Chapter Three #2
you care to contact administration.”
“No, that’s fine.” Well, that was that, she mused. A confused mixture of relief and disappointment settled over her. “Thank
you,” she said, and smiled weakly at the nurse before turning back to the elevator.
By Friday evening Skye still hadn’t shaken the feeling of melancholy; instead of being pensive and a little depressed, she
should be grateful. She’d never intended to continue seeing Jordan and should be counting her blessings instead of dealing
with this deep sense of disappointment.
She was mixing together a chicken salad for dinner when her doorbell rang. Sighing heavily, she abandoned the salad, wondering
what John wanted to borrow this time. Did the man ever do any grocery shopping?
She crossed the living room, wiping her hands on her apron as she went. When she opened the door, the good-natured, tolerant
smile froze on her face. Shock closed her mouth, and for the life of her she couldn’t utter a single word.
“Hello again.” Jordan smiled, not in the least affected by her obvious surprise. His arm was in a cast and supported by a
sling, but that did little to mar his compelling features. Skye had always considered herself statuesque, but he stood four
or five inches taller, seeming to dwarf her.
“Jordan,” she whispered incredulously as the shock slowly dissipated.
“The very same,” he told her mockingly. “May I come in?”
“Oh, of course.” She hurriedly stepped aside and closed the door after him, leaning against it for support as he leisurely
walked into her apartment. “Can I get you something?” she asked somewhat stiffly, unable to gain her poise.
“No, I have a car and driver waiting.”
Knowing that relaxed her slightly. He certainly wouldn’t be staying long then.
“I’m happy to see you haven’t eaten.” His gaze left her flushed face momentarily, and he eyed the lettuce and chicken on her
kitchen countertop. “I made the dinner reservation for eight, so you have plenty of time to change if you wish. However, what
you’re wearing is fine.”
“Dinner?” She swallowed uncomfortably. “Oh, I couldn’t. I mean . . .” Her mind searched frantically for an excuse to refuse.
She immediately knew why he hadn’t contacted her in advance. Apparently he knew her well enough to realize that given time,
she would have somehow extricated herself from the date. Now she was trapped.
“I won’t take no for an answer, Skye.” Determination narrowed his eyes.
“All right,” she agreed weakly. “Just give me a few minutes to put the food away in the kitchen.” She wouldn’t change clothes,
not with the practical side of her nature adding the toll of the waiting car and driver.
She glanced at herself briefly in the hallway mirror as she reached for her earth-toned blazer. The jacket went nicely with
her rust-colored pleated pants.
“I’m ready.” She paused, feeling gauche and insecure. “Are you sure this outfit is okay?”
His dark brows lifted, and a smile touched the corners of his hard mouth. “You might want to wear shoes.”
Her face flushed a deep shade of pink, and she nodded.
She had always had a ridiculous habit of walking around the apartment barefoot.
It was second nature to slip off her shoes the minute she walked in the door.
Luckily her pumps were in the entryway. Turning her back to Jordan, she slipped them on slowly, giving her racing heart a chance to quiet.
But when his hand settled on her shoulder and his husky voice sounded in her ear, she found her pulse rate anything but normal.
“The apron,” he reminded her. “I’m taking you out to eat. I don’t expect you to cook.”
Her trembling fingers immediately reached behind her back to untie the knot. She wished she knew what it was about Jordan
Kiley that turned her into a bumbling, forgetful idiot.
The restaurant was one Skye had never heard of before. The dining area was small and contained only a few elegantly set tables.
The interior was dimly lit by flickering candles. A single long-stemmed rose set in a crystal vase served as the centerpiece
of each table.
Once they were seated and studying the menus, the waiter arrived. “Would you care for something to drink?” Jordan asked.
“A drink?” Skye realized she sounded like an echo. “No . . . I don’t think so . . . not now, anyway.”
Jordan ordered wine, and the waiter returned with the bottle, complimenting him on his choice. It was when he was testing
the wine that she noticed his right hand. He now enjoyed the freedom of his fingers, although a thin layer of gauze covered
a major portion of his hand.
His gaze followed hers, and he flexed his fingers for her benefit. “The doctor changed the dressing the day I was discharged.
I imagine you’re relieved to know it won’t be necessary for you to cut my meat.”
“I wasn’t worried.” She smiled, beginning to relax.
“Have you decided what you’d like to order?” His menu was folded beside his plate; apparently he had made his decision already.
