Linda Lael - Daring Moves

New York Times Bestselling Author

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Don’t fall in love with the wrong man. She’d done it before and wouldn’t do it again—or would she? Because Love 101 isn’t a class you can take at the Y, Amanda Scott knew she’d have to rely on her instincts. Fate placed Jordan Richards right in front of her nose…and chemistry took it from there. But things got a little dicey (as things will do) when her ex-lover showed up—with his estranged wife not far behind. Yikes! And you thought you had issues. Despite her growing affection for Jordan, Amanda found herself repeating old mistakes. But if she made one more false move, she might find herself all by her lonesome.

For Melba.

Your friendship was a gift from H.P.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

The line of people waiting for an autograph reached from the bookstore down the length of the mall to the specialty luggage shop. With a sigh, Amanda Scott bought a cup of coffee from a nearby French bakery, bravely forgoing the delicate, flaky pastries inside the glass counter, and took her place behind a man in an expensive tweed overcoat.

Distractedly he turned and glanced at her, as though somehow finding her to blame for the delay. Then he pushed up his sleeve and consulted a slim gold watch. He was a couple of inches taller than Amanda, with brown hair that was only slightly too long and hazel eyes flecked with green, and he needed a shave.

Never one to pass the time in silence if an excuse to chat presented itself, Amanda took a steadying sip of her coffee and announced, “I’m buying Dr. Marshall’s book for my sister, Eunice. She’s going through a nasty divorce.” The runaway bestseller was called Gathering Up the Pieces, and it was meant for people who had suffered some personal loss or setback.

The stranger turned to look back at her. The pleasantly mingled scents of new snow and English Leather seemed to surround him. “Are you talking to me?” he inquired, drawing his brows together in puzzlement.

Amanda fortified herself with another sip of coffee. She hadn’t meant to flirt; it was just that waiting could be so tedious. “Actually, I was,” she admitted.

He surprised her with a brief but brilliant smile that practically set her back on the heels of her snow boots. In the next second his expression turned grave, but he extended a gloved hand.

“Jordan Richards,” he said formally.

Gulping down the mouthful of coffee she’d just taken, Amanda returned the gesture. “Amanda Scott,” she managed. “I don’t usually strike up conversations with strange men in shopping malls, you understand. It’s just that I was bored.”

Again that blinding grin, as bright as sunlight on water.

“I see,” said Jordan Richards.

The line moved a little, and they both stepped forward. Amanda suddenly felt shy, and wished she hadn’t gotten off the bus at the mall. Maybe she should have gone straight home to her cozy apartment and her cat.

She reminded herself that Eunice would benefit by reading the book and that, with this purchase, her Christmas shopping would be finished. After today she could hide in her work, like a soldier crouching in a foxhole, until the holidays and all their painful associations were past.

“Too bad about Eunice,” Jordan Richards remarked.

“I’ll give her your condolences,” Amanda promised, a smile lighting her aquamarine eyes.

The line advanced, and so did Amanda and Jordan.

“Good,” he said.

Amanda finished her coffee, crumpled the cup and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. Beside the bin there was a sign that read Is Therapy For You? Attend A Free Minisession With Dr. Marshall After The Book Signing. Beneath was a diagram of the mall, with the public auditorium colored in.

“So,” she ventured, “are you buying Gathering Up the Pieces for yourself or somebody else?”

“I’m sending it to my grandmother,” Jordan answered, consulting his watch again.

Amanda wondered if he had to be somewhere else later, or if he was just an impatient person.

“What happened to her?” she asked sympathetically.

Jordan looked reluctant, but after a few moments and another step forward as the line progressed, he said, “She had some pretty heavy-duty surgery a while back.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, and without thinking, she reached out and patted his arm so as not to let the mention of the unknown grandmother’s misfortune pass without some response from her.

Something softened in Jordan Richards’s manner at the small demonstration. “Are you attending the ‘free minisession’?” he asked, gesturing toward the sign. The expression in his eyes said he fully expected her to answer no.

Amanda smiled and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Why not? I’ve got the rest of the afternoon to blow, and I could learn something.”

Jordan looked thoughtful. “I suppose nobody has to talk if they don’t want to.”

“Of course not,” Amanda replied confidently, even though she had no idea what would be required. Some of the self-help groups could get pretty wild; she’d heard of people walking across burning coals in their bare feet, or letting themselves be dunked in hot tubs.

“I’ll go if you’ll sit beside me,” Jordan said.

Amanda considered the suggestion only briefly. The mall was a well-lit place, crowded with Christmas shoppers. If Jordan Richards were some kind of weirdo—and that seemed unlikely, unless crackpots were dressing like models in Gentlemen’s Quarterly these days—she would be perfectly safe. “Okay,” she said with another shrug.

After the decision was made, they lapsed into a companionable silence. Nearly fifteen minutes had passed by the time Jordan reached the author’s table.

Dr. Eugene Marshall, the famous psychology guru, signed his name in a confident scrawl and handed Jordan a book. Amanda had her volume autographed and followed her new acquaintance to the cash register.

Once they’d both paid, they left the store together.

There was already a mob gathered at the double doors of the mall’s community auditorium, and according to a sign on an easel, the minisession would start in another ten minutes.

Jordan glanced at the line of fast-food places across the concourse. “Would you like some coffee or something?”

Amanda shook her head, then reached up to pull her light, shoulder-length hair from under the collar of her coat. “No, thanks. What kind of work do you do, Mr. Richards?”

“‘Jordan,’” he corrected. He took off his overcoat and draped it over one arm, then loosened his tie and collar slightly. “What kind of work do you think I do?”

Amanda assessed him, narrowing her blue eyes. Jordan looked fit, and he even had a bit of a suntan, but she doubted he worked with his hands. His clothes marked him as an upper-management type, and so did that gold watch he kept checking. “You’re a stockbroker,” she guessed.