Chapter 3
Three
“Xander,”a soft voice murmured, the gentle melody stirring the depths of my soul. “It’s so good to see you.”
I forgot how to speak for several moments and stared at Jordan, worried she might be a mirage. An apparition of the memory I bade goodbye to three years ago.
The years had left invisible scars on my spirit. I spent that time taking care of my sick mother, keeping my unpredictable brother in check, nurturing my career, and building my wealth. But mostly, I spent that time thinking of her.
How many times had I reached the edge of despair, not wanting to go another day without seeing her? Some days, she was all I could see, her image haunting my every waking moment. Still, I never called or visited her. The discipline instilled in me as a professional athlete—and the intervals of violence in hockey—served as a shield against my obsession.
My days were meticulously planned, from what I ate to when I slept. Maintaining order was the only thing that kept me sane enough to face my opponents and deal with my fixation.
Or so I believed.
As I stood before Jordan’s captivating presence, it became clear that she was still every bit the siren I remembered. Everything about her lured me like a trap, lulling me into a false sense of security. Once upon a time, I thought she returned my feelings. That was until she rejected me under the watchful eyes of strangers. I wanted to confront her right then and there, but the humiliation and betrayal cut too deep to stick around.
As the years passed, I turned resentful and attempted to justify my emotions. I convinced myself that my infatuation with Jordan stemmed from a fleeting teenage crush. Youths tended to romanticize things. I was mesmerized by Jordan’s sophistication because I had yet to encounter many refined women.
But things had changed.
Last year, I was named NHL’s Rookie of the Year and led my team to the playoffs. My promising career secured me a fat bank balance, profitable investments, and plenty of attention from sophisticated females. They flocked to me with little effort on my part. Though many of the women had been accomplished and mature, I found no allure in their company, nor had I formed substantial attachments.
Therefore, I thought this time would be different. I was sure she wouldn’t have the same effect on me, and I’d be the one pulling the wool over her eyes. She’d be impressed by my accomplishments and lust after me, and her desire would be my reparation for withstanding years of dejected loneliness.
Regardless of my intonations, I openly ogled Jordan, and when I was unable to tear my gaze away, I knew nothing had changed. The magnetic pull she exerted on me was stronger than free will.
She was mostly the same with one distinct, noticeable change. Her natural bubbly personality was muted. Before I could dwell on it, my attention was pulled by her erotic body, clad in a blue knee-length chiffon dress. Smooth skin akin to polished ceramic stretched from her décolleté to her fingertips. Her golden hair melded with her ocean-blue eyes. The arresting combination resembled the sun meeting the sea on the horizon. She radiated like warm sunshine, heating my skin.
Fuck, she was pretty.
The unwelcome thoughts about my stepmother should’ve shamed me into snapping out of it. Only shame proved futile when faced with this type of temptation. Jordan was a walking wet dream, one you couldn’t conjure even in your wildest fantasies. No man could resist succumbing to her.
“Jordan,” I greeted with a curt nod, blinking away the momentary lapse.
“Please, come in. It’s freezing outside.” She ushered me in without budging from the doorway.
My gaze pointedly rested on her body barricading the door.
“E-erright,” Amusement coated my eyes as Jordan fumbled to get out of the way, realizing her mistake. Nervous energy radiated from her. Right from the beginning, Jordan was always intimidated by me. I went to great lengths to put her at ease, even though it exasperated me whenever fans and puck bunnies acted the same.
She followed me into the foyer, her footsteps light and graceful. In the center of the room stood a grand wooden table adorned with numerous photos of me at special events, such as college graduation, Christmas holidays, and such. Though the pictures were old, the frames appeared to be new. A few of my sports trophies sat proudly, though their placements were oddly suspicious—as if things had been deliberately cleared out to make room for them. My father had erased all traces of my existence from the common areas once I had moved out. I highly doubted he made the effort to retrieve my memorabilia from storage. Skepticism tinged my gaze as I glanced at Jordan, but she didn’t comment on the display.
“Your father isn’t home yet,” she informed me with a forced smile. “He had a late meeting.”
Translation: Henry was occupied with his Thursday night ritual, his female assistant. My steely gaze burned a hole through her, assessing whether she was blatantly unaware of my father’s philandering or willfully ignorant of it. “Of course,” I muttered humorlessly.
Unasked questions swam in her skeptical sky-blue eyes, the pain in them like a gut punch. She harbored suspicions about his betrayal, and my tone only fueled those doubts.
Recovering quickly, Jordan donned her perfected mask once more. “Anyway,” she said briskly, clapping her hands together. “I want to hear about your game. I saw that you guys won. Congrats! And I want to hear about Canada, too.”
She led me into the dining room, her steps bearing a rhythmic grace that captivated me.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
I slanted my head in assent.
Jordan grabbed a bottle of wine off the rack and uncorked it. Wordlessly, she poured me a glass and extended it.
“I don’t drink alone,” I stated matter-of-factly.
She glanced uncertainly at the bottle. “But Henry isn’t home yet.”
I arched an eyebrow inquiringly. “You can’t drink unless my father is home to supervise?”
