A Lot Like Love

  "I was also thinking that you could come with me."

  Nick cocked his head. "Yeah ... I'm not exactly a bath kind of guy." He got a wicked look in his eyes. "But there's always that outdoor shower."

  Jordan shrugged nonchalantly. Nick McCall had a few too many rules—it was high time he started bending them. "Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, you know where you can find me." She slid out from his embrace and went over to the bar.

  He followed her and leaned against the wall, watching as she poured herself a glass from the half-finished bottle Barrasford Estate had given them when they'd left. Feeling Nick's gaze on her, she headed across the terrace to the master suite. She hummed to herself as she went into the bathroom and began filling the tub. She set the wineglass on the marble ledge, adjusted the temperature of the water, and added some bath gel. She sipped her wine, letting the water run for a couple minutes before she walked back into the bedroom.

  Each room of the bungalow had windows that vertically spanned three-quarters of the wall, which meant she could see across the terrace into the living room. Nick sat on the couch with the TV remote in his hand, watching a basketball game.

  Jordan rolled her eyes.

  Men.

  He looked over and saw her watching him. She turned her back and innocently went about her business. While in front of the window, she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor.

  She just so happened to be wearing a thong right then.

  She kicked the dress aside. Next, she unsnapped her bra—possibly taking a moment longer than necessary to ease the straps off her shoulders—and dropped it to the floor as well. Then she strolled into the bathroom, naked except for her thong and heels.

  Inside the bathroom, she dug a clip out of her makeup bag and pulled her hair up. Then she stripped out of her underwear and heels and slid into the steamy water. She grabbed her wineglass, leaned her head against the back of the tub, and silently counted to ten.

  She made it to six.

  "You didn't say there would be bubbles." From the doorway, Nick frowned at the offensive white foam.

  Jordan tried not to smile. "Agent McCall ... imagine seeing you here. Change your mind about the bath?"

  "I'm thinking about it." With his gaze trained on her in the tub, he stepped into the bathroom. He carried the open wine bottle and a glass in one hand.

  Jordan watched as he set them both on the ledge of the tub. Without saying a word, he unhooked the gun harness strapped to his calf and set it on the bathroom vanity. Next, he pulled a condom out of his pocket and tossed it next to the wine bottle.

  "I see you're packing heat again." She lifted one leg out of the bubbles and turned off the faucet with her foot.

  Nick's eyes held on her bare leg, and then traveled up to her breasts that peeked out of the water.

  "And I see that somebody believes she's calling the shots around here with this bubble bath power play." He stripped out of his clothes.

  Jordan took another sip of wine—needing something to quench her suddenly parched mouth—as Nick stepped into the tub and lowered his naked body into the water. He grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her onto his lap, so that she straddled him.

  "So is this your attempt to reassert your authority?" she teased.

  He answered her with a kiss that fogged the bathroom mirrors. As their mouths moved together at a slow, languorous pace, her breasts felt tight and her nipples peaked, ready for his touch. When she instinctively began to rock forward on his lap, his thick erection settled right between her legs and pressed firmly against her sensitive skin.

  Jordan's hand tipped—she'd forgotten about the glass she held—and the wine nearly spilled on Nick before she righted it. "Almost got you there." She reached over to set her glass onto the ledge.

  He took it from her. "That gives me an idea." He pressed the rim of the glass against the swell of her left breast and watched her face as his intention sunk in.

  Jordan sucked in a breath, the wine-geek in her doing battle with the woman who was very turned on. "That's ... a really good wine."

  "And I can't think of a better pairing." He tipped the glass, and a small stream of wine flowed down her breast, covering her nipple. "Maybe it's time I showed you how I like to taste wine."

  She gasped as he lifted her breast to his mouth and sucked. He ran his tongue around the pebbled tip. "Mmm ... I taste sassiness. And a lot of spice."

  He reached for the glass and poured wine over her other nipple. He set the glass back down and pulled her breast into his mouth. With a quiet moan, she ran her hands over the flexed muscles of his shoulders and arms. She shifted in his lap, so that the tip of his erection was right at the warm, wet entrance between her legs.

  He groaned and pulled his mouth off her breast. He dug his fingers in her hair, kissing her hard. "Don't tempt me, Jordan. You have no idea how much I want to be inside you with nothing between us."

