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“I’ll pick you up.”
“Michael, I don’t think—”
“Try not to think so much,” he said, leaning forward. “Sometimes it’s better to just let yourself feel.”
Gently he brushed his lips against hers. The contact was light, tender, a nonthreatening kiss. Yet the feel of his mouth, warm and firm against her own, sparked a fire inside her that seeped to her core.
Stifling the urge to pull her into his arms, Michael lifted his head. He looked into her brown eyes, all soft and dreamy, and checked the need to taste her lips again.
Slowly her dazed expression began to fade. “About Friday,” she whispered.
He caught the note of doubt in her voice and refused to give her a chance to change her mind. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something casual.” Easing off the desk, he retrieved his jacket and slipped out the door.
Standing outside the office, Michael drew a steadying breath. For a moment he’d been sure he’d blown it. He hadn’t meant to issue her an ultimatum; and he certainly hadn’t meant to kiss her. But the sight of that pretty pink mouth telling him no again, shooting holes in all his plans, had been too much.
As he headed for the exit, his thoughts were filled with Amanda. A slow burning began in the lower part of his body as he recalled the warmth of her lips, the sweet hesitation of her response.
He stepped out into the waning sunlight and started for the parking lot. He’d enjoyed that kiss—a lot more than he had bargained for. And for a few crazy moments he’d been tempted to shelve his plans.
He couldn’t. Too much was at stake.
Frowning, Michael slipped inside the black sedan and removed the letter from his coat pocket. As he scanned the legal jargon once more, he thought back to that day six weeks ago when he’d decided to take his attorney’s advice.
Find yourself a wife, Dave had said. Summer needs a mother. You always said you were going to get married someday. Why not do it now?
It had made perfect, logical sense. By taking a wife, he could give Summer the one thing she wanted most and the one thing Martha Winthrop with all her money and influence couldn’t buy—a family. And what court would remove a child from a loving, two-parent home and opt for one with only a rich, elderly widow?
None, he’d told himself.
All he had to do was find a wife. The plan was simple. At least, he had thought so, until Summer had quickly dismissed each potential candidate he’d brought before her.
The only exception had been Amanda. She had been the only woman Summer seemed to truly like.
Shoving the letter back into his coat pocket, Michael started the engine and backed out of the parking lot. Amanda was perfect. Not only was she beautiful, smart and interesting to be with, but she genuinely cared for his niece.
And she was attracted to him.
The feeling was mutual, he admitted. Moving the car into the line of traffic, he laughed out loud, the sound echoing inside the empty car. Who was he kidding? He’d been attracted to Amanda from the beginning. Over the past two months those feelings had only grown stronger...and they’d had nothing at all to do with Summer.
He wanted Amanda, period.
Michael’s lips curved into a self-mocking smile. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want her? With her pale blond hair and creamy skin, that long, sleek body, she looked more like a princess than a psychologist.
Granted, he was no prince. But he’d come a long way from the sixteen-year-old punk who’d lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Twenty years and a successful business could change a lot of things.
But it can’t change who you are or who you have been, a small voice inside him whispered. Switching to the left lane, Michael frowned. He and his sister had both learned that no amount of money or success could make up for lack of the proper bloodlines. If he’d ever doubted it, the Winthrops had driven that point home when Sara had gotten pregnant.
Michael’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as all the bitter memories came back. He would protect Summer from them no matter what the cost—even if it meant using Amanda.
Guilt pricked at his conscience as he remembered the sad look in Amanda’s velvety brown eyes.
He shoved it aside. He had no choice. He had to make Amanda fall in love with him and convince her to marry him.
And he had to do it soon because time was running out.
* * *
Amanda glanced around the cozy little restaurant, noting the candlelight, the soft music. The place Michael had chosen was charming, intimate, and threatened to sweep her resistance away. She would have preferred bright lights and noisy chatter. Absently, she traced the red-and-white squares of the tablecloth with her fingertip while Michael ordered a bottle of wine.
“I hope you like Italian food,” he said.
