"Thanks." Frantic for escape, she turned into her room to grab her jacket and purse. Being careful not to look at Sloan, she hurried out again to rush downstairs. Lilah glanced after her, then walked down the hall to rest her hands on Sloan's shoulders.
"You know, big guy, you look like you could use a friend."
He couldn't begin to put a name to any of the emotions currently running riot through him. "Maybe I'll just go downstairs and throw him out a window."
"You could," Lilah agreed after a moment, "but Mandy's always been a sucker for the underdog."
Sloan swore then decided to work off some of the frustration by pacing the corridor. "So, who is he anyway?"
"I've never met him before. His name's William Livingston."
"And?"
Lilah gave a gentle shrug. "Tall, dark and handsome as the saying goes. Very faint, very charming British accent, Italian suit, upper-class manners. That patina of wealth and breeding without being ostentatious."
Sloan swore and considered punching a hole in the wall. "He sounds just dandy."
"Sounds," she agreed, but her look was troubled.
"What is it?"
"Bad vibes." Absently she ran a hand up and down her arm. "And he had a very muddy aura."
"Give me a break, Lilah."
With a little smile, she glanced back at him. "Don't knock it, Sloan. Remember, I'm on your side. I happen to think you're just what my take-it-all-too-seriously sister needs." In her easy way, she hooked a friendly arm through his. "Relax, Mr. William Livingston doesn't have a chance. Not her type." She laughed as she walked with him to the steps. "She thinks he is, but he's not. So let's go eat There's nothing like Aunt Coco's Trout Amandine to put you in a good mood."
Pretending she had an appetite, Amanda studied her menu. The restaurant William had chosen was a lovely little place overlooking Frenchman Bay. Since the night was warm, they could enjoy the terrace service with candlelight flickering in the gentle sea breeze, and the fragile scent of spring flowers.
Amanda left the choice of wine up to him and tried to convince herself that she was about to have a delightful evening.
"Are you enjoying Bar Harbor?" she asked.
"Very much. I'm hoping to get some sailing in soon, but in the meantime, I've been content to enjoy the scenery."
"Have you been to the park?"
"Not yet" He glanced over at the bottle the waiter offered, perused the label, then nodded.
"You shouldn't miss it The view from Cadillac Mountain is stupendous."
"So I'm told." He tasted the wine, approved, then waited for Amanda's to be poured. "Perhaps you'll find some time and act as my guide."
"I don't think—"
"Hotel policy's already been bent," he interrupted, and touched his glass lightly to hers.
"I wanted to ask you how you managed it."
"Very simply. I gave your Mr. Stenerson a choice. Either he could make an exception to his policy, or I could move to another hotel where it wouldn't be an issue."
"I see." She took a thoughtful sip of wine. "That seems a bit drastic just for a dinner."
"A very delightful dinner. I wanted to get to know you better. I hope you don't mind."
What woman could? she asked herself, and only smiled.
It was impossible not to relax, not to be charmed by his stories, flattered by his attentiveness. He did not, as so many successful men did, talk constantly of his business. As an antique dealer he'd traveled all over the world and, throughout the meal, gave Amanda glimpses of Paris and Rome, London and Rio.
When her thoughts drifted now and again to another man, she doubled her determination to enjoy herself where she was, and with whom.
"The rosewood chiffonier in your foyer," he commented as they lingered over coffee and dessert. "It's a beautiful piece."
"Thank you. It's Regency period—I think."
He smiled. "You think correctly. If I had run into it at an auction, I would have considered myself very fortunate."
"My great-grandfather had it shipped over from England when he built the house."
"Ah, the house." William's lips curved as he lifted his cup. "Very imposing. I half expected to see medieval maidens drifting about on the lawn."
"Or bats swooping out of the tower."
On a delighted laugh, he squeezed her hand. “No, but perhaps Rapunzel letting down her hair."
The image appealed and made her smile.”We love it, and always have. Maybe the next time you visit the island you'll stay at The Towers Retreat."
"The Towers Retreat," he murmured, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lips. "Where have I heard that before?"