The menu ran the full gamut, but the prices were outrageously high, and Skye chose the least expensive item.
“I’ll have the chicken Florentine.” She closed her menu, and as if on cue the waiter appeared.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Jordan suggested, tipping his wine goblet to gently tap her water glass. “To Pollyanna, whose
radiant smile could melt a polar ice cap.” His own smile, directed at her, left Skye feeling weak.
A few minutes later their salads were served. Skye was grateful for the diversion; the atmosphere was quickly becoming intimate.
“I ordered dessert for us,” Jordan announced, his gray eyes briefly meeting hers. “I hope you have no objection to flaming
Baked Alaska.”
“Baked Alaska.” She swallowed, a smile trembling at the corners of her mouth. “I’m surprised you forgot the violinist.” It
was important to maintain this lighthearted banter; only when she could laugh and tease did she feel at ease.
Throwing her a sideways glance, Jordan reached across the table and rang a small bell. Almost immediately two violinists strolled
into the room.
Against her will Skye burst into helpless laughter. The palm of her hand covered her mouth to hide the outburst.
A full smile tugged at Jordan’s mouth. “Is any romantic dinner complete without music?” He quirked a brow in question.
“Jordan Kiley, I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you in my entire life,” she managed, shaking her head at him. “You’re hopeless.”
But she didn’t question why he’d gone to such lengths to create a romantic atmosphere for her.
The chicken was succulent and tender, and as long as Skye concentrated on the meal the intimacy was held to a minimum.
“Do you know all the volunteers on the children’s ward?” Jordan inquired lazily as the waiter replenished his glass of wine.
“Of course; I’ve been a volunteer for several years,” she replied.
“Who plays the piano and sings?” His dark eyes watched her closely.
Skye was mildly surprised Sally and Billy hadn’t supplied him with the information. She felt strangely reluctant to reveal
herself. She hesitated momentarily. She didn’t want the evening to center on her, nor did she wish to answer the inevitable
question: Why don’t you turn professional?
“That’s Jane.” It wasn’t a lie. Jane was her name; she had been dubbed Skye after a growth spurt in the sixth grade had shot
her head and shoulders above every boy in class. The name had stuck and now most people knew her by her nickname.
Skye was certain Jordan wished to question her further, but she hurriedly stood, asking to be excused. The ladies’ room offered
a quiet moment so she could compose herself. She couldn’t deny her attraction to Jordan, but at the same time she realized
how pointless and dangerous the attraction was. He obviously felt he owed her a dinner and had very possibly delayed his return
to LA to settle his debt. Now she must be gracious enough to allow him to satisfy his sense of obligation.
When she returned to their table, Jordan had ordered coffee.
“Have you ridden the cable cars yet?” she asked before he could pursue his questions.
Jordan glanced at her a bit suspiciously. “Not yet.”
“You really should,” Skye insisted. “You haven’t truly savored San Francisco’s uniqueness until you ride the cable cars.”
“Oh?” Jordan’s smile was mocking, and, swinging his broken arm outward, he added, “I think I’ve had enough of a taste of San
Francisco.”
Skye loved her city and was undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. “I bet you didn’t know that the cable cars were invented by a horse lover.”
“No, I didn’t.” His gaze lifted from his coffee to study her.
“It’s true. A man by the name of Andrew Hallidie felt sorry for the horses, who sometimes slipped on the steep hills and were
badly injured. So Hallidie invented the cable car. By 1890 San Francisco had eight major systems operating within the city
limits. The idea caught on elsewhere, too. I bet you didn’t know that Los Angeles also used cable cars for a while.”
“When was that?”
Skye realized she must sound very much like the teacher she was, but his eyes expressed interest. “Back in 1887. Now are you
ready to ride a cable car?”
“After a history lesson like that, I dare not refuse.” His returning smile was full and warm and had a crazy effect upon Skye.
Friday evenings were always a busy traffic night for the cable cars, and Jordan and Skye were forced to wait a few minutes
before boarding.
“Where are we headed?” Jordan asked indulgently as they stepped aboard.
“Fisherman’s Wharf.” Skye laughed, her smiling features profiled in the moonlight. “You really must see the wharf before you
leave.”
“You’ve missed your calling.” Jordan’s eyes also smiled. “You should have been a tour guide.”
The ride was exhilarating. Jordan’s good arm cradled her around the waist and gripped the wooden column behind her. Skye didn’t
object to the intimate hold; she felt warm and secure with the strength of his arm around her.