Moonlight Over Seattle

Or maybe not.

His muscled physique nicely filled out the faded black T-shirt he wore, reminding her of a night in high school she’d rather forget.

“Why the starving artist imitation?” she asked, brushing her own cheek instead of pointing to his beard. “You look like Leonardo DiCaprio in that movie, The Revenant.”

“I just got back from a month in Fiji.”

“What was the story down there?”

“None. I can write my column from anywhere in the world. For the last month, it was Fiji.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” she quipped. Jordan’s eyes were the same brooding brown they’d always been. Darn it.

“I’ve been lucky, same as you.”

“Well, I didn’t get to choose which countries I visited. I mostly worked hard once I got there, before moving on to the next location.”

His wry, almost patronizing smile revealed his true feelings. Okay, maybe she was overreading, but he probably agreed with the people who thought modeling was a breeze and life for a model was one long air-brushed idyll. The general belief seemed to be that someone with her level of modeling success couldn’t have any problems; therefore, they should just keep quiet, forgo their privacy, live the way the world thought they should live, and remember they were the lucky ones.

She was lucky, but life wasn’t always that simple. Someone smiling from an airbrushed photograph could be concealing a broken heart or other problems. Money and fame weren’t guarantees of happiness.

Curiously, she was disappointed to discover Jordan was the same as so many other people with gross misconceptions about her “ideal” life. But then, his childhood had been turbulent—the epic battles between his parents had been legendary in the neighborhood. Maybe he needed to believe there was a world where everything was as perfect as the way it looked on a magazine cover.

“How about dinner tonight?” Jordan suggested.

“Sorry, but I need to get on with my painting project.” Nicole kept her tone polite and impersonal, the way she always tried to sound with the press.

Still, she needed to remember that Jordan wasn’t one of the paparazzi-enemies of earlier years, the ones who’d invented a wild, party-girl history for her. Nor was he a friend. For the time being, he was simply a man writing about her and Moonlight Ventures. That it probably wouldn’t be the open-minded piece she and her partners had been promised was a concern, but there was no need to start out with knee-jerk reactions.

“How about tomorrow night?” he asked.

“I’ve got plans.”

“In that case I’ll try another time,” he told her smoothly and started up the path.

Refusing to watch him leave, Nicole continued her run. She hadn’t seen Jordan since high school and had thought little about him through the years. But if anyone had asked, she would have said he must have improved—after all, being a jackass wasn’t an incurable condition, was it? It appeared the jury was still out on that question.

One thing was for sure, he was as good-looking as ever, even with the beard. It was embarrassing to recall her brief crush on him when she was sixteen. The whole thing had started at a party when he’d kissed her on a moonlit patio. At first she’d been curious—as a senior he’d had quite a reputation with girls and she wanted to understand what all the fuss was about—then she’d realized how great his lips felt. Snuggling closer, she’d kissed him back wholeheartedly.

No one inside the house had known, probably because most of the kids had been drinking. Her folks had shown up soon after, terrified she was going to spoil the “clean teen” image that had helped make her so popular. Besides, her mother had declared angrily, alcohol was fattening.

For the next several weeks, while on location in Hawaii for a modeling gig, Nicole had lived that kiss over and over again in her imagination. The days had crawled by as she’d anxiously waited to see Jordan again. But when she got home, he’d treated her with the same scorn as always.

Her crush had abruptly ended with the realization that he’d probably been too drunk to know which girl he had kissed. Nicole hadn’t blamed him; she’d been the idiot with no better sense than to let a single kiss make her forget the way he had always behaved toward her.

Still, that was the past. The question was...what was he like as a reporter today?

Chapter Two (#u9c86c194-2932-5459-a77e-0431c154d25e)

JORDAN RETURNED TO his condo and showered, scrubbing off the sweat from his run. He’d gone several extra miles, trying to tire himself so that he could sleep on West Coast time, instead of Fiji’s clock. Changing time zones could be a challenge, especially for a chronic insomniac.

