Page 10 of A Man for Amanda

  "Beautiful wedding." After Amanda was thor­oughly kissed by Trent's father, she managed to nod in agreement. "Trent tells me you put most of it to­gether."

  "I'm good with details," she said, and offered him a plate for the buffet.

  "So I hear." Trim, tanned and expansive, St. James smiled at her. "I've also heard that all of the Calhoun sisters are lovely. I can now corroborate that myself."

  He was quite the elegant old flirt, Amanda mused but smiled back as he arranged food on his plate. "We're delighted to welcome you to the family."

  "It's odd the way things have worked out," he said. "A year ago I looked up from my boat in the bay and saw this house. I simply had to have it. Now, not only is part of it a portion of my business, but it's a part of my family." He glanced over to see Trent and C.C. dancing on the terrace. "She's made him happy," he said quietly. "I never quite had the knack for that myself." With a vague movement of his shoulders, he brushed the thought aside. "Would you care to dance?"

  "I'd love to."

  They'd hardly taken three steps on the dance floor, when Sloan swung Coco around and smoothly switched partners.

  "You might have asked," Amanda muttered as his arms slid around her.

  "I did, before. Anyway, she'll flirt with him the way he wants instead of treating him like a distant relation."

  "He is a distant relation." But she glanced over and saw that Coco already had St. James laughing. "Everything's going well, I think."

  "Smooth as glass." Just as smoothly, he noted, as she fit into his arms. "You did a good job."

  "Thanks, but I hope it's the last wedding I have to plan for quite a while."

  "Don't you think about getting married yourself?"

  She missed a step and nearly stumbled over his feet. "No—that is, yes, but not really."

  "That's a definitive answer."

  "What I mean is it's not in my short-range plans." No matter what longings had tugged at her when her gaze had locked with Sloan's under the arbor. "I'm going to be busy over the next few years with the retreat. I've always wanted to manage a first-class ho­tel, to make policy instead of just carrying it out. It's what I've been working for, and now that Trent's giv­ing me the chance, I can't afford to divide my loy­alties."

  "An interesting way of seeing it. With me it's al­ways been a matter of getting tied down with one person in one place, then finding out I made a mis­take."

  "There's that, too." Relieved that they weren't ar­guing, she smiled. "I never asked, but I guess you do a lot of traveling."

  "Here and there. A drawing board's portable. You might like to do some traveling yourself, check out the hotel competition. Why don't we go somewhere quiet and talk about it?"

  "Sorry, I'm on call. And if you want to be helpful, you'll play best man and go get a few more bottles of champagne from the kitchen." She tucked her arm through his. "I've got to run up and get the streamers anyway."

  "Streamers?"

  "To decorate the car. They're up in my room."

  "Tell you what," Sloan began when they reached the kitchen. "Why don't I come up to your room and help you get the streamers?"

  "Because I want to decorate the car before they get back from their honeymoon." With a laugh, she dashed away. Amanda was halfway down the hall on the second floor when the creak of a board overhead had her stopping. Tuned to the moans and groans of the old house, she frowned. Footsteps, she realized. Definitely footsteps. Wondering if one of the wedding guests had decided to take an impromptu tour, she started back toward the stairway. On the third-floor landing, she spotted Fred, curled up and sleeping.

  "Fine watchdog," she muttered, bending down to shake him. He only rolled over with a groggy snore. "Fred?" Alarmed, she shook him again, but instead of bouncing up, ready to play, he lay still. When she picked him up, his head lolled onto her hand. Even as she gathered him up, someone shoved her from behind and sent her headfirst into the wall.

  Stunned and sprawled on the dog, she struggled up to her knees. Someone was running down the stairs. With the wrath of the Calhouns filling her, she jumped up, Fred tucked under her arm like a furry football, and gave chase. She turned sharply on the second-floor landing, ears straining. On an oath she headed down to the main floor, heels clattering on wood. Sloan caught her as she stumbled on the last step.

  "Whoa. What's the hurry?" Grinning, he scanned her tumbled hair and the spray of baby's breath now hanging to her shoulder. "What did you do, Calhoun, trip over the dog?"

  "Did you see him?" she demanded, and broke out of Sloan's hold to rush to the door.

  "See who?"

  "There was somebody upstairs." Her heart was pumping fast and hard. She hadn't noticed it before. Or the fact that her legs were shaky. “Someone was sneaking around on the third floor. I don't know what they did to Fred."