She looked up and Michael flashed her a sexy grin that made her mouth dry. Tearing her gaze from his lips, she took a sip of water. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Good. I thought about taking you to one of the more popular places in the Quarter, but I figured you’d probably been to most of them already and I wanted to take you someplace different.”
Chiding herself for being so susceptible to him, Amanda was grateful when the waiter arrived with the wine. Anxious to put things back on a business footing, she said, “I hope you’ve given some more consideration to allowing Summer to continue with the counseling program.”
“I have. Summer thinks quite a lot of you.” He took a slow sip of his wine. “So do I,” he said softly.
Heart pounding, Amanda reached for her wineglass.
As though sensing her uneasiness, Michael leaned back in his seat. He gave her a considering look. “You know, I’ve been curious. What made you decide to become a psychologist?”
Relieved by the change in subject, Amanda released her pent-up breath and tried to relax. “I guess you’ve probably heard that my father’s an ambassador?”
Michael nodded.
“Well, as an ambassador’s daughter, I got to attend a lot of receptions, ribbon cuttings, that sort of thing. Pretty boring stuff for a child.” Amanda smiled weakly, remembering how lonely she had been. “And because of my father’s position, it was important that I not do or say the wrong thing.”
“Did you? Ever say or do something you shouldn’t have?” Michael asked.
“Not unless you count the time I asked one of the Arab emirs why he needed three wives. Of course, I was only seven at the time,” Amanda said, grinning.
Michael laughed, the sound rich and full of life. Then slowly the smile slipped from his lips. His deep blue eyes moved over her face like a caress. “I bet you were a beauty even then.”
“Hardly. I had skinny legs and two missing front teeth,” she quipped, unnerved by the sudden tension. “Anyway, I became good at studying people. When it was time for me to go to college, I decided to major in psychology. Gracie—Sister Mary Grace,” she amended, “was one of my teachers. Since I liked working with kids, she encouraged me to specialize in child psychology.”
Michael reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I, for one, am glad you followed her advice.”
Warmed by his approval, Amanda studied him under the soft light. His hair, a dark, rich ebony, fell at an angle across his forehead and brushed the back collar of his shirt. Struck by the urge to smooth it with her fingertips, she shifted her gaze to his face.
At the look in his eyes, her pulse quickened. It had been a long time since any man had looked at her with such desire. And even longer, she admitted, since she had felt any response.
Shaken, Amanda pulled her hand free as the waiter served their salads.
“Since you like kids so much, I’m surprised you don’t have any of your own.”
Amanda’s chest tightened. She had wanted children, had been thrilled to gain a stepdaughter when she’d married Adam. She had even hoped to fill their home with more children. But that had been before she’d discovered Adam’s secret, before she’d suffered the humiliation of his deception. “Things don’t always work out the way we plan,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“No, they don’t.” An odd expression crossed his face, then quickly disappeared. “Do you see much of your ex-husband’s daughter since the divorce?”
“Kimberly and I—” Amanda paused, her fork in midair. “How did you know I had a stepdaughter?”
“Sister Mary Grace mentioned it.”
Surprised, Amanda set down her fork. She narrowed her eyes. “Why on earth would she do that?”
Michael shrugged. “I was asking her about you and I guess it sort of came up in the conversation.”
“I see,” Amanda said, growing irritated. Dear friend or not, she wished she could get her hands around Gracie’s neck.
“Don’t be upset with Sister. I was the one asking the questions.”
“Did it ever occur to you to ask me?”
“I did,” he said, a slight edge in his voice. “But if you’ll recall, you weren’t exactly forthcoming.”
“So you decided to ask Sister Mary Grace?”
“Yes,” he replied evenly. “I told you, I believe in going after what I want.”
And he wanted her, Amanda finished silently. “What else did the dear Sister tell you?” she asked, too annoyed by the thought of him learning the details of her personal life to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“That you’ve been divorced about eighteen months, are disgusted with men in general, and that if my interest in you is genuine, I should be prepared for a tough battle.” Michael flashed her a disarming grin. “She also said it was going to take a lot more than a handsome face and sexy smile to break through that Boston reserve of yours.”
