It Happened One Week (13 page)

“You don’t like me much, do you?” Kelli asked finally.

“I don’t really know you.”

“True. And spoken like a true diplomat. By the way, Dane was a perfect gentleman last night.”

“I can’t imagine Dane being anything but a gentleman.”

“What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean.” Amanda didn’t want to talk about Dane. Not with this woman.

Kelli reached into her canvas tote, pulled out a compact and began applying rose blush to her too-pale cheeks. “You love Dane, don’t you?”

“I really don’t believe my feelings are anyone’s business but my own.”

“Of course not,” Kelli said quickly. A bit too quickly, Amanda thought. “I was just thinking that advertising is a very unstable business, and if you were to get involved with our sexy innkeeper, then have to move back East—”

“I doubt there’s much possibility of that. Besides, as exciting as New York admittedly is, I’m comfortable where I am.”

Kelli dropped the blush back into the bag and pulled out a black-and-gold lipstick case. “Even with Greg as creative director?”

She’d definitely hit the bull’s-eye with that question.

“Greg Parsons isn’t Patrick Connally,” Amanda said truthfully. “And his management style is a great deal different.” Sort of like the difference between Genghis Khan and Ghandi. “But, as we’ve pointed out over these past days, advertising is all about change.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Kelli looked at Amanda in the mirror. Her gaze was long and deep. Finally, she returned to her primping. After applying a fuchsia lipstick that added much-needed color to her lips, she said, “I suppose we may as well join the others.”

As they left the rest room together, Amanda couldn’t help thinking that their brief conversation wasn’t exactly like two women sharing confidences. It had strangely seemed more like an interview. Deciding that she was reading too much into the incident, she began anticipating the evening ahead.

Amanda hadn’t been so nervous since the summer of her fifteenth year. She bathed in scented water that left her skin as smooth as silk, brushed her newly washed hair until it shone like gold and applied her makeup with unusual care. Then she stood in front of the closet, wondering what she could wear for what was, essentially, her first real date with Dane.

She’d only brought one dress, and she’d already worn it last night. Besides, somehow, the front ties had gotten torn in their frantic struggle to undress. And although she had no doubt that the patrons of Davey Jones’s Locker wouldn’t complain about her showing up with the front of her blouse slit down to her navel, she figured such sexy attire would be overkill for Satan’s Cove.

Although she’d been underage, hence too young to go into the bar/restaurant the last time she’d visited the coastal town, from the outside, the building definitely did not seem to be the kind of place where one dressed for dinner.

With that in mind, she finally decided on a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved white blouse cut in the classic style of a man’s shirt. Some gold studs at her ears, a gold watch, and a pair of black cowboy boots completed her ensemble.

“Well, you’re not exactly Cinderella,” she murmured, observing her reflection in the antique full-length mirror. “But you’ll do.”

So as not to encourage unwanted gossip, she’d agreed to meet Dane in the former carriage house that had been turned into a garage. As she entered the wooden building, his eyes darkened with masculine approval.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, contessa.”

She was vastly relieved he hadn’t seen her when she’d arrived from the boat, smelling of fish, her face pink from the sun, her nose peeling like an eleven-year-old tomboy’s and her hair a wild tangle.

“I hope this is appropriate.” She ran her hands down the front of her jeans. “I thought I’d leave my tiara at home tonight.”

“All the better to mingle with your subjects,” he agreed, thinking that although she’d cleaned up beautifully, he still kind of liked the way she’d looked when she’d returned from the fishing derby today.

He’d been in the garden, tying up his mother’s prized tomato plants, when he’d seen her trying to sneak into the lodge, her complexion kissed by the sun and her tangled hair reminding him of the way it looked when she first woke up this morning after a night of passionate lovemaking.

“I got to thinking,” he said, “that perhaps, after a day on a fishing boat, taking you out for seafood wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Her smile was quick and warm and reminded him of the one he’d fallen for when he was nineteen. “I’ve got a stomach like a rock. And I adore seafood.”

