A Man for Amanda Read online

  "Oh, I need." He crushed his mouth to hers again to show her how much.

  She waited for him, chiding herself for being as nervous as a new bride on her wedding night. Perhaps the waiting was more intense because she knew what they would bring to each other.

  She slipped on a thin blue chemise, an impulsive extravagance that had been folded away for months. Unable to settle, she turned down the bed. There were candles she'd kept at the bedside and on the bureau for emergencies. But when she lighted them now, their glow was soft, romantic, and anything but prac­tical. Suzanna had placed flowers in the room, as she always did. This time they were fragile lilies of the valley that added a haunting fragrance. Though there was no moonlight, she opened the terrace doors to let in the steady roar of the water on rocks.

  Then he came to her, as she stood in the open door­way with the black night at her back.

  The quick joke he'd meant to make melted from his mind. He could only stare, his hand growing damp on the knob, his heart bounding up to block his throat. To have her waiting for him, looking so desirable in the flicker of candlelight, to see that smile of wel­come, was everything he'd ever wanted.

  He wanted to be gentle with her, as he'd been so carefully gentle the night before. But when he crossed to her, the slow burn had already turned to fire. There was challenge instead of nerves in her eyes as she lifted her arms to take him in.

  "I thought you'd never get here," she said, and, led by her own needs, crushed her mouth to his.

  How could there be gentleness when there was such heat? How could there be patience when there was such urgency? Her body was already vibrat­ing—Lord, he could feel each wild beat—as it fit it­self to his. The flimsy material of her chemise teased the bare flesh of his chest, daring him to rip it aside and plunder. Her scent had wrapped itself around his system, taunting with dark secrets, seducing with fe­vered promises.

  In that moment he was so full of her, he couldn't find himself.

  Breathless, disoriented, he lifted his head. He knew his hands were big and could be rough if his heart didn't guide them. He knew his needs were huge and could be ruthless if he didn't retain control.

  "Wait." He needed a moment to get back his breath and his sanity, but she was shaking her head.

  "No." Her hands clutched in his hair, and she pulled him back to her.

  She didn't know when the recklessness had burst through her, but it held sway now, as she fell with him onto the bed. Aggressive and desperate, her hands streaked over him. No weakness this time. No submission. She wanted the power, the power of knowing she could make him careless, make him as mindless and vulnerable as he made her.

  In a tangle of arms and legs they rolled over the bed. Each time he tried to pull back, she was there, her mouth greedy, her low, sultry laughter pounding in his blood.

  Her busy fingers rushed to unsnap his jeans, then tugged the denim over his hips. His muscles jumped and quivered when she danced those fingertips across his stomach. He swore, snatching her hands before she could drag him over that last jagged edge.

  Breath heaving, he stared down at her, her wrists trapped in his hand. Her eyes were like cobalt, glis­tening dark in the shifting light. He could hear, over his own ragged breaths, the steady ticking of the bed­side clock.

  Then she smiled, a slow, lazy smile full of knowl­edge. And he heard nothing but the roar of his own needs.

  Hot with hunger, his mouth fused with hers. Reck­less with passion, his hands sought and took. She an­swered, demand for demand, pleasure for pleasure. Control snapped—he could almost hear the chain break as he sated himself with her. This was libera­tion, a world without reason. Desperate to feel her, he tore the chemise aside. Her quick gasp of surprise only fueled the fires.

  Tossed in the whirlwind, she gave herself over to the speed, surrendered herself to the fury. No thought. No question. Only hot, damp flesh, ravenous, search­ing lips, quick, greedy hands.

  His eyes open, fixed on hers, he drove himself into her, letting the shock of pleasure fill them both. Then she was rising up to meet him so that they drove each other into the dark.

  "Yes, Mr. Stenerson." Amanda hummed a tune in her head as her supervisor droned on. And on. Ten more minutes, and she was off duty. Even the upcom­ing séance didn't dim her pleasure.

