Chapter Seven #2
Feeling her gaze touch him, Jordan turned, his eyes regarding her seriously. I must be patient, she told herself. I must learn to let the Holy Spirit do the calling.
Hot fudge sundaes waited for them back at the church. No one needed encouragement to dig in. Jordan and Skye sat opposite
each other at one of the long tables. Although they sat among several teens, the numbers didn’t lessen the sense of intimacy
between them. Several times she found Jordan watching her curiously, but she avoided his gaze, joking with the kids around
her instead.
Jordan finished his ice cream and pushed the bowl aside.
“You’re not done, are you?” Skye asked incredulously. Jordan had eaten the vanilla ice cream but had left the chocolate syrup.
Not waiting for his answer, she took his bowl and poured the chocolate over her ice cream. “I know, I know,” she joked, “once
on the lips, forever on the hips. But I’m going to splurge. I have a weakness for chocolate.”
Jordan’s smile seemed to reach out and touch her. “I have a weakness, too,” he admitted, his eyes focused on her full mouth.
“But my weakness lies in the area of blue-eyed blondes who sing like angels and hide cash from muggers in their shoes.”
Her thick lashes quickly veiled her reaction, but his words brought a curious sensation to her heart.
Before she could find a witty comment to trade with him, the tables and chairs began to vibrate. Bowls of ice cream shimmied
across the tabletop.
Someone yelled, “Earthquake.” But no one moved, each paralyzed, their eyes filled with panic.
Skye had experienced several minor earthquakes in her lifetime, but nothing that seemed to be this strong. The crucifix suspended
from the ceiling by two wires swayed as the room rocked. Several bowls had reached the end of the table and were ready to
crash to the floor. Skye jerked herself upright to catch them, but in the rush lost her footing. She felt herself fall, the
floor rushing up to meet her. Everything went black, although she was conscious.
Then it was over; everything was still. She remained frozen until she was roughly jerked into Jordan’s arms.
“Dear God,” he moaned into her hair, “are you all right?” Skye didn’t care that his cast was biting unmercifully into her
ribs. She clung to him as the only solid thing in a reeling world.
People began to move around; some of the girls were crying, still caught in the terror.
“I’m okay.” Her first breaths came in gasps. “I must have hit my head. Everything went black for a couple of seconds, but
I’m okay now.”
Jordan’s look burned her, his eyes a brilliant shade of silver. Urgently his hand pushed the hair away from her face, as if
needing some reassurance she wasn’t injured.
Besides the fright, no one had been hurt, and what had seemed an eternity wasn’t any more than a few seconds—less than a minute,
although it had seemed much longer.
In the aftermath everyone started to speak at once. Someone started singing a chorus of praise and thanksgiving, others joined,
and soon the whole group was lifting their voices in gratitude to God. Everyone except Jordan, who remained detached.
Silently they rode home in her car. He had hardly spoken since the quake. The radio was full of the news, stating that the quake had originated miles away, as was often, fortunately, the case.
Sitting beside him, Skye could see that his mouth was tight. She parked the car and turned off the engine.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked again gruffly. He didn’t look at her; his profile, bathed in the moonlight, showed
his jaw to be flexing.
“I’m fine,” she insisted shakily.
Jordan expelled his breath forcefully. “Thank God.”
“Yes, I do! Thank Him, that is.” That Jordan should be so affected by what had happened brought an odd, breathless quality
to her voice. She paused, unsure why she was asking him the question. “Would it have mattered to you if I’d been hurt?” Perhaps
she needed assurance that this magnetic attraction was mutual.
His laugh was harsh. “Yes, it matters.”
A puzzled frown marred her expression. What was wrong? He had been acting strangely ever since the quake. “Jordan, why are
you so angry?”
He was silent for so long, Skye wondered if he’d heard her. “Jordan?” she repeated.
When he did turn toward her, his eyes were as hard as forged iron. “Maybe I don’t like the way I feel about you. Maybe I wished
I could put you out of my mind and find someone who lived in the real world. You Christians, you think reading the Bible and
mumbling a few prayers is going to solve everything.”
His words were so unexpected, Skye drew her breath in sharply.
“Well, I think it’s time you woke up, Pollyanna. You could have been killed tonight.”
