by Judith Yates
Patient and charming, Paul was a champ when it came to waiting on guests. He was raking in the tips, too. The empty nut jar he’d rustled up to hold his earnings was on the counter behind her, filling up fast. When Paul mentioned he planned to give the jar’s contents to Bernadette to distribute among the dining room employees, Amy threw her tips into the kitty, too.
Once the dining room closed for the night, business in the Pub Room began to wane. Only three people sat at the bar: a college-aged couple on their first date and Hal, a middle-aged guest of the inn whose wife had already retired to their room with a migraine. He’d been nursing beers for the better part of the evening, casting sheep’s eyes at Amy and making leading comments. She did her best to ignore them.
With the late-evening lull, she had time to observe Paul serving what seemed like the umpteenth round of whitewine spritzers to three ladies sitting near the fireplace. This was one instance where she thought he was performing his job a little too well. The women—all attractive and clearly younger than her—had been ogling him and flirting with him all evening. Amy didn’t know which she found most irksome—Paul’s unimpeachable charm, the women’s frivolous behavior or the extent of her own chagrin about it.
These ladies, staying long after last call, eventually were the only customers left in the place. Except for Hal. Amy wondered if he’d give her trouble about leaving.
Paul came up beside her. “Your friend’s been hanging out here a long time,” he remarked, as if he’d been reading her thoughts.
“Not as long as your three chums over there.” She nodded at the corner table.
A devilish grin crossed his lips, as sexy as it was vexing. “They’re just making the most of their girls’ night out.”
Hal interrupted them by rapping his empty beer glass on the counter.
“Amy honey, bring me another, will you?” His rakish grin and oozing tone intimated a thirst for something more than beer.
Paul’s smile vanished and Amy noticed his hands had tightened into fists. “Has that jerk been coming on to you?” His voice was low, but tense.
“He’s harmless, Paul,” she assured him. “Besides, his wife is right upstairs.”
Announcing that they were ready to leave, the women at the corner table beckoned Paul to come with their check.
“Go. Take care of the ladies,” Amy urged. “I’ll tell Hal to run along.”
He cast a doubtful glance at Hal. “Are you sure?”
“I can handle him. Don’t worry.”
She moved to the end of the bar to confront Hal. “Sorry, but it’s closing time,” she said, placing his entire night’s tab in front of him.
“But, darlin’, we still need to get better acquainted.”
“Would you like to pay this now? Or shall I put the charges on your room bill?”
He dug into a back pocket for his wallet. “How about you and I find a place with soft music and—”
“I’m sure your wife is wondering where you are.”
Hal dropped several twenties onto the counter. “She’ll never miss me. Sleeps like the dead when she takes her headache medicine.”
His punctuating wink made Amy want to gag. “I’ll get your change.”
“No, no, sweetheart.” He grabbed her arm to stop her. “You keep the extra.”
“It’s too much.” She jerked her arm away and went straight to the cash register.
Hal persisted, however, when she returned with the change. “Tell you what, sweet thing,” he drawled as he slid a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. “Use this for the very best champagne in the joint, and then we can take it over to your place and have us a fine old time.”
Grasping her hands, Hal pushed the money into them. His expression had gone from rakish to unabashedly suggestive. She tried to pull away, but he held firm. Disgusted and angry, Amy was about to deliver a tonguelashing the creep would never forget, when Paul rushed up behind him.
“Take your hands off her,” he growled, grabbing Hal by the shoulders, yanking him off the bar stool. Paul shoved him toward the door. “The bar is closed.”
Although Hal was worse for the number of beers he’d downed, he stood his ground. After directing a string of stinging invectives at Paul, he turned to Amy. “Tell this clown to get lost, honey. We’re gonna go party, right?”
“That’s it, buddy.” Paul’s face burned with rage. Taking a menacing step closer, he loomed over Hal. “Get out of here before I throw you the hell out.”
