by Carol Devine
"Do you always wake up in such a lousy mood?"
She inched up her chin, barely able to resist the tilt of his indulgent smile. Conscience prickled her scalp, urging her to apologize for her rudeness, even thank him for providing a place to sleep. But she couldn't do it, not when his body, clad only in a towel, caused her stomach to throb in the same quick rhythm as her heart.
Good grief, what was happening here? Overnight, she'd lost her scruples. The man made his living wrestling, for God's sake. It was imperative that she restore their former enmity.
"How can I not be in a lousy mood when I wake up lying next to a tiger?" she asked. "After what I went through with her yesterday, I can't believe you let her anywhere near me."
"Tasha's used to having the run of the house. I kept her downstairs with me during the night but she likes to catnap here while I shower and shave."
So he hadn't slept in this bed with her. Somehow such a gentlemanly gesture panicked her more than his aggressiveness would have. "I don't believe you."
"It's the truth." He shrugged and rubbed his chest in an offhand gesture. "Look, don't take offense about what I said about us being friends. I only meant--"
"I know what you meant," she interrupted. "I wasn't born yesterday. But you can forget your plan to keep me here against my will. When I said two hours, I meant it."
Amanda could tell her bald summary of his motives zinged him. A muscle leaped in the line of his jaw while an icy green cooled his eyes. "What is it with you? Why do you always blow everything out of proportion?"
Swallowing hard, she looked away, refusing to answer on the grounds of self-preservation. The truth was too incriminating. Spying her pink leather pumps beside the nightstand, she slipped them on. Unfortunately the additional two inches of height didn't made her feel better. The awkward silence lengthened. Feeling more transparent by the second, she hugged her waist and avoided him by doing a quick scan of the room.
The walls were made of pale yellow logs which gleamed beneath the sunbeams pouring through the skylights above. Thick blue carpet muted the cascade of light, absorbing it like a deep, plush ocean. Twin bureaus, made of the same knotty pine as the twin nightstands, completed the furnishings of the room. Except for matching lamps, the surfaces were bare. A single undraped window cast a rectangle in the wall above the bed, revealing a stand of thick aspen outside and an upslope covered in underbrush. Drawn by the view, Amanda squinted, suddenly aware of how unflattering the morning light usually made her skin. She smoothed a palm over her hair and realized it was a tangled mess. And her mouth tasted like sour milk.
"Excuse me," she said. "I'd love to stand here and chat but nature calls. Which way to the bathroom?"
He scowled, which should have gratified her but didn't as he led the way across the room. There were two doors, both closed, and he chose the left one, preceding her without bothering to see if she followed. Which was a good thing. The sight of his naked back had left her with a serious case of the shakes.
Clasping her hands behind her, she affected idle curiosity and peeked into what looked to be a combination bath and dressing room. It was large, rectangular shaped and modern, with more paneled doors set along one wall. A long marble vanity stretched opposite, topped by a wide mirror. Bram stood in front of it, razor in hand, swishing water in one of two side-by-side sinks. Lifting his chin, he swiped at his neck, leaving a tanned swath in the middle of the white foam. Dipping the razor head, he raised the blade once more to his face and pulled the skin of his jaw taut with his left hand before his eyes caught her reflection in the mirror.
"Don't you have something better to do?"
Amanda glanced away, thoroughly annoyed with herself. It wasn't as if she'd never seen a man shave before.
"Bathroom's the first door on the right," he muttered. She felt him track her hasty retreat across the room. "Amanda?"
She paused. "What?"
"If you need privacy, I'll be finished up here in just a minute."
The truce offered in his gruff tone caused her stomach to drop. "Thank you," she said before she remembered she was supposed to be angry with him. She marched into the bathroom but the intimacy of the moment stayed with her, smacking of shared mornings and domestic routine. As if she lived here. Or wished to.
Slamming the door behind her, Amanda locked it and looked around. The room had both a toilet and bidet which kept her thoughts dwelling on Masterson. She hadn't seen a bidet since she'd left her mother's Beacon Street house. Such luxury was rare in Colorado, yet judging from what she'd seen of Bram's house so far, he knew the difference between a showplace and a home. He valued comfort and convenience over flash and fads. So did she. Somehow that bothered her the most, making her feel wobbly inside, and she exited the room a few minutes later in a worse mood than when she'd entered.
