Midnight Kiss (Virgin River #12)(44)

And why would they? Even a blind man, robbed of the sight of that tantalizing mouth, those endless legs, the sleek curves—that blind man would hear her husky, come-get-me voice and seek her out.

Yes, he wanted her to the point of distraction. But as lovely as her body was, it was Jordan’s spirit that captivated him. A quick mind, a wry wit and, most of all, a wistfulness she normally hid well…there was much more to be discovered about Jordan.

And he wanted to be the one to do it. Only him and no other.

But she had not yet forsaken her playmates, he’d learned. In a moment of weakness, he’d driven downtown and nearly parked his truck, ready to climb her steps and be done with the waiting.

Then he’d spotted her walking down the street, tossing her head coyly and smiling at another man, one whose expression clearly spoke of anticipation.

Damn you, Jordan, he thought as he pulled into his driveway and parked. Finn came running, and Will wanted to brush past the dog, to throw something, to yell—

Horrified at the agitation he felt and how that turned him into someone he couldn’t like at all, Will exhaled in one powerful gust and dropped to his haunches. “Sorry, boy.” He gave Finn a good rubbing, then let his head sag while the dog licked his cheek and whimpered.

Perhaps he wasn’t up to the challenge she presented. Gentling Jordan Parrish required too much. She bore not the faintest resemblance to the woman he’d fixed up this house for, the woman who would make him happy.

Will rose and stared into the growing darkness.

And tasted the bitter ash of defeat.

He should give her the freedom she demanded, let her waste her life however she might. It was her life, after all, as she never ceased to point out, he thought as he strode toward his back door.

As he passed his shop, however, he couldn’t help remembering her childlike joy in turning newel posts, the shy pride when he’d said she could make one for his staircase.

He was so preoccupied as he ascended his back steps that he nearly toppled the package resting against his back door.

“Will Masterson” was written on it in a bold yet feminine slash he didn’t recognize. Beneath it, in smaller letters, “You don’t have to like this, but I thought of you when I found it.”

“Jordan,” it was signed.

He carried the bulky box inside, wondering how she’d managed it herself. He turned on the lights, then set it on his kitchen counter. What could the woman be doing? Carefully he slit the packing tape and dug through foam peanuts to a bubble-wrapped shape below.

Removing the mounds of cushioning required several more minutes, all the while his curiosity racing.

“Well, I’ll be,” he said to Finn when he reached the end. Will shook his head and glanced down at the dog. “She brought me a window.”

It was the stained glass window he’d been seeking to place above the front porch. Nearly two years he’d been searching, not sure exactly what he wanted and determined to wait until he had that figured out.

You don’t have to like this, Jordan had written.

He’d thought he’d want to pick it out himself as he’d done with every last inch of this place up to now.

But somehow she’d known what he was looking for before he had. A Celtic knot, a lovers’ knot in shades that would now determine his exterior paint choices at last.

Perhaps she couldn’t cook, didn’t know a weed from a tomato plant, couldn’t sew on a button. No, she wasn’t a Marly, nor did she have any desire to be.

But somehow, prickly, difficult Jordan Parrish understood him. Saw into his heart.

“Oh, but I do like this, sweetheart, very much.”

Just then the thought of the man he’d seen her with earlier punched a hole in the pleasure he felt, but he tightened his fingers on the window frame and knew that she’d never done anything like this for any of those temporary men. Patience. You have a lot of it, don’t you?

“I’ll need more, now, won’t I, darlin’ Jordan?”

Slow is better, he’d said to her. “You ass,” he chided himself. “Too cocky for your own good.”

Then he had to smile. He’d made himself scarce, and she’d come to him—with a present, no less.

His normal optimism returned. “You’re mine, sweetheart, and it’s only you who doesn’t know it yet.” He shook his head. “Not that I have the first idea what to be doing with the likes of you.”

Will studied his window with greedy eyes.

And couldn’t help laughing.

God save me, the woman does call a merry tune.

TWO DAYS LATER, ON Christmas Eve, Jordan toasted Jimmy Stewart with her eggnog. “Here’s to sappy movies, pal. You made the best.” The joyous faces and uplifted voices of It’s a Wonderful Life shone from her TV screen, and she wiped away a traitorous tear. “What’s wrong with you?” She hit the power button on the remote and the screen went dark.

She’d survived the inevitable argument with both of her parents in their separate calls, hadn’t she? Why wasn’t she in California instead of Texas? Why wasn’t she married? Would she ever have kids?

She should be celebrating that triumph, not letting some stupid movie get to her.

She loathed Christmas more than any other holiday. It was all about families, and every avenue to escape it was closed. No stores open, no clubs to lose yourself in music and dancing and whatever else might ensue that would help you pass the time until the world got back to normal.