  He lifted her off his lap and plunked her into the hot, bubble-filled water. She saw that he had the don't-fuck-with-me look on his face. The bossy but ridiculously sexy version.

  "Sit up on the ledge," he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not used to taking orders in the bathtub, Agent McCall."

  "You better not be."

  Smiling to herself over the possessive tone to his voice, Jordan moved to the edge of the tub. Perhaps, she decided, even a strong woman could acquiesce in interesting situations like these.

  She lifted herself out of the water and sat on the ledge. The cool air gave her goose bumps as water dripped down her body and into the tub.

  Another order. "Spread your legs."

  Her body turned to jelly. "What happens if I say no?"

  A confident grin played at his lips. "You won't."

  Damn. So true.

  As her body buzzed with anticipation, she slowly did as he asked.

  Nick rose out of the water onto his knees, his white-hot gaze taking in her spread legs. The water streamed down his toned abs and muscular thighs, and his thick, engorged shaft jutted out from his body.

  Jordan swallowed hard.

  He grabbed the glass again, moved toward her, and tilted the rim to her navel. As she watched, he poured a small amount of wine down her abdomen. His voice was gentler this time. "Lean back."

  Propped up on her elbows, Jordan closed her eyes and moaned when she felt his warm breath against her inner thighs. When his tongue parted her folds, her legs went limp, and she just ... gave in. She felt his firm grip on each of her thighs, holding her open for him. She'd never felt so exposed, yet also unbelievably sexy, as he tormented her with his mouth until she was shaking. He brought her right to the peak, right to the point where she was saying his name nearly nonstop, when he stopped.

  "No," she gasped.

  His voice had a strained edge. "With you moaning my name like that, I'm going to fucking explode if I don't get inside you." He grabbed the condom off the ledge. "Turn around."

  Clearly, they needed to have a talk about his dominant tendencies in sexual situations. Later. Much later.

  Jordan lowered herself into the water and bent over the ledge, her elbows on the marble. She looked over her shoulder. "Like this?"

  She watched him rip open the wrapper and roll the condom on. Then he moved behind her and gripped her hips to guide her bottom up, so that she was on her knees. "Like this."

  "Who's making the power play now?" She just barely had enough wits for one last sassy comment before she felt his hard, hot, shaft nudging her open. She closed her eyes and moaned, her fingers splaying over the marble ledge as he slowly entered her from behind.

  He leaned forward and kissed the nape of her neck. "Me. And you love it."

  Twenty-eight

  THE NEXT DAY, Nick found himself on yet another winding, tree-lined road, heading to yet another winery. Kuleto Estate winery, Jordan had said—which, of course, meant nothing to him. So in response, he'd made his usual grumpy noises of protest, al
though some of that was for show more than anything else. After last night, he'd mellowed—just a touch—on the subject of wine. It wasn't the worst thing a man could drink, he supposed. No doubt, he still preferred a good, stiff bourbon, but he'd begun to think that wine held a certain appeal under the right circumstances.

  His mind flashed back to the image of Jordan lying on the bathtub ledge, moaning his name as she arched against his mouth.

  And now he had a hard-on.

  He looked over at the cause of his problem, sitting next to him in the backseat of the limousine she'd hired to drive them around for the day. Quickly, he realized that looking at Jordan wasn't going to help anything. She was all put together again, polished and stylish in her navy dress and heels, and all he could think about was mussing her up. In fact, if it were up to him, this particular billionaire heiress would stay good and mussed all weekend.

  Of course, whenever it came to Jordan, things were not entirely up to him. "How long will this tasting last?" he asked her.

  "Hours. It includes lunch."

  He grunted his displeasure. She smiled in amusement, and the gesture was inconveniently contagious. He'd planned to act cranky for at least five more minutes.

  Nick noticed then that the road had narrowed as it wound up the mountain. When the drop-offs on the car's right turned steep, he saw Jordan clutch the edge of her seat.

  He slid his hand over hers. "You okay?"

  "I hate this part of the drive."

  "Then why are we doing it?"

  "You'll see when we get there."

  Twenty minutes later, the car pulled to a stop at the top of the mountain. The driver parked the car, stepped out, and opened Jordan's door. "I'll grab the basket out of the trunk and bring it into the winery, Ms. Rhodes. I'll make sure they put it in the refrigerator."

