Chapter Two

      JORDAN RETURNED TO his condo and showered, scrubbing off the sweat from his run. He’d gone several extra miles, trying to tire himself so that he could sleep on West Coast time, instead of Fiji’s clock. Changing time zones could be a challenge, especially for a chronic insomniac.

      His encounters with Nicole wouldn’t make sleep easier, especially if he couldn’t erase the image of her on the fitness trail from his mind. Her heightened breathing had drawn attention to the spectacular figure beneath her close-fitting T-shirt. He’d been glad that his sweatpants were fairly loose, and annoyed that it had become an issue for him.

      It wasn’t as if he’d been starved for feminine companionship. Most recently he’d enjoyed the company of an attractive and intelligent woman in Fiji, who had simply wanted a vacation fling.

      Stepping out, he wiped the fog from the mirror and scrutinized his beard. In Fiji, he hadn’t paid attention to his appearance. It was a great place to practice just being alive, and he had been tempted to stay another month. But it was just as well that he was home again. If he’d continued drifting in tropical-beach mode, his writing might have suffered. His readers didn’t mind the occasional column about food or interesting parts of the world, but most of the time they expected a sharp edge to his writing.

      Amazing how much hair could grow in a few weeks. It took a while to shave, then he showered again to wash away the last prickly bits.

      After dressing he felt more like himself and sat down with his computer. Syd had sent him a ton of material. He didn’t mind research, he just wasn’t interested in the notes about Nicole. Still, he’d agreed to do the articles and would make good on his promise.

      One of Nicole’s last jobs had been modeling swimsuits and other sportswear, and she’d also done a top designer’s wedding collection. Her absence from the modeling scene hadn’t been immediately noticed because the fashion world tended to work ahead of itself, so after Nicole had dropped out a few months ago, magazine covers and ads with her image had continued to appear for a while. They still were, for that matter.

      According to the research material, the Moonlight Ventures talent agency had been purchased around the time of Nicole’s last job, and the buyers had been Nicole, Adam Wilding, Rachel Clarion and Logan Kensington. All were connected to the fashion world and were supposedly close friends. Though Nicole was the only one on the Seattle scene full time, there were reports that the others would eventually join her.

      Jordan immediately started wondering if egos might get in the way of running the agency. It seemed possible.

      There was an interesting entry from the researcher that Nicole’s decision to “retire” had apparently come shortly after attending her sister’s wedding to a Montana building contractor. Jordan had liked Emily George, who’d been in a number of his classes. She’d been nice, funny and smart. Even as a kid it hadn’t seemed right to him the way her parents focused their energy and attention on Nicole, leaving Emily on the periphery.

      In the notebook he kept for possible ideas to explore in his newspaper columns, he wrote a suggestion—parental favoritism, long-term effects?

      After reading for an hour, he closed the computer, got up and stretched. His muscles were tense despite the run. It wasn’t the articles ramping up the stress; he was worried about his sister. While Chelsea hadn’t been seriously injured in the car accident, the whole thing was mixed up with her skunk of a boyfriend. The other driver had been at fault, but it had complicated her breakup with Ron.

      His other sister, Terri, was trying to convince Chelsea to fly up to Seattle from Los Angeles for a visit. Jordan had already gotten her a ticket, hoping she’d decide to come.

      In the meantime, he had a job to do. Jumping to his feet, he grinned. Maybe Nicole could use some help painting the interior of her house.

      * * *

      WHEN THE DOORBELL rang Nicole thought it was her pizza being delivered. And it was, except a clean-shaven Jordan was holding the box as the delivery guy walked back to his car.

      He’d looked good with the beard, but without it he was strikingly handsome.

      “Hello,” she said, taking the box. “You probably cost that pizza joint any future business from me. A delivery person shouldn’t just hand a pizza to a stranger on the street.”

      “Aren’t you being harsh?” Jordan protested.

      “No. You aren’t a woman who needs to feel secure about food being delivered to her door. And the person making the delivery. Ask your sisters how they’d feel in the same situation.”

      He frowned. “I never thought of it that way. I offered the guy a good tip, but for all he knew, I was a stalker or something.”

      “Exactly.”

      “I apologize. Look, I didn’t know you’d ordered a pizza, so I got takeout on the way over. How about a potluck dinner?”

      “I told you I was painting.”

      “But you’re obviously stopping to eat, and I came set to help.” He held up a new paint roller with one hand and a large bag with the other.

      Nicole eyed him. Even as a kid, Jordan could always find an angle to work. The high school science teacher had thought he’d make an innovative researcher because of it. The soccer coach had proclaimed him the next star because he was so clever and agile. Everyone had liked Jordan, saying he’d be great, whatever he decided to do.

      They hadn’t said the same thing about her. The assumption had been that she would use her appearance to make money until she married rich or something. Perhaps she’d been too sensitive about it, but that was the impression everyone had given.

      Lord. What was that line from the Jane Austen Book Club movie...about high school never being over? Nicole didn’t believe it had to be that way, but it was a challenge not to remember adolescent growing pains when one of the ghosts of high school past was writing about her current life.

      “How about it?” Jordan coaxed.

      “For serious labor, okay,” she agreed, deciding it was time to exorcise this particular ghost, once and for all.

      “I’m here until it’s done,” he promised.

      “Or until I throw you out,” she corrected him.

      “Okay.”

      Nicole led the way to her breakfast bar and Jordan glanced around. “You weren’t kidding about liking modern kitchens. This one is top-notch. Are you interested in cooking?”

      “I’ve never had much time for it, but I’ll do more once my schedule isn’t as crazy. You know kitchens?” she asked.

      He put the take-out bag on the counter next to the pizza. “I enjoy cooking, especially the dishes I’ve encountered on my travels.”

      “That’s right, I saw your column about the subtleties of Thai and Indian curry.”

      “You read my work?”

      “Occasionally. I don’t look for it, but I don’t avoid it, either,” she said truthfully. From what she’d read, she had concluded Jordan’s columns were often cynical,