“So what!” she spat angrily. “That isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me. I might have blocked Christ out of my life. I might never have known God’s love.” Or yours, she added silently. “But . . . but you’re right about one thing, Jordan Kiley,” she said, her voice wobbling. “Maybe it is
time I woke up.” Angrily she jerked open the car door.
“Skye.” The grim authority in his voice stopped her. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“May I remind you this is the real world. I’ll do darn well as I please.” With a quickness born of anger, she jerked herself
upright, ready to slam the car door.
“Skye, please.” His voice was an odd mixture of fury and pleading.
Unsure, she paused, taking several breaths to release the tension.
Both were silent for several minutes.
Finally Jordan opened his car door and stood. “Invite me in for coffee.”
Numbly she nodded.
Neither of them was interested in coffee, although Skye made the pretense of putting water on to boil. “All I have is instant.”
“Fine,” he muttered.
She stood with her back to him in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to whistle. With her thoughts a jumbled mess, she didn’t
want to face Jordan, not yet.
Suddenly he was there, behind her. Skye could feel his breath stirring her hair; then his hand cupped her shoulder, pulling
her against him. Weakly she submitted to the potency of his unspoken command. Silently she turned, her arms sliding around
him, his chest a cushion where she could hear the ragged pounding of his heart. His fingers tunneled through her hair, molding
her head against him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he said at last, his voice raspy.
She lifted her face, her eyes meeting his. She understood his message.
His finger lightly touched her lips before lifting her chin to meet his descending mouth.
The kiss began gently and fleetingly but deepened until Jordan shuddered and firmly closed his mouth over hers.
When his tongue outlined her lips, Skye groaned and moved away slightly.
They were tampering with temptations beyond their strength.
“Skye,” he groaned into her hair. “I think you better make us that coffee.”
Still dazed, she blinked her round eyes.
“Would you like me to do it?” He brought down two mugs from the cupboard, more in command of his senses than she.
“I’ll . . . I’ll pour, thanks.” She was composed by the time she brought their coffee into the living room. “Before I forget,
Janey needs your address. She wants to write you a thank-you note. It was thoughtful of you to buy her such a nice gift.”
“My pleasure.” He took the pen and pad from the coffee table and scribbled a few lines in bold, even strokes.
“How much time do we have tomorrow before your date?” Jordan demanded, and frowned.
“All day, really.” She wasn’t looking forward to this blind date. “Sally said I should be ready around seven thirty.”
He nodded, his brows knitting together in an expression of disapproval.
“Can we go sailing tomorrow?” She didn’t want to end the evening with another argument and hoped to steer their conversation
away from any unpleasantness. “Brad and I share ownership in a small twenty-one-foot sloop. I think you’ll like it.”
Jordan grinned and gave an approving nod. “As long as it’s understood I’m the captain and you’re the crew.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted him enthusiastically.
“I’ll tolerate no insubordination,” he said crisply.
“None, sir.”
A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I could get to like this. All right, your first command is to walk me to the door and kiss me good night.”
“Right away, sir.” She did as he requested, and by the time Jordan left the only thing cool was their coffee.
“If I take the wings of the dawn, and settle in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand will lead me and your
right hand will hold me.”
“What are you mumbling?” Jordan’s words shot past her in the brisk wind.
“Nothing,” she mumbled. Prying her hand loose from the mast, she gave him a tiny wave of reassurance, then grabbed hold again
in a death grip.
Once the sails were up, the sailboat immediately keeled, and Skye fought the sensation she would fall overboard. “Dear Lord,”
she prayed, “just get me out of this alive.” Her mind whirled with the wind. All she needed to do now was tie off the sails in an eight-knot. But how does an eight-knot
go? Every sailor’s daughter knows how to tie something so simple. How could she have forgotten? Everything fell into place
suddenly, and Skye sighed in relief.
She crawled on all fours back to Jordan in the cockpit, her heart in her throat.
He seemed to be finding her escapades amusing, and there was no disguising the laughter in his eyes.
“We’ve got a good brisk wind,” he said as she lowered herself to safety.
“A brisk wind?” she said incredulously. “I’ve seen hurricanes of less force.”
“I thought you said you were an experienced sailor.” His eyes were beaming with a wicked, teasing light.
“It was only a slight exaggeration,” Skye said, defending herself. “I sailed with Brad and my father several times. I may even have managed to raise the sails once or twice, but never in winds like this.”
Jordan laughed and motioned for her to join him. Skye went readily; fitting into his arms seemed to come naturally. Expertly