The Cowboy and the Lady (12 page)

Jace was wearing a deep brown suit with a chocolate striped shirt and complementing tie, and his dark hair was just slightly ruffled, as if he’d been running an impatient hand through it. He looked so vibrantly masculine that she wanted to reach out and touch him, and that response frightened her.

“Thinking of running back out?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled hesitantly. “Your secretary thought I might need a shield.”

“Anyone else might. Not you.” He got up and moved around the desk, his slow, graceful stride holding her gaze until he was standing just in front of her.

“Hi,” she said softly, meeting his eyes with apprehension in her own.

He leaned his hands on either side of her against the door, trapping her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his tall, muscular body, catch the scent of his tangy, expensive cologne.

“Hi,” he murmured, and something new was in his eyes, something she could barely define. Attraction, yes, perhaps even sensual hunger, but there was something else in that silvery gaze, too, and she couldn’t decide exactly what it was.

He reached down and touched his cool, firm lips lightly to hers, drawing back just a breath to watch her.

“Just once,” he murmured, “why don’t you kiss me?”

She caught her breath at the idea of it, and the temptation was too great to resist. She clutched her small purse in one hand and held on to his sleeve with the other, going on tiptoe to press her lips softly against his.

He nipped at her lower lip with his teeth, a tantalizing, soft pressure that made her hungry. “You know what I like,” he murmured under his breath.

She did, and almost without conscious effort, both arms went up around him while she nuzzled his mouth with hers to part his chiseled lips, letting the tip of her tongue trace, lightly, the long, slow curve of his mouth. Against her softness, she could feel the sudden heavy drum of his heart, hear the roughness of his breath.

“Like this, Jason?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Like this,” he murmured, letting his body press her back against the smooth wood of the door, its hard contours fitting themselves expertly to hers. He crushed her soft mouth under his, taking control, the hunger in him almost tangible in the hot, tense silence that followed. A soft, strange sound whispered out of her throat as the madness burned into her mind, her body, and she felt the powerful muscles contract against her, the warmth of his body burning where it touched her in a long, aching caress.

He drew back a breath to look down at her flushed face, her passion-glazed eyes. “Now you know,” he murmured in a husky deep tone.

“Know what?” she murmured blankly.

“Why the room is soundproof.” He chuckled softly.

She flushed, dropping her eyes to his strong brown throat.

“What sweet little noises you make when I make love to you,” he whispered against her forehead, easing the crush of his body. “It’s good between us, Amanda. You’re not a nervous little virgin anymore. You don’t cringe away when I touch you. I like that.”

If only he knew the truth! she thought with a twinge of pain at the words. She knew only what she’d learned from him.

He glanced at the thin gold watch on his wrist. “We’d better go, if you don’t want to be rushed through the first course. I’ve only got an hour.”

“Are you sure you want to…” she began.

He bent and kissed her half-open mouth hard, springing back from the door in the same breath. “I’m sure. Hungry?”

She smiled shyly up at him. “Ravenous,” she murmured.

He chuckled, glancing at her soft, slightly swollen mouth. “What an admission,” he remarked, and laughed outright at the expression on her face. “Come on, honey, let’s go.”

“My lipstick!” she whispered as he started to open the door.

He studied her mouth. “You don’t need it,” he told her. “You’re quite lovely enough without all that paint.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she replied, staring up at him. “You’ve got it all over you.”

He reached for his handkerchief, handed it to her and stood watching her intently while she wiped it away from his lips and cheek, his firm hands at her waist making her so nervous she fumbled slightly.

“Now,” she murmured, handing him back the soiled handkerchief. “Your guilty secret is safe with me.”

He chuckled deeply. “You little horror. What makes you think I feel guilty?”

“You didn’t want anyone to see the lipstick,” she reminded him. “I should have let you walk out there like that. It would have been an inspiration to your secretary.”

“She doesn’t kiss me,” he told her.

She tried not to look too pleased. “She’s very pretty,” she murmured.

“Her boyfriend has a black belt in karate and he runs a very reputable newspaper,” he told her.

She couldn’t repress a grin. “Oh.”

“Jealous of me, Mandy?” he asked, opening the door for her.