"A projected St. James hotel?"
His eyes cleared. "Of course. I read something a few weeks ago. You don't mean to say that your home is The Towers?"
"Yes, it is. We hope to have the retreat ready for occupancy in about a year."
"That is fascinating. But wasn't there some legend attached to the place? Something about ghosts and missing jewelry?"
"The Calhoun emeralds. They were my great-grandmother's."
With a half smile, he tilted his head. "They're real? I thought it was just a clever publicity gimmick. Stay in a haunted house and search for missing treasure. That sort of thing."
"No, in fact we're not at all pleased that the whole business leaked out." Even thinking about it annoyed her so that she began to drum her fingers on the table. "The necklace is real—was real in any event We don't know where it might have been hidden. In the meantime we're forever bothered by reporters or having to chase erstwhile treasure hunters off the grounds."
"I'm sorry. That's very intrusive."
"We hope to find it soon, and put an end to all the nonsense. Once renovations start, it might turn up under a floorboard."
"Or behind the ubiquitous secret panel," he offered with a smile and made her laugh.
"We don't have any of those—at least that I know of."
"Then your ancestor was remiss. A place like that deserves at least one secret panel." He laid a hand over hers again. "Perhaps you'll let me help you look for it...or at least let me use it as an excuse to see you again."
"I'm sorry, but at least for the next few days I'm tied up. My sister's getting married on Saturday."
He smiled over their joined hands. "There's always Sunday. I would like to see you again, Amanda. Very much." He let the subject, and her hand slip gently away.
On the drive home he kept the topics general. No pressure, Amanda thought, grateful. No arrogant assumptions or cocky grins. This was the kind of man who knew how to treat a woman with the proper respect and attention. William wouldn't knock her to the ground and laugh in her face. He wouldn't stalk her down like a gunslinger and fire out demands.
So why was she so let down when they stopped in front of the house and Sloan's car was nowhere in sight? Shaking off the mood, she waited for William to come around and open her door.
"Thank you for tonight," she told him. "It was lovely."
"Yes, it was. And so are you." Very gently he placed his hands on her shoulders before touching his lips to hers. The kiss was very warm, very soft—an expert caress of lips and hands. And to her disappointment, it left her completely unmoved.
"Are you really going to make me wait until Sunday to see you again?"
His eyes told her that he had not been unmoved. Amanda waited for the banked desire in them to strike some chord. But there was nothing.
"William, I—"
"Lunch," he said, adding a charming smile. "Something very casual at the hotel. You can tell me more about the house."
"All right. If I can swing it." She eased away before he could kiss her again. "Thanks again."
"My pleasure, Amanda." He waited, as was proper, for her to go inside. As the door shut behind her, his smile changed ever so slightly, hardened, cooled. "Believe me, it will be my pleasure."
He walked back to his car. He w
ould drive it well out of sight of The Towers. And then he would come back to do a quick and quiet tour of the grounds, to note down the most practical entrances.
If Amanda Calhoun could be his entry way into The Towers, that was all well and good—with the side benefit of romancing a beautiful woman. If she didn't provide him with a way in, he would simply find a different route.
One way or the other, he didn't intend to leave Mount Desert Island without the Calhoun emeralds.
"Did you have a good time?" Suzanna asked when Amanda came in the front door.
"Suze." Amused but not surprised, Amanda shook her head. "You waited up again."
"No, I didn't." To prove it, Suzanna gestured with the mug in her hand. "I just came down to make myself some tea."
Amanda laughed as she walked over to rest her hands on her sister's shoulders. "Why is it that we Irish-as-Paddy's-pig Calhouns can't tell a decent lie?"
Suzanna gave up. "I don't know. We should practice more."
"Honey, you look tired."
"Mmm." Exhausted was the word, but she didn't care for it. Suzanna sipped the tea as they started up the stairs together. "Springtime. Everybody wants their flowers done yesterday. I'm not complaining. It looks like the business is finally going to turn a real profit."
"I still think you should hire on some more help. Between the business and the kids you run yourself ragged."
