Chapter 16
Sixteen
Jordan’s eyesbrightened with another sip, though she didn’t express her delight. My gaze wouldn’t budge from her lips as they hovered over the rim of the glass. “Any good?” I heard the huskiness in my voice.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Do you want to try it?” she offered absentmindedly.
“It’s a girlie drink.”
A half-smile graced her goddess-like face. “No one will take your man card away if you have one sip.” She held up the glass. When I didn’t move, she rolled her eyes. “I won’t tell anyone.”
How could I say no to her? I could barely distance myself after giving in to the fantasy eating me alive for years.
Instead of grabbing the glass, I lowered my face and let her tip the flute until the cool liquid poured into my mouth. My fingers curled around the stem, nearly groaning when they grazed hers.
Our gazes clashed over the rim of the glass. We had a moment, a small exchange of coy smiles. And that was it; Jordan quickly remembered herself.
She withdrew the flute, refusing me even a glimpse of warmth.
Nostrils flaring, I turned away from her.
She tightened the sheet around her chest, similar thoughts floating in her mind. “W-what happened…it should have never happened.”
I drew a long breath, tamping down my impatience. This might be a new development for her, but these suffocating feelings played an integral role in my life over the last few years. At this point, I had lived with these emotions for so long that I couldn’t remember not craving her like a depraved man.
“You mean, last night when I fucked your brains out?” I asked unapologetically.
Her eyes rounded at the blunt proclamation.
“Why?” she asked after a long pause.
I knew what she was asking. Why did you pursue me?
Jordan lowered her defenses after Henry’s true colors were exposed, but my reasons remained a mystery to her.
I shrugged. “I’m attracted to you.”
She took a sip of her drink, weighing the answer. She’d run for the hills if she knew of the sleepless nights and the depths of my obsessive ‘attraction.’ “That’s too simple a justification, considering the gravity of the situation. I’m your father’s?—”
One stern look and the next word died at the tip of Jordan’s tongue. I didn’t want to think of her in that capacity.
She tried a different approach. “I appreciate everything you have done for me. For standing up for me and for getting me away from Henry. But this can’t happen, Xander. I’m your father’s?—”
Another sharp glare cut her off.
She let out a huff. “You can’t get angry every time I mention the elephant in the room. We have to talk about this.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“The fact that I’m married to your father.”
“You’ll get a divorce,” I said easily, though ice lined my chest at the thought that she might disagree. “I’ll help you expedite it.”
Jordan closed her eyes in exasperation, or perhaps she was overwhelmed. “Why are you doing this, and why now?”
Rounding the counter, I positioned myself in front of her stool. Her knees fit snugly between mine, and because I was so much taller, Jordan had to tip her head back to look at me. I wished I could read her mind, wondering what was going on behind those doe eyes.
I met her stare for stare. She was fucking beautiful, and not because some app said so; it was because she was witty and thoughtful, always researching things I liked and going out of her way to implement them in my life. The meticulous detail she used to brighten my day was something I had never experienced before. After a taste of heaven, no man would return to earth and settle for hollow nothingness. She had to see it, too.
“Do you remember saying my name in your sleep?” A wolfish grin tugged at my lips as I recalled my favorite memory from last night.
The rebuff was written on her face in the form of another mortified mien.
“Don’t deny it,” I warned. “If you want to have a real conversation, then you’ve got to stop lying to yourself. There is obviously something here.”
I walked around her stool and curled a hand around her stomach. Fuck, she was warm. I pressed my mouth against her ear. “Did you dream of me, jailbird?”
Jordan elbowed my side and sat up straight. “No, Xander. I didn’t dream of you, and I’m too old for you.”
“Inconsequential.”
“You’re my stepson.”
“I don’t care. Stop denying what’s between us. We both want this.”
“Let go,” she ordered coldly.
I faced her and leaned over slightly to be at eye level with her. “You gave in last night,” I reminded her. “What changed?”
“I told you. I wasn’t thinking clearly last night.”
“Tough shit. There is no turning back now.”
The barely lit room couldn’t hide Jordan’s rising panic at the words. Until recently, she saw me in a different light. I expected some reluctance—it was only natural—but I had severely discounted her ability to drown in self-loathing.