“Murderously,” she whispered coquettishly, stepping out into the waiting room before he had time to get even.

He took her to a plush restaurant with burgundy carpeting and white linen tablecloths and horseshoe-shaped chairs upholstered with genuine leather. She ordered a chef’s salad, jumping ahead of Jace before he could order for both of them, and he gave her a meaningful glare as he gave his own of steak and potatoes.

“I’m liberated,” she smilingly reminded him when the waitress left.

He glowered at her, leaning back. “So am I. What about it?” he asked.

She laughed at that, her nervous fingers toying with her water glass. “I thought I’d irritated you.”

“Honey, I’ll admit that I think women look better in skirts than they do wearing pants, but I’ll be the first to say that they are every bit as capable in business as men are.”

That got her attention. Her lovely brown eyes opened wide. “I didn’t realize you thought that way.”

“I told you once, Amanda, you’ve never really known me at all,” he remarked quietly.

“So it seems.” She gripped the glass tighter. “Would you let me tell you why I think my ad agency could handle that Florida investment of yours and Duncan’s?” she persisted.

“Go ahead.”

“All right.” She leaned forward on her forearms, watching the lights play on his dark hair. “You’re developing a resort in inland Florida. It doesn’t border on the ocean or the gulf, it isn’t even on a river. It’s near a large lake, though, and it’s in a very picturesque area of central Florida surrounded by citrus groves and some cattle ranching. Why not let us plan a campaign around the retirement concept? It’s in a perfect location,” she went on, noticing the interest he was showing. “There’s peace and quiet, and no resorts or tourist traps nearby to draw hordes of visitors every year. Since you’re incorporating a shopping mall and gardens into the complex, it would be literally a city in itself. People are flocking to Arizona and places farther west than Texas to get sun and year-round peace and quiet along with it. Why not sell them serenity and natural beauty?”

He pursed his chiseled lips. “What kind of advertising did you have in mind?” he asked, and there was no condescension in his tone.

“You’re planning to open the complex in six months, aren’t you?” she asked, and he nodded. “Then this is the perfect time to do some feature material and work up ads for the more sophisticated magazines, those which appeal to an older, financially independent segment of the reading populace. There are two daily newspapers and three large radio stations, plus a weekly newspaper which all impact on the area where the complex is located. We’ll do a multimedia ad campaign targeted to reach all those audiences. Then we’ll get the figures on where the largest number of new Florida residents come from and send brochures to prominent real estate offices in those northern cities. We’ll develop a theme for the complex, a logo, have a grand opening and get the governor or several politicians to make speeches, send invitations to the press, and—”

“Hold it!” He laughed, watching the excitement brighten her eyes. “Can I afford this saturation?”

She named a figure and both his eyebrows went up. “I hardly expected a figure that reasonable from you,” he said bluntly.

Her eyes widened. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “I’ve already been approached by an ad agency out of New York.” His eyes met hers. “The figure they named was several thousand more.”

She snapped her fingers with a sigh. “Oh, drat!” she said with mock irritation.

He chuckled at that, but the smile quickly faded. “Who’d be handling the account, Amanda, you or your…partner?”

“Both of us,” she replied. “Although I have the journalism degree,” she added with a smile, “so I do most of the writing. Terry’s forte is art and layout and mechanicals.”

He blinked. “Mechanicals?”

“For the printer. Press-ready copy.”

“And what if you launch this campaign and I don’t sell condominiums?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“I throw myself under the wheels of your Mercedes while singing, ‘What do I say, dear, after I say I’m sorry.’”

He reached for his drink with a faint smile playing on his chiseled lips.

“Well?” she asked impatiently.

He looked up and met her eye just as the waitress came toward them with a heavily laden tray. “I’ll think about it and let you know at the party at the Sullevans’. Fair enough?”

She sighed. “Fair enough.”

The meal was tantalizing; she hadn’t realized until she started eating how hungry she was. She finished her salad, and refused dessert, lingering over thick, rich coffee while Jace attacked an enormous strawberry shortcake overflowing with fresh whipped cream.

“Calories, calories.” She sighed, hating the sight of the delicious thing.