  She would be with Sloan soon. Maybe there would be time for a walk before dinner.

  "You don't seem to have your mind on your work, Miss Calhoun."

  That brought her back with a jolt of guilt. "You were concerned about Mr. and Mrs. Wicken's com­plaint."

  Glaring, he tapped his pencil on the desk. "I'm very concerned that one of our waiters spilled an en­tire tray of drinks in Mrs. Wicken's lap."

  "Yes, sir. I arranged to have her slacks cleaned, and for a complimentary dinner for them any evening during their stay. They were satisfied."

  "And you've fired the waiter?"

  "No, sir."

  His eyebrows rose up, wiggling like worms. "May I ask why not, when I specifically requested you do so?"

  "Because Tim has been with us for three years, and could hardly be blamed for spilling the tray when the little Wicken boy stuck out his foot and tripped him. Several other waiters, and several of the guests saw it happen."

  "Be that as it may, I gave you a specific order."

  "Yes, sir." The cheerful little tune in her head be­came a throbbing headache. She'd meant to go over all of this with Stenerson before. "And after a closer review of the circumstances, I chose to handle it dif­ferently."

  "Need I remind you who is in charge of this hotel, Miss Calhoun?"

  "No, sir, but I would think after all the years I've worked at the BayWatch, you would trust my judg­ment." She took a deep breath, and a big risk. "If you don't, it might be best if I turned in my resig­nation."

  He blinked three times, then cleared his throat. "Don't you feel that's a bit rash?"

  "No, sir. If you don't feel I'm competent to make certain decisions, it undermines the system."

  "It isn't your competence, but your lack of expe­rience. However," he added, holding up a hand, "I'm sure you did what you felt was best in this case."

  "Yes, sir."

  By the time she left his office, her jaw was clenched. Amanda forced it to relax when William stopped her in the lobby.

  "I just wanted to tell you again how much I en­joyed the tour of your home, and the wonderful meal."

  "It was our pleasure."

  "I have the feeling if I asked you to dinner again, you would have a different reason than hotel policy for saying no."

  "William, I—"

  "No, no." He patted her hand. "I understand. I'm disappointed, but I understand. I suppose Mr. O'Riley will attend the séance tonight?"

  She laughed. "Whether he wants to or not."

  "I really am sorry I'll miss it." He gave her hand a final squeeze. "It's at eight, did you say?"

  "No, nine, sharp. Aunt Coco will have us all gath­ered around the dining table holding hands and send­ing out alpha waves or whatever."

  "I hope you'll let me know if you receive any mes­sages from...the other side."

  "It's a deal. Good night."

  "Good night." He glanced at his watch as she left. He had more than enough time to get ready.

  "I thought I'd find you here." Amanda stepped into the large circular room the family called Bianca's tower. Lilah was curled on the window seat, as she often was, looking out to the cliffs.

  "Yeah, just me and fierce Fred." Coming out of a private dream, she ruffled the dozing dog's fur. "We're getting in tune for tonight's séance."

  "Spare me." Amanda plopped onto the seat beside her.

  "Well, what's wiped off that satisfied smile you had on your face this morning? Did you fight with Sloan?"

  "No."

  "Then it must be the dastardly Stenerson." At Amanda's brief oath, Lilah grinned. "Right the second time. Why do you put up with him, Mandy? The man's a weasel."

>   "Because I work for him."

  "So quit."

  "Easy for you to say." She shot Lilah an impatient look. "We can't all drift around from day to day like dreamy forest sprites." She cut herself off, letting out a disgusted breath. "Sorry."

  Lilah only shrugged. "It sounds like you've got more needling you than Stenerson."

  "He started it. He said I didn't have my mind on my work, and he was right"

  "So your mind was wandering. Big deal."

  "It is a big deal. Damn it, I like my job, and I'm good at it. But I haven't been concentrating, not on that or the necklace, or anything, since..."

  "Since the big gun swaggered in from the West."

  "It's not funny."

