Page 5 of A Man for Amanda

  able to touch you nearly drove me mad. Every day, every night. Bianca, I've ached for you."

  My hands moved over his face, tracing it as I'd often longed to. "I thought I'd never see you again. I tried to pray that I wouldn 't.'' As shame crept through my joy, I tried to turn away. “Oh, what you must think of me. I'm another man's wife, the mother of his children.''

  "Not here." His voice was rough, even as his hands were gentle. "Here you belong to me. Here, where I first saw you a year ago. Don't think of him."

  He kissed me again, and I could not think, could not care.

  "I've waited for you. Bianca, through the chill of winter, the warmth of spring. When I tried to paint, it was your image that haunted me. I could see you standing here, with the wind in your hair, the sunlight turning it copper, then gold, then flame. I tried to forget you." His hands were on my shoulders, hold­ing me back while his eyes seemed to devour my face. "I tried to tell myself it was wrong, that for your sake if not my own, I should leave here. I would think of you, with him, dancing at a ball, attending the the­ater, taking him into your bed.'' His fingers tightened on my shoulders. “She is his wife, I would tell myself. You have no right to want her, to wish that she would come to you. That she could belong to you.''

  I lifted my fingers to his lips. His pain was my pain.

  I think it will always be so. "I have come to you," I told him. “I do belong to you.''

  He turned away from me, the struggle between con­science and love as strong in him as it was in me. "I have nothing to offer you."

  "Your love. There is nothing else I want."

  "It's already yours, has been yours from the first moment I looked at you." He came back to me to touch my cheek. I could see the regret, and the long­ing, in those beautiful eyes. “Bianca, there is no fu­ture for us. I cannot and will not ask you to give up what you have.''

  "Christian—"

  “No. Whatever wrongs I do, I will not do that. I know you would give me what I ask, what I have no right to ask, then come to hate me for it.''

  "No." Tears came to my eyes then, bitter in the cooling wind. "I could never hate you."

  ' "Then I would hate myself'' He crushed my fingers against his lips again. "But I'll ask you for the sum­mer, for a few hours when you can come here and we can pretend winter will never be." He smiled and kissed me softly. “Come here and meet me, Bianca, in the sunlight. Let me paint you. I'll be content with that."

  And so tomorrow, and every day during this sweet, endless summer I will go to him. On the cliffs above the sea we will take what happiness we can.

  Chapter Four

  “Well, hello."

  At the husky greeting, Sloan looked up from his notes on the billiard room to see a willowy gypsy in a flowing flowered robe. Long cables of red hair streamed down her shoulders and back. Dreamy green eyes assessed him before she glided into the room like a woman who had all the time in the world and was willing to spend it generously.

  "Hi." Sloan caught the elusive scent—like crushed wildflowers—before she offered a hand.

  "I'm Lilah." Her voice was as lazily flirtatious as her eyes. "We've missed each other the past couple of days."

  If there was a man who didn't get a jolt from this one, Sloan thought, he was dead and buried. "I'm real sorry about that."

  She laughed then gave his hand a companionable squeeze. First impressions ranked high with Lilah, and she'd already decided to like him. "Me, too. Es­pecially now. What have you been up to?"

  "Getting a feel for the place, and the people in it. How about you?"

  "I've been busy trying to figure out if I was in love."

  "And?"

  "Nope." She moved her shoulders gently, but he caught the wistful look in her eyes before she turned to move around the room. "So, what's the plan here, Sloan O'Riley?"

  "Elegant dining in a turn-of-the-century atmo­sphere." He kicked back in the Windsor armchair he'd been using and gestured toward the papers spread over the library table. "We take out part of that wall there, open up into the adjoining study, add a couple of glass pocket doors, and we've got a lounge."

  "Just like that?"

  "Just like that—after we deal with the structural hassles. I'll have some preliminary sketches for your family and Trent to look over in a couple of days."

  "It seems strange," she murmured, running a fin­ger along the old, dusty chair rail. "Thinking about this place being fresh and new again, having people in it." But if she closed her eyes, she could see it perfectly, the way it had once been. "They used to give huge parties, very elaborate, very chic. I can imagine my great-grandfather standing here beside a billiard table sipping Scotch, and wheeling and deal­ing." She turned back to Sloan. "Do you think about those things when you make your sketches and cal­culate stress and space?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do. There's a burn mark on the floor right over there." He tipped his pencil to­ward the spot. "I imagine some fat guy in a dinner suit dropped his cigar while he was discussing the war in Europe. A couple of others were standing by the window, stripped down to their shirtsleeves and swirl­ing brandy while they talked about the stock market."