Hal shrank back. “What a fine way to treat a good paying customer. I’ll have a word with your boss in the morning, fella. You ain’t gonna have a job tomorrow night.” Turning on his unsteady heels, he headed out the door, muttering with indignation.
Stunned by this vehement confrontation, Amy looked at Paul. She didn’t know what to say. His rescue wasn’t really necessary, she could have dealt with the pugnacious twirp on her own. Yet, in all truth, Paul’s intervention pleased her, as did his male protectiveness. She supposed that wasn’t very independent of her, but she didn’t care.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Paul’s eyes, no longer dark with anger, held her gaze for a long, silent moment. His deep, searching expression sparked a surge of mixed-up emotions within her, emotions ranging from apprehension to intense attraction. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more. But her thoughts and feelings were in such turmoil, she couldn’t speak. She was afraid she’d give herself away.
“I better put out the fire,” Paul finally said, turning toward the fireplace.
As he leaned over the old marble mantel, stoking the dying embers with a black iron poker, she noted the play of muscles across his strong, broad back. It was a pleasure to watch him like this. It also made her want to get closer. Amy came out from behind the bar and slowly approached the fireplace. Her footsteps on the bare wood floor echoed in the empty room.
Paul did not turn around, but continued to poke at the smoky ashes. “I just got your messages this afternoon. I’ve been out of town.”
“So I heard,” she said, standing by his side now.
“What did you call about?”
“I wanted to talk.” Pausing to screw up her courage, Amy took a deep breath. “About what happened the other night&h; at the gazebo.”
Paul stopped what he was doing, yet continued to stare down at the smoldering ashes. “Why?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.” She wished she could see his face.
“Which part, Amy?” He turned to look at her at last. “Which part can’t you stop thinking about?”
His blue gaze was intense—unrelenting, really. Amy could see Paul wanted answers. But more important, she saw that their encounter on the gazebo had affected him as much as it had her. It had meant something to him&h;. She had meant something.
As his eyes held her captive, her heart began to pound wildly. She could almost hear it. Paul was waiting, and this time she had to speak.
“I think about our talk, the painful things I told you about Jeff. And I think a lot about the way we kissed.”
His eyes closed for a brief second. “So do I,” he whispered.
“I’ve asked myself why I made you stop.”
“Why did you, Amy?” his voice and gaze implored.
“Because I was afraid of how it—how you—-made me feel.”
Paul’s expression softened into a slight smile as he rested the iron poker against the fireplace. “You shouldn’t be afraid of that.”
“You don’t know my history with men. What happened with Jeff was the worst, but I’ve had other failures,” she explained. “As a politician would say, my record speaks for itself.”
“I see.” Paul leaned against the mantel, studying her face for an uncomfortable minute or two before he spoke again. “So, which one of us don’t you trust? You or me?”
“Both.” Amy grimaced as Julie’s countless reprimands came to mind. “I have a friend who thinks I subconsciously make a point of choo
sing the wrong men. Something to do with my father deserting me as a child. Maybe she’s right.”
“Do you think I’m wrong for you?”
“That’s why I practically ran out of the gazebo the other night.”
Her frankness made him wince. “That would explain it.”
“But that’s what I think, not how I feel. Which is why I didn’t want the kissing to stop.”
“This is crazy,” Paul said, shaking his head. Then he smiled and took her hand. “You and I have been doing way too much thinking.”
He drew her to him, his arms curving around her waist, holding her close. His chest felt rock hard against her breasts which tingled with shameless excitement. His embrace was strong and firm. Her breathing quickened as his gaze swallowed her into its dark blue depths. Caught in this whirlpool of sensation, Amy’s mind spun with dizzy delight.
Finally, Paul lowered his face to hers until she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. Her lips quivered in anticipation. This felt good. Too good. She uttered his name in weak protest. But she didn’t mean it. And Paul’s eyes told her he knew it.
