To Be A Bridegroom

CHAPTER TWO

JORDAN watched Stazy leave, really watched her, seeing her as more than just the beautiful redhead who lived next door to him, and whom he had only really noticed for the first time yesterday.

There was no doubt she was beautiful: those candid blue eyes, the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her tiny nose, her wide, smiling mouth. Or that she moved with the natural grace of her countrywomen, her legs long and shapely, her figure stunning in a fitted blue dress.

Those were the reasons he had chosen to invite Stazy Walker to accompany him here this evening. But he had just realised there was a lot more to her than surface beauty. A lot more...

‘Don’t tell me you’re smitten, Jordan?’ the woman at his side said disgustedly. ‘The Hunter men are falling like flies!’

Jordan turned to Stella, his eyes as hard as the metal they resembled. ‘And what does that have to do with you?’ he said impatiently, all too aware of Stazy’s comment ‘I’ll catch up with you later’; unfortunately, something much more immediate had his attention now. A pity he hadn’t realised earlier that Stazy’s temperament matched her long, fiery-red hair. Later, he promised himself.

‘My darling boy—’

‘I am not your “darling” anything,’ he snarled, his expression contemptuous, completely unmoved by Stella’s kittenish looks; in her case, they were only skindeep! Literally. As her favourite cosmetic surgeon knew only too well! Hell, she looked little older than he did, forty at the most, and yet of course she was much older than that... ‘I suggest we get out of here.’ He firmly grasped her arm as he closed the door behind him, turning her to leave. ‘Before anyone else becomes aware of your presence.’

Stella stood her ground in the hallway. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Jordan,’ she resisted. ‘I want to see Jonathan on his wedding day. And, of course, Jarrett—’

‘Aren’t you rather presuming that any of us want to see you?’ Jarrett rasped harshly from behind them, having quietly left the reception room to join them. ‘And in the circumstances that’s presuming all too damned much! You’re an uninvited guest, Stella,’ he added coldly, looking down the length of his arrogant nose at her. ‘I suggest you leave right now—before I have you thrown out!’

Jordan looked admiringly at his oldest brother. As usual, Jarrett wasn’t pulling his punches. Stella now had an unattractive flush to her cheeks, her eyes glittering dangerously at Jarrett’s insulting tone, meeting his gaze challengingly. But, nonetheless, Jordan was in no doubt who would win this particular battle of wills!

‘You wouldn’t do that, Jarrett.’ Stella was finally the one to speak—and not as confidently as her words implied, either.

Jarrett’s mouth thinned. ‘Try me,’ he returned softly, meeting her defiance unflinchingly.

‘But I haven’t even seen Jonathan yet,’ Stella protested. ‘Or met his bride—’

‘And you aren’t about to, either,’ Jarrett bit back. ‘In another couple of hours Jonathan and Gaye will leave the reception. So far they have had a perfect day; I don’t intend letting you ruin it for them!’

‘That’s a very cruel thing to say to me, Jarrett. But then you always were unfeeling,’ Stella told him emotionally.

As displays went, it was certainly a good one, Jordan acknowledged cynically; tears swam in those huge brown eyes, and her chin quivered ever so slightly in an effort to control herself. But Jordan knew as well as Jarrett did that it was all an act; Stella had never cared for anyone else in the whole of her life, and she was too damned old to change now—despite her cosmetic surgeon!

Jordan’s mouth pursed contemptuously. ‘Jarrett is right, Stella,’ he said coldly. ‘You aren’t staying.’

He inwardly acknowledged he hadn’t exactly been the life and soul of the party today himself—for which he probably owed Stazy an apology. No wonder she had decided to leave so abruptly; she had been as sick of his company as he was!

But he also knew that Stella’s presence at the wedding reception was tantamount to introducing a cat amongst the pigeons. ‘I’ll take you wherever you want to go,’ he offered. ‘But you aren’t staying here.’

‘Oh, but I am,’ Stella informed him confidently. ‘Quite literally. I have a suite booked on the fourth floor!’ she announced triumphantly.

Where she had no doubt waited out the first part of the evening before coming down here to make her entrance! For Jordan didn’t doubt this whole thing had been premeditated, and he could see by Jarrett’s narrowed eyes that he knew it too.

‘What do you want, Stella?’ Jarrett snapped impatiently.

Her head went back defensively. ‘Why should you assume I want anything?’

Jarrett sighed. ‘Because your sort always want something—’

‘My sort!’ she repeated in a voice rising with hysteria. ‘How dare you? How dare you—?’

‘Believe me, he dares,’ Jordan told her dryly, still retaining that firm grasp of her arm; there was no way she was going to slip past both of them and make her entrance as planned. ‘And so dare I. Let’s go. Quietly,’ he instructed firmly, aware that he and Jarrett couldn’t remain out here for much longer before attracting attention to the fact they were both missing from the reception.

