Page 17 of A Man for Amanda
“Working late?”
“Good guess.”
“You sure look pretty in that little suit.” He reached over the counter to rub a thumb and finger down the crisp red lapel of her jacket. “Kinda prim and proper.”
Unlike the little bounce her pulse had given when William Livingstone had taken her hand, it went haywire at Sloan’s touch. Annoyed, she brushed it away. “Do you have a problem with your room?”
“Nope. It’s pretty as a picture.”
“With the service?”
“Slick as a wet rock.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, I figured that. I’ve been watching you tow the mark here for the last half hour.”
The line appeared between her brows. “You’ve been watching me?”
His gaze lingered on her mouth as he remembered just how it tasted. “It made the beer go down easy.”
“It must be nice to have so much free time. Now—”
“It’s not how much, it’s what you do with it. Since you were... tied up for breakfast, why don’t we have dinner?”
Well aware that her co-workers had their ears pricked, Amanda leaned closer and kept her voice low. “Can’t you get it through your head that I’m not interested?”
“No.” He grinned, then sent a wink toward Karen, who was hovering as close as discretion allowed. “You said you didn’t like to waste time. So I figured we could have a little supper and pick up where we left off this morning.”
In his arms, she thought, lost for a moment. With her mind fuddled and her blood racing. She was staring at his mouth when it curved and snapped her back to reality. “I’m busy, and I have no desire—”
“You’ve got plenty of that, Amanda.”
She set her teeth, wishing with all her heart she could call him a liar and mean it. “I don’t want to have dinner with you. Clear?”
“As glass.” He flicked a finger down her nose. “I’ll be upstairs if you get hungry. Three-twenty, remember?” He lifted the rose from behind the counter and put it into her hand. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Two winners in one night,” Karen murmured, and watched Sloan walk away. “Lord, he sure knows how to wear jeans, doesn’t he?”
Indeed he did, Amanda thought, then cursed herself. “He’s crude, annoying and intolerable.” But she brushed the rosebud against her cheek.
“Okay, I’ll take bachelor number two. You can concentrate on Mr. Beautiful from New York.”
Damn it, why was she so breathless? “I’m going to concentrate on my job,” Amanda corrected. “And so are you. Stenerson’s on the warpath, and the last thing I need is some cowboy stud interrupting my routine.”
“I wish he’d offer to interrupt mine,” Karen murmured, then bent over her terminal.
She wasn’t going to think about him, Amanda promised herself. She set the rose aside, then picked it up again. It wasn’t the flower’s fault, after all. It deserved to be put in water and appreciated for what it was. Softening a bit, she sniffed at it and smiled. And it had been sweet of him to give it to her. No matter how annoying he might be, she should have thanked him.
Absently she lifted the phone as it rang. “Front desk, Amanda speaking. May I help you?”
“I just wanted to hear you say that.” Sloan chuckled into the phone. “Good night, Calhoun.”
Biting back an oath, Amanda banged down the receiver. For the life of her she couldn’t understand why she was laughing when she took the rose back into her office to find a vase.
I ran to him. It was as if another woman burst out into the twilight to race over the lawn, down the slope, over the rocks. In that moment there was no right or wrong, no duty but to my own heart. Indeed, it was my heart that guided my legs, my eyes, my voice.
He had turned back to the sea. The first time I had seen him he had been facing the sea, fighting his own personal war with paint and canvas. Now he only stared out at the water.