  Laughing, Lilah crossed back to him. "And the ladies were down in the parlor."

  "Listening to piano music and gossiping about the latest fashions from Paris."

  Lilah tilted her head. "Or discussing the possibility of being given the vote."

  "There you go."

  "I think you're just what The Towers needs," she decided. "Can I take a look at your drawings, or are you temperamental?"

  "I make it a policy never to turn down a beautiful woman."

  "Astute and clever." She went to lean over his shoulder and push through his papers. "Why, it's the Emperor's Room."

  "The what?"

  "The Emperor's Room, that's what I call the best guest room. Must be the harps and cherubs on the ceiling." Sliding her hair behind her shoulder, she leaned closer. "This is great."

  The dressing room would be a cozy parlor, she noted, complete with a wet bar and an entertainment center that would be hidden behind the original pan­eling. The bath would remain almost as it was, with the addition of a private whirlpool tucked away in what had been an old storage closet.

  "Both ends of one century," Lilah murmured. "You've hardly changed any of the original layout."

  "Trent indicated he wanted to keep the luxury and convenience without altering the mood. We'll save most of the original materials, duplicate what's be­yond hope."

  "You're going to do it." And because she could see that as well, quite clearly, her eyes filled as she laid a hand on his shoulder. "My father wanted to. My mother and he used to talk about it all the time. I wish they could have seen this."

  Touched, Sloan laid his hand over hers. Their fin­gers had linked when Amanda came to the door. Her first reaction was shock at seeing her sister with her cheek all but brushing Sloan's. Then came the spear of jealousy. There was no denying there was some­thing private, even intimate passing between them. On the heels of that sharp green shaft, pride stepped in.

  Hadn't she told herself he was a woman chaser?

  "Excuse me." Her voice was a thin sheet of ice as she stepped into the room. "I've been looking for you, Lilah."

  "You found me." She blinked back the tears but didn't bother to straighten. "I thought I'd come by and meet Sloan."

  "I see you have." Determined to be casual if it killed her, Amanda jammed her hands into the pock­ets of her sweats. "It's your turn for a shift in the storeroom."

  "That's what I get for having the day off." She wrinkled her nose, then sent Sloan a smile. "The Cal-houns have become detectives, searching for clues to the hiding place of the elusive emeralds."

  "So I've heard."

  "Maybe you'll take a hack at one of the walls, and they'll fall out, looking as fabulous and glittery as the day Bianca hid them." With a sigh, she drew away. "Well, since duty calls, I'd better get dressed for it. Mandy,
you ought to take a look at some of Sloan's sketches. They're great."

  "I'll bet."

  The tone would have been a direct tip-off, even if Lilah hadn't known her sister so well. So, Lilah thought with a lifted brow. That's the way it was. Since she'd never been able to resist teasing her sister, she leaned down to kiss Sloan's cheek. "Welcome to The Towers."

  He didn't have a doubt as to what she was up to. The eyes might be dreamy, he thought, but there was a shrewd and devilish brain behind them. "Thanks. I'm feeling more at home every day."

  "I'll meet you in the sweatshop in fifteen minutes," she said to Amanda, then grinned to herself as she went out.

  "Is that your new uniform?" he asked Amanda as she stood scowling in the center of the room, her hands still fisted in the pockets of baggy gray sweats.

  "I don't go in until two today."

  "That's nice." He crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles. "I like your sister."

  "That was obvious."

  He only grinned. "What does she do, anyway?"

  "If you mean professionally, she's a naturalist at Acadia National Park."

  "Wildflowers and stuff. It suits."

  As if the admiration in his voice didn't bother her in the least, she shrugged and walked to the terrace doors. "I thought you'd be taking measurements or something." Glancing over her shoulder, she shot him a narrow look. "Of the rooms, that is."

  This time he laughed outright. "You're mighty cute when you're jealous, Calhoun."

  Now she turned to look deliberately down her nose. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Sure you do, but you can relax. I've already set my sights on you."

