liberally to its contents this past month. A cripple and a drunk; how the mighty had fallen! he thought derisively.
Stephanie McKinley eyed him frowningly. ‘Alcohol causes depression—’
‘I’m not depressed, damn it! ‘ The glass landed heavily on the table-top as he slammed it down, spilling some of its contents over his hand and onto the wooden surface.
‘Okay. But you’re angry. Frustrated. And rude.’
‘How do you know that I wasn’t angry, frustrated and rude before the accident?’ Jordan asked.
‘You weren’t,’ Stephanie said quietly as she looked up at him. ‘The press would certainly have made something of it if the famous Jordan Simpson were known to be any one of those things.’
Instead of which the media had always written glowing reports of the handsome and charming actor as he escorted leggy blondes to film premieres, or out to dinner at one exclusive LA restaurant or another. Usually looking devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo or casually tailored clothing, his dark hair still overlong but expertly styled to make the most of his hard and chiselled cheeks and jawline, and the lazily sexy smile that curved those sculptured lips. Not to mention, of course, those mesmerising amber-gold eyes!
A complete contrast to this savagely acerbic man, in the crumpled T-shirt and denims he wore this evening, with that growth of beard on his chin and his too-long untidy hair.
‘When did you last go to a barber or have a shave?’ Stephanie asked.
Jordan picked up the glass and took another long swallow of red wine. ‘None of your damned business,’ he growled.
‘Taking a pride in your appearance—’
‘Isn’t going to make a damned bit of difference to the fact that my leg is shot to hell.’
‘We need to find out why that is,’ she pressed.
‘No, Stephanie, you need to find out why that is if you want to keep what I have no doubt is a very well paying job,’ Jordan pointed out. ‘But, as I have no intention of letting you anywhere near me or my leg, that’s going to prove rather difficult, don’t you think?’
Impossible, actually, Stephanie admitted with frustration. Being able to actually assess a patient’s disability was more than half the battle. It also affected any and all treatment. Treatment this man had assured her he definitely wasn’t going to allow her to give him. She stood up to collect her dirty plates, and carried them over to begin loading them into the dishwasher. ‘Would you like me to cook your steak for you now?’
‘Tell me, Steph, which part of get the hell out of my home didn’t you understand earlier?’ Jordan St Claire snarled cruelly.
Stephanie drew in a controlling breath. ‘As I am neither stupid nor deaf, I understood all of it. I also prefer my. my clients to call me Stephanie or Miss McKinley,’ she added primly. Only her family and very close friends were allowed to shorten her name in that way. Besides which, the formality of her full name sounded more professional. And she freely admitted she was having more trouble than usual in keeping her relationship with Jordan Simpson on a professional basis.
Considering the threatened scandal of what Joey called the ‘Newman situation’, Stephanie definitely needed to keep her relationship with this man—with all her patients—on a completely professional basis. If Rosalind Newman’s accusations concerning her husband and Stephanie had been true, she knew she would deserve the other woman’s vitriol. As it was, she had actually found Richard Newman one of her least likeable patients.
Unlike Jordan Simpson, despite his disgraceful temper.
Jordan eyed her mockingly as he refilled his wine glass. ‘Why won’t you just accept that you’re wasting your time with me, Stephanie? That I don’t want or need you here?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I agree with the first part of that second statement, at least!’
Jordan’s jaw tightened as he saw the challenge in the slight lift of her pointed chin and sparkling green eyes. As he acknowledged once again that his mouth and brain were pushing this woman away at the same time as his body wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. He hadn’t so much as felt a flicker of physical interest in a woman these past six months, and had wondered in some of his darker moments if perhaps the accident had robbed him of that ability too. The stirring of his thighs just looking at this woman had at least reassured him that wasn’t the case, he thought ruefully.
Jordan wondered just what the determinedly professional Stephanie McKinley would do about it if he were to follow through on his instinct to kiss the hell out of her? Run screaming bloody murder into the night, probably, and never darken his door again!
Which, thinking about it, was precisely what Jordan wanted her to do.
He carefully placed his cane against the kitchen table before turning to walk—damn it, hobble!—the short distance that separated them, so that he stood only inches away from the suddenly wary Stephanie McKinley as she pressed herself back against the kitchen cabinet to look up at him with wide apprehensive eyes. ‘Not so confident now, hmm, Stephanie?’ Jordan deliberately moved closer still.
Stephanie inwardly panicked. She could actually feel the heat of Jordan’s body as he stood mere centimetres away from her. She instantly responded to that heat, her breasts seeming to swell, and the nipples becoming hard and full against the thin material of her T-shirt, to her dismay.
Shaved or not, untidy overlong hair notwithstanding, he was undoubtedly every inch the sexually mesmerising A-list actor at that moment!
Stephanie moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue, at once realising her mistake as she saw the way that seductive golden gaze followed the movement. ‘This isn’t funny, Jordan—’
‘It isn’t meant to be.’ He moved the small distance that separated them. The aroused hardness of his thighs pressed against Stephanie’s own, causing that heat to flare into an uncontrollable flame. ‘Is this natural?’ Jordan lifted a hand to touch the deep red hair at her temple.
Stephanie frowned. ‘You don’t seriously think any woman would deliberately dye her hair this colour?’ she scorned, in an effort to dispel her discomfort at his close proximity. At having Jordan Simpson touch her in this way.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he murmured appreciatively as he caressed several silky tendrils against his fingertips. ‘Unusual.’
Stephanie knew exactly what Jordan was doing. She’d already realised that he was deliberately playing with her as another tactic in getting her to leave. But knowing that didn’t make the slightest difference to the way she was responding to his closeness and the light caress of his fingertips as he touched her hair. She could barely breathe—didn’t dare breathe—when her aroused breasts were already brushing against the hardness of Jordan’s chest and making her ache for even closer contact! ‘It’s just plain old red.’
‘No,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I’ve never seen hair quite this colour before. It’s auburn and cinnamon, with highlights of red and gold.’
The colour of Stephanie’s hair had been the bane of her childhood, and certainly wasn’t the feature to mention if he was serious about this seduction. Which he obviously wasn’t! ‘It’s red,’ she insisted flatly.
That golden gaze moved slowly over the fullness of her breasts, lingering appreciatively on those hardened nipples before travelling over the flatness of her stomach and down to her thighs, to linger there speculatively. ‘Are you the same—?’
‘Don’t even go there!’ Stephanie interjected sharply, the heat having burned up her cheeks now. ‘Just step away from me, Jordan,’ she warned.
That golden gaze taunted her. ‘Or …?’
She met his gaze challengingly. ‘Or I’m afraid I’ll have to make you.’ Stephanie had taken Ju-Jitsu lessons