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Daring Moves
Linda Lael Miller
Don't fall in love with the wrong man.She'd done it before and wouldn't do it again–or would she? Because Love 101 isn't a class you can take at the Y, Amanda Scott knew she'd have to rely on her instincts. Fate placed Jordan Richards right in front of her nose…and chemistry took it from there.But things got a little dicey (as things will do) when her ex-lover showed up–with his estranged wife not far behind. Yikes! And you thought you had issues. Despite her growing affection for Jordan, Amanda found herself repeating old mistakes. But if she made one more false move, she might find herself all by her lonesome
Daring Moves
New York Times Bestselling Author
Linda Lael Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Don’t fall in love with the wrong man. She’d done it before and wouldn’t do it again—or would she? Because Love 101 isn’t a class you can take at the Y, Amanda Scott knew she’d have to rely on her instincts. Fate placed Jordan Richards right in front of her nose…and chemistry took it from there. But things got a little dicey (as things will do) when her ex-lover showed up—with his estranged wife not far behind. Yikes! And you thought you had issues. Despite her growing affection for Jordan, Amanda found herself repeating old mistakes. But if she made one more false move, she might find herself all by her lonesome.
For Melba.
Your friendship was a gift from H.P.
Contents
Chapter One (#u817f650e-9f85-50e7-ba51-b572a9a4ecee)
Chapter Two (#ufe3defef-9c75-52d9-afc9-498e7654cd0d)
Chapter Three (#u7134e158-2b41-5a95-8e13-739be56fa0d2)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
1
The line of people waiting for an autograph reached from the bookstore down the length of the mall to the specialty luggage shop. With a sigh, Amanda Scott bought a cup of coffee from a nearby French bakery, bravely forgoing the delicate, flaky pastries inside the glass counter, and took her place behind a man in an expensive tweed overcoat.
Distractedly he turned and glanced at her, as though somehow finding her to blame for the delay. Then he pushed up his sleeve and consulted a slim gold watch. He was a couple of inches taller than Amanda, with brown hair that was only slightly too long and hazel eyes flecked with green, and he needed a shave.
Never one to pass the time in silence if an excuse to chat presented itself, Amanda took a steadying sip of her coffee and announced, “I’m buying Dr. Marshall’s book for my sister, Eunice. She’s going through a nasty divorce.” The runaway bestseller was called Gathering Up the Pieces, and it was meant for people who had suffered some personal loss or setback.
The stranger turned to look back at her. The pleasantly mingled scents of new snow and English Leather seemed to surround him. “Are you talking to me?” he inquired, drawing his brows together in puzzlement.
Amanda fortified herself with another sip of coffee. She hadn’t meant to flirt; it was just that waiting could be so tedious. “Actually, I was,” she admitted.
He surprised her with a brief but brilliant smile that practically set her back on the heels of her snow boots. In the next second his expression turned grave, but he extended a gloved hand.
“Jordan Richards,” he said formally.
Gulping down the mouthful of coffee she’d just taken, Amanda returned the gesture. “Amanda Scott,” she managed. “I don’t usually strike up conversations with strange men in shopping malls, you understand. It’s just that I was bored.”
Again that blinding grin, as bright as sunlight on water.
“I see,” said Jordan Richards.
The line moved a little, and they both stepped forward. Amanda suddenly felt shy, and wished she hadn’t gotten off the bus at the mall. Maybe she should have gone straight home to her cozy apartment and her cat.
She reminded herself that Eunice would benefit by reading the book and that, with this purchase, her Christmas shopping would be finished. After today she could hide in her work, like a soldier crouching in a foxhole, until the holidays and all their painful associations were past.
“Too bad about Eunice,” Jordan Richards remarked.
“I’ll give her your condolences,” Amanda promised, a smile lighting her aquamarine eyes.
The line advanced, and so did Amanda and Jordan.
“Good,” he said.
Amanda finished her coffee, crumpled the cup and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. Beside the bin there was a sign that read Is Therapy For You? Attend A Free Minisession With Dr. Marshall After The Book Signing. Beneath was a diagram of the mall, with the public auditorium colored in.