“Terrific. Iris has a way with fried oysters you won’t believe.”

“I love fried oysters.” She batted her lashes in the way Scarlett O’Hara had made famous and a fifteen-year-old girl had once perfected. “They’re rumored to be an aphrodisiac, you know.”

“So I’ve heard. But with you providing the inspiration, contessa, the last thing I need is an aphrodisiac.”

He drew her into his arms and gave her a long deep kiss that left her breathless. And even as he claimed her mouth with his, Dane knew that it was Amanda who was claiming him. Mind, heart and soul.

Satan’s Cove was laid out in a crescent, following the curving shoreline. As Dane drove down the narrow main street, Amanda was surprised and pleased that the town hadn’t changed during the decade she’d been away.

“It’s as if it’s frozen in time,” she murmured as they drove past the cluster of buildings that billed themselves as the Sportsman’s Lodge, and the white Cape Cod-style Gray Whale Mercantile. “Well, almost,” she amended as she viewed a window sign on another building that advertised crystals and palm readings. A For Rent sign hung in a second-story window above the New Age shop.

“Nothing stays the same.” Dane said what Amanda had already discovered the hard way at C.C.C. “But change has been slow to come to this part of the coast.”

“I’m glad,” she decided.

“Of course, there was a time when Satan’s Cove was a boom town. But that was before the fire.”

“Fire?”

“Didn’t you learn the town’s history when you were here before?”

“I was a little preoccupied that summer,” she reminded. “Trying to seduce the sexiest boy on the Pacific seaboard. Visiting dull old museums was not exactly high on my list of fun things to do.”

Since he’d had far better places to escape with her than the town museum, Dane decided he was in no position to criticize.

“With the exception of Smugglers’ Inn, which was located too far away, most of the town burned down sixtysome years ago. Including the old Victorian whorehouse down by the docks. Well, needless to say, without that brothel, the fishermen all moved to Tillamook, Seaside and Astoria.”

“Amazing what the loss of entrepreneurs can do to a local economy,” she drawled sapiently. “So what happened? Didn’t the women come back after the town was rebuilt?”

“By the time the city fathers got around to rebuilding in the mid-thirties, the prohibitionists had joined forces with some radical religious reformers who passed an ordinance forbidding the rebuilding of any houses of ill repute.

“After World War II, alcohol returned withouta battle. And so did sex. But these days it’s free.” He flashed her a grin. “Or so I’m told.”

Even though she knew their time was coming to an end, his flippant statement caused a stab of purely feminine jealousy. Amanda hated the idea of Dane making love to any other woman. But short of tying him up and taking him back to Portland with her, she couldn’t think of a way to keep the man all to herself.

She was wondering about the logistics of maintaining a commuter relationship—after all, Portland was only a few hours’ drive from Satan’s Cove—when he pulled up in front of Davey Jones’s Locker.

From the outside, the weathered, silvery gray building did not look at all promising. Once inside, however, after her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Amanda found it rustically appealing.

Fish, caught in local waters, had been mounted on the knotty-pine-paneled walls, yellow sawdust had been sprinkled over the plank floor and behind an L-shaped bar was a smoky mirror and rows of bottles.

“Dane!” A woman who seemed vaguely familiar, wearing a striped cotton-knit top and a pair of cuffed white shorts, stopped on her way by with a tray of pilsner glasses filled with draft beer. Her voluptuous breasts turned the red and white stripes into wavy lines. “I was wondering what it would take to get you away from that work in progress.”

She flashed Dane a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial and her emerald eyes gleamed with a feminine welcome Amanda found far too sexy for comfort. Then her eyes skimmed over Amanda with unconcealed interest.

“Just grab any old table, you two,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “As soon as I deliver these, I’ll come take your drink order.”

With that, she was dashing across the room to where a group of men were playing a game of pool on a green-felttopped table. The seductive movement of her hips in those tight white shorts was nothing short of riveting.

“Old friend?” Amanda asked as she slipped into a booth at the back of the room.

