by Metsy Hingle
Amanda smarted, stung by his harsh words. Answers? Was that what he wanted? Judging by the steamy looks he’d been giving her all evening, she had thought he’d wanted a great deal more.
At least, he had an hour ago—before they’d run into the Winthrops. She studied his face. The mouth that had been so gentle and inviting when he’d smiled at her was now pulled into a thin, angry line.
She sat down on the chair beside the sofa. “First of all, I think we’d better get something straight. I don’t owe you any explanations. But I’m willing to answer your questions...provided you answer mine.” She paused. “Is it a deal?”
Michael frowned, then muttered, “Deal.”
“All right, what do you want to know?” Folding her arms, she leaned back.
“You can start by telling me what your connection is to the Winthrops.”
Amanda stared up into his scowling face. His eyes that had been so filled with warmth and desire earlier were as cold and hard as steel.
“Are you going to answer me?”
Amanda’s back stiffened. “Not until you sit down. I refuse to conduct this...this conversation—if you can call it that—with you standing there glaring at me like Attila the Hun.”
Muttering, Michael dropped onto the couch across from her. “All right. Now, why don’t you explain to me how it is you happen to be so chummy with the Winthrops.”
“Chummy?” Amanda repeated. “I’d hardly say speaking with Martha and Bradley Winthrop constitutes ‘chummy.’ We’re merely acquaintances.”
“Dammit, Amanda. Forget the semantics. What’s your connection to the Winthrops? How do you know them?”
“Martha Winthrop went to college with my mother. They were sorority sisters. When I moved to New Orleans, my mother called Martha and asked her to look in on me occasionally.”
“And Bradley? Did your mother ask him to look in on you, too?”
Amanda blinked, surprised by the depth of his hostility. “I met him for the first time tonight. Michael, what’s all this about? The two of you were practically at each other’s throats. And Martha looked positively ill when she saw you. And she was asking me questions about Summer.”
“What did she want to know?”
“I’m not sure exactly. When I told her I was working at Saint Margaret’s, she asked me if I knew Summer.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t have a chance to tell her anything. That’s when you came over and the whole conversation shifted.”
Michael let out his breath and Amanda noticed for the first time that beneath the anger he was genuinely worried.
“Then she doesn’t know about the problems Summer’s been having? That she’s needed counseling?”
“Not from me she doesn’t. But what difference does it make?” Amanda asked, although she was beginning to suspect she knew the answer already. “Michael, will you please tell me what’s going on?”
He looked up at her, his expression wary. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“I think so. But I’d still like to hear it from you.”
Slowly, Michael straightened. He loosened the studs at his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. Dark swirls of hair curled at the opening of his white dress shirt. “Will you give me your promise that whatever I tell you stays between us—no matter what happens?”
“Yes,” Amanda said, moistening her lips. She brought her eyes up to his face.
“Martha Winthrop is Summer’s grandmother.”
“But I thought...”
“You thought what I wanted you to think. That I’m Summer’s only relative.”
It was the eyes, Amanda decided as Michael confirmed what she’d started to suspect. Summer had Bradley’s green eyes. “If Bradley is Summer’s father, then why—”
“Bradley’s not Summer’s father!”
“But I thought—” Amanda paused. “Then who is?”
“Phillip Winthrop.” The words were little more than a whisper, yet his voice sounded raw.
“Phillip?” She tried to recall where she’d heard the name before.
“Martha’s son. He died before Summer was born.”
Amanda swallowed, remembering her mother mentioning Martha’s only child had been killed tragically. She tried to assimilate that with what Michael had told her about Summer’s father. “You said Summer’s father...Phillip—wouldn’t marry your sister. Was it because he already had a wife?”
Michael laughed, the sound was empty, bitter. “No. Phillip wasn’t married. And to be honest, I think he really did love my sister. God knows, she certainly loved him.”
“Then why...”