  Did he expect her to be flattered? she wondered. The hell of it was that, in a odd way, she was. "Do I look like a target?"

  "I'd say more like the grand prize." In a gesture of peace, he held up a hand as she sucked in her breath to swear at him. "Before you get more fired up, why don't we deal with business?"

  "I am not fired up," she lied. "And I don't see what business we could have."

  “Trent said you were the one I should.. .collaborate with, until he got back. Seeing as you're the one who handles most of the family business, and you've got a firsthand knowledge of hotels."

  Because it was logical, she calmed enough to con­sider it. "What do you want to know?"

  How long it's going to take me to knock down that wall around you, he thought. "I figured you'd want to take a look at what I've started. I'd like to get to the drawing board soon."

  Actually she was dying to see, but kept her agree­ment grudgingly cool. "All right, but I only have a few minutes."

  "I'll take what I can get."

  He waited as she crossed the room. She didn't trust him worth spit, Sloan decided. And that was just fine for now.

  "I've got two of the suites mapped out," he told her, shuffling papers. "Plus the tower and most of the dining room here."

  She leaned closer, squinting a bit to focus without her reading glasses. As Lilah had been, she was im­pressed with the sketches. Not only were they com­petent, but they showed a quick understanding of mood, tone and the practicality necessary for smooth service.

  "You work fast," she said, surprised.

  "When it's called for." He enjoyed watching the way she lifted a hand to tuck back the swing of hair, not with the sinuous movements of her redheaded sis­ter, but with a quick, absent flick. She smelled of soap and some cool sprinkle of scent.

  "What's this?"

  "What's what?" He was too busy with the way the sunlight showered on her hair to pay attention to anything else.

  "This." She tapped a finger on a sketch.

  "Hmm. That's an old servants' stairway. We bring this wall out here, to box it in." He took her finger to slide it along the sketch, the rough side of his palm fitting over the smooth skin of her hand. "It makes this suite two levels, the sitting room and bath down here, two bedrooms and a master bath up here. Since the stairs are already open, it gives us a separation of functions without closing off the flow of space."

  "It's nice." Vaguely uneasy with the contact, she flexed her hand but only succeeded in tangling her fingers with his. "I suppose you're going taget es­timates and bids."

  "I've made some calls."

  Something seemed to be happening to her legs from the knees down. They'd gone weak on her, as if she'd run a very long, very fast race. "Well, you..." She braced and turned her head to face him. His eyes were very close, very quiet, very calm.”Ob­viously you know what you're doing."

  "Yeah, I do."

  Oh, yeah, he did, she thought as she felt herself pulled toward him—not by his hand, but by some­thing soft and warm and needy inside her. She had only to give in to it, to lean a little closer. Her mouth could be on his, and she would know, as she had known the day before, a kind of whippy excitement and dazzling pleasure. He was waiting, watching her, with those dark green eyes going from calm to in­tense, willing her to make that slight and significant move. As she began to slide toward him, she heard herself sigh.

  Then she remembered.

  He had been in almost this same position with Li-lah just moments before. Faces close, fingers linked. Only a fool let herself be manipulated by a man who was that casual with a woman's feelings. And Amanda Kelly Calhoun was no fool.

  She jerked back, tugging her hand from under his. Sloan felt the knots already winding through his stom­ach yank tighter.

  "Did I miss something?" he asked with a casual-ness that cost him dearly.

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "The hell you don't. You were a hair's breadth away from kissing me, Mandy. Your eyes were full of it. Now you've got them frosted up again."

  She wished it was as easy to put the ice back into her blood. "You're letting your ego get the best of you. But then, that's probably typical. If you want to take time out to flirt and snuggle with a woman, try Lilah again."

  He was used to holding on to his temper. When a man had a dangerous one, he learned early to keep it chained down. But it wasn't easy, not with her, not with the way she so consistently racked his system. "Are you telling me that Lilah's available to any man who asks?"

  She went from frost to fire so quickly he could only stare in amazed appreciation. "You don't know any­thing about my sister, O'Riley. Watch what you say or you'll find yourself on your butt again."

  "I was asking what you said," he reminded her.

  "I can say what I like, you can't. Lilah has a warm, generous heart. If you do anything to hurt her, I'll—"

  "Hold on." Chuckling, he threw up both hands, palms out. "I don't mind you taking a chunk out of me, Calhoun, but I'd rather it be for something I did—or was at least planning to do. First, I'm not quite the tomcat you seem to think I am. And second, I'm not interested in—what was it—snuggling with Lilah."