“I brought you two something to eat,” Bernadette’s voice suddenly trilled across the room. “You’re probably starving.”
Amy sprang back from Paul as he cursed under his breath. They both turned to find Bernadette backing into the Pub Room, pulling a tray cart through the door. Had she seen them embracing? Amy wondered. She stole a glance at Paul. He looked as glum as she felt.
“You’re good souls to help me out on such short notice, missing dinner and everything.” Bernadette pushed the cart toward them, its wheels squeaking as they rolled across the old floor planks. “I had Martin put a couple of trays together before he went home. His chicken was superb tonight. You’ll love it.”
Although her stomach was indeed empty, food was the last thing on Amy’s mind. She wanted to be alone with Paul. The final few moments between them had been steeped in emotions mysterious and magnetic, romantic in a way she’d never known. After this interruption, Amy feared they’d never get those heady emotions back.
“This really isn’t necessary,” Paul said to his aunt. “It’s late—you must be tired.”
“Of course it’s necessary. You’ve got to eat, don’t you? Besides, it’s no trouble.” Bernadette unfolded a white, linen cloth and tossed it over a table in front of the fireplace. “Oh, what a shame. The fire’s gone out.”
“We were closing up, so Paul put it out,” Amy told her.
“Never mind. I’ve got an idea.” Bernadette plucked one of the pewter candlesticks from the mantel and placed it in the middle of the table. Pulling a book of matches from her apron pocket, she lit the green bayberry taper before finishing off the table with napkins, silver and wineglasses.
“There, that’s more like it,” she remarked when finished. “Now, sit and enjoy.”
Amy was amazed, and a tad amused, by the older woman’s attempt to create a cozy dinner for two. One look at Paul told her he felt the same way.
He pulled out a chair for her. “Shall we?”
“Don’t worry about cleaning up when you’re done,” Bernadette said as she ceremoniously uncorked a bottle of white wine. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
She poured the wine and left, closing the Pub Room’s wide double doors behind her. Paul gazed across the table at Amy, his eyes dancing. “Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but I think my aunt has ideas about us.”
“Let’s see, candlelight, crystal, wine, closed doors&h;” Amy shook her head. “I don’t think it’s your imagination.”
“Think she was spying on us?”
“Either that or she’s psychic.”
“Knowing Bernadette, it could be a little of both,” he said, entranced by how lovely she was in the warm glow of candlelight. Her sapphire eyes sparkled and her skin looked so creamy and soft his fingers ached to touch it.
“She’s right about one thing.”
“Wha’s that?” Unable to resist, he reached across the table for her hand. It felt smooth and warm and delicate in his grasp.
“I’m really, really hungry. Whatever is under these warmers smells delicious.”
With his free hand, he lifted the silver insulated warmer off her plate. He watched her breathe in the mouth-watering aroma wafting through the air, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted and her expression blissful. Paul swallowed hard. The desire that had been simmering deep inside all evening now roiled in his blood with a fury. No matter how long it had been since he’d last eaten, Amy was a hundred times more delectable than any dish Chef Martin could create. And oh, how he hungered for her.
“You should eat before you faint,” he said abruptly. He let go of her hand, hoping he hadn’t sounded too gruff.
Smiling, Amy picked up her fork and dug into the golden chicken on her plate. Paul ate, too, yet he barely tasted the food. All his senses were focused on the pretty woman sitting across from him. Eventually, Amy pulled him back into real time when she began discussing their evening of service in the Pub Room. Comparing notes and laughing about the experience eased the tensions slicing through his body.
He was thankful for the respite. The fierce feelings building up inside him would have scared Amy off for sure. That was the last thing he wanted.
When they were finished with the entree, Amy insisted he sit while she cleared the dinner plates and served the apple pie and cheese Bernadette had left on the cart. This display of feminine caring touched him. He’d never been the kind of man who expected—or even wanted—a little lady to wait on him with pipe, slippers, gourmet meals on the table. But he did miss the snug warmth and quiet grace that only a woman could provide for a man. He just never knew how much until now.