“Because Sara wasn’t good enough,” he said through clenched teeth. “Phillip had that blue blood running through his veins. But Sara didn’t. She wasn’t some little debutante who went to all the right schools and took summer trips to Europe. Hell, even if I could have afforded to send her, she wouldn’t have accepted. She couldn’t trace her ancestors back to the Mayflower or whatever it is people like the Winthrops do to determine if someone’s bloodlines are good enough.”
Amanda’s heart twisted a little as she imagined what a blow it must have been to Michael to see his sister rejected.
“She was common—just like me.”
Michael lifted his eyes; they tangled with hers. Amanda could see the pain she heard in his voice and moved beside him.
She took his hands in hers and squeezed. “There’s nothing common about you, Michael Grayson. I doubt any of the Graysons could ever be described that way.”
“Martha Winthrop wouldn’t agree with you. And you saw Bradley’s reaction when he found out you were with me.”
“Then Martha and Bradley Winthrop are fools. I was proud to be with you,” she told him sincerely. “Any woman would be.”
Michael’s fingers tightened around hers. His eyes darkened to a smoky blue.
“I wouldn’t have wanted to be with anyone else,” she managed, despite her quickening pulse.
He made a noise that sounded like part sigh, part groan. Untangling their fingers, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close. “Amanda.” Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips.
Amanda swallowed. Her heart began to beat faster as he leaned closer, until all she could see was his face, his eyes, his mouth.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this all evening.”
But she did know, Amanda admitted silently, lifting her face for his kiss. Because she’d wanted—waited for—this moment, too.
His lips brushed her forehead, her temple. She closed her eyes and he kissed each of them. She took a quick breath, trying to stem the heat unfurling inside her. The faint scent of soap, of men’s cologne, of the tree-filled park surrounded her until only the smell, the taste, the touch of Michael filled her senses. The flame, only banked since the previous night, leapt to life inside her.
When he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, Amanda’s control slipped. “Michael.” She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.
He accepted her offering greedily. His tongue thrust past her open lips, hungrily seeking, tasting, deepening the kiss.
“So sweet. So very sweet,” he whispered as he nipped at her ear, her neck.
Amanda whimpered. She leaned her head back as his mouth continued to pleasure and torment. Needs that had been buried burst to life inside her, building to a fever pitch.
Michael stared into her eyes, his own dark with hunger, and loosened the single button at the nape of her dress. The silk slithered down to her shoulders, pooling above her breasts.
Tenderly, almost reverently, he caressed her bare shoulder. “Such soft skin,” he said, his voice husky. He drew a line with his finger from her shoulder to her throat, down to where the silk hovered above her breasts. “I’ve been going crazy wondering if you were this soft all over.”
Her heart pounding furiously, Amanda arched her back as the need inside her grew ev
en stronger. “Michael,” she whispered his name, unsure just what it was she was asking for.
He hooked the silk with his finger and pulled, baring her breasts. She heard his breath catch, saw the desire burning in his eyes and a rush of pleasure shot through her.
He wanted her, truly wanted her—as a woman, not as a substitute for a loved one he’d lost or because his child needed a mother. He wanted her...for herself.
And she wanted him.
Michael touched her gently, his fingers unsteady as he explored the shape of each breast. He pinned her with his eyes as he cupped their fullness, brushed his thumb across their peaks. “Your skin feels like silk...warm, living silk.”
Her nipples pebbled, begging for his touch. Michael obliged. He lowered his head and took one nipple in his mouth, laving, kissing, nipping at the sensitized flesh while his hand ministered to her other breast.
Heat seeped through her, flowing to the juncture between her thighs. Amanda freed her arms from her dress, then buried her fingers in his hair. She held him close and arched her body toward him, wanting, needing more.
