“Is that so?” He snapped forward, and the chair slapped against his back as his elbows shook the table.
Surprisingly, Maggie didn't flinch. She was too busy studying him, noticing how his chin-to-hand posture mimicked hers and his eye contact intensified. “Yes. It is. Take your sudden movement, for instance. You were testing me â subconsciously maybe, but definitely testing me â to see how much power you held over my reaction. You like power, and I bet this demeanor helps you close deals, but it wreaks havoc on your personal life. Let me ask you this, did it bother you that I didn't give you any power â that I didn't flinch?”
His eyes darkened.
She sat back against the cushioned chair, crossing one leg over the other and balancing her elbows on the armrests with her hands folded in front of her. “Another example would be your outdated and egotistical notion of me.”
“You?” Jordon sat back and assumed Maggie's relaxed posture, legs crossed and hands folded.
“Me. Because I'm not like the people in your world, you think I'm ⦠flaky.” She raised a finger when his lips twitched. “And despite the frustration my flakiness seems to cause you, you're curious about me and struggling with how to feed that curiosity.” The minute he ran the tip of his tongue over his rounded bottom lip, she wished she'd picked less suggestive words.
He raised a thick brow and licked again. “Are you getting all of this from a crystal ball?”
“Hardly that fantastical. It's non-verbal communication, and you're mirroring me.”
“What?” He slammed his brows together as soon as he noticed their similar postures.
Squeezing his arms across his chest, Jordon kicked his feet onto the table. “That's dime store psychology, and I'm paying for more than that, Dr. Collins.” He bit into the title and glowered at the falling darkness behind her.
Maggie's stomach churned, and she knew it wasn't because of hunger. Stirring his anger accomplished a not-so-subtle reminder that intellectual flirting came with a hefty price tag, and she couldn't spend an ounce of the money she hoped to earn. An independent future hinged on Carlos's recovery.
“I don't think Carlos wants to die. I think it was an experiment of sorts with a little attention-seeking mixed in. Maybe he was testing me.”
Jordon looked at her again and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes disappeared.
“I mean obviously if I thought he was at risk, I would've called 911.” She lifted her eyes to the sky and shook her head before leveling her gaze on Jordon. “But I also know that would cause a stir, and you want to keep things hushed. Bottom line is, I can stick around and give him some emergency therapy, but he needs twenty-four-hour supervision, too.”
“I leave for Venezuela tomorrow.”
She was running out of options. “Can Bernie stay with him?”
“I don't want Bernie to stay with him. I want you. I hired you.”
“You hired me for a consultation and virtual therapy, not for residential treatment in your home.”
“The two-month salary for a therapist on my payroll is thirty-two thousand dollars. Would you stay for that kind of money, Dr. Collins?”
Maggie swallowed the urge to take the money and worry about the consequence later.
“No? Not enough,” he mused. “How about this? Carlos is eight miles per hour off on his fastball. I'll throw in two grand for each mile per hour increase, and if you get him over the one hundred-mile-per-hour mark, I'll pay a ten-thousand-dollar bonus.”
He was clearly a man who knew the power of paper.
“You won't find a more lucrative deal,” he added with a sly smile.
“I have other clients, Mr. Kemmons.”
“I have internet connections, Dr. Collins.”
“I didn't pack enough clothes.”
“I have laundry facilities, and Lake Norman has stores. I also have a postal address, should you want items from home shipped to you.”
“I'm not comfortable spending time alone with him.”
“He's a broken kid, not a serial killer. Besides, I'll be back as much as I can. Bernie will be nearby, should you need help. Speaking of the devil ⦠”
The sliding door opened, and Bernie walked toward them with a brown bag in each hand. “Boss Man. Dr. Collins.”
Jordon grabbed a bag from Bernie with a weak curve to his lips, like he wanted to smile but didn't know how. He dug into the bag and pushed a tray of sushi toward her.
“No, thank you. Bernie can have mine. I'll go see if Carlos is awake.”