"Now who's playing mama? Anyway, Island Gardens needs one more good season before I can afford anything but one part-time helper. Plus I like to be busy." Even though fatigue was dragging at her, she paused outside of Amanda's door. "Mandy, can I talk to you for a minute before you go to bed?"
"Sure. Come on in." Amanda left the door slightly ajar as she slipped out of her shoes. "Is something wrong?"
"No. At least nothing I can put my finger on. Can I ask you what you think of Sloan?"
"Think of him?" Stalling, Amanda set her shoes neatly in the closet.
"Impressions, I guess. He seems like a very nice man. Both kids are already crazy about him, and that's an almost foolproof barometer for me."
"He's good with them." Amanda took off her earrings to replace them in her jewelry box.
"I know." Troubled, she wandered the room. "Aunt Coco's set to adopt him. He's slipped right into an easy relationship with Lilah. C.C.'s already fond of him, and not just because he's a friend of Trent's."
Pouting a little, Amanda unclasped her necklace. "His type always gets along beautifully with women."
Distracted, Suzanna merely shook her head. "No, it's not a man-woman kind of thing at all. Just a kind of innate relaxation."
Amanda had no comment for that as she recalled the fevered tension in him a few hours earlier.
"He seems like an easygoing, friendly man."
"But?"
"It's probably my imagination, but whenever he looks at me, I get this wave of hostility." With a half laugh, she shrugged. "Now I sound like Lilah."
Amanda's eyes met her sister's in the mirror. "No, I sensed something myself. I can't explain it. I even called him on it."
"Did he say anything? I don't expect everyone to like me, but when I feel a dislike this strong, at least I want to know why."
"He denied it. I don't know what to say, Suzanna, except that I don't think he's the kind of man who would react that way to someone he doesn't even know." She made a helpless gesture with her hands. "He can certainly be annoying, but I don't think he's a man to be deliberately unfair. Maybe we're both being oversensitive."
"Maybe." Suzanna pushed the uncomfortable feelings away. "We're all a little crazed with CC's wedding, and the renovations. Well, I won't lose any sleep over him." She kissed Amanda's cheek. "Good night."
"Night." As she eased down onto the bed, Amanda let out a long sigh. It was unfortunate, she thought. It was infuriating. But she already knew she'd be losing sleep over him.
Chapter Six
She was right on schedule. If there was one thing you could count on about Amanda Calhoun, Sloan thought, it was that she'd be on time. She was moving fast—typically—so he lengthened his stride and crossed the hotel patio to waylay her by the gate leading to the pool. His hand covered hers on the latch.
She jerked away, which was no less than he'd expected. "Don't you have anything better to do?" she asked.
"I want to talk to you."
"This is my time." She shoved open the gate, strode through then whirled around. "My personal time. I don't have to talk to you." To prove it, she slammed the gate smartly in his face.
Sloan took a long, slow breath, then opened the gate. "Okay, you can just listen." He caught up with her as she heaved her towel onto a deck chair.
"I'm not going to talk, and I'm not going to listen. There's absolutely nothing you have to say that could interest me." She stripped off her terry wrap, tossed it aside, then dove into the pool.
Sloan watched her through the first lap. She was mad enough to spit, he thought, then moved his shoulders. So, they'd do it the hard way.
With each kick and stroke, Amanda cursed him. She'd spent half the night replaying their last scene together over and over in her mind. It had made her miserable. It had made her furious. When she'd awakened that morning, she'd promised herself that he would never get the chance to touch her again. Certainly he would never get the chance to make her feel helpless and needy again.
Her life was just beginning to move along as she wanted. There was no way, no way in hell that Sloan O'Riley or anyone else was going to block her path.
She ran straight into him, a dud torpedo into a battleship. Sputtering, she surfaced to see him standing chest high in the water. Bare-chest high.
"What are you doing?"
"I figured I'd have a better chance of getting you to listen in here than I would if I stood on the side and yelled at you."
Eyes narrowed, she slicked the hair back from her face. There was a laugh bubbling in her throat that she refused to acknowledge. "The pool isn't open to guests until ten."
