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He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Do you kiss all your guests good-night?”
He chuckled softly. “No. You’re the first.”
He continued down the hall. Amelia’s knees started to buckle and she leaned against the door for balance. This was what Sam Blackstone did to her. He kept her completely off balance, until she really wasn’t sure what was up and what was down. And she was starting to enjoy the feeling.
* * *
JERRY HAD CALLED early that morning with the news that he’d spoken to Abigail Farnsworth and she’d made a decision. He’d asked Sam to meet him at the warehouse. When Sam had asked about Amelia, Jerry had told him that he’d contact her, as well, but Sam decided to take the initiative.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, a mug of hot coffee in his hand, and walked down the hall to her room. He paused, his mind rewinding to the kiss they’d shared in the predawn hours.
Sam had never been an impulsive guy, especially when it came to women. But Amelia was unlike any other woman he’d met. From the moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d felt as though a clock had begun ticking, measuring out the minutes and hours they had together.
He had no time to contemplate every move he made. When he’d felt the urge to kiss her, he’d had to act. To his surprise, she’d seemed pleased that he’d kissed her. But he wondered if that feeling would survive the light of day. Well, he was sure he could find a pleasurable way to convince her.
Sam rapped on the door and waited. A few seconds later it swung open and Amelia greeted him with a soft, “Hi.” She brushed the dark strands of her hair out of her eyes and smiled.
“Morning,” Sam said, holding out the coffee. “I wasn’t sure how you took it. Black. I hope that’s all right.”
“Perfect,” she said.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?”
“What time is it?” Amelia asked.
“A little past eight.” Sam paused. “I just got a call from Jerry. He wanted me to meet him at the warehouse. He has news from Abigail.”
“How did he know I was here?”
“He didn’t,” Sam said. “And he didn’t specifically ask that you be there. But I think you should, since whatever he has to say will affect you as well as me. So, I’m going to leave in about ten minutes. If you want to hear what he has to say, meet me down in the lobby.”
“I do want to know,” Amelia replied. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “No problem.” Sam stepped back into the hall and, when the door clicked shut, cursed himself softly.
He should have stepped into the room, wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her. It was the last chance he’d probably have. Once Amelia found out that the bed was his, she’d immediately head home to Boston.
Sam reached out to knock on the door again but pulled his hand away. He’d make sure there’d be a quiet moment for them sometime before she drove off. Sam turned and walked downstairs. Sarah was just going through the reservations as he passed.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“We’ve got that wedding coming in this weekend and I wanted to get a jump on the preparations. I hope you’re going to be around today. Our other guests are leaving in the next few hours. I’m going to need your help.”
“Sure. I just have to run over and see Jerry about the bed. Then I’m free. When Amelia comes through, tell her to meet me outside in the truck.”
“Yes,” Sarah murmured. “I will tell the piece of work that you’re awaiting her in the truck.”
He gave her a dismissive glare and she laughed. Was he that obvious? If Sarah had already picked up on the fact that there was something going on, then the whole town would probably have it figured out within a day. Even more reason to step up his plan to get to know Amelia more intimately.
Sam was still cleaning out the front seat of his truck when Amelia hurried down the porch steps. Yesterday she’d been chic and aloof. Today, dressed in jeans and a fleece pullover, she looked relaxed...and beautiful.
Sam ran around to her side of the truck, opened the door and then helped her in. As he closed the door, Sam realized that he’d missed another chance to kiss her—and he had very few of those chances left.
Cursing softly, he got into the truck and turned to her. Slipping his fingers around her nape, he gently pulled her toward him. Amelia didn’t offer any resistance, and by the time their lips met, hers were slightly parted.
She tasted like sweet toothpaste, cinnamon and coffee. His fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her more deeply into the kiss. His mind spun and for several long moments he couldn’t make himself think rationally. He wanted to stop; he knew he had to. But the kiss continued to spin out of control as they groped for closer contact.
He couldn’t explain the attraction. It was part physical, part intellectual. Yes, she was out of his league, but that didn’t seem to stop him. Maybe if he could understand what drew him to her, he could find an excuse to stop himself.
Finally Amelia pulled away. She stared out the front windshield, her breath coming in tiny gasps.
“Good morning,” Sam murmured.
A tiny smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. “Good morning,” she said. She opened the door and jumped to the ground. “I think I’ll drive myself.”
“You can ride with me,” he shouted as she headed toward her Lexus.
“No, I’ll take my truck. I’ll need the trailer for the bed.”
He leaped out of the truck. “You still believe you’re going to get the bed?”
“I’m hopeful,” she called.
“I think you’re going to be disappointed.”
Sam watched her start her truck, then hopped back into his own and turned the key in the ignition. He drove silently into town and within a few minutes pulled up in front of an old storefront on Center Street, on the north end of the business district.
Gold letters painted on the huge glass window identified the place as Benny Barnes Antiques and Auction Gallery. Benny, one of the town’s more colorful characters, had added his own personal tagline to the window: I Buy Old Stuff.
Benny had agreed to take the bed, along with the other disputed pieces, and hold them until ownership had been determined. Ever the marketing genius, he’d taken the opportunity to get some publicity out of it for himself, setting the Washington bed up in his front window with a lovely hand-painted sign and antique bed linens.
As Sam parked beside her, Amelia hopped out of the truck, not waiting for him to get her door. She stood in front of the wide plate-glass window and Sam joined her.
“Nice to know I can keep an eye on it,” Sam muttered.
A worried expression crossed her face and she gnawed on her lower lip. “Right.”
He rested his palm on the small of her back as he held the front door open for her and they stepped inside the dimly lit interior. Jerry was waiting for them, stretched out in a tattered wing chair, a mug of coffee in his hands.