Bernie swatted a humongous hand in front of him. “My dinner's in the car. I'm headed home ⦠but I can poke my head in on Carlos before I go. If he's up, I'll let you know.” He pounded the knuckles of his fist against Jordon's knuckles and nodded at Maggie. “You kids be good now.”
Through the wall of windows, she watched him walk across the great room and up the stairs. “He should've stayed and eaten with you instead of eating alone.”
Jordon looked up from his chopsticks, gripping a California roll covered in soy sauce and wasabi. He chewed as he studied her, his gaze drifting from her eyes to her lips.
The scrutiny shouldn't bother Maggie. Crystal taught her letting someone look their fill was the greatest gift of clarity you could give. But if truth lurked behind the eyes, Maggie worried what Jordon might see.
He finished chewing, and set the chopsticks aside. “Did it ever dawn on you that you don't know everything about everybody?”
“I never said that I do know everything.” She pulled on a silver hoop dangling from her ear.
“Bernie is married with two little girls. He would much rather eat with them than with a scary ogre like me.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.” Jordon popped another California roll into his mouth. “Eat.”
“I'm sorry. I can't.”
He reached across the table and pulled the top off the plastic plate. “It's vegetarian. Cross my heart. I didn't sneak an ounce of caviar in there.” The chopsticks that he pulled from his mouth mere seconds ago danced millimeters above her food. “See? You've got avocado, sprouts, cucumber. That looks like dill pickle.” He pinched a roll between the sticks and tossed it into his mouth. “I'll be damned. That's good.”
She expected him to be damned ⦠but he ordered her vegetarian sushi. Now she wasn't sure. “Did I tell you I was vegetarian?”
“No. I listen. It's an occupational hazard. I figured if you won't kill a spider, you certainly won't eat fish eggs. Have Bernie take you to the store tomorrow or give him a list. Harris Teeter isn't far, and they have a big selection of health foods.”
Maggie scratched at a hot spot of skin above her breast. Just because he thought to feed her appropriately didn't make him any less lethal to her enlightenment. Distance. Detachment. She had a job to do.
Stuffing her mouth with a sushi roll, Maggie hoped to swallow the emotions too.
“What's the story behind the bump on your head?” His gaze lingered on the wound she was increasingly able to forget.
“I fell.”
“Must've fallen pretty hard.”
“I fainted and hit the end of a table. The ER doctor was surprised I didn't have a concussion.” She tapped the top of her skull. “I'm hardheaded.”
“Another spider?”
“No.” She wished. “I'm not always weird about spiders. That one seemed aggressive, and the night already wasn't going my way, so I overreacted.”
“Did you talk to him?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I did. I know you think that's strange, but I talked to him as I shooed him out and stuffed a rug under the crack so he couldn't return.”
“And did he talk back?”
“Ha Ha.” She filled her mouth again and hummed while she chewed. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the rice mixed with cold vegetable filling and the spicy smell of wasabi burned the lining of her nose.
“What made you faint?” Jordon hadn't taken his eyes off of her since Bernie left.
Despite the cool, night air, a hot tingle walked along her skin. “It's a long story.”
“We have all night.”
She felt sweaty; itchy, too. He stared at her like he expected the pressure from his eyes to force the story from her lips. And like that, his intense stare dropped to her mouth.
Maggie thought back to the pier and his reaction to her nipples showing through her top. She wondered if his gaze would travel down.
Jordon looked to the horizon instead.
She wasn't surprised. She wasn't blessed with a milk factory. Her small breasts didn't bother her, and she had yet to hear a lover complain. Still, she imagined a man like Jordon wanted more than his house and bank account to be super-sized. For some reason, that bothered her. And the fact that it bothered her bothered her, because it didn't matter. She didn't want him to be attracted to her. She wasn't attracted to him.
Maggie choked on a sliver of rice wrapped in denial.
“You're not going to tell me, are you? You don't want to be embarrassed.” He finished chewing his last California roll and pushed away from the table.
“Embarrassment is fleeting, like all emotion.” She watched him walk to the outdoor kitchen and bend over a lower cabinet.
Like lust.
Her eyes lingered a bit too long on the muscle stretching the fabric.
Lust is definitely a fleeting emotion.
