The One He's Been Looking For Read online

  Just as her mom was about to continue making her case, Jordan spotted a San Diego police officer standing beside her motorcycle. He was writing down her tag number.

  “Hey! Wait!” she called out to the policeman. “Mom, I’ve gotta go. RoboCop is writing me a ticket.”

  “Jordan!”

  She made a kissing sound into the phone. “I love you. Give Dad a hug for me!”

  Jordan tapped the end call button and jammed her phone into her pocket. “Officer, wait. I’m gonna move it right now!”

  The man had naturally golden skin, coal-black hair and the muscular frame of a guy who spent most of his spare time in the gym. He looked up at her and she saw that his eyes were the rich color of a Kona coffee bean. “Is this your motorcycle?”

  “Yes.”

  “License, registration, proof of insurance.” He was all business.

  “Officer, please. I was just about to move it. I was late and—”

  “License, registration, proof of insurance, ma’am.” He was unmoved by her explanation, she could see.

  Crap!

  Jordan rested her helmet on the seat of her bike, pulled the license out of her back pocket and handed it to him.

  The cop looked at the license and then said, “Registration, proof of insurance, Ms. Brand.”

  “I don’t have it on me.” Jordan inwardly cursed her own carelessness. How could she have left the house without her wallet?

  “Wait here,” the officer said before he walked back over to his own motorcycle.

  Jordan followed him. “You don’t understand. I just got my license back—”

  “Stay with your vehicle, ma’am!” The cop stopped in his tracks and made a gesture that let her know he wasn’t in the mood for any further argument or explanation.

  Jordan took in a deep, frustrated breath as she walked back to her bike. She sat sidesaddle on the seat and stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her faded jeans.

  As she watched the officer call her information in, all she could think of was the negative balance in her checking account. The money she’d just made selling customized tattoo designs to Marty needed to go into the account pronto if she had any hope of breaking even. It was a financial reality that occasionally selling tattoo designs and bartending on weekends at Altitude weren’t enough to keep her right side up. But by her calculation, all she really needed to do was keep afloat until the gallery show. Then she’d be in the black. Well, that plan was looking like a real long shot now that RoboCop was about to blow up her flotation device.

  Jordan was still calculating how screwed she was financially when her eyes were drawn to a man walking with long, determined strides in her direction. He was tall with a lean build, broad shouldered, and he walked with the natural swagger of a successful man who was wealthy and knew he was good-looking to boot. Just the type of man Jordan avoided like the plague: cocky, egoistical, narcissistic and way too GQ pretty for his own good.

  “Wolf.” The man spoke in a deep, authoritative baritone voice that was just as pleasant to the ears as his chiseled facial features were to the eyes. He didn’t look her way as he stepped off the sidewalk and strode over to the officer. “Logan Wolf?”

  The officer looked up from his notepad.

  “I thought that was you.” The well-dressed man didn’t bother to take off his amber-colored sunglasses as he extended his hand. “Ian Sterling.”

  “Sterling Silver?” The policeman smiled and shook Ian’s hand. “It took me a minute to recognize you. How the heck are you?”

  “I’m good. Scouting a shoot.”

  “Around here? I’ve seen you on TV a couple times and I thought, ‘not bad for a guy the senior class voted as most likely to get arrested.’”

  Ian smiled briefly. “If I remember correctly, you tied me for that honor.”

  Officer Wolf laughed. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that, in light of my current profession.”

  Jordan listened to the exchange between the two men with growing impatience. She was tired, hungry and she wished that GQ and RoboCop would have their little frat-boy reunion on someone else’s time.

  “Listen, I’m sorry if I made you get out your pad for nothing,” Ian said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She was just about to interrupt their little reunion party when Ian gestured to her. “She’s one of my models. I asked her to park here, and she shouldn’t get a ticket for something I asked her to do.”

  “You asked her?” The cop sounded skeptical as he glanced over at her.

  “That’s right,” Ian said smoothly as he tried, unsuccessfully, to read the name on her license. “And I’d really appreciate it if we could just call this a warning.”

  RoboCop didn’t look totally convinced as he tapped his pen on the ticket pad. For whatever reason, this Ian character was attempting to help her beat the ticket, and she fully intended to do her part in order for him to succeed.

  Jordan pushed away from the motorcycle, walked straight over to Ian and said, “You’re late, Mr. Sterling.”

  GQ looked down at her and examined her from behind his sunglasses, just as if he was examining a bug trapped in a glass jar.

  “I’m sorry about that. A conference call held me up,” he said. Jordan had the distinct feeling that giving an apology, even a fake apology, left a bitter taste in this man’s mouth.

  Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Officer Wolf released her license from his clipboard and extended it to her. “I’m going to let you off with a warning this time, Ms. Brand.”

  Jordan let out her breath, which she hadn’t even realized she was holding in, and plucked the license from his gloved fingers.

  “Thank you, Officer.” She slipped the license into her back pocket.

  “Thanks, Wolf. I owe you one.”

  Logan Wolf gave a slight shake of his head as he sat down on his motorcycle. “You bet, Sterling. Just make sure she moves the bike ASAP.”