  "Hold on." Gently now, he guided her back to the stairs and eased her down. "Let's have a look." He took the dog, then pulling up an eyelid, swore. When he looked back at Amanda, there was a flat grimness in his eyes she'd never seen before. "Somebody drugged him."

  "Drugged him?" Amanda gathered Fred back to her breast. "Who would drug a poor little dog?"

  "Someone who didn't want him to bark, I imagine. Tell me what happened."

  "I heard someone on the third floor and went up to see. I found Fred, just lying there." She nuzzled the puppy. "When I started to pick him up, someone pushed me into the wall."

  "Are you hurt?" His hands were instantly on her face.

  "No." She let out a disgusted breath. "If it hadn't stunned me for a minute, I would have caught him."

  Eyes narrowed, Sloan sat back on his heels. "Didn't it occur to you to call for help?"

  "No." The baby's breath was tickling her shoul­der, so she pulled it away.

  "Idiot."

  "Look, O'Riley, nobody's going to poke around in my house, and hurt my dog and get away with it. If he hadn't had a start on me, I'd have caught him."

  "And then what?" he demanded. "God Almighty, Amanda, don't you realize he would have given you more than a push."

  Actually she hadn't thought of it. But that didn't change the bottom line. "I can take care of myself. It's bad enough when people come to the door, or sneak around the grounds, but when they start break­ing into the house, they're going to answer for it." She gave a nod of satisfaction as she rose. "I scared him good, anyway. The way he was running, he's halfway to the village by now. I don't think he'll be coming back. What about Fred?"

  "I'll take care of him." He took the sleeping puppy from her. "He just needs to sleep it off. And you need to call the police."

  "After the wedding." She shook her head before he could object. "I'm not spoiling this for C.C. and Trent just because some jerk decided to do some trea­sure hunting. What I will do is check the third floor and see if anything's missing. Then I'm going to go back out and make sure everything runs smoothly un­til it's time to throw rice at the bride and groom. After that, I'll call the police."

  "Got it all figured out, nice and tidy, as usual." The hot edge of his temper seeped into his voice. "Things don't always work that way."

  "I'll make it work."

  "Sure you will. Can't have something like at­tempted robbery and a little assault mess up all your short-term plans. Just like you can't have someone like me messing up your long-term ones."

  "I don't see what you're so upset about"

  "You wouldn't," he said tightly. "You hear some­body in the house where they shouldn't be, get hit in the head, but you don't even think about calling for me. You don't think about asking somebody for help, not even when that somebody's in love with you."

  The tightness in her chest returned, making her voice clipped. "I was just doing what I had to do."

  "Yeah," he agreed with a slow nod. "You go ahead and do what you have to do now. I'll get out of your way."

  Chapter Eight

  And he'd stay out of her way, Sloan promised him­self. The woman had fuddled his
brain long enough.

  He stood out on the terrace off his bedroom, trying to enjoy the balmy May evening. He'd left The Tow­ers as soon as it had been possible. Oh, he'd done his duty, he thought. Amanda wasn't the only one who could do what was expected of her. With the help of Suzanna and the children, he'd decorated the newly-weds' car. A smile plastered on his face, he'd tossed the rice. He'd even given Coco his handkerchief when her own proved inadequate for her happy tears. He'd waited with a worried Lilah until Fred had given his first groggy bark.

  Then he'd gotten the hell out of there.

  She didn't need him. The fact that he hadn't real­ized until now just how much he needed her to need him didn't make it any easier. Here he was, waiting to sweep her off her feet, and she was chasing after thieves or making dates with guys named William.

  Well, he was through making a fool of himself over her.

  She had a job to do, and so did he. She had a life to live, and so did he. It was time he put things back in perspective. A man had to be crazy to think about saddling himself with an ornery, my-way-or-nothing female. A sane man wanted a nice, calm woman who'd give him some peace after a long day, not one who riled him up every time he took a breath.

  So, he'd put Amanda Calhoun out of his mind and be a happier man for it.

  "Sloan."

  With one hand still braced on the railing, he turned. She was in the doorway, her fingers linked tight to­gether. She'd changed the silk dress for a crisp cotton blouse and slacks. Very streamlined, very simple and certainly not sexy enough to make his heart start jumping as it was now.

  "I knocked," she began, then with an uneasy movement of her shoulders, stepped onto the terrace. "I was afraid you wouldn't let me in, so I got a pass key."