Melancholy settled in my chest, and my gaze roamed her face. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you marry him?” I asked almost to myself.
Regret and a similar sadness coated her eyes at my change in tone. “I didn’t understand what you were trying to tell me that day or why you asked me not to marry him.”
I shook my head and pushed away from her.
I was pissed at Jordan for going through with the wedding. Really fucking pissed. I had pleaded with her not to do it. Everything could’ve been different had she heeded my warning, though a part of me knew Jordan didn’t have a choice in the matter. Henry would have locked her up in an institution if she refused. I didn’t have the money or resources to fight him then, but things have changed.
I stayed away for years, though it had been hell for me. I intended to return after amassing a certain net worth. Thanks to Caden and the business ventures in which I invested my money, I reached my goal sooner than expected. The plan was to throw my money and new celebrity status in her face, make her rue the day she married another man, and then steal her away. It was a spiteful thing to do, but she had the acute ability to make me act uncharacteristically.
Once I saw Jordan in person, my bitterness went out the window. If only she would listen to reason now or at least to my precautionary tale.
“Did you know Henry put my mother through years of emotional abuse before their divorce?” I asked her. “He constantly made her feel this small.” I brought my index finger and thumb together.
Jordan didn’t appear surprised and muttered, “Asshole,” under her breath. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she asked, “Is that why he asked for a divorce?”
I shook my head. “Mom was the one trying to leave Henry, not the other way around. But he wouldn’t let her go.”
“But I thought Henry was the one who asked for a divorce?—”
“He did, but only after her accident. He missed having a beautiful wife who entertained his sleazy friends, so he divorced her,” I added grimly. “But he still oversaw Mom’s finances to control Jasper and me through her. That’s what he does, Jordan. My father controls and ruins people, and he was going to ruin you, too. He controlled you by acting like your savior, then chipped away at you, the same way he destroyed Mom’s self-worth.”
A strange light entered her eyes. “Where is she now?”
“She lives near me. Mom was in the same boat as you, but she’s better off now. If you let me help, you could be, too.”
Jordan lowered her gaze and solemnly nodded.
Neither of us spoke after that, and I realized I hadn’t meant to impart so much information all at once.
She grew uncomfortable at the prolonged silence and grasped at straws to change the topic. “Where are we sailing to?”
“The boat will dock in the morning,” I replied evasively.
“Dock where?”
I didn’t respond.
Her gaze sharpened, posture tense and guarded. She studied me carefully, trying to uncover any hidden motives.
“I can’t run away with you, Xander,” she declared, panic rising in her voice. “I have clients and a life.”
“Actually, you don’t,” I told her coolly. “Henry bad-mouthed you to all of your clients. They fired you and replaced you overnight.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about?”
“What did you think would happen if you only take on clients that are mutual to the both of you?”
“B-but most of my clients didn’t even know Henry before me,” she protested. “I got them to endorse his products and appear in his advertisements. They were my clients first.”
“Doesn’t matter. You let him into every aspect of your life. What did you think he’d do after you pissed him off?”
She snapped her mouth shut. The thought had occurred to her, but she hadn’t expected the swift revenge.
“He’s the primary account holder for my bank accounts,” she revealed slowly.
“He probably withdrew all the money from them by now,” I informed her solemnly.
I called my cousins earlier today to assess the damage we left behind. Henry garnered sympathy by telling everyone that Jordan had a mental breakdown. Jordan’s clients left her at Henry’s prodding, and any money she had was at his disposal. In the public eye, he looked favorably as a victim of circumstance, the doting husband trying to take care of his mentally unfit wife. Meanwhile, he trashed me as the “up to no good son” who instigated the delicate situation.
Jordan closed her eyes in defeat, almost as if expecting to hear this news. She better hold on to her senses because it was only about to get worse.
She pressed a hand to her face and moaned. “What am I supposed to do now?”
I smiled. “You can still take care of my career. I’m not firing you. And Henry can’t get to you once we reach Canada.” It was the reason I requested to be traded to Canada. American jurisdiction only stretched so far.
She frowned. “Canada? That’s where we are going?”
“Nova Scotia, to be specific.”