When he pulled away for a moment, Amanda started to protest. Opening her eyes, the words stuck in her throat as he unfastened the remaining buttons of his shirt and pulled it free of his trousers. Amanda clutched a handful of silk skirt as she studied his bare chest, all tanned and muscled. Her fingers itched to trace the line of dark hair that ran down his flat stomach and disappeared into his slacks.
Michael reached for her hand, forcing her to relinquish her stranglehold on her dress. “Feel what you do to me,” he said, placing her hand over his heart.
She touched the warm, muscled flesh. His heart beat out a frenetic tune beneath her fingertips. Excited, she gave in to impulse and began stroking his chest, weaving her fingers through the trail of dark hair that covered his skin.
Feeling bold, Amanda flicked her finger over his nipple.
Michael shuddered.
Heady with the knowledge that she excited him, Amanda dropped her head to his chest. She touched the tip of his nipple with her tongue.
Michael groaned. “Amanda.” He tipped her face up and took her mouth, devouring, conquering, burning her with his kiss.
Amanda could sense the leashed power, the desire barely held in check, as he eased her back onto the cushions of the couch. The storm began to rage inside her as his hair-roughened chest pressed against her bare breasts. She lifted her hips to meet him, glorying in the feel of his maleness resting hard and heavy with desire against her.
Michael groaned again and deepened the kiss. Suddenly his hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her breasts, caressing her thighs.
When she saw the heated look in his eyes, Amanda gave a silent prayer of thanks that she’d given in to the impulse to wear the garter belt and hose.
His hand moved between her legs, near the center of her warmth, and Amanda bit her lip to stop from crying out her need.
He stroked her through the silk of her panties.
She gripped the edges of his shirt.
“Don’t fight it, love.”
The thin barrier seemed to make the intimacy more erotic. Every muscle in her body was attuned to the rhythm of his finger moving across the damp silk covering her feminine secrets.
“You’re so hot...like liquid fire,” he whispered as he continued to stoke the heat inside her. “That’s it,” he coaxed. “Burn for me, Amanda. Burn for me, the way I’ve been burning for you.”
The flame burst inside her, engulfing her, and Amanda clutched at his shoulders, digging her nails into his muscled flesh as wave after wave of sensation washed over her.
“I knew it would be like this between us.” He kissed her mouth, her breasts, then drew a line with his tongue to her navel.
Her stomach fluttered beneath the assault. Amanda pulled his head back up so she could taste his mouth again.
She reached for the buckle of his belt.
“Yes,” he whispered, his breath catching as her fingers loosened the button of his slacks.
Amanda shivered at his response. Had she known, too, on some elemental level that there would be passion like this between them? Was that the reason she had been so unsure, so afraid of her feelings when she was with him?
She pulled down his zipper and stroked his hard length.
Michael’s body stiffened and Amanda heard a guttural sound, but wasn’t sure if came from him or from her.
“I want you,” he said, his voice filled with need.
Amanda stared into his eyes and for the first time in her life she knew what the term “raw hunger” meant. “And I want you.”
Michael crushed her to him, touching, exploring. “Oh, Amanda. I can’t believe I’m here with you at last. All these weeks, I’ve wanted you so much and tonight when I saw you with Bradley...”
He kissed her again, leaving her breathless.
“I wanted to murder Winthrop when I saw the way he was looking at you.”
Amanda smiled at his possessiveness. “I think you’re overreacting. I told you, we’d just met. I doubt seriously if Bradley was lusting after me.”
“Of course he was. Winthrop wanted you. Any man would want you,” he said while his hands and mouth continued to worship her body. “When I saw you with him and Martha tonight, when I thought you were going to help them take Summer from me...” His voice dropped lower. “They’ll never win now—not with you on my side.”
Amanda went still. Suddenly the flame inside her fizzled, leaving her feeling cold and sick.
“But I don’t want to waste any more time talking about the Winthrops,” Michael said, slipping his hand behind her. “I want to make love to you.”
He found the zipper at her waist and pulled the tab.
“No!” Amanda pushed him away.
