“We didn’t plan it, but it almost happened anyway,” Clay replied. “About a year and a half ago Kathryn got pregnant, despite our precautions. We’d decided not to have children. She was a producer on my show and we liked the freedom of traveling from place to place, which our schedule demanded. But once the baby was on the way, we started to embrace the idea. Only Kathryn ended up miscarrying.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jordan said under her breath, watching him intently as he spoke.
“After that, she didn’t want to try again. We were right back where we’d wanted to be, child-free with nothing to tie us down. The trouble was, seeing that little heart fluttering on the ultrasound screen had changed something in me. I wanted a family after all. Kathryn didn’t. That was a big part of our decision to go our separate ways. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, Jordan,” he confessed, “and I think part of the reason I convinced myself Molly was mine was that I haven’t quite gotten over losing my own child. I never admitted to myself how much that affected me. I brushed it aside and tried to leave it behind, like it wasn’t a real loss. But it was.”
“Of course,” Jordan said, and something in her tone suggested she understood just what he meant. Her sympathy warmed him to the core; as many times as he’d tried to explain his change of heart to Kathryn, she’d never really comprehended it.
The wine and the warm food loosening his tongue, Clay voiced a question that he might otherwise have kept to himself. “Over the years, have you ever wondered what it might have been like if we’d stayed together?”
Surprise flickered through Jordan’s features, as though she’d caught him reading her thoughts. Or perhaps that was just his imagination—or even wishful thinking.
“On occasion,” she admitted. “But our lives were pulling us in opposite directions, Clay. Neither of us would’ve been happy to compromise. It was inevitable, sooner or later, that our relationship would fall apart.”
“I wish you’d told me you were pregnant,” he added on impulse.
Her eyebrows lifted. “What good would that have done?”
“I would’ve married you anyway.” Another clap of thunder punctuated his statement.
Jordan shook her head. “You’re saying that in retrospect, but I don’t think at the time you would have. You didn’t even want children of your own, much less another man’s child.”
Clay wanted to protest, but couldn’t. “You may be right. I was completely self-centred in those days, not to mention consumed by thoughts of my career.”
“Nothing wrong with that, really, when you’re young and just starting out.”
“I don’t suppose becoming a mother at twenty-one was exactly what you’d hoped for.”
Jordan folded her hands on the table, the corner of her mouth curving into an ironic half-smile. “I’ve got no one to blame but myself, have I?”
“You’ve done a great job raising Molly. You should be proud,” Clay said.
Jordan dipped her chin in a brisk nod of acknowledgement, picking up her fork only to push the remains of her food around her plate. “She’s a fantastic kid. But it seems that the more I try to do the right things for her, the more I fail her. She’s had two fathers in her life and lost them both, and I can’t help questioning the choices I’ve made.” She paused a moment, her soft mouth compressing. “I married Scott out of circumstance, but Richard should’ve been the right guy. I should’ve been able to make it work with him. Now I’ve gone and turned Molly’s world upside down all over again. I can’t seem to get it right.”
Clay leaned forward, capturing and holding Jordan’s gaze. “You can’t blame yourself for that. I don’t know what happened with Richard, but I can guess that he should take a large share of the responsibility for failing
you
.”
Before Jordan could reply all the lights in the house went out, plunging them into sudden darkness.
Jordan blinked several times as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and the outline of Clay’s form took shape across the table.
“I’ll get some candles,” she said, leaping up from the table, her heart battering against her ribcage. She felt her way along the wall to the cupboard under the sink, where she kept her supply of candles. Fumbling in the back of the cupboard, she managed to locate a thick beeswax candle and a book of matches. As she quickly lit the candle, it set the room alight with a soft glow.
Finding a few more candles, she handed them to Clay along with the matches.
“Here, put some of these on the table.”
Clay set the candles on the table and lit them one by one. When Jordan looked up, their gazes locked. In the soft candlelight his gray eyes glittered like polished stones, and she sucked in her breath. He looked just like his younger self, the man she’d fallen so deeply in love with her chest would ache whenever she thought of him.
“At least we’ve finished dinner.” Tearing her gaze away, she reached for her plate and cutlery. “I’ll clear this up.”
“Let me help you.”
Together they carried the dishes to the sink, as heavy rain beat against the windowpane, and thunder rumbled in the distance.
“I hope we get some good weather the weekend of Alice’s party,” Clay remarked.
Jordan nodded. “Molly’s never spent the whole weekend away from me or Richard. I know she’ll have a blast, but I hope I can get through it.”
“You could join her, if it would make you feel better,” Clay suggested.
She darted him a sideways glance. “You mean come to the party? For the weekend?”
“Sure. My mother’s house has plenty of room.”
“Don’t you think it would be awkward, considering our history?”
“If you’re not convinced, here’s something else to consider,” he went on. “I read there’s an estate sale on the island on Saturday, at one of the old homes. Lots of old books available, perfect stock for your store. You’ll think about it?”
“I suppose,” Jordan agreed uneasily, then deftly changed the subject. “If Molly was here she’d find this exciting. She loves blackouts. So do I, actually. With the TV and computer out of commission, we usually spend the evening playing board games and singing camp songs—which we don’t do often otherwise.”
“Do you remember what we used to do to pass the time during blackouts?” Clay asked mildly.
Sudden warmth flooded Jordan’s face, and she was thankful he likely couldn’t see it in the dark. She did remember, vividly. She recalled how his touch in the darkness would spark all her senses to life, and she remembered the electric thrill of his kisses as they fumbled their way to the futon that served as Clay’s bed in his tiny basement apartment.