“So,” she ventured, “are you buying Gathering Up the Pieces for yourself or somebody else?”
“I’m sending it to my grandmother,” Jordan answered, consulting his watch again.
Amanda wondered if he had to be somewhere else later, or if he was just an impatient person.
“What happened to her?” she asked sympathetically.
Jordan looked reluctant, but after a few moments and another step forward as the line progressed, he said, “She had some pretty heavy-duty surgery a while back.”
“Oh,” Amanda said, and without thinking, she reached out and patted his arm so as not to let the mention of the unknown grandmother’s misfortune pass without some response from her.
Something softened in Jordan Richards’s manner at the small demonstration. “Are you attending the ‘free minisession’?” he asked, gesturing toward the sign. The expression in his eyes said he fully expected her to answer no.
Amanda smiled and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Why not? I’ve got the rest of the afternoon to blow, and I could learn something.”
Jordan looked thoughtful. “I suppose nobody has to talk if they don’t want to.”
“Of course not,” Amanda replied confidently, even though she had no idea what would be required. Some of the self-help groups could get pretty wild; she’d heard of people walking across burning coals in their bare feet, or letting themselves be dunked in hot tubs.
“I’ll go if you’ll sit beside me,” Jordan said.
Amanda considered the suggestion only briefly. The mall was a well-lit place, crowded with Christmas shoppers. If Jordan Richards were some kind of weirdo—and that seemed unlikely, unless crackpots were dressing like models in Gentlemen’s Quarterly these days—she would be perfectly safe. “Okay,” she said with another shrug.
After the decision was made, they lapsed into a companionable silence. Nearly fifteen minutes had passed by the time Jordan reached the author’s table.
Dr. Eugene Marshall, the famous psychology guru, signed his name in a confident scrawl and handed Jordan a book. Amanda had her volume autographed and followed her new acquaintance to the cash register.
Once they’d both paid, they left the store together.
There was already a mob gathered at the double doors of the mall’s community auditorium, and according to a sign on an easel, the minisession would start in another ten minutes.
Jordan glanced at the line of fast-food places across the concourse. “Would you like some coffee or something?”
Amanda shook her head, then reached up to pull her light, shoulder-length hair from under the collar of her coat. “No, thanks. What kind of work do you do, Mr. Richards?”
“‘Jordan,’” he corrected. He took off his overcoat and draped it over one arm, then loosened his tie and collar slightly. “What kind of work do you think I do?”
Amanda assessed him, narrowing her blue eyes. Jordan looked fit, and he even had a bit of a suntan, but she doubted he worked with his hands. His clothes marked him as an upper-management type, and so did that gold watch he kept checking. “You’re a stockbroker,” she guessed.
He chuckled. “Close. I’m a partner in an investment firm. What do you do?”
People were starting to move into the auditorium and take seats, and Amanda and Jordan moved along with them. With a half smile, she answered, “Guess.”
He considered her thoughtfully. “You’re a flight attendant for a major airline,” he decided after several moments had passed.
Amanda took his conjecture as a compliment, even though it was wrong. “I’m the assistant manager of the Evergreen Hotel.” They found seats near the middle of the auditorium, and Jordan took the one on the aisle. Amanda was just daring to hope she was making a favorable impression, when her stomach rumbled.
“And you haven’t had lunch yet,” Jordan stated with another of those lethal, quicksilver grins. “It just so happens that I’m a little hungry myself. How about something from that Chinese fast-food place I saw out there—after we’re done with the minisession, I mean?”
Again Amanda smiled. She seemed to be smiling a lot, which was odd, because she hadn’t felt truly happy since before James Brockman had swept into her life, turned it upside down and swept out again. “I’d like that,” she heard herself say.
Just then Dr. Marshall walked out onto the auditorium stage. At his appearance, Jordan became noticeably uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and drawing one Italian-leather-shod foot up to rest on the opposite knee.
The famous author introduced himself, just in case someone who had never watched a TV talk show might have wandered in, and announced that he wanted the audience to break up into groups of twelve.