“Amanda, what’s wrong?” Michael started to touch her.
“Don’t!” She struggled to sit up. Reaching for her dress, she pulled it up over her breasts.
Michael frowned. “What’s the matter?”
How could she have been such a fool? She fumbled with the button at her neck, hurriedly fastening it. She’d half convinced herself that she was falling in love with him...and that he cared for her.
He didn’t care. He was using her.
Amanda blinked once, twice, fighting to keep the tears at bay.
“Dammit, Amanda, answer me! What in the hell has gotten into you?”
“I’ve come to my senses. That’s what.” She smoothed her skirt with as much dignity as possible and made an effort to sit up straight. “Please get dressed, Michael.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
He looked as though she’d slapped him. He came to his feet in one quick movement. Angrily, he shoved his shirt into his pants and pulled up his zipper.
“A minute ago you were on fire, begging me to make love to you. And now you’re trying to tell me you’ve changed your mind? What kind of game are you playing?” he demanded.
Amanda tipped up her chin. “I’m not playing games. A minute ago I thought it was me you wanted.”
His brows furrowed. “I did want you. I still do,” he said, his confusion evident.
“No. It’s not me you want—Amanda Bennett, the woman. You want Dr. Bennett, the child psychologist...someone you think can help you in your custody fight for Summer.”
She wanted him to deny it, tell her she was wrong. She could have wept at his lengthy silence, at the hard look in his eyes.
“Is that what you think?” he finally replied.
She tipped her chin a notch higher and met his gaze. “I think Martha Winthrop’s suing you for custody of Summer and that you saw me as a weapon against her. That’s what that scene tonight was all about, wasn’t it?”
“What happened between me and the Winthrops tonight has nothing to do with you. It—”
“Wasn’t it?” Amanda demanded.
“Yes,” he said, his voice clipped. “Summer’s one of the reasons there’s bad blood betwee
n me and the Winthrops. But you’re wrong about the custody suit. Martha hasn’t filed one. And I doubt seriously if she will. Oh, she might want Summer, all right, but I don’t think she’ll want the ugly publicity that a custody battle would generate. She won’t want the Winthrop name dragged through the press.”
“Suppose you’re wrong? Suppose she wants Summer badly enough that she doesn’t care about the press?”
“Then we’ll go to court and I’ll beat her.”
“And just how do you plan to do that, Michael? Get me to testify for you? To tell the court what a fine guardian you’ve been?”
Michael clenched his jaw but didn’t answer.
“That is what you planned, isn’t it? Isn’t that the reason for all the flowers? The romantic dinners?” She bit back a sob. “Isn’t that the reason for the big seduction scene tonight?”
“No! Dammit. What happened between us tonight had nothing to do with Summer or the Winthrops.” He paced the room, wearing a path across the Aubusson rug.
She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. She didn’t dare allow herself to. She’d been a fool to deceive herself like this. And deceive herself, she had. He didn’t care about her; he’d only been using her—just like Adam had used her. She hugged her arms around herself, trying to ease the pain. “I’d like you to leave, Michael.”
Michael spun around and crossed over to her. “Amanda, please. Listen to me. Don’t do this to us.” He eased down beside her. “I—I care for you...very much. What happened between us tonight was very special to me. I don’t want to throw it away. Don’t throw us away.”
Amanda squeezed her eyes shut, wanting desperately to believe him. But she couldn’t afford to. She’d been down this road before and sworn not to travel it again. Hadn’t she?
She opened her eyes. Squaring her shoulders, she tried to adapt an air of haughtiness. “Since you’re so hung up on class, Michael, why not show a little? I’ve asked you to leave. Now please get out of my house.”
Michael’s face paled. Slowly he stood. Walking over to the chair, he picked up his jacket. “You know, for a lady who makes her living poking her nose into other people’s emotional problems and telling them how to fix things, you haven’t done too good of a job of fixing your own.”
