there to ask Erica to marry him this very night. Make the commitment official, after which he would sweep her off to bed. That should set his equilibrium to right!
‘By all means call me Mr Vine-Hall, if you’re more comfortable with that,’ Jordan resumed, his tone crisp. ‘I wouldn’t like you to think I was trying to come on to a married woman.’
Bonnie swallowed. Had she been thinking that? Admittedly, she’d been flustered by his suddenly being nice to her, but she hadn’t really stopped to find a reason for it. Her brain seemed to have been scrambled by his smile along with her body.
She steeled herself and looked over at him. He was no longer smiling, but when their eyes met an electric charge seemed to sizzle across the space between them, making her stomach tighten and her breasts prickle alarmingly, Intuition told her that he would come on to her if she weren’t a married woman.
Tell him you’re not married, whispered an insidious little voice. Tell him you’re a widow.
She clenched her jaw underneath the force of the temptation, shuddering inside as she remembered where her carnal weaknesses had led her last time—to hell and back. No way could she risk such treatment again. No way. Let him continue to think she was married. It was the only wise course of action.
‘Of course I don’t think that, Jordan,’ she said, amazing herself at the cool tone she’d found in her desperation. ‘I can recognise a gentleman when I see one. Now, there’s a place at Bateau Bay which I’d like to show you. The lady who owns it is sure to be home and doesn’t mind if I drop in at any time.’
His returning smile was rather wry, she thought, but infinitely preferable to his earlier, disturbingly sensual offering. ‘I’m totally at your disposal,’ he said.
Bonnie managed to keep a straight face, despite her decidedly x-rated thoughts. God, she was wicked. Wicked and weak. She’d been afraid this would happen to her one day. No, not afraid—terrified! She’d always known it was still there, deadly and dormant, despite those last months of marriage having seemingly frozen every desire for sex she had ever had.
OK, so it had taken an exceptional man to melt her ice, but still... that ice had proven to be a disconcertingly thin layer. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her mind skittering from one erotic image to another, couldn’t stop her body flooding with a sexual awareness that was both appalling yet insidiously exciting.
Hating herself, she carefully put on her right-hand indicator and headed north.
Jordan didn’t like the first place she showed him. Too large, he said. Or the second. Too small. Or the third. Too noisy. The fourth seemed to find some favour, though he would not be drawn into over-effusiveness. By this time it was half-past one and when he suggested that they stop somewhere for a bite to eat Bonnie reluctantly agreed. Already, time spent with the man had increased her awareness of his physical attractions. Added to that was an admiration of the man himself, and what he did for a living.
He was a barrister. Not an ordinary barrister, either. A queen’s counsel. It was no wonder he was impressive, not only in his looks but his general bearing. Never had Bonnie seen a man carry himself with such superb aplomb. Or was the word panache?
Whatever, there was no doubt he was the most self-contained, self-possessed man she had ever come across, not to mention the most attractive. The prospect of just the two of them having an intimate little lunch together was daunting indeed. But she could hardly object. Besides, she was starving herself.
They ended up at a café in a small shopping square in Erina which had umbrellaed tables outside in the sun and a delightful little menu. Bonnie chose a vegetable pie with a side-salad and coffee, Jordan opting for the same, but with chips and a bread roll included.
‘Have you been selling real estate long?’ was his first question after they’d given their orders.
‘Two years,’ she admitted, reminding herself to be careful not to accidentally reveal her widow status. Continuing with the ruse was more difficult than she’d realised. A couple of times already she’d almost unconsciously given the game away.
‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘Refreshingly honest and not pushy. I’ll bet you’ve been very successful.’
‘I have been of late. I even won a pewter mug for best salesperson last month.’
‘Ahh...’
His ‘ahh’ sparked her curiosity. ‘What do you mean by “ahh”?’
‘Nothing, really. Do you work at the weekend?’
‘Almost always.’
That eyebrow lifted again. It was a habit of his, she realised, the gesture carrying a range of expressions from merely curious to cynical to drily amused to downright sarcastic. She could well imagine him using it to good effect in court to undermine a witness’s testimony, or as a clever personal aside with the jury. She could see him now, setting those jet-black eyes of his on some highly susceptible woman juror, lifting that eyebrow and immediately creating an intimate little bond between them.
‘What about this weekend?’ he asked. ‘Will you be working this weekend?’
‘Yes.’
His frown confused her a little. What was it he wanted to do this weekend? Surely he wasn’t going to ask her out, not when he thought her a married woman?
Such a prospect should have