He didn’t give Stella any more opportunity to argue with him, pulling her along beside him down the hallway and back into the main reception of the hotel.

She waited only that long before pulling her arm out of his grip, glaring up at him, her face set in an angry mask. ‘You have no right, Jordan—’

‘I have every right!’ he returned icily. ‘And so does Jarrett. Jonathan too, if he knew you were here.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe the nerve of you, just turning up here and expecting a welcome!’

‘I am your mother!’ she cried furiously.

He looked at her dispassionately. Yes, this woman had given birth to him. To Jarrett and Jonathan too. But his mother...?

He didn’t think so! He had been fourteen when she’d walked out on him, his two older brothers, and her newly bankrupt husband. The previous years of his life had been filled with a long line of his mother’s lovers, and her verbally violent rows with their cuckolded father. As for the loving and caring part of motherhood—! Jarrett and Jonathan had more or less brought him up, looked out for him, even before their mother left; in fact, he couldn’t remember a single occasion when she had been there for him...

‘Mother is only a word, Stella,’ he said frigidly. ‘And in your case it isn’t even correct.’

He looked at her critically, her beauty, the slender figure, the fashionable clothes. None of it impressed him. He had seen this woman only once in the last twenty years, very briefly, after her second marriage had fallen apart and before she’d found husband number three. She had come to London to seek out her ‘little boys’, though at twenty-five, twenty-seven and twenty-nine they had hardly been that any more. If, indeed, they ever had been...

‘What’s happened, Stella?’ he asked dryly. ‘Has husband number three grown tired of you too?’

The angry flush that coloured her cheeks told him he had guessed correctly. It hadn’t been too difficult; they might have no contact with her, but Jarrett, in his wisdom, kept a weather eye on her life—in the hopes of ensuring it never interfered with theirs!

Stella looked at him accusingly. ‘You’re becoming as hard and unfeeling as Jarrett!’

‘We both had a good teacher,’ he returned hardly.

Stazy should be back at her apartment by now. If he could get away from Stella, return to the reception and make his excuses to Jonathan and Gaye, he might just be in time to call on Stazy before she went to bed...

Stazy in bed... That lithe, silken body naked, her only adornment her long flaming red hair...

Now there was something worth seeing. How ever could he not have noticed what a stirringly beautiful and desirable woman Stazy was?

He had been acting like a complete idiot all evening, scowling at everyone, barely speaking, and paying absolutely no attention to the woman he had brought with him. No wonder Stazy had walked out on him. What a fool he was! He might have sworn off marriage, but not women. There had been a beautiful female living next door to him for three months, and he hadn’t even noticed. Get your act together, Jordan, he remonstrated with himself. Stazy must think he was—

‘Why are you smiling?’ the woman who had given birth to him thirty-five years ago demanded indignantly. ‘This isn’t in the least bit funny—’

‘I couldn’t agree more, Mother.’ His mouth twisted derisively at the way she flinched at the name; a woman trying to look thirty-five did not want to be reminded she had a son of that age—and two more even older than that! ‘This situation isn’t funny, but you are hilarious. You want something, Stella, and we all know it, so I suggest you stop playing games and get to the point. But a word of advice: don’t use Jonathan’s wedding as a way to get what you want from Jarrett. You would regret it!’

‘Don’t threaten me, Jordan,’ she warned, her face pale now, set in harsh lines.

He shook his head wearily. ‘I said it was advice, and that’s exactly what it was. Go ahead and gatecrash the wedding.’ He waved invitingly towards the hallway leading to the reception room. ‘You’ll find yourself marched out of there again so fast you’ll wonder what happened to you! You think I’m becoming hard and unfeeling? Push Jarrett some more and see what happens. And heaven help you—because no one else will!’

She met his gaze for several seconds, and then she wavered, before dropping her eyes away completely, as she obviously rethought her game-plan.

Because this was a game to her, Jordan knew. She had been playing one game or another with them all her life. Playing mother had lasted long enough for her to produce the three boys, and for their father’s money to run out Then she had run off looking for another game to play. And, as Jordan had guessed earlier, this sudden urge to be ‘Mother’ again had something to do with her third marriage. Without a rich husband to support her she couldn’t maintain her lavish lifestyle. She needed money for that, and in the last twenty years her three sons had managed to amass quite a lot of that!

With a mother like her was it any wonder he was a cynic where women were concerned?

‘I really don’t have any more time to waste standing here talking to you, Stella,’ he told her hardly before turning away.

‘Running after Cinderella?’ she called after him tauntingly.