He smiled at her over his spoon. “I don’t have to watch my waistline. I run it all off.”

“I know. You work all the time.”

“Not all the time,” he reminded her with a pointed glance at her mouth.

She lowered her blushing face to her coffee cup.

* * *

Jace pulled into the parking lot behind the Whitehall building and followed Amanda’s instructions to pull up short just in front of the small compact car she’d borrowed from Marguerite.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said, “and for listening about the account.”

“My pleasure, Miss Carson,” he replied, his eyes searching her face quietly. “We’ll take in a show at the Parisienne tonight. There’s a trio there I think you’ll enjoy, and we can dance.”

Her heart leaped into her throat. “Me?” she whispered.

He leaned over and brushed his mouth tantalizingly against hers in a kiss just brief enough to leave her feeling empty when he drew away.

“You,” he murmured gently. His eyes searched hers. “We’re going to talk tonight.”

“About what?” she asked dazedly.

“About you and me, honey,” he replied curtly, “and where we go from here. After what happened last night, I’m not going to let you run away again.”

“But, Jace—”

“I don’t have the time right now. Out you get, doe-eyes, I’ve got work to do. We’ll talk about it tonight. Wear something sexy,” he added with a wicked grin.

She opened the door and closed it, sticking out her tongue at him. He chuckled, waving as she put her car into gear and roared away.

* * *

Her spirits were soaring as she drove back to Casa Verde. What could Jace want to talk about? Marriage, perhaps? She drifted off into a delightful daydream, seeing herself in white satin and Jace in a tuxedo, standing before a minister in a church with stained-glass windows. If only! To marry Jace, to share his name, his home, his bed, his children…it would be the culmination of every dream she’d ever had. Of course, she reminded herself, he could be about to make a proposition of an altogether different kind. But she didn’t think so. Jace’s eyes had been too intent, his kisses too caring, for it to be only lust that he felt. No, he had something permanent in mind, he must have. Her eyes lit up like candles in dark room. How magical it would be if he loved her, too, if he felt the same devastating excitement that she felt when she was with him, touching him, holding him. Please, let it be, she prayed silently, let it be, let it be!

She pulled up at the entrance of Casa Verde and rushed up the steps, all the dreams shimmering in her eyes as she opened the front door.

“Is that you, dear?” Marguerite called. “In the living room!”

She followed the voice, her mouth open to tell Marguerite what a lovely lunch she’d had with Jason, when she saw the second person in the room.

“See? I told you I had a surprise for you!” Marguerite exclaimed, her dark eyes lighting up merrily.

“Hello, darling,” Beatrice Carson greeted her daughter, rising in a cloud of amber chiffon to float across the room, her blond hair in a high coiffure, her soft brown eyes full of love and laughter.

Amanda allowed herself to be embraced and fussed over, numbly, her mind spinning off into limbo as she realized the problems this was going to create.

Things had been going so beautifully. Jason had been so different. And now Bea was here, and all the lovely dreams were shredding. Jason would think she’d sent for her mother—he’d never believe that Marguerite had done it. He’d be furious, because he hated Amanda’s mother. He always had.

“Well, don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Bea asked in her lovely soft voice.

“Uh, why are you here, Mother?” Amanda asked obligingly.

“I’m getting married, darling! You’re going to have a father!” Bea gushed.

Amanda sat down. She had to. It was too much, too soon. “Married?”

“Yes, darling,” her mother said, sitting down beside her to catch her hands and hold them tightly. Bea’s fingers were cold, and Amanda knew she was nervous. “To Reese Bannon. He asked me two days ago, and I said yes. You’ll like him. He’s a very strong man, very capable, and you can come and stay with us whenever you like.”

“But…why have you come to Casa Verde?” Amanda breathed.

“Marguerite kindly offered to help me pick out my trousseau and plan the wedding,” Bea replied with a beaming smile. “And I knew you’d want to be included as well. It’s going to be a small affair, in Nassau, and we’re having a reception afterward at the house. It’s lovely, dear. He calls it Sea Jewel and it has its own private beach with lots of sea grape trees and poincianas and the water is such an incredible green and blue and aqua all mixed and sparkling…you’ll simply love it!”