A Valentine Kiss. Christy McKellen
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but that shouldn’t take too long.’
There was a pause, almost as if Jordan had wanted to say something else and then decided not to. She glanced at him and saw an unreadable expression on his face. That in itself told her something was bothering him, but still she refused to ask him. That wasn’t supposed to be her job any more.
‘This is different,’ he said, abruptly changing the topic.
She followed his gaze and for the first time since Jordan had first brought her to his father’s house she saw the brown cupboards and cream countertops. But since that was the part of the kitchen that hadn’t changed, she knew he was referring to her new additions.
‘I thought a little colour might cheer the place up.’ She didn’t add that she’d hoped it would cheer his father up, as well. Greg had always been a man of a few words, and often she’d thought that it was because of sadness. He hadn’t ever spoken much about his wife—like father, like son—but when he had she’d seen that Greg had loved and missed her. And then in his ill health and missing Jordan, his sadness had become grumpiness and sometimes even meanness.
Jordan was watching her when she looked up, a complicated expression on his face, and she wondered if he realised what she hadn’t said after all.
‘I knew it would be something like that,’ he said, and it sounded forced. ‘I would never have pegged Dad as a fuchsia kind of guy.’ He nodded his head to the curtains and matching utensils that were scattered across the counters.
She smiled a little, felt her guard ease a touch. ‘I think he grew fond of it after a while. Though at the beginning he made all sorts of noises.’ The smile widened. ‘And then he started seeing how the colour lightened up the place, and how the art helped me, and he got much better then.’
The walls were covered with her mosaic artwork—something her doctor had once suggested she do to keep herself busy during a postaccident, postbaby check-up—and she was quite proud of it. It made her remember the simple things she had taken pleasure in before her life had been destroyed.
‘How did it help you?’
He said the words so quietly that at first she didn’t register what he’d asked. And then she realised that her guard was down, and her shoulders stiffened in response. It shouldn’t be this easy to slip up in front of him, she thought. Not when slipping up meant talking to him about the time she was trying to move on from. Not when it meant him prodding her about it again.
‘It just gave me something to keep busy with while I recovered,’ she said firmly, and then turned to put the oven on and slide the trays with the pizzas into it.
She took her time with it, and it didn’t take long for Jordan to get the picture. After a few moments, she heard the shower being turned on and she sighed with relief.
He was getting under her skin, she thought. He had always been able to do that to her, from the moment she had first taken that glass of wine from him two years ago. She’d forgotten all her insecurities then—had slipped into those enticing eyes of his and had believed that they would last, that she could be someone he wanted. Someone he needed.
The past didn’t matter now, she thought, checking the pizzas. She had been young and completely in love then. Now she knew better. She could protect herself now—she would protect herself, regardless of how easy it seemed to be to slip up in front of him. Whether it was out of anger, or out of familiarity, she would control it.
A sharp pain snapped her from her thoughts, and she looked down to see an angry welt spread across her hand where she had reached for the oven tray without a mitt. She rolled her eyes as she ran the hand under cold water, blaming her silly thoughts for distracting her, but grateful that she had only used one hand instead of both, as she usually did.
Once the pain had subsided to a throb, she saw the welt was threatening to blister and rushed to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit and the gel she knew would soothe the burn.
She realised too late that Jordan was still in there, and barely had the chance to move back before the door opened. A cloud of steam followed a muscular body precariously covered by her white-and-pink towel out of the room.
‘I’m so sorry! I was just—’ She felt her face redden as she tried to avert her eyes from Jordan’s half-naked body.
Except every time she tried, her eyes moved back to him of their own accord. She had been right when she’d thought his body was more muscular than she remembered. His broad shoulders were more defined, the muscles in his chest and abs sculpted so perfectly that she wondered if it were possible for her insides to burn, as well. Then she cleared her throat and told herself that she had seen him like this before. There was no reason to panic.
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, I just need to get the first-aid kit.’ She gestured to her hand and was quite proud of the way she’d managed to put words together in the calm tone her voice had taken.
Which all went out the window when he immediately walked to her and took her hand in his.
‘What happened?’
‘I...I burned myself.’ Her mind was whirling at the feel of her hand in his, at the contact between them—however minimal. But her heart was the problem—it was thumping at a rhythm she thought she couldn’t possibly sustain, merely because of his proximity.
‘Still a clumsy cook, I see. Even when you’re just heating pizza,’ he said softly, and then he led her into the bathroom.
She had no choice but to stand there as he reached for the first-aid kit. He pulled out the soothing gel and spread it gently over her burn, and the heat went from her hand to the rest of her. His body was still warm from the shower, and she could smell his body wash—the same kind he’d used before they had broken up. The same kind that had thrilled her each time she had smelled it.
And suddenly her heart and her body longed for him with an intensity that had her backing away from him.
‘It’s fine, thanks. I’ll finish this up in the kitchen.’ She grabbed the kit and almost ran back to the kitchen, not caring if he saw.
All she cared about was putting some distance between them so she could try and convince herself that he wasn’t affecting her.
* * *
‘Did you manage to call Lulu?’ Jordan asked Mila when he’d finally got his body back under control.
He hadn’t expected her to react like that after seeing him in a towel. The look she had given him before she had bolted had been filled with the desire that had marked their entire relationship, and his body had acted accordingly. But that was over now, he told himself, and he was making an effort to forget it. Except that all of a sudden he was noticing the curve of her neck, the faint blush of her cheeks...
‘I did,’ she replied, her voice husky, and he thought that maybe she wasn’t as recovered as she pretended to be. ‘She’s coming over to the house tomorrow.’
Something in her voice made him forget about the curls that had escaped the clip she’d tied her hair back with. He looked up, saw the shaky hands that handed him his pizza and a glass of wine, and something pulled inside him.
‘You’re worried.’
‘About seeing her?’ She picked up her glass and plate, walking past him on her way to the lounge.
He followed, saw that she took one couch, and sat on the other. He didn’t need another reason to be distracted by her. He watched as she broke a piece of pizza from the rest, but didn’t lift it to her mouth.
‘No, I think that’s going to be fine,’ she said, and lifted her head with a defiant smile.
But he could still see the uncertainty, and he knew that she was pretending. He just didn’t know for whom.
‘Do you really?’
‘Yeah, of course. I mean, we’ve spoken in the last year.’