PhoenixKiss (2 page)

Chapter Two

Jordan stretched his muscles and waited for the tingle of
cool fire to seep out of his system. It had been a long flight from Seattle and
he was glad to be home and back in his human form. He wanted to take a shower,
relax and drink a cold beer.

He walked naked across the stretch of plush, carpeted floor
to his bathroom and scrubbed his hands over his face. The endless round of
meetings seemed tedious this time. He hadn’t been able to focus for some reason
and he still couldn’t figure out why.

At the door, he stopped and swiveled, tilted his face upward
and sniffed.

Surely not
, he thought and glanced around. But he
definitely smelled a faint trace of wild cherry. It was a woman’s scent but
that was impossible because he never
—ever—
brought women into his home,
his sanctuary. The only place he could truly be himself. Even the cleaning
service he used twice a month sent a man.

Then he heard it, the slow, shallow breathing. His gaze
darted around the room, lingered on his closet door. He began to move forward
but had a thought and turned instead to the security alarm panel on the wall
inside the entrance to his bedroom.

Even though he rarely used the system, he’d had several
panels installed inside the house so he could initiate it from different places
if he needed to. It saved him from having to walk into the kitchen by the
garage door every night before he went to bed.

This instant, he knew he’d made the right decision in case
the person hiding in his home tried to make an escape.

After he keyed in his code, he slowly stepped toward the
closet. Had someone really been stupid enough to break into his home? Were they
still there? As he glanced around his bedroom again, he didn’t see anything out
of place, nor did he see any items missing but that meant nothing if the motive
wasn’t burglary.

Jordan reached the door, yanked it open and watched as a
human form in black jeans and black turtleneck along with a matching black
baseball cap stumbled backward, arms flailing, onto the floor. An echo of panic
surged inside him before anger took its place.

“What the hell are you doing in my home?” he roared.

As the person scooted away from him and farther into the
room,
her
hat fell off and revealed a disheveled, dark ponytail that
floated down her back.

This was not good.

This was
not
good.

Had the door been all the way closed? Had she seen him land
and shift into his human form? The look of terror mixed with awe in her eyes
told him she had indeed seen him shift.

Fuck. This was not good at all.

But Jordan Gaines never showed panic or fear to anyone.
Years of practice shielding his emotions and keeping any expression of weakness
off his face, hopefully, would pay off this very night. He had to figure a way
out of this.

The future of his entire species depended on it.

He crossed his arms. “I asked you a question.”

Fathomless chocolate-brown eyes perused him from head to toe
and back up again like a caress, and his dick responded, reminding him he was
still naked.

“What…what…what are you?” she whispered.

Despite the fact she’d broken into his home, Jordan found
himself intrigued by the woman. A female cat burglar? He guessed that fit. She
was beautiful, with flawless honey-brown skin devoid of any makeup.

And the way she was positioned on the floor not ten feet
away from him, arms stretched out wide behind her, knees apart, each foot
planted on the floor—all sorts of sexually explicit thoughts raced through his
mind. Why was he thinking about fucking the woman instead of calling the
police?

Jordan reached for the navy-blue silk robe that hung behind
the door and countered her question with a couple of his own. “Who are you and
what are you doing in my home?”

She stood, tugged her lost cap into her hands. “Did I see
what I thought I saw? Am I dreaming? What the hell are you?” She shook her head
back and forth several times and continued to wring the cap. “I couldn’t
possibly have seen what I think I saw. Did I? You were a bird.
A bird.
Well, a ball of fire and then a bird and then you…you… I have to be dreaming.
That’s it. I have to be dreaming. Any minute now I’m going to wake up and
realize this was all one big dream.”

Jordan watched as she closed her eyes for about ten seconds
and opened them again.

“Okay…so it’s not a dream.” She held out her arm. “Do you
mind pinching me so I can make sure?”

Surprisingly amused, Jordan leaned against the doorframe.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Why he felt entertained, he didn’t know. What was happening
definitely wasn’t funny. The secret he’d been able to hide all his life was
dissipating fast. What the heck was he going to do with this woman?

Her gaze shifted around the expansive closet and landed back
on him. Was she looking for an escape?

“My name is Layla Martin. I’m a reporter with the
Tattler
.”

Fuck. And. Me
.

Why couldn’t she have been some random woman trying to meet
him and have sex with him? Hell, it had happened to him in the past. Not in his
home,
of course, but in different hotels around the country. He wasn’t
conceited but he knew his appeal to women. They flocked to him, ironically like
birds, and not just because of his bank account.

But this woman was a reporter. The reason she was in his
home was to get a story. And boy did she get a doozy.

At that precise instant, he regretted his decision to never
grant interviews. That his company was in the top one hundred of
Forbes
every year garnered him a lot of media attention but the dual life he led, the
secrets he had to keep, made him maintain a wide berth between himself and the
press.

He’d decided a long time ago that whatever happened in his
personal and private life would remain exactly that. Private. If they wanted to
know about his business, well that’s what he had a publicist and a board of
directors for. They could handle all the interviews and questions.

But his personal life was his own. He refused to allow
anyone to get too close for fear his secret would be revealed. That was all
over now apparently, unless he could figure out a way to convince this
reporter, this beautiful woman, to keep his secret.

Then a thought occurred to him. She had broken into his
home. And even though she’d seen him, there was no evidentiary proof she could
provide anyone to substantiate what she saw.

“I’m going to call the police,” he said, interrupting her
unending flow of questions, and turned to walk toward the phone on his
nightstand. “We’ll let them figure this out.”

“Wait…wait…you can’t do that.” She followed him out of the
room and grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to spin him around.

And that one touch sent an electric heat of awareness
straight down his spine. When he turned, she had a stricken look on her face.

I cannot go to jail. I cannot go to jail.