  "Sure it is." Lilah wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. "So you lose a little concentration, misplace one of your lists or miss an appointment by five minutes. So what?"

  "I'll tell you so what. He's changing me and I don't know what to do about it. I have responsibili­ties, obligations. Damn it, I have goals. I have to think about tomorrow, and five years from tomorrow." The trouble was, when she did, she thought of Sloan. "What if he's just a glitch? A wonderful, exciting glitch that throws off everything I've planned out? A few weeks from now, he finishes up here and heads back to Oklahoma, and my life's a mess."

  "What if he asks you to go with him?"

  "That's worse." Flustered, Amanda rose to wander in distracted circles. "What am I supposed to do?

  Throw away everything I've worked for, everything I've hoped for just because he says saddle up?"

  "Would you?"

  Amanda shut her eyes. "I'm afraid I would."

  "Then why don't you talk to him?"

  "I can't." She sat again. "We haven't talked about the future. I guess neither of us wants to think about it. It was just that today, I started thinking—"

  "You would get back to it."

  "I started thinking," Amanda repeated, "that a month ago I didn't even know him. It's crazy to start planning my life around someone I've only known such a short time."

  "And you've always been the sensible one," Lilah put in.

  "Well, yes."

  "Then relax." For encouragement she patted Amanda's shoulder. "When the time comes, you're bound to do the sensible thing."

  "I hope you're right," Amanda murmured, then forced herself to add a decisive nod. "Of course, you're right I'm going to work in the storeroom until dinner."

  "See you're back on track already." Lilah chuck­led to herself when Amanda strode out. "Come on, Fred." She nuzzled his nose. "Let's go see if we can derail her."

  Sloan walked into the storeroom, armed with a bot­tle of champagne, a wicker basket and some of Li­lah's sisterly advice. Keep her off balance, big guy. The one thing you can't let her do is get logical on you.

  Though he wasn't exactly sure what had prompted Lilah's visit, he approved the spirit of it. Just as he approved the way Amanda looked, hunched over a desk in the storeroom, glasses on her nose, hair clipped back. There were neatly labeled file boxes stacked behind her, dozens of dusty cardboard boxes scattered alongside her and several fat piles of paper in front of her.

  "Hey, Calhoun, ready for a break?"

  "What?" Her head came up quickly, but it took a moment for her eyes to focus. "Oh, hi. I didn't hear you come in."

  "Where were you?"

  She lifted a ledger. "Back in 1929. It seems my illustrious great-grandpapa made a little pin money running liquor in from Canada during Prohibition."

  "Good old Fergus."

  "Greedy old Fergus," she corrected. "But a busi­nessman through and through. If he kept such metic­ulous books of his illegal activities, he certainly would have a record of sale if he sold the emeralds."

  "I thought Bianca hid them."

  "That's the legend." She leaned back to rub her tired eyes. "I'd rather have the facts. I had this thought that maybe he put them in a safe-deposit box he didn't tell anyone about. But I can't find any rec­ord of that, either."

  "Maybe you're looking in the wrong place." He set the bottle and basket down as he stood behind her. Gently he began to massage her neck muscles. "Maybe you should concentrate on Bianca. It was her necklace after all."

  "We don't have a lot of information about Bianca." When her eyes started to drift closed, she popped them open again. "Great-Grandpapa destroyed all of her pictures, her letters, just about ev­erything concerning her. We've only come across one of her date books so far."

  "He must have been crazy mad."

  "Crazy, anyway. Grieving, I'd think."

  "No." Bending, he kissed the top of her head. "If he'd been grieving, he would have kept everything."

  "Maybe it hurt to remember."

  "If he'd loved her, he would have wanted to re­member. He would have needed to. When you love someone, everything about them's precious." He felt her muscles knot under his fingers. "What's the prob­lem, Amanda? You're all tied up."

  "I've been sitting too long, that's all."

  "Then my timing's perfect." He stepped back to pick up the champagne."

  "What's that for?"