Jordan blinked. “What? No…o-of course not.”
I hid the slight twitch at the corner of my lips as she stumbled over her words. I unsettled her, even after three years.
“I-I just thought I’d wait—” Jordan began, then shook her head as if dispelling foolish thoughts. “Never mind.”
She poured herself a glass and clinked my cup before taking a sip. I wasn’t a big wine drinker and was surprised when the liquid went down easily. The wine coated my tongue as if custom-made for my taste buds.
I set the glass down, distracted by the motion of her playing with loose strands. The urge to reach out and push the hair off her face tugged at me, but I didn’t dare act upon it. The impulse made me take a deep breath, and I inhaled the intoxicating scent of her vanilla perfume in the process. A hint of fresh apples in the scent further clouded my judgment. My gaze trailed to her delicate throat, which had always been a subject of fascination for me. The slender column held my attention captive.
A knot formed in my throat, constricting my breath. Heat surged through my veins, replacing the tranquility I prided myself on when off the ice. My carefully controlled self-restraint wavered under the onslaught of raw desire, and my cock jerked inside my pants.
Fuck.
The erratic emotions I believed I had tamed resurfaced with unrelenting force, fueled by her mere presence. Lewd images of what I wanted to do to her flooded my mind even as I fought the compulsion.
Jordan made small talk, and I absentmindedly answered her questions. Meanwhile, my mind was consumed with desire, and I shook uncontrollably with carnal need. Things were meant to be different this time around. She was supposed to crave me, but here I was, back at square one.
An ominous voice spoke from the depths of my subconscious, one I usually suppressed but could no longer do so in her presence. Its deafening growl echoed in my head. With a tightened grip on the wine glass, I battled the primal beast.
My efforts were in vain. Logic and reason held no sway over the wild monster inside me with only one objective—her. It gnawed at my skin, threatening to break free and claim the only woman I saw as mine.
“Xander?” Jordan prodded.
“What?” I asked throatily, barely masking the internal turmoil. I didn’t trust myself around that woman and was already wobbling on an imaginary tightrope. One misstep and my carefully measured self-restraint would snap.
“I said Henry is working late, so I’ll serve in an hour.”
I blinked. Right, Henry, her dear husband. I bit the inside of my tongue as a familiar bitterness drowned me. “Whatever.”
Jordan’s face fell at my harsh tone.
Turning on my heel, I marched to my old room and slammed the door shut. I stripped for a shower, and even as I told myself I wouldn’t do it, I jacked off under the cascade of water and came with her name on my lips.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—had changed.
This wasn’t the triumphant return I had longed for; I craved a reunion where she didn’t have the same hold over me. But instead, I was a prisoner to my desires and the one affected…again. Spending the night under the same roof as her would be a new test of self-control.
My blood boiled at the thought of Jordan. Not only did she go through with marrying my father, but she also turned a blind eye to Henry’s flaws. He cheated on her, and she ignored it. The facts did nothing to soothe my ire, which intensified upon surveying my old room. It was unrecognizable, the eggshell walls stripped of the old posters, and my collectible items removed.
Henry might’ve cleared out my existence from the rest of the house—for this had always been a house, never a home—but he had no use for this room. He had gone out of his way to tear down the signed posters, including the irreplaceable ones of dead athletes. Asshole.
The only remnants of familiarity were more trophies from my varsity sports days. A vase with freshly cut greenery and inviting bedding added another touch of warmth to the otherwise barren room.
“Xander! You’re home.”
I turned to find Jenna, our housekeeper, standing at the door. She had been a constant presence in this house, enduring my father’s verbal abuse without resentment. After all these years, I doubted he even knew her name. The sweet middle-aged woman never held it against me or Jasper. A smile broke out on her face as she strode inside and enveloped me in an affectionate hug.
Jenna spoke excitedly about watching my games and following my career between asking a million questions about my new life.
My gaze settled on the empty walls as soon as she took a breath. “What happened there?”
“Your father didn’t think you’d want your old things…” Jenna trailed off, not wanting to speak outright against her employer while ensuring I knew he was the culprit. “I know it isn’t the same, but Mrs. Maxwell tried her best to fix up your room. She has been getting the house ready for you since yesterday.”
My eyes widened at the confirmation Jordan had revamped the house for my benefit. “Jordan put these out?” I glanced at the trophies.
“Mrs. Maxwell also ordered wine and food she thought you may like,” Jenna added cheerfully. “She sent me to tell you dinner was ready.”
Of course, she specially ordered the wine I had enjoyed. Moments like these made it impossible to hold on to my resentment against Jordan.
Jenna excused herself when I told her I’d be right down.
I ran my fingers over the expensive white linens before inhaling the minty scent. Jordan had added these small touches to make the room somewhat welcoming.
It was irritating.
After watching me soar, I wanted Jordan to regret her previous choices and desire me for a change. At the same time, I couldn’t stand it when she did thoughtful things that made it impossible to paint her as the villain.
In the end, I admitted what I had been denying all along.
I could handle the pressure of high-stakes games, juggling multiple investments, and adhering to my brutal, regimented schedule.
But I couldn’t handle one measly week with Jordan.