Admitting to a wicked sweet tooth, Amy raved about the pie. She ate with gusto, while Paul picked at his piece. Although he enjoyed her fresh enthusiasm and the wit she playfully turned on herself, all this vibrancy made him want her more. He wondered how to get Amy into his arms without scaring the daylights out of her.
“I know what’s missing,” he blurted out the moment he’d hit on an answer.
Amy’s eyes widened as he bolted from the table. “Where are you going?”
“We need music.” He went behind the bar and began flinging open cabinet doors. “Bud plays tapes sometimes when it’s not too crowded and noisy. I know he keeps them back here somewhere.”
“Try the middle cabinet under the bar. I saw a boombox in there when I was hunting for the blender.”
Paul took a look. “Bingo,” he cried, pulling out the stereo cassette player and Bud’s small stash of jazz tapes. He set the box up on the counter and quickly looked through the cassettes until he found a title he knew. As soon as the low, dulcet tones and smooth beat flowed through the player’s speakers, Paul smiled. “Perfect.”
Amy’s brow wrinkled with uncertainty. “Perfect for what?”
“Dancing,” he replied, returning to their table. “I can’t think of a better way to complete Bernadette’s picture.”
“I’m not sure she had dancing in mind.”
Longing to draw her into his embrace, Paul held out his hand. “Come on. A few turns around the room can’t hurt.”
Amy hesitated at first, then rose from her chair and walked straight into his arms. Wrapping them around her before any second thoughts could interfere, Paul caught the alluring glimmer in her eyes. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about her pulling away after all.
As they moved with the music’s mellow beat, Amy’s silky hair caressed his chin, and her body molded softly, perfectly, into his. Her breasts pressed against his chest, stirring his blood into a quickening boil. Feeling her warm breath on his neck, Paul tightened his embrace. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear.
Suddenly, she stopped and lifted her gaze. Her dark blue eyes, wide and searching, held him spellbound. Although his pulse was pounding in his ears, his mind was focused on her moist lips and how much he
wanted to taste them. Unable to hold back, he lowered his head, drinking in her moan as his mouth covered hers.
No longer hesitant, Amy gave herself up to the kiss, her lips yielding to his tongue’s urgent prodding, welcoming him inside her honeyed warmth. An electric ache burned within him, low and intense. He groaned as he deepened the kiss, his hands roaming along her smooth, angular back down to her curvy hips, again and again.
He was lost in the moment, lost in her.
Paul couldn’t remember when he had last felt so connected. The losses of the past had taken their toll; his life had been marked by shattered ties and empty promises. After his divorce, he’d figured he was meant to go it alone. And, for the past four years, he’d been content to do just that.
Amy combed her fingers through his hair. As her hands slithered over his ears and down his neck, he finally broke the kiss to glory in the sensations of her touch. “Oh, what you do to me, Amy,” he growled, before planting light kisses on her eyes, her nose, her cheeks.
What was it about Amy Riordan that made him yearn, made him hunger like never before? After years of keeping other women at arm’s length, why did he want to hold this woman as close as possible? Paul kissed her mouth again, long and slow and hard, until his body was on fire. He wanted to take her back to his house and make love to her. Surely the answers he needed would be found in their shared passion.
Paul broke off their kiss while he still had some semblance of self-control. “Amy, wait,” he rasped, ready to ask her to come with him right then and there. “I want you. I want to—”
The look on her face made him stop.
Although her own passion was unmistakable, so were the questions in her eyes. Paul understood these all too well, for they were the same as the ones in his heart. What was happening to them? And why?
There was something else in her deep gaze—a vulnerability that gave him pause. He doubted if Amy was even aware of it. Yet the inner conflicts he detected—passion and uncertainty, yearning and fear—convinced Paul to take a step back.
