The fact that he was even considering such a thing seemed crazy. One simply did not make that kind of decision after dating a woman for forty-eight hours.
But.
The alternative meant saying good-bye to Jordan as soon as the Eckhart investigation was over. And that just felt . . . wrong. He liked seeing her lying in bed next to him, and wanted to see her there more often. A lot more often.
In other words, he wanted it all—and that simply couldn’t happen. So he had a tough decision to make.
There was another problem complicating this decision: he had no clue what Jordan was thinking. Sure, he knew she liked him, but not once had she talked about what would happen back in Chicago. Perhaps she didn’t want to address the issue yet, or perhaps she simply didn’t have any answers herself. Maybe she was just as confused as he was.
He’d always been a straight shooter with women. But this conversation, with this particular woman, unnerved him. Because—if he was being honest with himself—he knew that there was a part of him, a good part of him, that wanted her to ask the questions he’d always tried to avoid, wanted to hear her say the things he’d never given another woman a chance to say. Like that this weekend meant something more than just a weekend.
Jordan stirred and stretched out in her sleep. She rolled even closer, attempting to edge him out to a measly one-third of the king-sized bed. He couldn’t help but smile while firmly holding his ground—even in her sleep she tried to take control.
She was smart and beautiful and successful, and probably the most remarkable woman he’d ever met. With all she had going for her, it was hard to see her ever lacking for—or needing—anything. And although he’d never want to change her strength and independence, some Cro-Magnon, club-swinging, plain-old greedy bastard deep inside nevertheless wanted to know that she needed him.
He’d come to the Napa Valley. He’d even semi-willingly gone to wine tastings—three of them. And he’d specifically told her that she wasn’t getting his usual no-relationships speech. So the way he saw it, the next step was hers. Sure, she’d wined and dined him, but maybe that was par for the course for billionaire heiresses. So before he put himself out there any further, and thought about those career decisions he couldn’t believe he was thinking about, he wanted something more from her. Unbelievably, for once he actually wanted to talk about feelings—but hell if he would be the one to bring it up first. He was a guy. He did have some pride.
Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t show her how he felt.
Nick’s eyes moved over Jordan, taking in the tank top and underwear she slept in. He shifted and slid between her legs, careful to keep his weight on his forearms as he kissed her throat and collarbone to wake her up. She sighed contentedly and smiled when she opened her eyes and saw him.
He brushed his thumb against her cheek—that smile got to him every time. “Hey, you,” he said softly.
“I was dreaming about you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “But this is even better.”
Pride or no pride, if he had been one of those sensitive types, he’d say he knew he was a goner right then.
Twenty-nine
THE NEXT MORNING, as he and Jordan packed their suitcases, Nick’s phone rang with a call from his boss. This was not unexpected—in fact, he’d been waiting for this particular call all weekend. The one where Davis asked him what the hell he was doing.
“Good to hear from you, boss,” Nick answered pleasantly. He stepped out onto the terrace and waited for the conversation to go downhill from there.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing in the Napa Valley?” Davis demanded.
Bingo.
“Nick Stanton figured he should treat himself to a little R and R. The real estate market for rental properties is really booming these days.”
“Don’t give me any of that Nick Stanton crap,” Davis warned. “Do I need to remind you that you’re in the middle of an investigation?”
“An investigation in which my primary objective is to appear to be dating Jordan Rhodes. As such, I see no conflict with my present location. Not to mention, I’ve checked in with Huxley and the other agents on the team several times while I’ve been gone—Eckhart’s been quiet this weekend, sick with the stomach flu. He’s scheduled to meet with Trilani on Tuesday morning, and I’ll be back in town well before then. Today, as a matter of fact.”
Davis grunted. “Well, don’t you have all the answers?”
“You’d expect nothing less of me, boss.”
“I expect you to remember that you’re an FBI agent, that’s what I expect.”
“Trust me, that fact hasn’t slipped my mind once since I’ve been here,” Nick said sharply.
Davis paused, likely surprised by his tone. He responded carefully. “All right, Nick. You seem to have things under control. I suppose you’ve earned a little leeway.”
“Thank you. You’re . . . not going to give me the touchyfeely speech about being your top agent again, are you?”
Davis chuckled. “No speeches. Just a question: violent motorcycle gang or insider trading?”
“Is this an opinion question? Generally, I frown on both.”
“Good. Because one of them is going to be your next undercover assignment. Figured I’d let you pick. Personally, I’d go for the insider trading just for the cushy lifestyle. You’d be pretending to be a hedge fund trader, so we can probably get you something even better than the Lexus. Although Pallas made me promise that he gets to teach you how to ride a bike if you pick the motorcycle gang.”