Page 12 of A Man for Amanda
“Those two can be shotguns, I’m afraid.” But the affection came through. “It’s nice for them to be around a man now and again.”
“Your sister’s husband?”
The smile faded. “They’re divorced. You might know him. Baxter Dumont?”
A shutter seemed to come down over Sloan’s eyes. “I’ve heard of him.”
“Well, that’s history. Dinner’s nearly ready. Why don’t I show you where to wash up?”
“Thanks.” Distracted, Sloan followed her. He was thinking that there were some points of history that had an unfortunate habit of overlapping.
Chapter Three
Anticipating the shock, Amanda dove into the cold water of the pool. She surfaced with a delicious shiver, then began the first of her usual fifty laps.
There was nothing she liked better than beginning a day with a vigorous workout. It ate away the old tension to make room for the new that would develop before the workday was done.
Not that she didn’t enjoy her job as assistant manager of the BayWatch Hotel. Particularly since it gave her the privilege of using the hotel pool before the guests began to crowd in. It was the end of May and the season had begun to swing. Of course it was nothing compared to what it would be by midsummer, but most of the rooms in the hotel were occupied, which meant she had her hands full. This hour, which she gave herself whenever weather permitted, was prized.
As she approached one end of the pool, she curled, tucked and pushed off.
In another year, she thought as she sent beads of water flying, she would be manager of The Towers Retreat. A St. James hotel. The goal that she had worked and struggled for since she’d taken her first part-time job as a desk clerk at sixteen was about to be realized.
It nagged at her from time to time that she would have the job only because Trent was marrying her sister. Whenever it did, she became only more determined to prove that she deserved it, that she had earned it.
She would be managing an exclusive hotel for one of the top chains in the country. And not just any hotel, she thought, cutting cleanly through the water, but The Towers. A part of her own heritage, her own history, her own family.
The ten luxurious suites Trent intended to create out of the crumbling west wing would be her responsibility. If he was right, the St. James name and the legend of The Towers would keep those suites filled year-round.
She would do a good job. An exceptional one. Every guest who traveled home from The Towers would remember the excellent service, the soothing ambience, the silky smooth organization.
It was going to happen. There would be no more slaving for a demanding and unappreciative supervisor, no more frustration at doing the work and handing over the credit. At last the credit, and the failure, would be hers alone.
It was only a matter of waiting until the remodeling was done.
And that brought her thoughts ramming headfirst into Sloan O’Riley.
She certainly hoped Trent knew what he was doing. What baffled her most was how such a smooth and polished man as Trenton St. James III had ever become friends with a throwback like O’Riley. The man had actually knocked her down. Of course, she’d knocked him down first, but that was entirely beside the point.
Amanda kicked off again. Her leanly muscled arms sliced through the water, her long legs scissored. She didn’t regret, not for a minute, that she’d had the wit and the strength to get the best of him first. He’d been pushy and overfamiliar and too full of himself from the moment she’d met him. And he’d kissed her.
She turned her head up for air, then slid her face into the water again.
She hadn’t given him the least bit of encouragement. In fact, just the opposite. But he’d sat there, grinning like a fool, and had kissed her. The memory of it had her gasping for air again.
Not that she’d liked it, Amanda assured herself. If C.C. hadn’t walked in, she would have given the arrogant Mr. O’Riley a piece of her mind. Except that she hadn’t had one left.
Because she’d been angry, that’s all. She wasn’t a bit attracted to the rough, outdoorsy type with callused hands and dusty boots. She wasn’t fool enough to fall for a pair of dark green eyes that crinkled at the corners when they smiled. Her image of the ideal man included a certain sophistication, smooth manners, culture, a quiet aura of success. If and when she became interested in a relationship, those would be her requirements. Slow-talking cowboys need not apply.
Maybe there had been something sweet about him when he’d talked to the children, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the rest of the deficits in his personality.
She remembered the way he’d flirted and charmed Aunt Coco at dinner. He’d kept C.C. amused with stories of Trent’s college days and had been tolerant and easy with Alex’s and Jenny’s questions about horses and Indians and six-shooters.
But he’d watched Suzanna a little too closely, a little too carefully for Amanda’s liking. A woman-chaser, Amanda decided. If Lilah had been at dinner, he probably would have flirted with her, as well. But Lilah could take care of herself where men were concerned.
Suzanna was different. She was beautiful, sensitive and vulnerable. Her ex-husband had hurt her deeply, and no one, not even the cocky Sloan O’Riley, was going to get the chance to hurt Suzanna again. Amanda would make sure of it.
When she reached the edge of the pool this time, she gripped the coping and dipped her head back into the water to slick her hair out of her eyes. Surfacing, she found herself staring up into a watery image that was entirely too familiar.