  Amanda's chin lifted a fraction higher. "What's the matter with her?"

  Exasperated, he let his hands fall again. "Not a damn thing. Tell me, has your great-grandaddy's in­sanity trickled down or are you just being plain ob­stinate?"

  "Take your pick." Now she was as embarrassed as she was angry and stalked over to the window to stare out. Whether he was a tomcat—as he'd put it—or not, it was no concerns of hers. It was her prob­lem that she had overreacted to his meeting with Lilah. She was getting herself wound up over nothing, Amanda told herself. If she kept snapping at him every time they spent five minutes together, their business relationship would suffer. And business was, after all, her strongest suit. She gave herself another moment to be sure she'd regained some balance, then turned back.

  "We seem to have gotten offtrack. Let's put this back on a professional level, and keep it there."

  "You do that real well," he observed.

  "What?"

  "Pull yourself in. It can't be easy if being around me churns you up half as much as I get being around you." Then he grinned and recrossed his ankles. "Go ahead, be professional. I got
real admiration for that side of you."

  She wasn't sure whether to scream or laugh or just throw her hands up in defeat. Instead she shook her head and tried again. "I like your work."

  "Thanks."

  "Trent and I have discussed the budget for the project. He and C.C. may still be on their honeymoon when the bids start coming in. If that's the case, you and I will have to go over them. As far as the hotel section goes, you have a free hand. As to the other part of the house, the family part, we're only inter­ested in essential repairs."

  "Why? The place deserves a decent face-lift."

  "Because the hotel is a business, and the Calhouns and St. Jameses will be partners. We have the prop­erty, he has the funds. We've all agreed that we won't take advantage of his generosity, or the fact that he's marrying C.C."

  Sloan considered a moment. "Trent seems to have other ideas. And I've never known him to let anyone take advantage."

  The smile softened her face. "I know, and we, all of us, appreciate that he's willing to help, but we feel strongly about this. The Towers, our part of it, is a Calhoun problem. Our position is that we'll accept the needed repairs to the plumbing, the wiring and other immediate necessities, then we'll pay him back from our share of the retreat. If business is good, we'll be able to take care of the rest ourselves within the next few years."

  There was pride at stake here, he noted. And more, integrity. He nodded. "You work things out with Trent. Meanwhile, I'll concentrate on the west wing."

  "Fine. If your schedule allows, you can take a look at the rest. It would be helpful if we had an idea what the budget will be on the family areas."

  He started to point out that he was an architect not a contractor, then shrugged. It wouldn't hurt him to take a look. "Sure. I'll work up an estimate."

  'Td appreciate it Once you do, I'd prefer if you gave it to me. Just me."

  "You're the boss."

  She lifted a brow. Odd, but she hadn't thought about it quite that way before. Her lips curved as she digested it "Then we understand each other. One more thing."

  He linked his hands behind his head. "We can have as many things as you want."

  "Only one," she said, though her lips quivered. "When I was finalizing some of the wedding plans, I realized you were down as best man. I left your list with Aunt Coco."

  "My list?"

  "Yes, of the timetable, the duties you're respon­sible for, that sort of thing. There's also a copy of the necessary information—the name and phone number of the photographer, the contact for the musicians, the bartender we hired...oh, and I jotted down the names of three shops where you can rent a tux." Once again she took in the sheer size of him. "You really should get in for a fitting right away."

  "I've got it covered." Impressed, he shook his head. "You're damn efficient, Calhoun."

  "Yes, I am. Well then, I'll let you get back to work. I'll be in the third-floor storeroom in the other wing until about one. After that you can reach me at the Bay Watch if you have any questions."

  "Oh, I know where to find you, Calhoun. Good hunting."

  He watched her walk away, and thought of her sit­ting in the storeroom, surrounded by dusty boxes and mounds of yellowing papers. She'd probably already found a way to put things in their tidy place, he thought with a grin. He wondered if she realized what a sweet contrast it was. She would stack and cata­logue and file in the most practical way possible, while she searched through pieces of the past for an old dream.

  Amanda found no dreams that morning. By the time she arrived at the BayWatch, she had already put in a five-hour day. When she had started the quest for the