by Metsy Hingle
“Yes, I saw. And I also saw how much you care about that little girl. That was a wonderful thing you did, agreeing to go to the Mother Daughter Luncheon with her next month.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have.” It had been a foolish thing to do, given her own history. But then, it had broken her heart to see Summer so despondent.
Sister Mary Grace patted her hand. “Of course, you should have.”
“I’ve been down this road before, Gracie. I know where it leads and all the traps it can hold. I don’t want to be used again. And I’m not going to put myself in a position where I can be used again—by Michael Grayson or anyone else.”
Sister Mary Grace rose. She came around the desk and put her arms around Amanda’s shoulders. “Mandy, Mandy,” she soothed. “When are you going to stop punishing yourself for someone else’s mistakes?”
“I’m not. I’m protecting myself.”
“That’s a lot of malarkey and you know it. You don’t give yourself or anyone else a chance. You set up obstacles the minute any man shows an interest in you.”
“That’s not true.”
Sister Mary Grace pulled back and looked at Amanda. “Isn’t it?”
Was Gracie right? Was she setting up obstacles? True, Summer did chatter endlessly about getting a new mother someday; but the little girl spoke almost just as often about finding some imaginary grandmother, as well.
On the other hand, Michael had been decidedly quiet on both subjects—even when she had expressed her concern about Summer’s preoccupation with them. In fact, Michael had given no indication that he even thought he needed a wife—let alone was looking for one.
But then, neither had Adam—at least not until after he had courted her, had played to her foolish dreams, had made her believe he loved her, made her fall in love with him. And when it had been too late, when she had married him and moved into his home, she had found out the truth.
Sister Mary Grace’s expression softened. “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that Michael’s interest in you could be motivated by nothing more than the simple fact that he likes you? You’re a lovely woman, Amanda. Isn’t it just possible, he finds you attractive?”
Remembering the heat in his eyes, the hunger of his kiss, Amanda didn’t doubt that Michael found her attractive. She thought of the way his body had hardened at her response. Not even Adam, master actor that he was, had made her feel so desired, so much like a woman. But then, she had been naive and trusting.
She wasn’t anymore.
“Why not give him the benefit of the doubt? What have you got to lose?”
Everything. Her heart, what was left of her pride. “I can’t, Gracie. There are too many risks involved. And I’m through taking risks.”
“Not even for love?”
“Especially not for love. The price is too high.” And one she was unwilling to pay.
* * *
Propping the telephone between his shoulder and ear, Michael kicked the door to his bedroom shut and listened to the worried voice of his attorney, Dave Jennings.
“Come on, Mike, be reasonable. Let me set up a meeting with old lady Winthrop and her attorney and try to work something out.”
“There’s nothing to work out. I told you, Martha Winthrop gave up any rights she might have had when that son of hers turned his back on my sister. If it hadn’t been for her, Sara never would have run away in the first place. She wouldn’t have been on that damn mountain, wouldn’t have...” His voice broke; he choked back the pain thoughts of his sister’s death caused and hardened his resolve. “I’ll never give that woman access to Summer.”
Dave’s sigh came through loud and weary over the phone line. “All right. We’ll play it your way. But I sure hope you know what you’re doing because I wasn’t kidding about the sympathy factor being in Martha Winthop’s favor. Things have changed a lot in the last few years. The courts are ruling in favor of the grandparents in quite a number of these cases involving grandparents’ rights—even ones where illegitimacy is a factor. If Martha Winthrop sues you for custody of Summer, there’s a strong possibility that she’ll win and you’ll lose Summer.”
“I won’t,” he said determinedly. Michael’s chest tightened painfully at the very thought of losing Summer. In the few short months since she’d come to live with him, the little girl had turned his entire life upside down and had stolen his heart in the process. Now he couldn’t imagine himself without her.
“I hope you’re right, pal...for everyone’s sake.”
“You know what your problem is, Dave? You worry too much,” Michael informed him. “I’m not going to lose Summer. I told you, I’ve got a plan.” He wouldn’t lose Summer. He couldn’t.
“So you’ve said.” Michael caught the hint of skepticism in his friend’s tone. “But since you haven’t seen fit to tell me just what this brilliant plan of your is, don’t blame me if I’m not quite as confident as you are that everything’s going to be just fine.”
How could he explain to his friend or anyone else that he was banking on marriage to Amanda swaying things in his favor? “It will be.” It simply had to.
“Suit yourself. But whatever this foolproof plan of your is, it had better come together soon because I’m not going to be able to stall much longer. The only reason Martha Winthrop hasn’t taken you to court already is because I indicated to her attorney you might come around. The woman’s not stupid, Mike. I’m not going to be able to keep putting her off.”
“You won’t have to. All I need is a few more weeks.” And a small miracle, Michael added silently as he hung up the phone.
After years of successfully avoiding the grand delusion of love and marriage that so many of his friends had succumbed to, he had finally decided to step into the trap; only the woman he’d chosen was proving to be less than willing.