She cleared her throat. “We can leave these dishes ‘til the lights come back on.”
“I can manage.” Clay twisted on the faucet and pushed his sleeves up his arms. “You made this delicious dinner, the least I can do is wash up.”
“Only if you let me dry.”
“It’s a deal.”
Jordan pulled a tea towel from one of the drawers, and they washed and dried in silence for a few minutes. The sound of dishes clanking in the sink, and the water turning on and off as he rinsed, lulled her into a sense of peace. In the dim glow of the candlelight she observed Clay’s hands, mesmerized. They were distinctly male hands, strong and long-fingered, and as she watched the water and soap suds flow over them she felt a pang of sadness. She missed having someone to do these ordinary chores with. She had Molly to help, of course, but it wasn’t the same as having an adult companion—someone whose warm, solid form she could melt into at the end of a hard day.
As he set the last dish in the drying rack, Clay asked, “What’s bothering you, Jordan?”
“Nothing.” She picked up the skillet and began wiping it with the damp towel.
“Even in the dark I can see something’s wrong. Are you angry about something I said?”
“No, Clay, of course not. It’s been a lovely evening. Really.” She smiled, trying to cheer herself up. In fact she’d been enjoying his familiar presence more than she’d intended to.
“Molly told me you use to cry all the time, when you were with Richard,” he said after a pause, “and you’re much happier now that you’ve split up.”
“She said that?” Jordan was taken aback that her daughter would share something so personal with a man she barely knew. Molly knew much more about what had happened within the marriage than they’d wanted her to, but surely she knew to keep the details to herself. “What else did she tell you?”
“Not much. Don’t worry, she didn’t spill any of your deep dark secrets,” Clay said, his tone light. “Still, I hate to think of you so unhappy, Jordan.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She set down the dry skillet and picked up the rice pan. “I’m a lot tougher than you might think. I just hope Molly hasn’t found a way to blame herself for the divorce. You know how kids are; they’re sure to come up with reasons why it must be their own fault. Although I’ve always assured her it had nothing to do with her.”
“She certainly didn’t say anything like that,” Clay reassured her.
“I’m glad.” Glancing up at him, she caught Clay studying her face, the intensity in his eyes sparking a pool of warmth in the pit of her belly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Just thinking how striking you look in this candlelight,” he said. “I’m sorry if that sounds like a really cheesy come-on. But it’s true.”
She glanced away. “Thank you.”
“You always did look luminous by candlelight,” he went on. “I used to choose the darkest restaurants I could think of to take you to so I could see the light reflected in your incredible eyes.”
Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “You’re joking.”
“Not in the least.”
Jordan forced her focus back to the pan she was drying, the heat in her belly spreading fast to her limbs. “That was so long ago.”
His hand curling over her shoulder startled her, and she held her breath, standing frozen. Slowly his fingertips skimmed the back of her bare arm, searing her skin with the lightest of strokes. Holding tight to the pot, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
“Clay—”
“I found you irresistible back then,” he whispered next to her ear, his warm breath caressing her cheek. “Nothing has changed, Jordan.”
From behind his arms encircled her waist, drawing her gently to him, his chest a solid wall of heat along the length of her back. Paralyzed, she sank her teeth into her lower lip, as sudden fire flared through her veins. Had eleven years really passed since he’d held her like this? She still fit so naturally in his embrace, it hardly seemed possible they’d been apart so long.
Fighting to regain control of her galloping heart, Jordan finally released a ragged breath. As good as it felt to be in his arms—as
right
as it felt—she couldn’t make the mistake of confusing the past with the present. She was no longer the naïve twenty-year-old student she’d been when they broke up; she was a divorced mother and a fledgling businesswoman who had been through a lot in the past eleven years, and come out a different person. She certainly wasn’t putty in Clay McAdam’s hands anymore.
Setting the pan on the counter, Jordan turned toward him and pressed her palms to his chest, fully meaning to push him away and put some space between them so she could think.
Instead, as their faces drew close, he urged her more firmly against him.
In an instant Jordan’s resolve melted away, and she didn’t resist as Clay’s mouth covered hers, his kiss at once tenderly familiar and thoroughly intoxicating. He tasted just the same as she remembered, and the musky, masculine scent that she associated only with him enveloped her anew.
How easy it would be to fall back into the deep, passionate love they had shared, despite all the years apart; how simple to pretend they were back in his tiny apartment, unable to keep their hands off each other—or the clothes
on
one another. Jordan found herself quickly swallowed up in the memory, her senses spiraling into the heady excitement that flared hotter with each stroke of his lips against hers—
The lights flickered on, and she pulled back from the kiss, blinking in the brightness. As her eyes adjusted, she looked into Clay’s face, his eyes deep pools of fire.
Under the bright fluorescent light, awareness crashed over her that although she was back in Clay McAdam’s arms, they stood not in his apartment but in the kitchen of her new house—one of the many things that had changed in the decade since he’d last kissed her. Her pulse surging from panic as much as desire, she inched herself away from him.
“Clay, we’re getting caught up in old emotions,” she muttered. “I think we should slow this down.”
“But it feels so right.” Clay captured her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and brushed his lips along the backs of her knuckles. “All these years wasted. We should’ve been together all this time.”
“We broke up for a reason,” she reminded him. “Before I got pregnant, I mean. We didn’t want the same things.”