Page 52 of A Man for Amanda
“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 pâté, 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 laid a smidgen of pâté on her tongue.