Maybe because in his past relationships, the woman always knew and shared his need for pleasure without commitment. Despite the ritzy social circles and the privileged upbringing her family’s position had obviously provided, there was something about Amanda that struck him as a little old-fashioned. His lips curved at the thought of an old-fashioned, morally conscious heart hidden beneath all that pale blond beauty and sophistication.
Opening his closet, he took out a white polo shirt and a pair of jeans, and changed his clothes. Somehow, he didn’t think Amanda was the type of woman who would settle for an affair. She didn’t strike him as one of the love-without-commitment breed.
The big thing he did have going for him was that she was attracted to him physically. He’d dispelled any doubts he’d had on that score the first time they’d kissed. Getting her to fall in love with him should have been easy. It had been anything but. Every time he’d made any headway, she would shy away like a skittish colt—the way she had today.
Remembering their earlier encounter, Michael thought about the way her eyes, that rich dark shade of coffee, had looked at him with such longing, how sweet her lips had tasted.
His jeans grew painfully tight and Michael frowned, disturbed by how just the thought of her made him ache. Even more disturbing was that it was becoming more difficult to remember that his seduction of Amanda was part of his plan to save Summer.
A flicker of guilt tugged at him again, but he pushed it aside. It wasn’t as if he would be using her and giving nothing in return. Theirs would be a true marriage in every sense of the word.
The very thought of making love to Amanda, feeling, tasting all that beautiful soft skin, made his body burn even more.
Muttering a curse, Michael shoved his bare feet into a pair of Top-Siders. The woman was not only messing up his plan but she had him feeling like a teenager.
He didn’t like the feeling.
Right now, he had to figure out a way to ease Amanda’s fears, whatever they were; otherwise, there was little chance she would fall in love with and marry him.
Yanking open the bedroom door, Michael headed downstairs in search of Summer. “Hey, S
hortstuff. Where are you?” he called out affectionately.
“In here, Uncle Mike.”
Following the sound of her voice, Michael went into the den. Black-and-white saddle oxfords and a pair of white socks lay discarded next to the sofa. Still dressed in her pleated navy skirt and white blouse, Summer knelt in front of the wood-and-glass coffee table, her head bent over a stack of envelopes.
Michael walked across the carpet and tweaked one of her long, black braids. “What are you doing?”
She looked up at him out of those huge green eyes and smiled. “I’m addressing the invitations to my birthday party next week.” She held up one for him to inspect.
“Nice.” Stooping down beside her, he studied the bright red-and-yellow party invitation announcing the celebration of her eighth birthday at the Pizza Palace. He glanced over at the list written in her little girl script containing the names of her classmates. “Need any help?”
“Nope.” She shook her head and reached for another envelope. “This is the last one except for...” Summer paused and turned to Michael. “I’m inviting Sister Mary Grace and Mrs. Green to the party. Do you think it would be okay to invite Dr. Bennett, too?”
“I don’t see why not,” Michael said, pleased by the idea.
“Do you think she’ll come?”
“I’m sure she will if she can. Amanda likes you a lot.”
Summer’s face split into a big smile. “I like her a lot, too.”
* * *
The following Friday, Amanda knew she had made a mistake in coming to Summer’s birthday party. Despite the noise and chatter at the Pizza Palace, she was far too aware of Michael sitting directly across from her.
Unable to stop herself, she watched Michael’s tongue flick tomato sauce from his bottom lip before he bit into the pizza.
It’s lust, she told herself, ignoring the kick of emotion she had experienced when she’d walked in and seen him, looking sexy and appealing in charcoal jeans and an oxford shirt while he joked with the children.
She admired and respected him for trying to make Summer’s first birthday without her mother a happy one, she told herself. Her feelings went no deeper than that. She wouldn’t allow them to.
And as for her response to his kisses... He was an attractive man and an excellent kisser, she reasoned. Her reaction had been that of any healthy female.
“What’s the matter? Have I got cheese stuck on my chin?”
Amanda blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Michael wiped his mouth with a napkin, then grinned. “You were staring. And I thought maybe I’d smeared pizza sauce on my face.”
Amanda could feel the color rise to her cheeks. “No. No pizza sauce,” she said, and reached for her mug of root beer.
“Don’t you like your pizza, Dr. Bennett?” Summer asked.
Amanda’s gaze swiveled to the child seated to Michael’s left. “Why, yes. It’s delicious.”
“Then I guess pepperoni’s just not your favorite.”
“Pepperoni’s fine.” Amanda glanced down the table at the other children busily devouring the huge pans of pizza. She furrowed her brows. “Why would you think it wasn’t?”
“Because you’re still nibbling on your first slice,” Michael answered as he reached for another piece.
“Guess I’m just a slow eater.” Amanda picked up her half-eaten slice of pizza. She bit into the thick crust and tore off a chunk with her teeth, capturing the threads of gooey cheese with her tongue.
Summer reached for another slice. “I bet it would taste even better with anchovies.”
Michael grimaced. “Not everybody has your cast-iron stomach, Shortstuff.”
Amanda laughed and, for the first time in a long while, she relaxed.
When the pizza was finished and they moved to the seats in front of the puppet stage, she didn’t object when Michael insisted she sit next to him.
And later, when the marionettes enthralled the children with their antics on the stage, she didn’t pull away when Michael caught her hand, entwining her fingers with his own.
