Page 9 of A Man for Amanda
“No, you don’t see.” He turned back to her. “You haven’t got a clue to what you’ve got here. This place is a monument to early-twentieth-century craftsmanship, and you’re letting it fall apart around your ears. Those are authentic gaslight fixtures.”
“I know very well what they are,” Amanda snapped back. “This may be a monument to you, but to me it’s home. We’ve done everything we could to keep the roof on. If the plaster’s cracked it’s because we’ve had to concentrate on keeping the furnace running. And if we didn’t worry about regrouting tiles in a room no one uses, it’s because we had to repair the plumbing in another one. You’ve been hired to renovate, not to philosophize.”
“You get both for the same price.” When he reached out toward her, she rammed back into the wall.
“What are you doing?”
“Take it easy, honey. You’ve got cobwebs in your hair.”
“I can do it,” she said, then stiffened when he combed his fingers through her hair. “And don’t call me ‘honey.’”
“You sure fire up quick. I had a mustang filly once that did the same thing.”
She knocked his hand aside. “I’m not a horse.”
“No, ma’am.” In an abrupt change of mood, he smiled again. “You sure aren’t. Why don’t you show me what else you’ve got?”
Wary, she eased to the side until she felt safe again. “I don’t see the point. You haven’t got a notebook.”
“Some things stick in your mind.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, lingered, then returned to her eyes. “I like to get the lay of the land first before I start worrying about... details.”
“Why don’t I draw you a map?”
He grinned then. “You always so prickly?”
“No.” She inclined her head. It was true, she wasn’t. She could hardly have made a success in her career as assistant manager in one of the resort’s better hotels if she was. “Obviously you don’t bring out the best in me.”
“I’ll settle for what I’ve got.” He curled a hand around her arm. “Let’s keep going.”
She took him through the wing, doing her best to keep her distance. But he had a tendency to close in, blocking her in a doorway, maneuvering her into a corner, shifting unexpectedly to put them face-to-face. He had a slow and economical way of moving, wasting no gestures that would tip her off as to which way he was going to turn.
They were in the west tower the third time Amanda bumped into him. Every nerve was on edge when she stepped back. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be there.” Annoyed, she shoved aside a cardboard box. “In my way.”
“It seems to me you’re in too much of a hurry to get someplace else to watch where you are.”
“More homespun philosophy,” she muttered, and paced to the curved window that overlooked the gardens. He bothered her, she was forced to admit, on some deep, elemental level. Maybe it was his size—those broad shoulders and wide-palmed hands. His sheer height. She was accustomed to being on a more even level with most men.
Maybe it was that drawl of his, slow and lazy and every bit as cocky as his grin. Or the way his eyes lingered on her face, persistent, with a half-amused gleam. Whatever it was, Amanda thought with a little shake, she would have to learn how to handle it.
“This is the last stop,” she told him. “Trent’s idea is to convert this tower into a dining room, more intimate than the one he wants on the lower level. It should fit five tables for two comfortably, with views of the garden or the bay.”
She turned as she spoke, and an early evening sunbeam shot through the window to halo her hair and pool lustrously around her. Her hands gestured with her words, a graceful flow of movement underlined by nerves. She lifted one hand to her hair to push it back. The light streamed through the honey-brown tresses, tipping them with gold. In the single shaft of light, dust motes danced around her like minute flakes of silver.
His mind wiped clean as new glass, Sloan stood and stared.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” He took a step closer. “You sure are easy on the eyes, Amanda.”
She took a step back. There wasn’t amusement in his eyes now, or the quick flaring anger she had seen briefly earlier. What was there was a great deal more dangerous. “If you, ah, have any questions about the tower, or the rest of the wing—”
“That was a compliment. Maybe not as smooth as you’re used to, but a compliment just the same.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes darted around the room for a means of dignified escape as she retreated another step. “I think we could—” She ended on a gasp as his arm snaked around her waist to draw her tight against him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