Jordan looked even more discomfited, and probably wouldn’t have participated if a group hadn’t formed around him and Amanda. To make things even more interesting, at least to Amanda’s way of thinking, the handsome, silver-haired Dr. Marshall chose their group to work with, while his assistants took the others.
“All right, people,” he began in a tone of pleasant authority, “let’s get started.” His knowing gray eyes swept the small gathering. “Why does everybody look so worried? This will be relatively painless—all we’re going to do is talk about ourselves a little.” He looked at Amanda. “What’s your name?” he asked directly. “And what’s the worst thing that’s happened to you in the past year?”
She swallowed. “Amanda Scott. And—the worst thing?”
Dr. Marshall nodded with kindly amusement.
All of the sudden Amanda wished she’d gone to a matinee or stayed home to clean her apartment. She didn’t want to talk about James, especially not in front of strangers, but she was basically an honest person and James was the worst thing that had happened to her in a very long time. Not looking at Jordan, she answered, “I fell in love with a man and he turned out to be married.”
“What did you do when you found out?” the doctor asked reasonably.
“I cried a lot,” Amanda answered, forgetting for the moment that there were twelve other people listening in, including Jordan.
“Did you break off the relationship?” Dr. Marshall pressed.
Amanda still felt the pain and humiliation she’d known when James’s wife had stormed into her office and made a scene. Before that, Amanda hadn’t even suspected the terrible truth. “Yes,” she replied softly with a miserable nod.
“Is this experience still affecting your life?”
Amanda wished she dared to glance at Jordan to see how he was reacting, but she didn’t have the courage. She lowered her eyes. “I guess it is.”
“Did you stop trusting men?”
Considering all the dates she’d refused in the months since she’d disentangled herself from James, Amanda supposed she had stopped trusting men. Even worse, she’d stopped trusting her own instincts. “Yes,” she answered very softly.
Dr. Marshall reached out to touch her shoulder. “I’m not going to pretend you can solve your problems just by sitting in on a minisession, or even by reading my book, but I think it’s time for you to stop hiding and take some risks. Agreed?”
Amanda was surprised at the man’s insight. “Agreed,” she said, and right then and there she made up her mind to read Eunice’s copy of Gathering Up the Pieces before she wrapped it.
The doctor’s attention shifted to the man sitting on Amanda’s left. He said he’d lost his job, and the fact that Christmas was coming up made things harder. A woman in the row behind Amanda talked about her child’s serious illness. Finally, after about twenty minutes had passed, everyone had spoken except Jordan.
He rubbed his chin, which was already showing a five o’clock shadow, and cleared his throat. Amanda, feeling his tension and reluctance as though they were her own, laid her hand gently on his arm.
“The worst thing that ever happened to me,” he said in a low, almost inaudible voice, “was losing my wife.”
“How did it happen?” the doctor asked.
Jordan looked as though he wanted to bolt out of his chair and stride up the aisle to the doors, but he answered the question. “A motorcycle accident.”
“Were you driving?” Dr. Marshall’s expression was sympathetic.
“Yes,” Jordan replied after a long silence.
“And you’re still not ready to talk about it,” the doctor deduced.
“That’s right,” Jordan said. And he got up and walked slowly up the aisle and out of the auditorium.
Amanda followed, catching up just outside. She didn’t quite dare to touch his arm again, yet he slowed down at the sound of her footsteps. “How about that Chinese food you promised me?” she asked gently.
Jordan met her eyes, and for just a moment, she saw straight through to his soul. What pain he’d suffered.
“Sure,” he replied, and his voice was hoarse.
“I’m all through with my Christmas shopping,” Amanda announced once they were seated at a table, Number Three Regulars in front of them from the Chinese fast-food place. “How about you?”
“My secretary does mine,” Jordan responded. He looked relieved at her choice of topic.
“That’s above and beyond the call of duty,” Amanda remarked lightly. “I hope you’re giving her something terrific.”
Jordan smiled at that. “She gets a sizable bonus.”
“Good.”
It was obvious Jordan was feeling better. His eyes twinkled, and some of the strain had left his face.