  "Most people drink it." Sloan released the cork. After the pop came the seductive hiss. "I don't know about you, but I worked my butt off today. I thought we'd take a first-class coffee break."

  She didn't need champagne to cloud her brain. He did that all by himself. And that, she reminded herself as she rose, was exactly what she needed to avoid. "It's a nice thought, but I should go help Aunt Coco with dinner."

  "Lilah's helping her."

  "Lilah?" Amanda's brows shot up. "You've got to be kidding."

  "Nope." He opened the basket to take out two fluted glasses. "Suzanna's doing homework with the kids, and you and I are having dinner alone."

  "Sloan, I'm really not dressed to go out."

  "I like you in sweats." He poured the wine and, setting the bottle aside, lifted both glasses. "And we're not going anywhere."

  "You just said—"

  "I said we were having dinner alone, and we are. Right here."

  "Here?" She gestured. "In the storeroom?"

  "Yep. I got some of your aunt's pSte some cold chicken and asparagus, and fresh strawberries." He tapped his glass against hers before drinking. "I've been thinking about you all day."

  He didn't even have to try to make her knees weak. When he did sweet things, said sweet things, she dis­solved into a puddle of love. "Sloan, we have to talk."

  "Sure." But he bent down to rub his lips lazily over hers. "Why don't we get comfortable first?"

  "What?" Already dizzy, she stared at him as he took out a blanket and spread it over the floor.

  "Come on."

  "I really think it would be better if we..." But he was already pulling her down to the blanket.

  He took the glass from her hand, setting it on the floor before nuzzling her mouth. "This is better," he murmured. "Much better."

  "The children are home," she managed as his hands slid under her shirt. "If someone came in—"

  "I locked the door." Gently he skimmed the rough pad of his thumb over her nipples. "Pay attention, Calhoun, I'm going to show you how to relax."

  She was so relaxed, she didn't think she could move. Heavy, her eyes fluttered partway open when Sloan lay a smidgen of pate on her tongue.

  "It's good," he told her, then spread a dab on her bare shoulder so he could lick it off. "Here." He lifted her, cradling her against his chest before he handed her the glass of champagne. "We were sup­posed to drink this first, but I got distracted."

  It tasted like sin on her tongue. She sipped again, then opened her mouth obediently when he fed her more pate, this time on a conventional cracker.

  "More?"

  She sighed her assent. They began to feed each other tidbits from the basket between kisses. Replete, she watched him pour the last of the champagne. "We're going to be late for the séance."

  "Nope." He drew her back more comfortably a
gainst his chest. "Coco decided that the vibes weren't right. Something about interference from a dark presence."

  "Sounds just like my levelheaded aunt."

  "Now she wants to wait until the last night of the new moon." He nuzzled her neck. "We can stay in here all night."

  She was beginning to believe that with him, any­thing was possible. ' "That would make it my first all-night picnic."

  "After we're married, we'll make it a regular event."

  Champagne slopped over her hand and onto his leg as she jolted straight.

  "Easy, Calhoun, don't waste it."

  She struggled around to face him. "What do you mean, married?"

  "You know, like man and wife, that kind of thing."

  With deliberate care, she set the glass down. Just like that, she thought, both panicked and angry. Just as she'd expected. With him it was saddle up, Cal-houn. We're getting hitched. "What gave you the idea that we were getting married?"

  He didn't like the fact that the line was back be­tween her brows. "I love you, you love me. You're the logical one, Amanda. The next step's marriage from my point of view."

  "It may be a step from your point of view, but it's a big leap from mine. You can't just assume I'm go­ing to take it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you can't. In the first place, I'm not plan­ning on marriage for years yet. I've got my career to think about."

  "What's one got to do with the other?"

  "Everything. You've already messed up my con­centration, had me shuffling around my priorities." Knowing it sounded foolish, she stopped to drag a hand through her hair. "Look at me," she demanded. "Just look at me. I'm sitting on the storeroom floor, naked, and arguing with a man I've only known for two weeks.