Page 13 of A Man for Amanda
“Morning.” Sloan grinned down at her. The sun was at his back, bringing out the reddish tones in his untidy hair. “You got a nice form there, Calhoun.”
She blinked her eyes clear. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Here?” He glanced over his shoulder at the whitewashed hotel. “You could say I’m hanging my hat here.” Watching her, he jerked a thumb up and back. “Room 320.”
“You’re a guest at the BayWatch?” Amanda propped her elbows on the coping. “It figures.”
Agreeable, Sloan crouched down. She had the clear, creamy Calhoun skin, he noted, particularly striking, and vulnerable, now washed clean of any cosmetics. “Nice way to start the day.”
Her full damp mouth turned down in a frown. “It was.”
“Since we’re asking, what are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
Things were becoming more and more interesting, he thought. “No fooling?”
“No fooling,” she said dryly. “I’m assistant manager.”
“Well, now.” He dipped an experimental finger into the water. “Checking out the water temperature for the guests? That’s dedication.”
“The pool doesn’t open until ten.”
“Don’t worry.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “I wasn’t planning on taking a dip just yet.” What he had been planning was to take a walk, a long solitary one. But that was before he’d spotted her doing laps. “So, I guess if I have any questions about the place, you’re the one I talk to.”
“That’s right.” Amanda moved over to the steps to climb out. The one-piece sapphire-colored suit clung like a second skin as water slid from her. “Is your room satisfactory?”
“Hmm?” She had legs designed to make a man sweat, he thought, slim and shapely and a yard long.
“Your room,” she repeated as she reached for her towel. “It suits you?”
“It suits me fine. Just fine.” He skimmed his gaze up those damp calves and thighs, over the slim hips on a lazy journey to her face. “The view’s worth the price of admission.”
Amanda hooked the towel around her neck. “The view of the bay’s free—like the continental breakfast now being served in The Galley. You’ll want to take advantage of it.”
“I’ve found that a couple of croissants and a cup of coffee don’t do much to stanch the appetite.” Because he wasn’t ready for her to walk away, he reached out to take both ends of the towel in a light grip. “Why don’t you join me for a real breakfast?”
“Sorry.” Her heart was beginning to thud uncomfortably. “Employees are discouraged from socializing with the guests.”
“I reckon we could make an exception in this case, seeing as we’re... old friends.”
“We’re not even new friends.”
There was that smile again, slow, insistent and all too knowing. And then he said, “That’s something we can fix over breakfast.”
“Sorry. Not interested.” She started to turn away, but he tightened his grip on the towel and held her in place.
“Where I come from people are a mite more friendly.”
Since he wasn’t giving her a choice, she held her ground. “Where I come from people are a great deal more polite. If you have any problems with the service during your stay at the BayWatch, I’ll be more than happy to accommodate you. If you have any questions about The Towers, I’ll make myself available to answer them. Other than that, we have nothing to discuss.”
He watched her patiently, admiring the way she could coat her husky voice with frost even while her eyes glinted. This was a woman with plenty of control. And, though he was certain she’d snarl at the term, plenty of spunk.
“What time do you go on the clock here?”
She let out a hiss of breath. Obviously the man’s head was as thick as his accent. “Nine o’clock, so if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go get dressed.”
Sloan squinted up at the sun. “Looks to me like you’ve got about an hour before you punch in. The way you move, it won’t take you half that to get yourself together.”