“Morning,” he said, nodding to the two of them.
“Morning, Jerry,” Sam said. “You remember Amelia Sheffield. She stayed at the inn last night, so I let her know about the meeting.”
Jerry frowned, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Will you excuse us, miss?” he said, getting up and grabbing Sam by the arm. He dragged him to a quiet corner of Benny’s office. “You’re giving aid and refuge to the enemy now?”
“I’m confident we’ll prevail,” he said. “And she’s a paying customer.”
“Yeah? Well, you’d best watch yourself. A woman that beautiful is nothing but trouble.”
They walked back out to Amelia and found her inside the large display window, examining the details on the bed.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad,” Jerry began. “Good news is there’s no one else making a claim on this piece. Bad news is Miss Abigail has decided to leave the decision up to you two.”
“How’s that going to work?” Sam asked.
“Hell if I know. But you’re going to have to fight this one out yourselves. When you’ve got it sorted, give me a call and I’ll write up the paperwork. Until then, Benny says he’ll keep the bed here.”
After he walked out, they stood next to each other, silently, both of them weighing their options. Amelia was the first to speak. She removed her phone from her purse. “Where can I buy some bed linens? Sheets and a pillow?”
“Why would you need that?”
“I’m going to stay here, live here in this bed, until you give up your claim. Unless you want to give up right now, which would save us both a lot of time and trouble?”
“I’m not giving up. It’s my bed. It’s a family heirloom.”
“And you thought by seducing me, I might forget that point? Well, I haven’t. You can kiss me all you want, Sam Blackstone, and it’s not going to shake my determination.” She sat on the edge of the bed.
“You want to stay here in this dusty old window?”
“Yes. I hope the store has a bathroom. Why don’t you go check on that for me?”
“I’m not going to stay here,” Sam said.
“Then you’re giving up already?”
“No. But this isn’t the way to decide this. We could flip a coin. We could arm wrestle or cut cards. We don’t have to live here.”
“Well, I am going to live here. I’m going to sleep in my bed until it’s all mine.”
He cursed beneath his breath. This was crazy. How was it that she was dictating the terms? Hell, they could take the bed back to the inn and live in relative comfort and seclusion.
“Hello! Anyone here?” A moment later Minerva Threadwell came around the corner. She wore a bright purple warm-up suit and had her gray hair pulled into a tidy bun at the top of her head. Rabbit-fur earmuffs covered her ears and she looked as if she’d just happened in on her morning walk. “Oh, here you are. I just got a tip that there was new development on the bed. I can get it into our Thursday edition.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her notepad and pen. “Care to comment?”
Sam groaned. “Is this really what you consider newsworthy, Minerva?”
“It’s a small town,” she said in a clipped tone. “I take what I can get. So, whose bed is it, yours or hers?”
Amelia pulled a business card out of her pocket. “Amelia Sheffield of the Mapother Museum. And it seems Miss Farnsworth left the decision up to us. So, I’ll just be staying here, sleeping in this bed, until Mr. Blackstone agrees to let me take it to Boston for my exhibit.”
“Well, this is an interesting development,” Minerva said. “Kind of a John Lennon-Yoko Ono thing.”
“What?”
“Oh, right,” Amelia said. “A sleep-in.”
“So you two are going to sleep in the bed together?”
“I’m not sleeping here,” Sam protested.
“Then what’s to prevent her from taking off with your bed in the middle of the night?” Minerva asked, an inquisitive arch to her eyebrow.
Sam cursed beneath his breath. “I guess I’ll be sleeping here with her.”
Minerva’s smile widened. “Now, that will make the story even more interesting. You’ll be sharing the bed?”
“No,” Sam and Amelia said at the same time.
Then Sam realized this could be the opportunity he’d been hoping for. “I mean yes,” Sam said. “It’s only fair. It is my bed.”
“It’s my bed and you won’t be sleeping in it,” Amelia said.
“Which is it?” the reporter asked. “Are you going to sleep together or not?”
“Yes,” Amelia said.
The reporter turned to look at Sam. “And...you’re all right with that?”
“Sure,” Sam said. He sent Amelia a lazy smile. “I don’t plan to do a lot of sleeping.”
He heard a tiny gasp catch in Amelia’s throat and took satisfaction in the realization that he’d managed to rattle her. Miss Cool and Collected had a weak spot. Was she imagining what might happen once the lights went out?
“What’s so important about this bed?” Minerva asked.
“George Washington slept in this bed,” Amelia said.
“I expect he slept in many beds over the course of his life,” Minerva commented.
“It’s not very important,” Sam countered. “But it’s always had a home with the Blackstone family. Ms. Sheffield doesn’t seem to understand the value of family traditions.”
“Do you have proof that George Washington slept in the bed?”
Amelia nodded. “Of course. Mr. Blackstone’s grandfather included paperwork on the provenance with copies of Washington’s signature from the inn’s guest book. I’ve done other research, as well.”
“Would you care to elaborate?” Minerva said. “I’d also be interested to know the value of the bed.”
“On second thought, I could have been wrong,” Sam murmured. “Maybe that wasn’t the bed in the corner room. I may have confused things.”
Minerva looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’d like to send Wilbur over to take a photo. How long do you think it will be before the two of you are in bed together?”
“I’ll leave that up to Ms. Sheffield,” he said.
“No comment,” she murmured, her cheeks flushed with color.
“I have enough for now, anyway,” Minerva said. “I know how to contact both of you. If I need anything else, I’ll drop by.” She sighed. “Wilbur’s going to want to get this on the noon news.” Minerva tucked her notepad into her pocket and hurried out the front door.
They stood in silence for a long moment before Sam clapped his hands. “All right,” he said. “We’re on. I say we meet back here at noon with everything we need and then we’ll get started.”