  “Will do.” Ian reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. “It was good seeing you again. Let’s catch up sometime.”

  Logan took the card and tucked it into the front pocket of his uniform. “Sounds good.”

  The minute the officer drove away, Jordan turned on her heel and headed back to her bike.

  GQ followed her. “My name is Ian Sterling.”

  Jordan picked up her helmet and slipped it on. “So I’ve heard.”

  Ian held out a business card to her. She didn’t take it. Instead, she swung her leg over the motorcycle seat and sat down.

  “I’m a photographer,” he added.

  She pushed the motorcycle upright. “Congratulations.”

  She couldn’t see his eyes, but she read the slight tightening around his sculpted mouth as displeasure with her response. No doubt he was used to getting his way with women all the time.

  “I want to photograph you.”

  Jordan gave a sharp laugh as she slipped the key into the ignition. “Uh...wow! That was a genuinely pathetic pickup line.”

  “I’m not trying to pick you up. I’m a photographer.” Irritation had crept into his tone. He pointed to the old Lion Clothing building that had been converted to lofts. “My studio’s right up there.”

  “Listen, mister, just because you helped me out with RoboCop doesn’t mean I owe you a massage with a happy ending. Got it?”

  Before Ian could reply, the brass bell attached to the tattoo parlor door clanged loudly as Chappy shoved the door open. “This joker bothering you, Jordan?”

  Most people had the good sense to be intimated by the burly biker. Ian, Jordan noticed, remained unimpressed, and didn’t take a step back from her.

  “No.” She started her bike. “I was just leaving.” She revved her engine for a
second before she shifted into gear. “A parting word of advice, GQ. Get some new material.”

  Jordan slid the visor of her helmet into place and pulled out onto Sixth Street. Ian watched her as she disappeared up the road; no question about it, he wanted her for the book. From her striking cheekbones to her a lovely heart-shaped face and those shocking cat-shaped blue eyes, Jordan was perfect. The interesting angles of her features and her “in-your-face” attitude made her...fascinating. He knew instinctively that she was the one he’d been searching for. She had everything he wanted: energy, intensity, beauty.

  “You got some sorta problem, Jack?” Chappy glared at him.

  Ian slipped his business card back into his wallet. “None that are any of your business, Jack.”

  As he headed back to his studio, his thoughts were fixated on the beautiful woman on the Ducati. And thanks to Wolf and the biker, he knew her first name and her last name. Now all he had to do was track her down.

  Chapter Two

  Jordan stepped out onto the narrow foyer of her condo and pulled the door shut. The early-September ocean breeze blowing in from the harbor brushed across her skin as she stepped out onto the curb. There was a chill in the air that made her glad that she had chosen her skinny jeans and ankle boots over her favorite microminiskirt. Jordan crossed Island Avenue and headed toward the trolley station. As she walked along First Avenue, a black Bentley parked in the lot directly across from her condo caught her attention. She watched as the chauffeur got out, hurried around the front of the vehicle and opened the door for the passenger to exit. It was an odd place for the Bentley to be parked. As Jordan walked directly in front of it, the passenger stepped out from behind the chauffeur. She recognized him instantly.

  Ian Sterling!

  Shocked, Jordan stumbled on a break in the sidewalk. She paused temporarily before she started to walk at a hurried pace toward the trolley. This wasn’t a coincidence. GQ was actually stalking her! Jordan quickened her steps as she reached in her pocket; her fingers wrapped around a small, pink, lipstick-size container of mace. He might be bigger than her, but she wasn’t about to go down easily or quietly.

  “Jordan!”

  She heard the leather soles of Ian’s shoes slap the cement as he pursued her. Jordan lengthened her stride, but wasn’t naive enough to believe that she could outwalk him.

  “Jordan!”

  Irritated and unnerved, she stopped in her tracks and spun around. “What?” she asked in a shaky voice. “What do you want? Why are you following me?” She pulled out her phone and prepared to hit speed dial for 911.

  In three long strides, Ian was in front of her. “I’ve got business to discuss with you.”

  Jordan shook her head in disbelief. “How did you find me? Do you have any idea how frickin’ nuts this is?” She continued to shake her head. “You know what? Forget it! I’m calling the cops right now unless you get lost pronto, buddy. And if I so much as see you anywhere near my house again, I’ll file a restraining order against you so fast your pretty-boy head will spin! Are we clear?”

  Ian held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Jordan. I’m trying to hire you.”

  “Did I ask you for a job?” she snapped. “No. I don’t think I did! But what I am asking is for you to leave me alone. Am I speaking in tongues? Why are we having a failure to communicate?”

  Jordan spun around and began to walk with purposeful strides away from Ian. She glanced over her shoulder once and was grateful that he hadn’t moved from his spot.

  “Jordan,” he called after her. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.” He paused, and then added, “Please.”

  There was a raw sincerity in his tone that made her halt in her tracks; she slowly turned back to him. The sun was waning, but the man still had his sunglasses on. She could barely see his eyes behind the dark amber lenses.

  “What do you want, GQ? Really. What do you really want from me?”