“Iris and I dated a bit in high school,” Dane revealed easily. “And when I first returned to town. But nothing ever came of it. We decided not to risk a great friendship by introducing romance into the relationship.”

Relief was instantaneous. “She really is stunning.” Now that she knew the woman wasn’t a threat, Amanda could afford to be generous.

“She is that,” Dane agreed easily. “I’ve seen grown men walk into walls when Iris walks by. But, of course, that could be because they’ve had too much to drink.”

Or it could be because the woman had a body any
Playboy
centerfold would envy. That idea brought up Dane’s contention that she was too thin, which in turn had Amanda comparing herself with the voluptuous Iris, who was headed back their way, order pad in hand. The outcome wasn’t even close.

“Hi,” she greeted Amanda with a smile every bit as warm as the one she’d bestowed upon Dane. “It’s good to see you again.”

Amanda looked at the stunning redhead in confusion. “I’m sorry, but—”

“That’s okay,” Iris interrupted good-naturedly. “It’s been a long time. I was waiting tables at Smugglers’ Inn the summer you came for a vacation with your parents.”

Memories flooded back. “Of course, I remember you.” She also recalled, all too clearly, how jealous she’d been of the sexy redheaded waitress who spent far too much time in the kitchen with Dane. “How are you?”

“I’m doing okay. Actually, since I bought this place with the settlement money from my divorce, I’m doing great.” She laughed, pushing back a froth of copper hair. “I think I’ve found my place, which is kind of amazing when you think how badly I wanted to escape this town back in my wild teenage days.”

She grinned over at Dane. “Can you believe it, sugar? Here we are, two hotshot kids who couldn’t wait to get out of Satan’s Cove, back home again, happy as a pair of clams.”

“Iris was making a pretty good living acting in Hollywood,” Dane revealed.

“Really?” Although she’d grown up in Los Angeles, the only actors she’d ever met were all the wanna-bes waiting
tables at her favorite restaurants. “That must have been exciting.”

“In the beginning, I felt just like Buddy Ebsen. You know—” she elaborated at Amanda’s confused look “—’The Beverly Hillbillies.’ Movie stars, swimming pools… Lord, I was in hog heaven. I married the first guy I met when I got off the bus—an out-of-work actor. That lasted until I caught him rehearsing bedroom scenes with a waitress from Hamburger Hamlet. In our bed.

“My second marriage was to a director, who promised to make me a star. And I’ll have to admit, he was doing his best to keep his promise, but I was getting tired of being the girl who was always murdered by some crazed psycho. There’s only so much you can do creatively with a bloodcurdling scream.

“Besides, after a time, a girl gets a little tired of her husband wearing her underwear, if you know what I mean.”

“I can see where that might be a bit disconcerting,” Amanda agreed. She’d never met anyone as open and outgoing as Iris. She decided it was no wonder the woman had chosen to leave the art and artifice of Hollywood.

“After my second divorce, I got fed up with the entire Hollywood scene and realized, just like Dorothy, that there’s no place like home.”

“I just realized,” Amanda said, “I’ve seen one of your films.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. I went to a Halloween party a few years ago and the host screened
Nightstalker.”

“You’ve got a good eye,” Iris said. “I think I lasted about three scenes in that one.”

“But they were pivotal,” Amanda said earnestly, remembering how Iris’s character—a hooker with a heart of gold—had grabbed her killer’s mask off, enabling a street person rifling through a nearby Dumpster to get a glimpse
of his scarred face. Which in turn, eventually resulted in the man’s capture.

“I knew I liked you.” Iris flashed a grin Dane’s way. “If I were you, I’d try to hold on to this one.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Dane didn’t add that that was exactly what he intended to do.

A
lthough the ambience was definitely not that of a five-star restaurant, and the food was not covered in velvety sauce or garnished with the trendy miniature vegetable-ofthe-week, Amanda couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed a meal more.

There was one small glitch—when Julian, Marvin, and Luke Cahill had unexpectedly shown up. Fortunately, they appeared no more pleased to see her than she was to see them, and after a few stiltedly exchanged words, settled into a booth across the room.