Jordan shook his head and blinked, unwilling to accept the
words he’d heard in his head even though Layla didn’t speak them. “If I’m not
mistaken, this is my house and you are an uninvited guest.”

“But if you call the police, I’ll have to tell them…”

He watched as her mind worked, sifting through the scenarios
of various consequences she could face for breaking into his home, what she
might say.

“You’ll have to tell them what?” He concentrated hard but
didn’t hear anything this time. She’d been thinking about being taken to jail.
Those were his thoughts. Not hers.

“I’ll…I’ll be forced to tell the police what I saw.”

Jordan had known it was coming. After all, she was a
reporter. The only thing reporters thought about were the lies they told and
whatever it took to get their next byline. He’d observed that firsthand. After
witnessing his guardian’s downfall, he’d vowed never again.

“What exactly is it you think you saw, Ms. Martin?”

“You. I saw you.”

He lifted a brow, waiting for her to spell it out. “And I’ve
seen you. So?”

“You were a bird.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was so simplistic, so
one-dimensional. Something he definitely was not and would never describe
himself as.

“The correct term is phoenix.”

“But they don’t exist. They’re mythical.”

Jordan crossed his arms. “So what exactly is it you plan to
tell the police? What story have you concocted in your mind to convince the
authorities that I’m a…bird?”

Once more, he saw her work it out in her mind, observing
myriad emotions flitter across her face. It was so expressive and open. He
wondered what it would look like when she was in the throes of passion,
aroused.

Damn if he didn’t want to find out.

A determined look came over her. “I’ll tell them what I saw.
The ball of light, the fire, how you shifted from a…phoenix to a human.”

If he was going to work this situation out to his advantage,
he had to at least pretend to follow through with his threat. No way in hell
would he call the police but he couldn’t let this reporter leave here with the
knowledge she had.

As soon as she could get to a keyboard, her fingers would be
spilling his tale. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to keep her here somehow
and convince her that his secret didn’t need to be told.

Hell, he knew what kind of paper the
Tattler
was, had
even picked one up once or twice. There had been stories about him in it a few
times as well. But they’d only been rumors about his love life, his business.

If something like this got out, even a whiff of it, however
unbelievable it would be to some people it could be dangerous, the consequences
too great. He was accustomed to reporters wanting to interview him. But if
Layla’s story got out, they would be relentless. He didn’t need that.

Jordan walked to the phone. “And do you honestly think
they’ll believe you?”

Her mouth opened and closed again.

“Where’s your proof?” He allowed his eyes to travel a slow
path down her body and up again and watched her cheeks redden. “I don’t see a
camera, unless you hid it. But I know I would have seen a flash if you’d had
enough time to take any pictures. My guess is you were too involved in what you
were seeing to think about taking a picture of it.”

Irritated affirmation slipped into her eyes but she stepped
back and reached around to her back pocket. “My camera doesn’t need a flash.”

He stalked toward her, aware that his silk robe was belted
loosely at his waist. He was still completely naked underneath and half-aroused
by this woman. He snatched the hat she held, tossed it on the bed and slowly slid
his palms up her arms.

So close to her, Jordan saw her respond to his touch, felt
the rush of small goose bumps explode across her smooth skin.

Oh my God his hands are so warm they make me tingle.

Jordan froze and released her. Why? Why this woman? The one
female in the world he might possibly be…he wouldn’t even say the words. She
was a woman who would betray him for her own personal gain and he could be
linked to her for the rest of his life.

Due to her height, probably five-four or five-five, she had
to tilt her head up to look at him. As he watched her, he noticed how her
rather large breasts rose with the sudden breath she took and the flare of heat
in her eyes.

Her beautiful chocolate orbs lowered to his mouth as she
licked a wet trail over her own.

His cock jumped in response.

She wanted him.

Even though she’d broken into his home.

Even though she’d learned his secret.

Her reaction to his touch was just as potent to her as hers
had been to him.

But first things first. Jordan warily touched her again and
allowed his fingers to trail down her back and over her ass, to slip inside her
right back pocket where he swiftly removed the camera before she could protest.

She gasped and reached for it. “Don’t.”

But he was able to keep it out of her reach long enough to
see the last photo taken was not, thank goodness, of him. He tossed back the
camera and moved past her to his nightstand.

Jordan picked up the phone and began to call the time
service, blocking her view so she wouldn’t see he wasn’t actually dialing
9-1-1. “You’re a very bad liar, Layla. There are no pictures.”

She shook her head and began the absentminded task of
twisting the hem of the black shirt between her fingers. It wouldn’t be worth
wearing anymore after tonight if she kept that up.

As he hit the seventh digit, she reached out and grabbed his
arm. “Please don’t.”

Again when she touched him, it was as if a magnetic sexual
current washed over him in waves. Her touch got him hard every time her hand
moved over his skin? He’d known the woman all of five minutes. This wasn’t
possible.

“Give me one good reason.” His eyes trained on her mouth,
noticed that even without the adornment of lipstick, it was a juicy red. When
her tongue slid over her lips again, he tracked the movement and instinctively wished
her tongue were washing over his dick instead.

“I…I wanted to…wanted to…”

He hung up the phone and faced her. “I know what the
Tattler
publishes. What did you expect to find when you broke into my home? Me,
involved in some type of sex fetish or BDSM games?”

Even in the dim light, he saw a flush coat her cheeks before
she lowered her head.

Jordan laughed as he moved around her and strode to the
chest of drawers in the right corner of his room. “But that’s not what you
found, is it? Now you have something much more and you expect me to let you
walk out of my house and tell the world what I am?”

He opened the top drawer, pulled out a pair of soft and worn
cotton pajama pants. “But if I call the police, tell them I caught you in my
house and they arrest you, how credible will your story be then?”