Amanda wanted to crawl under the table. “I can’t believe she said that. She’s a nun for heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah. Surprised me, too. I think she was trying to scare me off.” Michael chuckled and shot her a considering look. “But as you can see, I don’t frighten easily.”
“Obviously,” Amanda said, feeling exposed and vulnerable, and hating it.
“All I wanted was to get to know you better,” he said gently. “I never meant to upset you.”
“I’m not upset, just embarrassed.” His sincerity touched her.
“There’s no need to be.” He gave her a disarming smile. “What do you say we call a truce and enjoy dinner? I promise Antonio’s manicotti is the best in the city.”
Amanda nodded her acquiesence.
Three hours later she was glad she had agreed to the truce. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much in one evening—or had so much fun. And playing putt-putt, no less.
Smiling, Amanda leaned her head back against the seat of the car and listened to the soft melody playing on the radio as they headed for her home.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Michael offered.
She shifted her gaze to him. “Only a penny?” she teased, feeling lighthearted. “The way you were trying to get me to bet on the outcome of that last game, I would have thought you were a much bigger gambler.”
Michael chuckled. The sound was warm, intimate, inside the confines of the car. “How about a quarter, then?”
Amanda laughed. “Now that’s what I call a big spender.”
Exiting the interstate, Michael pulled the car to a stop at the red light. He turned to Amanda. The smile disappeared from his lips as he reached over and traced his thumb along the line of her jaw. “What’s really going on inside that pretty head of yours?”
“I was thinking about what a nice time I had.” Amanda swallowed, acutely aware of how close he was. In the darkness of the car, with only the dim light of the street lamp, his eyes reminded her of polished gems.
“Glad you came?”
“Yes,” Amanda whispered. “I am.”
“Me, too.” He moved his thumb across her lower lip.
Amanda’s heart pounded as he leaned closer. Frightened, excited, she closed her eyes and lifted her mouth.
A horn sounded behind them and Amanda pulled back.
Muttering, Michael yanked the gear shift, sending the car jerking forward. “Sorry,” he mumbled as they sped down the dark street.
While he maneuvered the car through the city, Amanda studied the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his mouth. Feelings, long buried, stirred to life inside her. She recalled how those lips had felt—warm and hungry against her own. Realizing where her thoughts had drifted, she turned to stare out the window.
A few minutes later Michael pulled the car to a stop in front of her cottage and shut off the engine.
“Amanda?”
Pulling her gaze from the pink-and-white azaleas that lined the walkway to her home, she looked up. Michael stood in front of her, holding the door open.
Michael held her hand as she stepped out onto the driveway.
After closing the door, he pressed his hand to the small of her back and steered her toward the house.
It was a simple gesture of courtesy. Yet his touch made her nervous, edgy, acutely aware that she was a woman and he was a man. When they stepped into the alcove of her doorway, she wanted to race inside and bolt the door against him and the things he was making her feel.
“I had a great time tonight.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth. His fingertips caressed her cheek. “When can I see you again?”
He was so close, she could see the faint shadow along his jaw that would demand a razor’s edge in the morning. The night seemed to close in around her. The sweet scent of gardenias faded and was replaced with the scent of woods, of earth. Of Michael.
Michael sucked in his breath. “Amanda, don’t look at me like that.”
She looked up and saw her own hunger mirrored in his eyes. “Like what?”
“Like you want me,” he said in a voice husky with desire. Extending his arms on either side of her head, he placed his palms flat against the door, trapping her within his embrace. “Like you want to touch me. Taste me.” His gaze fell to her mouth. “The way I want to touch and taste you.”
Knees weak, Amanda leaned back, grateful for the solid door. As Michael lowered his head, she braced her hands against his chest, intent on pushing him away.
She leaned toward him instead.
And then his mouth touched hers.
His kiss was just as she remembered it. Gentle, coaxing, a slow brushing of lips against lips. He took her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled, slowly explored its shape with his tongue.
