Penny Jordan's Crighton Family Series. Penny Jordan

get your jollies out of looking at a man’s half-naked torso?”

      She wrenched her gaze from his powerfully muscled chest and opened her mouth to let fly with a scathing retort, only to have the angry words dry up in her throat. He’d raked back his hair, revealing an inch-long white scar on his forehead. A scar she recognized.

      This was indeed Jordan Caine. As she assimilated the fact, she felt faint with relief. For months she’d tried desperately to get in touch with this man so she could put her plans in motion. Now—oh, joy!—he was here.

      Controlling a rush of euphoria, she set the knife on the counter. “How did you get into the house?”

      “I have a key. Which was just as well—I doubt you’d have heard me if I’d rung the bell, you were out like a light. By the way, you’ll be glad to know you don’t snore.”

      She stared at him. “What? How do you know—”

      “I arrived in the early hours but before I went upstairs I heard a movement in that bedroom so I checked it out. You were sound asleep in a creaky old rocking chair.”

      “You mean…you slept here?”

      “Of course.”

      Her mind boggled at the absolute gall of the man—walking into the house like that, as if he owned it! With an effort, she held onto her temper. “What do you want?”

      “Right now,” he said with a mocking smile, “what I want is coffee. Did you happen to make enough for—”

      The toast popped up and to her astonishment, he whirled towards the sound, his body taut. The spring-loaded reaction made her blink. She’d sensed the man was on edge but this was ridiculous. Curiosity burned inside her—

      But when he turned to her again, his eyes had a diamond-hard glitter. A warning glitter. Mind your own business. He didn’t say the words; he didn’t need to.

      She swallowed back her half-formed questions. “I didn’t make enough coffee for two, but help yourself. I’ll put on another pot when I’ve had my shower.”

      “And we’ll talk. You have a bit of explaining to do.”

      “I have a bit of explaining to do?” She glowered at him. “You’ve got to be kidding! You’re the one who—”

      “Could you pass me a mug?”

      Lips compressed, she reached into the cupboard. He stepped over and held out his hand. As he took the mug, she caught a hint of his musky male scent. It was earthy as a dark forest, erotic as an intimate caress. She felt an unfamiliar tingling sensation deep down inside her…a sensation that was as unsettling as it was unwelcome.

      She drew back sharply, but not before she’d seen his mouth slant in a knowing smile.

      “I guess,” he murmured maliciously as he poured his coffee, “you’re not used to having a half-naked male around in the morning. Sorry if I’m disturbing you—”

      “On the contrary,” she retorted with a haughty tilt of her chin, “I’m quite used to having a half-naked male around in the morning—and not only in the kitchen, but in my bed!”

      She whirled away from him and stalked out of the kitchen, her cheeks burning. But even as she hurried to the bedroom, she heard his mocking laughter follow her.

      The sooner she got rid of him the better, she decided angrily—though she must be careful not to antagonize him. He could so easily put obstacles in the way of her becoming Matthew’s legal guardian, and that was to be avoided at all costs. No, on the surface she’d have to be nice to Jordan Caine. It would be a very small price to pay in the end.

      She closed the bedroom door and tiptoed over to check on Matthew. He was still asleep, thank goodness. She hoped he wouldn’t waken till after she and his uncle had had their talk. She didn’t want to be distracted during what was going to be the most important conversation of her life.

      “Right, let’s have that talk.” Jordan leaned back against the countertop, watching Ms. Madison through narrowed eyes as she made a fresh pot of coffee. Earlier, touslehaired and terrified, with yesterday’s lipstick and mascara smudged—and with a scalpel-sharp bread knife pointed directly at his heart!—she’d looked sexy as hell. Now, in a demure green T-shirt and perky shorts, with her hair neatly scooped up in a topknot and her face scrubbed clean, she looked even sexier. Too bad she was a redhead; the situation could have been interesting. “For starters, what are you doing here?”

      “That’s exactly what I was going to ask you.” Taking toast from the toaster, she crossed to the table. “But okay, I’ll go first. I’ve moved in. As of last night.”

      He did a double take. “Moved in?”

      She buttered the toast. “I plan on living here.” She reached for the marmalade. “For the foreseeable future.”

      “In this house? Are we talking about the same place? Number Five Seaside Lane?”

      She turned to him, her brown eyes faintly surprised. “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

      He paused for a moment, and then faking an encouraging tone that set his teeth on edge, he said, “Tell me more about these plans of yours. As I recall, you had a job in Seattle…?”

      His nonthreatening manner had its desired effect; he could see her relax, could see he’d put her off-guard.

      “That’s right,” she said. And added impulsively, “I have to admit that the last several months haven’t been easy. I’ve driven here every Friday after work, gone back to Seattle every Sunday night. It’s been awful, not being with Matthew through the week. I’ve missed him so much—but now we can be together all the time and I’m so happy about that. You’ll get to meet him in a minute,” she added with a smile. “He’s still asleep, but he should be wakening soon.”

      She’d brought a lover here? Jordan stared at her incredulously. “He slept in this house last night?”

      “Mmm.”

      “He wasn’t in your bed!”

      “I don’t let him into my bed every night—only when he’s whiny.”

      “Whiny?” Good grief, what kind of a wimp was the guy!

      “Look, I’m not expecting you to get involved with him. In fact, I’m assuming you won’t want to and I’d actually prefer that you didn’t. But it would be nice if you could send him a postcard once in a while when you’re abroad—”

      “Are you out of your mind? I want nothing to do with him. I don’t even want to see him!”

      His vehemence obviously jolted her; but at the same time he saw an expression of relief in her eyes.

      “Then that will make everything easier for me,” she said. “I was afraid that if you once held him in your arms you might fall in love with him and want him for yourself.”

      “What the hell do you—”

      “I’m sorry, but try to see it from my point of view. I’ve been trying to contact you for months so we could straighten everything out but when I didn’t hear from you, I decided to forge on with my own plans on the assumption that you wanted nothing to do with the situation. You can’t blame me, since you didn’t even bother to come home for the funeral! And since you told me at the wedding that you’d never forgive me for supporting Tom and Janine when they wanted to marry, I figured I’d never see you again.”

      “My sister was barely eighteen,” he snapped. “Your brother got her pregnant when she was little more than a child herself. He was twenty-four, and took advantage of a girl who was immature and—”

      “They married because they were in love.”

      “There’s no point in discussing this now. It’s water under the bridge. But you’re right about one thing. I’ll never