  Ian took one small step forward. “Like I said the first time we met...I want to photograph you.”

  “And why, might I ask, would the great Ian Sterling want to photograph me?”

  Her question made him pause for a split second before he stated, “You know who I am.”

  Jordan narrowed her eyes, angry that she had let it slip out inadvertently that she had looked him up on the internet. She was caught red-handed, so there was no sense denying it.

  “I did a Google search. Ian Sterling...” She waved her hand in front of her body as if she was drawing a large rainbow. “Photographer to the stars. Yes. I know who you are, and the question still remains, why would someone like you want to photograph someone like me?”

  Ian took another step toward her and answered her question seriously. “You have the face I’ve been looking for.”

  Jordan kept her hand wrapped tightly around the small bottle of mace in her pocket while she thought about his words. She just couldn’t figure out his angle. He seemed sincere, but that didn’t mean that he was. She hadn’t spent much time researching him, but from what she had read, Ian was internationally known and highly respected.

  He took another small step forward. “Listen...all I want to do is test you for my next book. I promise you—the offer’s legit.”

  Before Jordan had a chance to reply, her phone rang. She slipped her hand off the mace and pulled the phone out of her pocket.

  “Hey,” she said as she kept her eyes trained on Ian. “I’m just about to hop on the trolley. I’ll be there in a sec.”

  She clicked off the phone and said, “Listen. I’ve gotta go.”

  “What about my job offer?”

  Jordan paused for a moment and then shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not a model, Mr. Sterling. You’ve got the wrong woman.”

  “If you test well, I’ll pay you twenty-five thousand dollars for your time.”

  Once again, Jordan stopped in her tracks. She slowly pirouetted until she was facing him again. “What did you say?”

  This time, he stayed rooted in place. She could see that he was done chasing her for the moment. “You heard me. Five thousand up front. Twenty when we’re done shooting. Plus expenses.”

  “Please.” Her arched brows drew together. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Try me.”

  Jordan tilted her head slightly to the side. “Are you willing to put that in writing?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She chewed on her lower lip and narrowed her eyes as she mulled over the offer. Twenty-five thousand dollars could buy a heck of a lot of canvas and paint. She’d be swimming in art supplies, not to mention that her rent would be paid for months in advance. Her money worries would be over, at least temporarily, and she could concentrate full-time on the paintings for her first gallery showing. And for what? Posing for a couple pictures? Smiling pretty for the camera? She’d be a fool to say no. And yet...

  Ian interrupted her train of thought. “My car’s right over there. If you’re late, I can take you anywhere you need to go. We can talk on the way.”

  Jordan shook her head at him disbelievingly. “Just because I haven’t maced you yet doesn’t mean I’m crazy enough to get into a car with a complete stranger and be taken God knows where! It still hasn’t been determined that you aren’t a very nicely dressed serial killer.”

  “You yourself said that you know who I am.”

  “Please.” Jordan laughed. “Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean that you’re not a total freak. In fact, being famous is a huge strike against you, in my opinion.”

  “Is that a ‘no’ to my offer?”

  Jordan turned and headed toward the station. “That’s an ‘I don’t know.’”

  Ian waved his hand at the driver before he caught up with Jordan.

  �
�I have to catch this trolley. I’ll think about it.” She quickened her pace as the A trolley pulled in.

  Ian stayed with her and, as the doors to the vehicle opened, followed her to her seat and sat down on the bench across from her. He spread out his long legs in front of him and draped one arm over the back of his seat. Jordan would have thought he would look out of place sitting there in his dark gray pin-striped suit and his deep purple shirt, but surprisingly, he looked just as relaxed and in charge on the trolley as he did standing next to his Bentley.

  “Ride the trolley often, do you?” Jordan asked drily.

  “Never,” he admitted easily. He was so ridiculously handsome, so well made, that it was hard for her to stop staring at his face. She wasn’t certain she had ever met anyone quite as perfectly good-looking as Ian Sterling. Of course, he was totally not her type. She was chronically attracted to scruffy musicians and moody out-of-work artists. It was a bit of sickness, really. Lately she had been thinking that it was time to change her brand of men.

  “What’s up with the sunglasses anyway? Are you going for Michael Jackson circa 1982?”

  “I’m sensitive to light,” he answered smoothly. It was the truth and made it easy to explain why he wore sunglasses even on cloudy days or at dusk. Most people accepted it or just didn’t care.

  “Okay.” Jordan scoffed sarcastically. “Sure.”

  She saw Ian work his jaw before he reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. He narrowed his eyes against the light and looked at her. Although the vision in his left eye was fuzzy and blurred, he was able to see Jordan’s face with his right eye. Focusing on what he could see with his right while ignoring his left was a skill he had mastered early on in the diagnosis. To look at him directly, no one would suspect he was slowly losing his ability to see.

  For the first time, Jordan was able to see Ian’s intense blue-gray eyes as he stared back at her. A jolt of instant recognition coursed through her system as she locked gazes with Ian. There was something so familiar about this man. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. As the trolley pulled away from the station, she drew out her phone and held it up to his face. She pressed a button.