  Nick followed her out of the car. "What basket?" His FBI antenna went up—the limo had been waiting when he and Jordan arrived at the main lodge after being driven from their room in the golf cart, so he had no clue what might be inside the trunk.

  "I had the resort put together a picnic lunch for us," she said. "After the wine tasting, I figured we could grab a spot to eat, well, anywhere." She gestured to the view all around them.

  He took his first good look at the place. While he might not have been the type to ooh and aah easily over scenery, even he could appreciate the sight before him. The winery overlooked sweeping views of vineyards, emerald green rolling hills, the valley, and a sparkling blue lake below. Down a short path stood an idyllic Tuscan-style villa surrounded by flowers, gardens, and lush, shady trees.

  "What do you think?" Jordan asked.

  While taking in the view, it occurred to Nick that the downside of always being in charge and setting the rules of his relationships—and he used that term very loosely—was that no one ever surprised him with things like this. Actually, no woman had ever surprised him before, period. He normally didn't give them a chance to. Yet here he was, unexpectedly standing on a hilltop in the Napa Valley with a woman who pretty much knocked him off his feet every time they were together. He'd be pissed about that if she didn't somehow manage to do it while putting a smile on his face.

  Very sneaky.

  The incredible view made him think of something he'd wanted to say to Jordan ever since they'd arrived in Napa. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her close, holding her gaze. "I think this whole weekend is amazing. But you know that I don't need any of these things, right? I'm here because of you—not for fancy resorts, or fireside dinners, or picnic lunches on a California hilltop."

  She smiled and touched his face. "I know. That's what makes it even better."

  A voice called out from behind them. "Jordan Rhodes."

  Nick turned and saw a man with sandy brown hair walking over to them.

  "Mike. So good to see you again," Jordan said.

  "Look at you—gorgeous, as usual," he said. "I saw your name on today's appointment list. With a plus one, huh? About time." He shook Nick's hand. "You must be the plus one."

  Nick returned the handshake. "Nick Stanton." The "plus one" was getting tired of using that name.

  Mike gestured toward the villa. "Come on in—we're a little crowded this afternoon, but I think we can make some room at the bar."

  They followed him inside the winery and walked into a noisy, cozy room. Guests drank wine at a long banquet table, at cocktail tables scattered along the walls, and at the large bar in the corner. A friendly black Labrador mingled among the guests, quite content to be fed Brie cheese and crackers under the tables.

  Nick relaxed as he and Jordan settled into the last two open chairs at the bar. This kind of wine tasting was much more his style.

  Mike slid two empty glasses in front of them. "Where do you guys want to start?"

  Nick thought about this. "Do you have anything in a pink?"

  Mike eagerly grabbed a bottle from the back bar. "Actually, we have a gorgeous Rosato. Predominantly made from cabernet and Sangiovese grapes, fermented in stainless steel, then briefly in French oak, it's a lush, aromatic blend of wild strawberries and blood oranges, full in the mouth without being too heavy. Perfect for a sunny, spring day like this."

  "Sounds delicious," Nick said. "I'll take everything but that one."

  LATER THAT NIGHT, Nick lay on his side, listening to Jordan's steady breaths as she slept next to him. After spending a large part of the afternoon at Kuleto winery, and then another hour at a smaller winery she'd wanted to check out for her summer wine club selections, they'd stumbled back to the bungalow and finally explored the outdoor shower. For dinner, they'd made their way to the resort's restaurant, a Pacific Northwestern-style lodge that sat on a lake nestled against tall pine trees and mountains. They'd scored a table on the deck and had talked as the sun set—about his family, her family, about lots of things.

  There was one topic they hadn't broached, however. The subject of them.

  In the morning, they would leave Napa and return to Chicago, and then ... Nick wasn't sure what would happen. For a guy who typically kept his relationships with women easy and breezy, this was an odd position to be in. He usually didn't think about the next step because, usually, there was none. But Jordan Rhodes had walked into his life and now here he was—staring at her in the dark, watching her sleep. That was the type of thing a sentimental, introspective man did. Not him.

  He, on the other hand, was a rational, logical kind of guy, and there were a few cold, hard facts staring him in the face. First, he'd known Jordan for three weeks. Three weeks. And they'd officially been together for only the last forty-eight hours of that. Second, taking the next step with her would mean one of two things: either they would spend long periods of time apart while he was on an undercover assignment, or he needed to consider a major change in his career.

  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 sa
y. 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.