  "Isn't that against the rules?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry, but I couldn't talk to you at home. I didn't even think I wanted to. Then after the police came and went, and everything was as close to normal as it gets, I couldn't settle down." She let out a long breath. Obviously he wasn't going to say anything to make it easier. He was just going to stand there, his white dress shirt unbuttoned and pulled out of the tuxedo pants, his feet bare and his eyes watchful. "I guess I'm not comfortable with unfinished business."

  "All right." After lighting a cigar, he leaned back on the railing. "Finish it."

  "It isn't as simple as that." A wayward breeze flut­tered her hair. She shook it back impatiently. "I was upset and angry before—about there being someone in the house. My house. I know you were concerned and I was very abrupt with you. And after I'd calmed down some I realized you were hurt that I hadn't asked you to help."

  He blew out smoke. "I'll get over it."

  "It's just that—" She broke off to pace the narrow width of the balcony. No, he wasn't going to make it easier. "I'm used to handling things myself. I've al­ways been the one who's been able to find the logical solution, or the straightest route. It's part of my make­up. When something needs to be done, I do it. I have to, I guess. It's not as though I don't ever want help. It's just...it's just that I'm more used to being asked for it, than asking for it myself."

  "One of the things I admire about you, Amanda, is the way you get things done." His eyes stayed on hers as he took a long, contemplative drag. "Why don't you tell me what you're going to do about me?"

  "I don't know what to do." When her voice rose, she struggled to calm it and started moving again. "I don't like that I always know what to do if I reason it out long enough. But no matter how much I think it all through, I can't find an answer."

  "Maybe that's because two and two don't always make four."

  "But they should," she insisted. "They always have for me. All I know is that you make me feel... different than I've ever felt before. It scares me." When she whirled back, her eyes were wide and dark with anger. "I know it's easy for you, but not for me."

  "Easy for me?" he repeated. "You think this is easy for me?" In two furious motions, he tossed the cigar onto the terrace and ground it out. "I've been on slow burn since the minute I laid eyes on you. That isn't easy on a man, Amanda, believe me."

  Because she found it hard to breathe, her voice came out in a whisper. "No one's ever wanted me the way you do. That frightens me." She pressed her lips together. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. That terrifies me."

  He reached out to snag her hand by the wrist. "Don't expect to say that to me, or look at me the way you look right now, then ask me to let you go."

  While panic and excitement warred inside her, she shook her head. "That's not what I'm asking."

  "Then spell it out."

  "Damn it, Sloan, I don't want you to be reason­able. I don't want to think. I want you to make me stop thinking, right now." On a moan, she threw her arms around him, pressed her lips to his and took exactly what she wanted.

  There was fear. She was afraid she was taking a giant step off the edge of a very steep cliff.

  There was exhilaration. She was taking that step with her eyes wide open.

  And he was with her, all the way. His body was free-falling with hers, caught in the crosswinds, soar­ing on the current.

  "Sloan—"

  "Don't say a word." His arms locked tight around her as he pressed his mouth to her throat. The pulse hammering there matched exactly the rhythm of his own. That was what he wanted. That unity. He realized he'd never found it with another woman. "Not a word. Just come inside."

  He led her from the balcony to the bedroom, leav­ing the door open to let in the sunset and the scent of water and flowers. He touched her hair first, watch­ing his own fingers tangle and stroke. Then softly, a whispering touch, his lips on hers. No, he didn't want words from her, because he wasn't certain he could ever find the right ones to tell her what was in his heart. But he could show her.

  Unsteady, she braced her hands on his chest. She didn't want to be weak now, but strong. Yet as those lips roamed over her face, she trembled.

  Very slowly, barely touching her, he unbuttoned her blouse and slid it from her shoulders. Beneath was a white cotton chemise that made him smile. He should have known that beneath her practical clothes his Amanda would have more practicality. Watching her, he unhooked her slacks so that they slipped to the floor. When she reached out, he took her hands.

  "No, just let me touch you. Let me see what it does to you."

  Helpless, she closed her eyes as his fingers skimmed, lightly tracing the curve of her breasts. As if she were fashioned of the most delicate glass, he swept those fingertips over her. Elegantly erotic, the fragile caress had the blood rushing under skin, heat­ing it, sensitizing it until she thought she might die from sheer pleasure.

  Her head fell back, a shuddering moan escaped as he continued those lazy explorations with patient, gentle hands. He saw the dark delight flicker over her face, felt it shivering through her body. As excitement rioted through him, he circled his thumbs in a whispering touch over the nipples that strained against the cotton. Then his tongue replaced his hands and she gripped frantically at his shoulders for balance.