Amanda wondered what the three were doing together. They could be plotting strategy, were it not for the fact that Marvin and Julian were on the blue team and Luke was on the red.

As much as she had riding on the corporate challenge, for this one night Amanda refused to think about her plan for success. After all, here she was, on her first real date with the man she’d always loved, and she wasn’t going to spoil things trying to figure out this latest bit of corporate intrigue.

Instead, she took a sip of the house white wine, smiled enticingly over the heavy rim of the glass, and allowed herself to relax fully for the first time since arriving in Satan’s Cove.

It was late when they returned to the inn. The moon and stars that had been so vivid the other night were hidden by a thick cloud of fog.

Someone—undoubtedly Mindy—had left a lamp in the downstairs reception parlor on; it glowed a warm welcome. The lights in the upstairs windows were off, revealing that the other guests had gone to bed.

Amanda didn’t invite Dane up to her room. There was no need. Both of them knew how the night would end.

The elevator was cranking its way up to the third floor when Dane turned and took her in his arms. “I’d say tonight went pretty well,” he murmured against her cheek. “For a first date.”

“Better than well.” She sighed her pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed myself more.”

“I’m glad.” His lips skimmed up to create sparks at her temple. Dane didn’t add that he’d worried she’d find Davey Jones’s Locker too plebeian for her city tastes.

“And just think—” she leaned back a bit, sensual amusement gleaming in her eyes “—the night’s still young.”

Actually, that wasn’t really the case. But Dane wasn’t about to argue. After all the sleep he’d lost fixing up the inn, he wasn’t about to complain about losing a bit more if it meant making love again to Amanda.

Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers. At first briefly. Then, as he drew her closer, the kiss, while remaining tender, grew deeper. More intimate. More weakening.

Her limbs grew heavy, her head light. Amanda clung to him, wanting more. She’d never known an elevator ride to take so long.

The cage door finally opened. Hand in hand, they walked to the stairwell at the end of the hallway. It was like moving in a dream. A dream Amanda wished would never end.

They’d no sooner entered the tower room than Dane pulled her close and kissed her again. Not with the slow selfcontrol of a man who knew how to draw out every last ounce of pleasure, but with the impatient demand of a lover who realized that this stolen time together was rapidly coming to an end.

With a strength and ease that once again bespoke the life of hard, physical work he’d chosen over shuffling papers, Dane scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the plank floor to the bed, which had been turned down during their absence. A mint, formed in the unmistakable shape of the inn, had been left on the pillow. Dane brushed it onto the floor with an impatient hand and began unbuttoning Amanda’s blouse.

“No.” It took an effort—her bones had turned to syrup— but she managed to lift her hands to his.

“No?” Disbelief sharpened his tone, darkened his eyes.

She laid a calming hand against his cheek and felt the tensed muscle beneath her fingertips. “It’s my turn.” Unconsciously, she skimmed her tongue over her lips, enjoying the clinging taste of him. “To make love to you.”

It was at that moment, when every atom in his body was aching to take Amanda—and take her now—that Dane realized he could deny this woman nothing.

His answering smile was slow and warm and devilishly sexy. “I’m all yours, contessa.” He’d never, in all his twenty-nine years, spoken truer words.

He rolled over onto his back, spread out his arms and waited.

Never having undressed a man—last night’s frantic coupling in the cave didn’t really count, since Amanda still couldn’t remember how they’d ended up naked—she was more than a little nervous. But, remembering how his bare torso had gleamed like bronze in the firelight, she decided to begin with his shirt.

With hands that were not as steady as she would have liked, she tackled the buttons one by one. She’d known he was strong—his chest was rock hard and wonderfully muscled. But it was his inner strength that continued to arouse her. Just as it was his loyalty, integrity and steely self-confidence that Amanda had fallen in love with.