Jordan turned slowly back to face the woman he had once known as Mummy, feeling absolutely nothing towards her now. Not even hate, he realised. She was just a very sad woman, trying desperately to cling onto the things that mattered to her—her looks and the money to keep them. Outwardly she was beautiful, inwardly she was ugly. And there was nothing that plastic surgery could do to change that!

‘I’ve never run after a woman in my life,’ he replied before going back down the hallway to the reception.

He wasn’t ‘running after’ Stazy; after he had made the appropriate excuses to Jonathan and Gaye, he was simply going home. Stazy just happened to live in the apartment next door to his!

And who knew? Maybe tonight would be the night Stazy would kiss a prince and he wouldn’t turn into a frog...

She was a long time answering his ring on the doorbell. Probably she was surprised to hear the internal doorbell and not the entryphone. But she was certainly worth waiting for when she did finally open the door, having changed out of the blue dress into a pair of figurehugging blue denims and a skimpy blue top, her hair—beautiful, gloriously red hair, like a Renaissance painting—falling the length of her spine like a moving flame. And the freckles on her nose seemed more pronounced—and more endearing.

‘Jordan?’ She looked taken aback to see him standing there.

‘You didn’t have any champagne earlier.’ He smiled, holding up the cooled bottle of bubbly liquid and two glasses, that he had taken from the wedding reception on his way out. ‘An oversight I felt needed rectifying,’ he added huskily. It had been his own morose temper earlier that had created the ‘oversight’; he hadn’t even given her the common courtesy then of ensuring she was provided with a drink!

Her eyes widened, the deepest, clearest blue he had ever seen. ‘Wouldn’t you rather be sharing that with Stella?’ she queried, making no effort to open the door wider and move aside so that he could enter her apartment.

Not that he could blame her for that, either; he hadn’t exactly been attentive so far in their acquaintance. And from the cool way she was looking at him, he wasn’t sure he was going to be given the chance to make amends!

‘Stella is something else that needs rectifying,’ he drawled dismissively.

‘You don’t owe me any explanations, Jordan—’

‘I know that,’ he replied sharply. He didn’t owe any woman anything! ‘I just thought it would be nice if we shared some champagne together,’ he continued less aggressively—so much for making a fresh start with Stazy!

‘Okay,’ she accepted without further argument, opening the door to let him in.

Jordan was a little taken aback at her sudden acquiescence, but he stepped inside before she changed her mind as quickly.

Her apartment had the same layout as his own; he knew that because he had looked at it first when he was thinking of moving in five years ago, but in the end had decided that the apartment he had now possessed the better view of the two.

But as soon as he stepped inside he could see the differences in their tastes. Stazy had chosen decor in creams and golds, with bright splashes of orange, giving a much lighter, airier feel, a warmth, that his own green, cream and brown furnishings didn’t achieve.

The touches of orange in the rugs and scatter cushions somehow seemed to be the same shade of burnt copper as her hair, the furniture in the lounge she took him into consisting mainly of big, comfortable-looking armchairs and several huge bean-bags. Overall, Jordan felt a peace and restfulness amongst this casual comfort that he didn’t feel in his own apartment.

‘This is great,’ he told Stazy admiringly, putting the bottle of champagne and glasses down on a very low table. ‘You’ll have to give me the name of your interior designer.’

‘Stazy Walker,’ she provided softly.

His brows rose. ‘You decorated all of this yourself?’

Stazy nodded, smiling slightly at his obvious amazement. ‘I’m an interior designer.’

He gave the sitting room another look. She was good. Very good. And his apartment hadn’t been decorated since he’d moved in... Not that he spent a great deal of time there anyway, being either out at work, or just out. But if she could transform her own apartment in this way...

He picked up the bottle of champagne. ‘I don’t suppose you would be interested in a job?’

Stazy curled herself up on one of the bean-bags while he uncorked the champagne, and she eyed him warily across the room. ‘Doing what?’ she prompted guardedly.

Now that he had taken the trouble to notice her at all, Stazy Walker was fast becoming an enigma to him! She had seemed so open and friendly, but with each thing she revealed about herself she appeared to be holding something else back... In fact, he knew absolutely nothing of real relevance about her, he realised with a start. Like what she was doing in England at all. Where were her family? If she had any family.

‘Decorating my apartment,’ he told her, pouring out the champagne before handing her one of the glasses. ‘What did you think I meant?’

‘You wouldn’t believe some of the suggestions I’ve had over the last three months!’ she told him disgustedly.

Jordan settled himself down in one of the comfortable armchairs, finding it as soft and bolstered as it looked; the bean-bags looked relaxing to sprawl in, but the last thing he wanted was to get down on one of those things and then struggle to get back up onto his feet when the time came! He had to be a good twelve, or maybe fourteen years older than the age he guessed Stazy to be, but he didn’t have to end up on a bean-bag looking decrepit!

