"What kind of date?" he snapped at her, and found himself further incensed by the fact that her skin smelled like glory.
Amanda inclined her head slowly. The hands she had fisted on her hips slid carefully to her sides. When you were facing a raging bull you didn't wave a red flag but tried to ease yourself over the fence. "The usual kind."
"Is that the way you dress for the usual kind?"
Irked, she glanced down and smoothed her skirts. "What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"
For an answer, he took her arm and swung her around. He'd been right, he thought as his stomach clutched up. Those two little straps were all that were covering her back. Right down to the waist. "Where's the rest of it?"
"Rest of what?" "The dress."
She turned back, still cautious, and examined his face. "Sloan, I think you've gone around the bend."
She didn't know how right she was, he thought. "I've got as much sense as any man can hang on to after ten minutes with you. Cancel."
"Cancel?" she repeated.
"The date, damn it." He nudged her none too gently toward her bedroom.
"Go in and call him up and tell him you can't make it. Ever."
"You really are crazy." She forgot about bulls and red flags and cut loose. "I go where I please and with whom I please. If you think I'm going to break a date with an attractive, charming and intelligent man because some overbearing baboon tells me to, then think again."
"It's the date," he warned, "or that pretty stiff neck of yours."
Her eyes narrowed down to two slits of righteous blue fire. "Don't you threaten me, you pinhead. I have a dinner date with your antithesis. A gentleman." She elbowed him aside. "Now get out of my way."
"I'll get out of your way," he promised. "After I give you something to think about."
He had her back against the wall with his mouth covering hers before she could blink. She could taste the anger. That, she would have fought against to the last breath. But she could also taste the need, and that, she surrendered to. It was such a perfect echo of her own.
He didn't care if it was unreasonable. He didn't care if it was wrong or stupid or any of the other terms that could so easily apply to his actions. He wanted to curse her for making him behave like some reckless teenager. But he could only taste her, drowning in the flavor that he was coming to understand he would always crave. He could only pull her closer against him so that he could feel the instant heat that pumped from her body into his.
He could sense each change as it flowed through her.
First the anger that kept her rigid and aloof. Then the surrender, reluctant then melting so that her bones seemed to dissolve. And the passion overlapping so quickly it stole his breath. It was that he understood he couldn't live without.
Her arms went around him as if they belonged there. Strained against his, her body throbbed until it was one sweet ache. This was an ache that once felt could never be forgotten, would always be craved. Eager, she nipped at his mouth, knowing in another moment delirium could overtake her. Wanting it, wanting that liberating mindless whirl of desire only he could ignite inside her.
Only he.
In one long possessive stroke his hands ran from her shoulders to her wrists, holding there a moment while her pulse scrambled under his palms. When he lifted his head, she leaned back limply against the wall, watching him while she struggled to catch her breath. While she fought to break through the torrent of sensations and understand the feelings beneath them.
The thought of another man touching her, of looking into her face and seeing it flushed with passion as it was now, of seeing her eyes clouded with it, terrified him. Because he preferred good clean anger to fear, he gripped her shoulders again, all but lifting her off her feet.
"Think about that," he told her in a low dangerous voice. "You think about that good and hard"
What had he done to her to make her need so terribly? He had to know, just by looking at her, that he had only to pull her inside her room to take everything he claimed to want. He had only to touch her again to have her desperate to give. He wouldn't even have to ask. It shamed her to realize it, destroyed her to understand that anyone would have such complete power over her pride and her will.
"You made your point," she said unsteadily, infuriated that tears were stinging the back of her eyes and throat "Do you want to hear me say that you can make me want you? Fine. You can."
The sparkle of tears in her eyes did what her fury couldn't. It beat him soundly. There was regret in his voice when he lifted a hand to her face. "Amanda—"
She stiffened and shut her eyes. If he was gentle—she knew if he showed her even a scrap of tenderness, she would crumble. "You've got your conquest, Sloan. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd let me go"
He let his hand slide to his side before he stepped back. "I'm not going to tell you I'm sorry." But the way she looked at him made him feel as though he had just shattered something small and fragile.
"That's all right. I'm sorry enough for both of us."
"Amanda." Lilah stood at the top of the stairs, watching them both with her sleepy-eyed curiosity. "Your date's here."
"Thanks." Frantic for escape, she turned into her room to grab her jacket and purse. Being careful not to look at Sloan, she hurried out again to rush downstairs. Lilah glanced after her, then walked down the hall to rest her hands on Sloan's shoulders.
"You know, big guy, you look like you could use a friend."
He couldn't begin to put a name to any of the emotions currently running riot through him. "Maybe I'll just go downstairs and throw him out a window."
"You could," Lilah agreed after a moment, "but Mandy's always been a sucker for the underdog."
Sloan swore then decided to work off some of the frustration by pacing the corridor. "So, who is he anyway?"
"I've never met him before. His name's William Livingston." "And?"
Lilah gave a gentle shrug. "Tall, dark and handsome as the saying goes. Very faint, very charming British accent, Italian suit, upper-class manners. That patina of wealth and breeding without being ostentatious."
Sloan swore and considered punching a hole in the wall. "He sounds just dandy."
"Sounds," she agreed, but her look was troubled. "What is it?"
"Bad vibes." Absently she ran a hand up and down her arm. "And he had a very muddy aura."
"Give me a break, Lilah."
With a little smile, she glanced back at him. "Don't knock it, Sloan. Remember, I'm on your side. I happen to think you're just what my take-itall-too-seriously sister needs." In her easy way, she hooked a friendly arm through his. "Relax, Mr. William Livingston doesn't have a chance. Not her type." She laughed as she walked with him to the steps. "She thinks he is, but he's not. So let's go eat There's nothing like Aunt Coco's Trout Amandine to put you in a good mood."
Pretending she had an appetite, Amanda studied her menu. The restaurant William had chosen was a lovely little place overlooking Frenchman Bay. Since the night was warm, they could enjoy the terrace service with candlelight flickering in the gentle sea breeze, and the fragile scent of spring flowers.
Amanda left the choice of wine up to him and tried to convince herself that she was about to have a delightful evening.
"Are you enjoying Bar Harbor?" she asked.
"Very much. I'm hoping to get some sailing in soon, but in the meantime, I've been content to enjoy the scenery."
"Have you been to the park?"
"Not yet" He glanced over at the bottle the waiter offered, perused the label, then nodded.
"You shouldn't miss it The view from Cadillac Mountain is stupendous."