His encounters with Nicole wouldn’t make sleep easier, especially if he couldn’t erase the image of her on the fitness trail from his mind. Her heightened breathing had drawn attention to the spectacular figure beneath her close-fitting T-shirt. He’d been glad that his sweatpants were fairly loose, and annoyed that it had become an issue for him.

It wasn’t as if he’d been starved for feminine companionship. Most recently he’d enjoyed the company of an attractive and intelligent woman in Fiji, who had simply wanted a vacation fling.

Stepping out, he wiped the fog from the mirror and scrutinized his beard. In Fiji, he hadn’t paid attention to his appearance. It was a great place to practice just being alive, and he had been tempted to stay another month. But it was just as well that he was home again. If he’d continued drifting in tropical-beach mode, his writing might have suffered. His readers didn’t mind the occasional column about food or interesting parts of the world, but most of the time they expected a sharp edge to his writing.

Amazing how much hair could grow in a few weeks. It took a while to shave, then he showered again to wash away the last prickly bits.

After dressing he felt more like himself and sat down with his computer. Syd had sent him a ton of material. He didn’t mind research, he just wasn’t interested in the notes about Nicole. Still, he’d agreed to do the articles and would make good on his promise.

One of Nicole’s last jobs had been modeling swimsuits and other sportswear, and she’d also done a top designer’s wedding collection. Her absence from the modeling scene hadn’t been immediately noticed because the fashion world tended to work ahead of itself, so after Nicole had dropped out a few months ago, magazine covers and ads with her image had continued to appear for a while. They still were, for that matter.

According to the research material, the Moonlight Ventures talent agency had been purchased around the time of Nicole’s last job, and the buyers had been Nicole, Adam Wilding, Rachel Clarion and Logan Kensington. All were connected to the fashion world and were supposedly close friends. Though Nicole was the only one on the Seattle scene full time, there were reports that the others would eventually join her.

Jordan immediately started wondering if egos might get in the way of running the agency. It seemed possible.

There was an interesting entry from the researcher that Nicole’s decision to “retire” had apparently come shortly after attending her sister’s wedding to a Montana building contractor. Jordan had liked Emily George, who’d been in a number of his classes. She’d been nice, funny and smart. Even as a kid it hadn’t seemed right to him the way her parents focused their energy and attention on Nicole, leaving Emily on the periphery.

In the notebook he kept for possible ideas to explore in his newspaper columns, he wrote a suggestion—parental favoritism, long-term effects?

After reading for an hour, he closed the computer, got up and stretched. His muscles were tense despite the run. It wasn’t the articles ramping up the stress; he was worried about his sister. While Chelsea hadn’t been seriously injured in the car accident, the whole thing was mixed up with her skunk of a boyfriend. The other driver had been at fault, but it had complicated her breakup with Ron.

His other sister, Terri, was trying to convince Chelsea to fly up to Seattle from Los Angeles for a visit. Jordan had already gotten her a ticket, hoping she’d decide to come.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. Jumping to his feet, he grinned. Maybe Nicole could use some help painting the interior of her house.

* * *

WHEN THE DOORBELL rang Nicole thought it was her pizza being delivered. And it was, except a clean-shaven Jordan was holding the box as the delivery guy walked back to his car.

He’d looked good with the beard, but without it he was strikingly handsome.

“Hello,” she said, taking the box. “You probably cost that pizza joint any future business from me. A delivery person shouldn’t just hand a pizza to a stranger on the street.”

“Aren’t you being harsh?” Jordan protested.

“No. You aren’t a woman who needs to feel secure about food being delivered to her door. And the person making the delivery. Ask your sisters how they’d feel in the same situation.”

He frowned. “I never thought of it that way. I offered the guy a good tip, but for all he knew, I was a stalker or something.”

“Exactly.”

“I apologize. Look, I didn’t know you’d ordered a pizza, so I got takeout on the way over. How about a potluck dinner?”

“I told you I was painting.”

“But you’re obviously stopping to eat, and I came set to help.” He held up a new paint roller with one hand and a large bag with the other.