"Yeah, I think you mentioned that. What you didn't mention is that this water is freezing."
"Yeah." Now she did smile, and there was as much humor as smugness in the curve of her lips. "I know. That's why I like to keep moving."
She started off, slicing cleanly through the water. Less than a foot away, he was matching her stroke for stroke. He'd stripped off more than his shirt, she noted. The only thing covering that very long body was a pair of brief navy briefs. Each time her face went into the water, her eyes slid over to take another look.
His broad shoulders and chest tapered down to a narrow waist and hips. The skin was stretched taut over the bones there, without an ounce of excess flesh. His stomach was board flat, and...oh my. When she nearly sucked in water instead of air, Amanda forced her gaze to skip down several strategic inches to the hard, muscled thighs and calves.
The tough, weathered tan was over every inch of exposed flesh. His skin gleamed like wet copper. And what would it feel like to run her hands over it now? To feel those sleek, smooth muscles under her fingers? How could their bodies fit together now, if slick as otters, they slid against each other through the chill water?
Chill? she thought. The pool was beginning to feel like a sauna. Deliberately she pushed off hard and increased her pace. If she could outrace him, maybe she could outrace her own wayward thoughts.
He was still beside her, matching speed and stroke so that they crossed the pool in a kind of unstudied and effortless harmony. It was lovely, almost sensuous, the way their arms lifted and pulled at the same moment, the way their legs scissored and their bodies stretched...like making love, she thought dreamily, then shook herself to knock that hot image from her brain.
Amanda kicked in and put all that frustrated passion into speed. Still, their hands slapped the wall in unison. She began to enjoy it for what it was, an unstated competition between two people who were evenly matched. She'd lost track of the laps and di
dn't care. When her lungs were straining and her muscles weak, she gripped the edge of the pool to surface, laughing.
He knew she'd never looked more beautiful, with her hair and face drenched with water and her eyes filled with delight. More than anything he'd ever wanted, he wanted to pull her against him then, just to hold her while her laughter danced on the morning air. But he'd made a promise to himself sometime during his own sleepless night. He intended to keep it.
He sent her a friendly grin. "That wanned things up"
"You're pretty good. For an Okie." "You're not bad yourself, for a female." She laughed again and rested her head on the side of the pool to look at him. His hair was dark with water, curling over his brow and neck in a way that had her fingers itching to play with it. "I like to race."
"Race? Is that what we were doing? I thought we were just taking a nice, leisurely swim."
She tossed water into his eyes, then stood. "I have to get in."
"Are you going to let me talk to you now?" The laughter faded from her eyes. "Let's just leave it," she suggested, and hitched herself up on the side of the pool.
He laid a hand on her leg. "Mandy—" "I don't want to argue with you again. Since we've actually managed to get along for five minutes, why can't we just leave it at that?"
"Because I want to apologize."
"If you'd just—" She broke off to stare at him. "You what?"
"I want to apologize." He stood to put his hands lightly on her arms just beneath her shoulders. "I was out of line last night, way out, and I'm sorry."
"Oh." Disconcerted, she looked down and began to rub at the beads of water on her thigh.
"Now you're supposed to say, all right, Sloan, I accept your apology."
She looked up through wet, spiky lashes, then smiled. Things were suddenly too comfortable to cling to anger. "I guess I do. You acted like such a jerk."
He grimaced. "Thanks a lot"
"You did. Spouting off threats and orders. Then there was all that steam coming out of your ears."
"Want to know why?"
She shook her head and started to rise, but he held her in place. "You brought it up," he pointed out. "I couldn't stand the idea of you being with someone else. Look at me." Gently he cupped her chin, turning her face back to his. "You triggered something in me right off. I can't shake it I don't much want to."
"I don't think—"
"Thinking has nothing to do with it. I know how I feel when I look at you."
She was losing fast. The quick skip of panic couldn't compete with the flood of pleasure. "I have to think," she murmured. "I'm made that way."
"Okay, well here's something new for you to think about. I'm falling in love with you."