‘Try me,’ he invited, his curiosity piqued.

She shrugged. ‘Maybe it has something to do with the language—we do speak a different language, no matter what anyone tries to say to the contrary. When I first moved here I got a job as a window-dresser in one of the large stores in town—I’d rather not say which one!’ She grimaced. ‘The manager’s idea of working after the store was closed was to try and drag me off to the bed department, to see if there were any improvements I could make there!’

Jordan was having trouble holding back a smile at the graphic picture she portrayed—and he certainly didn’t think it had anything to do with a language problem; Stazy was beautiful, whatever language she spoke!

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I kneed him in the place I felt needed improving,’ she told him directly. ‘I also got fired,’ she sighed. ‘For being unsuitable for the job! Actually, I’ve always preferred working in people’s homes, so after that I put a few cards in shop windows, hoping to get some business that way. I was offered a job decorating a little boy’s bedroom.’

‘Sounds safe enough,’ Jordan drawled—because he had a feeling it hadn’t been safe at all.

Stazy grimaced again. That “little boy” turned out to be about sixty-five—and he wanted me to do the decorating wearing a gym-slip!’

This was just too much for Jordan, unable to hold back his chuckles any longer. In fact, he more than chuckled; he couldn’t help it. ‘What sort of shop windows did you put your cards in?’ he finally sobered enough to query.

‘You’re much quicker than me!’ Stazy gave him a shy grin. ‘I realised that had been my mistake when the next “client” who rang asked me my age, and told me to bring along a set of red underwear!’

‘I prefer cream myself,’ Jordan observed.

‘I took all my cards back before I got any more calls like that!’ She shook her head disgustedly. ‘Do you suppose people actually enjoy that sort of thing? Telephoning a complete stranger for sex?’ She grimaced her distaste at the idea.

Jordan looked at her. She couldn’t be that innocent. Could she...? ‘How old are you, Stazy?’ he mused.

‘Twenty-one, almost twenty-two,’ she supplied promptly, her tone implying she didn’t see what that had to do with anything.

She was young. Younger than any of the women he had been involved with in recent years—though he wasn’t going to get involved with Stazy Walker; he was just curious, that was all.

‘Don’t you read the newspapers?’ There was an edge of scorn to his voice, created by that residual anger towards himself.

She stood up in one gracefully fluid movement, her glass steady in her hand. ‘Of course I read the newspapers,’ she returned impatiently. ‘But to find a bed-partner in such a way seems—What work do you want done on your apartment?’ She abruptly changed the subject. ‘Which room?’

‘All of them,’ he decided, relaxing back in his chair. ‘Are you up to it, do you think?’ he derided.

She looked ready to tell him what he could do with his offer of work. But something held her back, and she turned away, breathing deeply.

Jordan accepted she hadn’t had a very good time of it since moving to London. And he wasn’t helping to make it any better. Besides, this apartment, as he knew only too well, was expensive to rent. And with no visible means of income—He wasn’t a charity, damn it!

‘Are you?’ he pressed harshly at her continued silence.

She whipped quickly round to face him, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks. ‘My work speaks for itself,’ she bit out tautly.

Jordan had the distinct impression she wanted to tell him—and his offer of work—to go to hell. But she wasn’t going to do so. Again, something held her back...

‘It does.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘You’ll need to see the apartment, of course—’

‘Isn’t it exactly the same as this one?’ She sipped her champagne now, looking at him over the glass’s rim.

Those eyes. So clear a blue. Like a Canadian mountain lake he had once seen. And this girl/woman was as fresh as that mountain lake...

Jordan shook his head to rid it of those thoughts. He was offering her work, for goodness’ sake! ‘Exactly like this one,’ he confirmed tersely. ‘When can you start?’

She raised her palms in a gesture of resistance. ‘I’ll need ideas from you before I start to put anything together—’

‘I thought interior designers were the ones with the ideas,’ he cut in. ‘Isn’t that the reason they’re the interior designers? Don’t you present me with ideas, we discuss them—and then you get on and do exactly what you want to do?’

Those blue eyes narrowed at what had been his deliberately derisive tone. ‘Jordan, I have a feeling you’re playing games with me—’

‘I never play when it comes to business, Stazy,’ he assured her softly. ‘You—’ He broke off as the security intercom buzzed; downstairs someone needed admittance. And then it sounded again. ‘Hadn’t you better answer that?’ he prompted Stazy as she made no effort to do so.

She still did not move. ‘Obviously someone has made a mistake; I don’t know anyone in London.’

Then it was strange that she had come to live here, Jordan could have said. But didn’t. It was part of the enigma that was Stazy Walker, he decided. Best not to get too involved.