  "Please...I can't..."

  Now she was falling fast and hard, but he was there to catch her. When her knees gave way, he lifted her, cradling her in his arms, covering her mouth with his before laying her on the bed.

  "Nobody," she murmured against his lips. "No­body's ever made love to me like this."

  "I'm just getting started."

  He was true to his word. With a leisurely pace he took her places she had never been, had her lingering there before gently urging her on. With each touch he opened doors always firmly locked, then left them wide so that light and wind tunneled through. Each time she arched against him, shuddering, he soothed her until she floated down again.

  Her taste was enough. Honey here, whiskey there, then as delicate as spun sugar. He filled himself with it, nibbling her skin. Down her arms, her throat, those long, lovely legs. Whenever he was tempted to hurry, to take his own release, he found himself greedy for
one more taste.

  He skimmed his hands up her ribs, pushing her shirt up, then over her head. At last, at long last, he sampled the smooth skin of her breast. Her hands were in his hair, pressing him closer as colors seemed to shatter behind her eyes.

  Slow burn. Is that what he'd said? she wondered frantically as his clever mouth inched lower, still lower. She understood now, now when her body was on fire from the inside, heating degree by degree. The sparks were shooting through her, little pinpoints of unspeakable pleasure as ancient as the first stars that winked to life in the sky beyond the window.

  He was tugging the last barrier aside, and she could do nothing but writhe under his hands, the breath sob­bing in her lungs.

  When he flicked his tongue over her, she arched against him, her hands grabbing at the bedspread in taut fists. Sensations hammered her, too fast, too sharp. She struggled to separate them, but they were one wild maze without beginning or end.

  Did she know she was calling out his name over and over? he wondered. Did she know that her body was moving in that slow, sinuous rhythm, as if he were already inside her? He slid up her gradually, savoring each instant, absorbing each ache, each need, each longing. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed.

  She could only see his face, so close to hers—his eyes so intense. Gracefully her arms lifted to brush his shirt aside, to touch as thoroughly as she had been touched. She rose to him, to press her lips to his chest, to glide them up to his throat The light grew dimmer, softer. The breeze quieted. In an easy dance she moved over him, undressing him, needing to show him what he had done to her heart as well as her body. Her lips curved against his flesh as she felt him tremble as she had trembled. The glory flowed through her like water, clear and bright, so that when her arms came around him, when her mouth opened willingly beneath his, she let it pour into the kiss.

  With a murmuring sigh, he slid into her. Her breath caught, then released gently. They moved together, the pace deliberately slow, deliciously easy. The sweetness brought tears to her eyes that he kissed away.

  Gradually sweetness became heat, and heat a fresh burning. As passion misted her vision, she felt his fingers link with hers, holding tight as she rode to the top of the crest. His name tumbled from her lips as he swept to the peak with her.

  He lay with his lips pressed against her throat, still haunted by the taste of her. Beneath him she was quiet, her breathing deep and steady. He wondered if she slept, and started to ease his weight aside. But her arms slid up and around him again.

  "Don't." Her voice was a husky whisper that sent his blood singing again. "I don't want it to end yet."

  To satisfy them both, he rolled, reversing positions. Her hair brushed his cheek, a small thing that gave him tremendous happiness. "How's that?"

  "Nice." She nuzzled her cheek against his. "It was all really, really nice."

  "Is that the best you can do?"

  "Umra. For right now. I don't think I've ever been this relaxed in my life."

  "Good." Taking her hair in his hand, he pulled her head back to study her face. "It's getting too dark to see." Reaching over, he switched on the light.

  Amanda brought up a hand to shield her eyes. "Why'd you do that?"

  "Because I want to see you when we make love again."

  "Again?" Chuckling, she dropped her head onto his shoulder. "You've got to be kidding."

  "No, ma'am. I figure I might just get my fill of you by sunup."

  Feeling deliriously lazy, she snuggled against him. "I can't stay the night."

  "Wanna bet?"

  "No, really." She arched like a cat when he stroked her back. "I wish I could, but I've got a whole list of things to do in the morning. Oh..." She shivered under his touch. "You've got such wonder­ful hands. Wonderful," she murmured as she lost her­self in a long, dreamy kiss.

  "Stay."

  Her body shuddered as she felt him harden inside her. "Maybe for just a little while longer."