When she reached his belt, she had two choices—to unfasten his jeans or tug the shirt free. Unreasonably drawn to the enticing swell beneath the crisp indigo denim of the jeans that had become his dress slacks when he’d changed lifestyles, Amanda stuck to her vow to keep things slow.

Dane was moderately disappointed when she took the easy way out and pulled his shirt free of his waistbanduntil she folded back the plaid cotton and pressed her silky lips against his bare chest. Her mouth felt like a hot brand against his flesh, burning her claim on him, just as she’d done so many years ago.

“I’m not very experienced.” Her lips skimmed down the narrow arrowing of ebony chest hair, leaving sparks. “You’ll have to tell me what you like.” Retracing the trail her mouth had blazed, she flicked her tongue over a dark nipple. The wet heat caused a smoldering deep in his loins, which threatened to burst into a wildfire.

“That’s a dandy start,” he managed in a husky voice roughened with hunger.

“How about this?” She bestowed light, lazy kisses back down his chest, over his stomach.

“Even better,” he groaned, when she dipped her tongue into his navel. His erection stirred, pushing painfully against the hard denim barrier. Realizing that it was important to cede control to Amanda, Dane ignored the ache and concentrated on the pleasure.

He could have cursed when she suddenly abandoned her seduction efforts. Relief flooded through him as he realized
she was only stopping long enough to take off his shoes and socks.

For a woman who a little more than twenty-four hours ago had been a virgin, Amanda was definitely making up for lost time.

“I’ve never noticed a man’s feet before,” she murmured, running her hands over his. “Who could have guessed that a foot could be so sexy?”

He began to laugh at that outrageous idea, but when she touched her lips to his arch, lightning forked through him, turning the laugh into a choked sound of need.

“Lord, Amanda—” He reached for her, but she deftly avoided his hands.

She touched her mouth to his ankle, felt the thundering of his pulse and imagined she could taste the heat of his blood beneath her lips.

Realizing that she was on the verge of losing control of her emotions, Amanda shifted positions, to lie beside him. She returned her mouth to his face, kissing her way along his rigid jaw as her hands explored his torso, exploiting weaknesses he’d never known he possessed.

She left him long enough to light the fire he’d laid while she’d been out on the fishing boat. Then she proceeded to undress. She took as much time with her buttons as she had with his. By the time the white shirt finally fluttered to the floor, Dane had to press his lips together to keep his tongue from hanging out. As he observed her creamy breasts, unbearably enticing beneath the ivory lace bra, Dane discovered that ten years hadn’t lessened his reaction to the sexy lingerie that had driven a sex-crazed nineteen-year-old to distraction.

She sat down in the wing chair beside the bed, stuck out a leg and invited him to pull off the glove-soft cowboy boot. Dane obliged her willingly. The left boot, then the right, dropped to the floor.

The jeans were even tougher to get off than the boots. “I should have thought this through better,” she muttered as she tugged the black denim over her hips, irritated she’d lost the sensual rhythm she’d tried so hard to maintain.

“You certainly don’t have to apologize, contessa.” The sexy way she was wiggling her hips as she struggled to pull the tight jeans down her legs had Dane feeling as if he was about to explode. “Because it definitely works for me.”

Their gazes touched. His eyes were dark with desire, but tinged with a tender amusement that eased her embarrassment.

She had to sit down in the chair again to drag the jeans over her feet, but then she was standing beside the bed, clad only in the lacy bra and panties. The soft shadow beneath the skimpy lace triangle between her thighs had Dane literally biting the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t stop now.”

Thrilled by the heat flashing in his midnight-dark eyes, along with the hunger in his ragged tone, Amanda leaned forward, unfastened the back hooks of the bra, then held it against her chest for a suspended moment. With her eyes still on his, she smiled seductively.

As she raised her hands to comb them through her hair in a languid gesture, the lace bra fell away.

Unbearably aroused, Dane drank in the sight of her creamy breasts. While not voluptuous, they were smooth and firm. He remembered, all too well, how perfectly they had fit in his hands. In his mouth.