Jordan looked shocked, the conundrum dawning on her. “I can’t go out of the country.” She glanced at the white sheet poorly draped around her body. “I don’t even have any clothes.”
The thought made me smirk, which I quickly wiped at Jordan’s outrage. “There is a row of stores for the cruise guests. They are closed until we launch, but the owners left me with the keys. Buy anything you want, it’s on me.”
“I can’t hide out in Canada forever,” she cried.
“You’re not hiding. You’re moving to a new city.”
“I don’t want to move to a new city.”
I smiled wearily. “We don’t always get what we want.” Like that wretched day when I wanted nothing more than to take her and run, but instead, she chose to marry my father. Since that desolate moment, I had been suffocating. My father may have trapped Jordan, but not having her with me made me a prisoner of sorts as well. It wasn’t until I saw her again that I could finally take a full breath.
“I don’t want to move to Canada,” she repeated more firmly.
I had no misgivings of where Jordan stood. She had been vocal about her loathing of a romantic relationship with her stepson. Somewhere in my sordid mind, I had still hoped she’d fall into my arms after I saved her from Henry.
Wishful thinking.
I bitterly swallowed down my pride, which was wounded by her rejection. “The moment you married him, you sealed your fate, and what you wanted stopped being important. You got yourself in this mess, and I’m your only ticket out. We have to persuade a judge that better business and personal opportunities have come up for you and moving to Canada is in your best interest.”
“But it’s not in my best interest?—”
“As long as they consider it a calculated plan rather than a manic whim, there is a good chance of the court approving the request,” I talked over her. “Henry’s still your primary guardian, but it’s possible to revoke it with my appeal.”
“Your appeal for what?”
“To replace Henry as your conservator.”
Jordan jumped off the stool. Her body was rigid, her muscles locking up with anguish. She had an unpleasant history with this matter, and it appeared the news was difficult for her to process.
Accusatory eyes burned into my skin, a sharp reminder that I had betrayed her in the worst way possible. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. Desperately, she fought them back.
Something akin to guilt tugged at me, though I dismissed it. Things were already in motion, and I had come too far to back down.
“My God, you’re just like him.” She pushed the words out of her lips as if they were painful to utter. “You’re your father’s son.”
I glared at her beautiful face, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m nothing like him. I would never hit a woman. Unlike my father, who sees women as disposable as Kleenex.”
“Okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “If you’re not like your father, then take me back.”
“I’m not taking you back, Jordan, so stop asking. It’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
My expression—already somewhat hostile—closed off even more.
“You know what? You’re right.” She stared up at me like she didn’t recognize me anymore. “You’re not like your father. You’re much, much worse. You’re making me trade one jail cell for another, even though you know how much it broke your mom to be his prisoner,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Prisoner?” My tone was emotionless, worn out from her constant rejection. “You’re required by law to have your guardian’s permission no matter where you go. Or have you forgotten that you were placed in a state-mandated facility for being a danger to yourself and others?”
Something seemed to wither away inside her at the comment, which, in hindsight, was harsh. Jordan had exercised poor judgment following her parents’ death. The lapse in character may have been influenced by grief, but the law was clear on the people they considered a menace to society. Supervision was nonnegotiable until she was cleared.
Bringing it up was like rubbing salt in her open wounds. I could sense her anxiety, her mind racing with thoughts. She had barely escaped one form of captivity and hadn’t expected to fall into another.
As much as I wanted to assure her differently, what would be the point of lying? Ultimately, she didn’t have a choice in the matter, and Jordan knew it, too. There may have been deception involved, yes, but not outright lies, and I’d like to keep it that way.
She took deep breaths, trying to steady herself and regain control. When I placed my hands around her waist to soothe her, it had the opposite effect. She flinched and held up two hands to ward me off. My arms tightened, worried that if I gave her even an inch, she’d make a run for it.
To my surprise, Jordan turned detachedly complacent. I had expected her ire, not her indifference. Despite being in my arms, it felt like she was a million miles away. This moment was supposed to feel like a triumph. I finally had Jordan out of my father’s clutches. Seeing her like this hardly felt like a victory, but letting her go wasn’t an option either.