When the heat in her cheeks didn't fade like she expected, she poked her face with chopsticks.
“Beer? Wine? I have chardonnay and pinot grigio out here. If you want red, I'll have to go inside.”
“Water.”
He straightened and turned dark eyes on her. “No animal died to make this beer.” He held a thin can. “I'm not even sure it's beer. It's damn close to water.”
“Then why do you drink it?”
“I'm on the road a lot, and I eat like hell. I cut calories when I can.” His eyes narrowed. “Water?” He dangled a second can in front of her. “Come on. One drink. It's a beautiful night. Despite what you say, I think we're building a friendship,
Maggie
. You're just afraid to admit it.”
“I'm not afraid of anything.” Okay, so that was a blatant lie.
Guilt picked at her conscience. In Maggie's experience, guilt wasn't a fleeting emotion, but she suspected living with a little guilt was better than letting Jordon Kemmons penetrate her competent exterior. Maggie crossed her arms, lifted her chin and attempted to look tough.
Jordon wasn't buying. He scoffed in her direction. “You're afraid of spiders. I also think you're afraid you'll drink this beer, think I'm not a horrible person and spill your guts.” He cleared something from his throat. “Or you'll get tipsy and belly dance ⦠like you did in New York.”
He sat, and Maggie watched emotion flicker across his face. She was usually good at naming reactions, but that brief second of feeling passed across his tanned skin before she could interpret. Then again, maybe she was distracted by the itch that started in her breast and settled deep in her belly.
She remembered the dance, an innocent send-off for a favorite professor. But by the look of Jordon's reddened face, his interpretation of the act was much less innocent. The idea grew the itch. Touching a hand to her stomach, she sought relief by digging her fingernails into the flesh. The worthless action stirred her discomfort.
“Mr. Kemmons, you're goading me, and I imagine you do something similar when you're negotiating a contract where the other party is stonewalling.”
He shrugged and dragged a hand across his mouth. “I neither confirm nor deny the accusation. My negotiation tactics are my trade secrets.” He winked. “You're not the only one with secrets.”
The itch clawed up Maggie's chest and created a blazing trail over her face. Embarrassment? Maybe. With a little misguided desire thrown in too.
She waited for the emotions to pass, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. She would've done fine settling her feelings had he not been staring at her reddened face with a curve to his lips that looked dangerously close to a smile.
Maggie huffed. “Oh, for crying out loud, it's not a secret. I have hyperventilation syndrome. My breathing gets whacky when I'm overly stressed, and if I don't get a handle on it, I pass out.”
“What made you overly stressed?”
“A man I dated showed up at my house with his wife.” That sounded horrible. Maggie held up both hands. “It was one date, and I didn't know he was married. He told me he was a polygamist as soon as we sat down to eat.”
Jordon's eyes wiggled, and her itch abated. He pressed his thick lashes together over and over again, and she thought maybe he struggled with contact lenses, but then his mouth split open and his lips curled over the straightest line of snow white teeth. He tossed back his head to the sky and laughed with such rich cadence, it resonated in her soul.
Maggie laughed, too. “If you think that's funny, wait. I didn't faint until my mother showed interest in Paul's polygamist proposal.”
Jordon stopped laughing and dropped his chin to his chest. His smile disappeared. “Your mother is interested in a polygamous relationship with a man you dated?”
Well, when he put it like that â¦
She shook her head at the foolishness. There were times when an open-minded, alternative life felt like living inside a big fat joke. “I dated Paul once. It's not like we were serious. Not that that makes my mother's interest any less awkward.” She pressed a finger into her temple and rubbed. “I can't imagine she's serious. I hope not. I passed out, went to the ER, and the evening was foggy from there. The next thing I clearly remember, a taxi was beeping in the driveway, and Crystal was MIA.”
He took a drink from the silver can. “You call your mother by her first name?”
“I do. She doesn't like labels.” Maggie followed his hand as he brushed a few stray drops from his bottom lip. The itch returned. “Anyhow ⦠I haven't talked to her since. She's not answering her phone. Maybe she's married and on her honeymoon with her new husband and sister wife.”