Watching him watch her, Amanda experienced a rush of power—followed by a wave of weakness. Although far more nervous now than when she’d begun the impromptu striptease, Amanda was determined to see it through. She hooked her fingers in the low-cut waistband, drawing the lace over her hips and down her legs.

“You are absolutely gorgeous.” The truth of his words was echoed in his rough voice.

“And you’re overdressed.” Returning to the bed, she knelt over him, struggling with his belt buckle for a few frustrating seconds that seemed like an eternity.

Success! She dragged his jeans and white cotton briefs down his legs, then kissed her way up again.

“You’re killing me,” he moaned as her hand encircled his erection.

“Now you know how I felt.” His sex was smooth and hot. “Last night.” She lowered her head, and her hair fell over his hips like a gleaming antique-gold curtain as she swirled her seductive tongue over him.

Curses, pleas, or promises, Dane wasn’t sure which, were torn from his throat. For the first time in his life, he understood what it was to be completely vulnerable.

She touched. He burned.

She tasted. He ached.

Amanda straddled Dane, taking him deep inside her, imprisoning him willingly, wonderfully, in her warmth.

Their eyes locked, exchanging erotic messages, intimate promises that neither had dared put into words.

Then, because they could wait no longer, she began to move, quickly and agilely, rocking against him, driving him—driving herself—toward that final glorious crest.

Although their time together was drawing to an end, neither Amanda nor Dane brought up the subject of what would happen once the challenge week ended. By unspoken mutual agreement, they ignored the inevitable, intent on capturing whatever pleasure they could. Whenever they could.

On the overnight backpacking trip, while the others tossed and turned, unaccustomed to sleeping on the ground, Dane slipped into Amanda’s tent. Their lovemaking, while necessarily
silent, was even more thrilling because of the risk of discovery. And when she couldn’t remain quiet at the shattering moment of climax, Dane covered her mouth with his, smothering her ecstatic cry.

Time passed as if on wings. On the day before she was scheduled to leave, while Dane was on the beach, preparing for the final event of the challenge week—the cliff climbAmanda was alone in her room, her eyes swollen from the tears she’d shed after he’d left her bed.

The knock on her door had her wiping her damp cheeks. “Yes?”

“Amanda?” It was Kelli. “May I speak with you?”

Although they hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since the fishing-boat incident, Amanda had gotten the impression that Kelli had been watching her every move, which had only increased her suspicions that the public-relations manager was spying for Greg.

“Just a minute.” She ran into the adjoining bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face and pulled a brush through her hair. Then she opened the door.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but…” Kelli’s voice drifted off as she observed Amanda’s red-rimmed eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” When Kelli arched an eyebrow at the obvious lie, Amanda said, “It’s personal.”

Kelli’s expression revealed understanding. “Love can be a real bitch, can’t it?”

“Is it that obvious?” Amanda thought she and Dane had been so careful.

“Not to everyone,” Kelli assured her.

Amanda decided it was time to get their cards on the table. “That’s probably because not everyone has been watching me as closely as you.”

If she’d expected Kelli to be embarrassed, Amanda would have been disappointed.

“That’s true. But none of the others were sent here from Manhattan to evaluate the office.”

“So you
are
a company spy?”

“
Spy
is such a negative word, don’t you think?” Kelli suggested mildly. “I prefer to think of myself as a troubleshooter.”

“Then you ought to shoot Greg Parsons,” Amanda couldn’t resist muttering.

“I’ve considered that. But my recommendation is going to be to fire him, instead.”

“You’re kidding!” Amanda could have been no more surprised than if Kelli had told her that Martians had just purchased the agency. “But he’s family.”

“Not for long,” Kelli revealed. “It seems his wife has gotten tired of his philandering and is about to file for divorce. Obviously, Mr. Janzen isn’t eager to employ the man who’s broken his granddaughter’s heart.”

“It probably helps that he’s incompetent to boot.”

“That is a plus,” Kelli agreed. “Which is, of course, where you come in.” She paused a beat. For effect, Amanda thought. “You’re the obvious choice to replace Greg as regional creative director.”