Chapter Seventeen
So That’s Where He Got Those Muscles
As they walked through the woods, Charlotte was surprised and impressed at his knowledge: she could recognize a pine or a birch tree, but he knew all the different trees along the trail and a number of shrubs as well.
“Did you spend a lot of time here growing up?”
He nodded. “During winter break from school and the summer, I’d spend all my time out here. George didn’t complain too much, it kept me out of the way. There were no other kids here and not a lot to do.” He paused under a large tree. “See that low, straight branch? That was the floor of my tree house.”
She stared up but couldn’t see what he meant—there were just a lot of branches.
“It’s a chestnut: very leafy and green in the spring and summer, and you are completely hidden from the trail up there. That thick branch there was the floor and then there were some other branches that worked as walls—or more importantly, gave me something to hold onto.” His eyes shone as he pointed out the details to her. “And if you climb up a bit higher, you can see almost all of the way to the coast. That was the window.”
“You must have had an amazing imagination. I mean, couldn’t you just have had a tree house if you wanted one?” She regretted the words as soon as they’d escaped her mouth.
“I guess. Someone would have had to build it, though.” He gave her a frank look. “I know what you mean, though. I was pretty spoiled. I had an easy childhood. I never wanted for anything.”
“Except friends?”
“I made some friends at boarding school.” He laughed as if it were no big deal, but it sounded a bit hollow.
They continued walking, but Charlotte couldn’t help looking back at the “tree house”. It was definitely just a mess of branches, a perfectly normal tree. “We could go up there.”
“No way! No girls allowed in my tree house.” He grinned. “Well, ok, no girls ever asked to come into my tree house before.” He ducked his head down close to hers. “Until now.”
Her eyes widened as he looked down at her. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? She felt her lips part. Her heart pounded.
When he looked up again, she couldn’t deny the disappointment coursing through her. She had wanted him to.
He was still talking about that damn tree house. “But no, it’s not strong enough for adults. We’d probably come crashing down.” He took her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world and kept walking. “But if it were a real tree house, I’d invite you in.”
“If it were a real tree house, I’d accept,” she said. She knew it didn’t mean anything. He’d told her she needed to hold hands with him when at the house. Maybe they were within view of the house. But she felt a tingle course through her as they walked back.
Charlotte liked hearing Jordan talk about his work and he seemed interested in her reactions. He certainly wasn’t what she expected. He truly cared about his staff, not like his father. Maybe it wasn’t really fair to blame him for what George Lovett did. Or did she just tell herself that because she was starting to like him? That would be naive of her. She was sick of her brain trying to make him out to be the good guy, circling the same ground over and over.
Still, she left her hand in his as Jordan led her to the back of the mansion they called home. “I promised Maria I would restock the woodpile.” He let go of her and picked up a heavy axe like it was nothing. Behind the shed was a stack of large logs. Charlotte was surprised: she presumed the wood just arrived, pristine and without effort. But no, there he was chopping up large pieces of pine and stacking them up high. He got into a rhythm after a minute and then, despite the chilly damp day, he pulled off his shirt and continued to work.
She took the chance to send the photographs to her father using roaming data. She didn’t have time to write a note or anything sensible but at least she knew they were safely stored somewhere.
Once that was done, Charlotte relaxed, watching Jordan work. His back muscles contracted and flexed as he brought the axe down on the wood. His movements were confident, almost graceful. Was there anything this man couldn’t do? For a moment, she let herself imagine being with him for real. She could massage out those tired muscles, bring him a whiskey on the rocks to soothe his tired mind after work. Would he stop talking to her about things after they got married, like George implied? Or would he continue to value her opinion?
She knew the answer to that from last night. She remembered sitting at the dinner table, biting her lip as his father talked about the lower classes (her people, the way he looked at her) and ranting about how staff needed to be treated with an iron fist because naturally they were too lazy to work. She sighed. She would never be able to be the sweet and quiet trophy wife. Good luck to Lauren for pulling it off, but she couldn’t.
Still, it didn’t hurt to keep watching him a while longer. He grabbed his shirt to wipe the perspiration away and then pulled over another hunk of wood. She wondered if he was pushing himself because of the conversation of the house, if he was wishing he was back at the office instead. Probably. He was probably just waiting for the weekend to be over. And so was she. She was ready to go back to her life and her normal apartment and normal worries.
She’d be forgotten before he sat down at his desk on Monday. And that would be fine. Better than fine. She had her own business to run, not that he would credit her with that. Maybe she didn’t have the kind of problems he did, but she had her own problems to worry about. With the money she made this weekend, she could pay off her debts and even afford to do some advertising. Sure, she’d never have a Fortune 1000 company or be on the cover of Newsweek or anything. Certainly, she’d never be voted most eligible bachelor by the Riverside Times. But she could make a living. She could take care of herself and her parents: the kind of problem Jordan didn’t have to worry about. He didn’t need to take care of anyone but himself.
He brought the axe down on the last log with a thump and a smile of satisfaction as it split. “Can you help me carry these in?”
“Sure.” They loaded a wheelbarrow with the wood and he pushed it to the side of the house, where there was a covered area and a small grate. He was still shirtless and it was impossible not to stare at his chest.
“Just pile it there, then Maria can pull it in as she needs it.”
“This house really has everything.” She smiled at him, a real smile this time.
He smiled back and then grabbed her hand. But he didn’t hold it this time, he turned it over. “Tell me about this,” he said. His fingers traced a circle around her tattoo. She shivered but didn’t pull away.
He stepped closer, so close she could smell his cologne. “What does the R stand for?”
His fingers trailed a path of excitement. She had no idea her wrist could be so sensitive. “Ruthless,” she whispered.
“What?”
Her brain kicked in a moment too late. “Rufus,” she said. “It’s my dog.”
“You have a dog?”
This was possibly not helping. “Had a dog. Childhood thing.” She’d never had a dog; her mother was allergic. The only pet they’d had was a hamster who got lost one day while its cage was being cleaned. They’d heard it scrabbling in the walls for weeks after. Charlotte used to steal salad from the kitchen and leave it along the skirting boards. But now here was Jordan, looking at her expectantly. “He died.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?” His fingers had restarted their trailing up and down her arm and the last thing she cared about was some stupid dog she’d never owned.
“Old age, I guess. I don’t know. I was pretty young.” She was getting better at lying, at least, although that was never a character trait she thought she’d be desperate to improve.
“Um.” She pulled her arm away, willing her brain to work again. “I’ll go into the library and get the fire going, if you want. I wouldn’t mind reading a bit more anyway.”