Cutting a glance to her right, she studied the hard line of his jaw, the deeply tanned skin exposed by the open neck of his shirt.
She’d heard the stories that had circulated among the teachers and school staff. He wasn’t a man who let things or people stand in the way of what he wanted. “Ruthless” some had said. It was rumored that with little more than sheer determination, he’d wrestled the ownership of a small, troubled construction company from the grasp of a much bigger and wealthier competitor. And in record time, he’d turned the failing concern into one of the most successful businesses in the city.
Remembering the determined gleam in his eyes when he had told her that he went after what he wanted, Amanda could believe the stories were true. Her breath quickened.
And he wanted her.
Suddenly the sound of applause registered, breaking her reverie. Amanda shifted her attention to the stage just as the curtain came down. Releasing her hand, Michael clapped loudly, occasionlly piercing the air with one of those long shrill whistles that only men seemed to know how to do.
Once the applause subsided, one of the clowns employed by the Pizza Palace handed Michael a stack of small envelopes.
After thanking him, Michael turned to the chattering youngsters. “Okay, who wants to play video games?”
A chorus of “Me’s” rang out as the children jumped up and down excitedly, holding out their small hands.
“Want to help?” he asked Amanda.
“Sure.” She took half of the envelopes and began distributing one packet of tokens per child. When she’d finished, she held out the two remaining envelopes to Michael. “Looks like you have a few extras.”
“Wrong. These are for us. Come on.” He took her arm and led her toward the aisle of video and pinball machines where Summer and her friends were playing with great enthusiasm. The air hummed with a steady flow of electronic zips, zaps and pings, followed by a series of squeals or groans, depending on the success of the game.
“Looks like we don’t have a lot of choices,” Michael said leading her to the only open spot on the row—a pinball machine. Standing on four chrome legs, the flat surface base stretched out before them in an intricate maze of numbers and yellow bumper lights. A thin alley holding five fist-size chrome balls sat waiting at the base of the maze, a pull lever resting against the first one. The scoreboard towered above the game, the face of a wizard painted in bright slashes of red, yellow and green with black squares for eyes that still read the last challenger’s score. Lights wreathed its borders.
“How are you against the Pinball Wizard?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never played a pinball machine before,” Amanda confessed. “For that matter, I’ve never played a video game, either.”
“Never?” he asked, his disbelief obvious.
“Never.”
Michael shook his head, but his eyes brightened with laughter. “You know, Dr. Bennett, despite those fancy schools you went to, I’m beginning to think your education has been sadly lacking in the subject of fun.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, smiling.
“Well, we’re going to have to see what we can do about that.”
Amanda laughed. Maybe that explained her attraction to Michael, she thought. He made her nervous and he made her yearn for things she thought she no longer wanted, but he also made her laugh—something she hadn’t done in a very long time.
“You’re not supposed to laugh at the teacher.” He shot her a stern look, but his eyes were filled with amusement. “I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me. Hand over one of your tokens.”
Amanda did as he instructed.
He slipped the coin into the slot and the scoreboard lit up. “Come here.” He motioned for her to stand in front of him.
He moved behind her, fencing her in when he extended his arms on either side of her to rest on the machine, his legs just bru
shing the backs of hers.
“Now, pay attention. I’m going to teach you the fine art of playing pinball.”
Thirty minutes later the smile had slipped from her lips and Amanda found it impossible to concentrate. Down to her last token, Amanda prayed that she would lose the game—quickly.
“You’re not concentrating, Amanda. Do it like this,” Michael said, moving his body in behind hers. He slipped his arms around her as he attempted to show her how to line up the shot.
His hard chest pressed against her back; his legs brushed against her calves.
“Come on, try leaning into it.” The warmth of his breath feathered her ear.
Heart pounding, Amanda fumbled with the levers and missed. “I give up. I’m no good at this.”
“Sure you are. You just need more practice. Come on, let’s play another game.”
“No,” Amanda said firmly, easing out of Michael’s arms. She glanced at the wall clock and was stunned at how quickly the afternoon had passed. She’d only come because it had seemed to mean so much to Summer. She certainly hadn’t planned to stay for the entire party. “I had no idea it was so late. I’d better be getting home.”
Summer deserted the machine she’d been playing a few feet away and rushed over to her. “You can’t go yet, Dr. Bennett. Not until we cut my birthday cake. Please, say you’ll stay until we cut the cake.”
Amanda looked down into the small heart-shaped face, moved by the plea in the little girl’s voice. She smoothed the bangs away from Summer’s eyes. “Of course, I’ll stay. Besides, I haven’t given you my present yet.”
“Can we cut the cake now, Uncle Mike?”
“Sure.”
“Come on, everybody. It’s time to cut the cake,” Summer called out. She held out one of her hands to Amanda. Taking it, Amanda closed her fingers around the small, delicate fingers. Michael took Summer’s other hand and the three of them walked over to the table already surrounded by excited seven- and eight-year-olds.
The pizza pans had been cleared away; the table had been trimmed in red and white. A huge cake bearing the image of the Little Mermaid rested in the center.
