Jasmine Cresswell - His Brother's Fiancee

“Oh,” she said, suddenly understanding Jordan’s motives in making the offer to marry her. She quashed an entirely irrational twinge of disappointment. “So that’s what this proposal is really about—money. You’re worried that my father’s money is going to vanish from the Chambers bank accounts if I don’t marry your brother.”

Jordan didn’t contradict her. “Your father and mine have put together a complicated business deal that requires a lot of trust on both sides. My family is giving up land that we’ve owned for generations. Your father is supplying development capital and design ideas. A feud between the two parties isn’t going to make for a successful development. If this project isn’t a success, both parties could end up losing their shirts.”

She was surprised that Jordan had been paying sufficient attention to know some of the details of the proposed Laurel Acres partnership deal. He was notorious for his lack of involvement in his family’s investment and banking business. To his parents’ dismay, he had dropped out of college in his junior year and struck out on his own, claiming that he wanted to become a carpenter. The Chamberses considered any profession that involved sweat and hammers beneath them, so they were seriously unhappy about his choice of career. Their complaints got louder and more frequent as Jordan’s circle of blue-collar friends expanded and his visits to the family mansion became less and less frequent. Even Michael was annoyed by his brother’s refusal to participate in the complicated network of social events that bound together the rarefied world of Texas high society.

Jordan remained unmoved by his family’s reproaches. He never argued with them—he simply refused to change his career or drop his friends in order to suit their sense of what was socially acceptable. Ignoring bribes and threats from his parents, he designed a line of inexpensive kitchen cabinets, found financial backing, set up a manufacturing plant out in the boonies, and seemed to make enough money to live comfortably. He often disappeared for weeks at a stretch, leaving no clue as to where he had gone or what he was doing. His parents and brother, whose business, social and political ambitions were tightly interwoven, found his elusiveness absolutely infuriating.

Unlike the Chamberses, Emily had no problem with Jordan’s choice of career, and she admired his ability to make a success, however modest, without turning to his father for startup capital. She even understood his need for independence, since she’d struggled with similar issues with her own parents. It was his moral code she couldn’t tolerate, especially the fact that his romp with Mary Christine was rumored to be only one in a long series of affairs with married women.

“Why the sudden interest in the Laurel Acres project?” she asked him. “I thought you made a big deal out of the fact that you weren’t involved in any of the Chambers business ventures.”

If she’d hoped to penetrate Jordan’s self-possession, she should have known better. “I made an exception in this case. I got involved.”

“Running short of money, Jordan?”

He sent her a glance that was somewhere between cynical and indifferent. “I don’t need my father’s money. I have access to plenty of my own.”

“Got a new rich girlfriend?” she asked spitefully, then wondered why Jordan invariably managed to provoke her into bad behavior.

His smile betrayed not a twinge of shame. “Of course.”

She turned abruptly, more hurt than she understood or wanted to acknowledge. “Jordan, this conversation is crazy. I would like to go back to the family room so that we can start a serious discussion of exactly what we’re going to say to the guests tonight.”

“Before you worry about what you’re going to tell the guests, don’t you think you should at least tell your parents the truth?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Your engagement didn’t end by mutual agreement,” Jordan said. “Michael called it off. He left you absolutely no choice in the matter, and yet you’re still protecting him. Why? I don’t believe you love him that much.”

“How do you know Michael called off the engagement?” she demanded.

“You don’t lie very well, Emily. Besides, I’m a hundred percent sure you’d never have pulled a stunt like this hours before the ceremony was due to take place.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think—”

“Maybe not. But you already told me yourself that Michael was responsible.”

“I told you? Of course I didn’t—”

“‘Is the insanity you and your brother suffer from hereditary?’“ he quoted. “‘If so, I guess I should be grateful that Michael decided to dump me.’“

She had said that, Emily realized. It was yet another of the disconcerting things about being with Jordan. Her normal barriers seemed to crumble and she let drop information she would never have revealed to another person.

“I’m not protecting your brother,” she said tiredly.

“No? Seems to me he dumped you, knowing darn well you’d cover his ass. And he was right.”

She flushed. “There just doesn’t seem to be any point in getting everyone angry with everyone else. The engagement is over, there isn’t going to be a wedding, and we need to move on.”

“Good thinking,” he said. “Is that what you plan to say at the bridal dinner tonight?”

Jordan asked the question without expression, yet Emily reacted with a sickening lurch of her stomach. She knew she spent too much of her life worrying about making a good impression, but however much she wished she could throw the inhibitions of a lifetime out the window, she couldn’t. She cared that she was going to humiliate herself and her parents in front of a very large crowd of very important people.

To her dismay, her throat tightened and she felt tears well in her eyes. It had been an exhausting, emotion-charged day, and she was afraid that if she started crying, she would be sobbing hysterically within seconds. She fumbled in the pocket of her tailored pants for a tissue and remembered they were all in her purse, which was still in the family room.

The first tears started to roll down her cheeks. She ordered herself to stop crying, but before she could get herself back under control, Jordan was at her side.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly, taking her into his arms, stanching the flow of tears with his thumbs. “Come on, Em, cheer up. It’s only a bunch of stuck-up old geezers who aren’t worth worrying about.”

She would have expected mockery from Jordan, or at least indifference. His sympathy was so unexpected that it had the disastrous effect of shattering what small remnant of self-control she still possessed. Aware at some deep level that she was allowing herself to do something incredibly dangerous, she laid her head against Jordan’s chest and gave way to the luxury of a noisy, uninhibited bout of weeping.

She heard the tattoo of multiple footsteps coming down the hallway but paid no attention until the pounding began on the study door.

“What’s going on in there?” Michael demanded.

“Let us in!” her father said. “Emily, Jordan—it’s been fifteen minutes already.”

“Are you all right?” Raelene asked anxiously. “Emily, honey, I can hear you crying!”

Jordan’s arms tightened fractionally around her. “I have to let them in,” he said.

“Yes, I know you do.” She tried to drag herself back together again.

He held her at arm’s length, wiping away a final tear. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yes.” She looked at him, unsure of herself, but surprisingly unembarrassed. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“You’re welcome.” He unlocked the door and everyone spilled into the library.