In her absence he'd pulled jeans on but stood before the mirror as if he'd never left, rinsing traces of shaving cream from his face with a wet washcloth. The jeans, more white than blue, were zipped but not snapped. Although his chest was free of hair, a dark strip of it went from flat navel to denim. Before she could stop herself, she wondered if he wore underwear. Striding to the other sink, Amanda drowned her curiosity by splashing cold water on her face and bolstered her sagging scorn for the man. Lack of underwear was definitely grounds for dismissal from the ranks of eligibility, no matter what admirable qualities he possessed.
"I thought you'd like to have breakfast before I give you the grand tour."
His voice came from behind. She stood up quickly, dashed a nearby towel across her face and spun to locate him. There were two doorways past the bathroom. Light spilled from the nearest one.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes," she called, half muffling her voice in the towel as she tiptoed forward.
"Unless you want to shower first. I thought you might but I don't know what to do about a change of clothes."
His next sentence was unintelligible and she took that opportunity to peek around the door. He stood in the middle of a walk-in closet, facing the wall, while pulling a green knit shirt over his head. His hands smoothed the jersey down his back, tucking the tail into the waistband of his jeans. She caught a glimpse of his briefs and made a small sound, no more than a gasp, but he must of heard because he turned around, one hand tucking the shirt in front. She buried her face in the towel and rubbed briskly, praying he'd think she'd passed by the closet on her way to somewhere else. Anywhere else.
"I'm sorry," she said with just the right note of unconcern. "I didn't catch that last thing you said."
"What I said was that I'm sure Mrs. Barton, the bunkhouse cook, would let you borrow something to wear. Problem is, she's twice your size and age."
"No problem," Amanda replied, bumping into the doorjamb as she tried an escape with her face still covered by the towel. "I always carry a change of clothes in the trunk of my car. I've been known to spill something on myself the day of an important trial." She chanced a peek over the terry cloth and spied a sea of approaching green. Uh-oh.
"Hiding behind a towel, Amanda? How unlike you."
"I was simply--"
"Spying? Or drying your face?"
"Yes, drying my face."
"I've got a different theory. First you won't give me the time of day. Then you can't take your eyes off me while I'm shaving. Next I find you checking me out while I dress. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're lusting after me."
"You know better," she said, and dropped the towel on the vanity with a flick of her wrist, hoping dry nonchalance would mislead him. But his grin broadened and she bit her lip, wondering how long it would take him to guess the entire truth. Lust wasn't the half of it. She actually enjoyed matching wits with him. What she needed was a cup of hot black coffee to bring her to her senses. "Did you mention something about breakfast? she asked pointedly. "I'm starved."
"Even though I've already had breakfast, I find myself suddenly hungry, too. Very hungry."
Amanda wished the quiver low in her body came from a healthy case of offense at the broad innuendo. But it didn't. She couldn't even conjure up a humorous comeback to take the edge off their banter. Please let him be teasing, she prayed, and faced the mirror as if to confirm it, seeing a tangle-haired blonde, sans makeup except for the mascara smudges under her eyes, wearing a wrinkled linen suit that smelled like the inside of a laundry hamper.
"I look awful," she pointed out. It wasn't until she met his eyes in the mirror that she realized she'd been fishing for a compliment or at the very least, some indication that she didn't look as awful to him as she did to herself.
Chuckling, he sauntered forward and sat on the vanity counter, facing her directly, his eyes level with hers. "I wasn't kidding," he said. "I want you. I'm pretty sure you want me. So let's cut to the chase."
"You presume too much," she denied, thrown off-balance by his directness. "Just because I fell asleep here doesn't mean I want to jump into bed with you."
"Where have I heard this before? Every woman says that when she can't bring herself to admit what's really going on."
She continued her pose of nonchalance and kept her eyes trained on her reflection while she finger-combed the tangles from her hair. "You're totally out of line. The only thing I'll admit is that I had an incredibly long day yesterday, thanks to you."
"You could have left at any time. I even gave you an out after we put on that little demonstration for Tasha. Why didn't you take it?"
"Because I'd promised to see your ranch," she finished defensively. Then inspired, she came back with, "But not for the reason you think. I figured if I gave in to you and came here, you'd finally leave me alone."
"Mandy, I doubt you've ever given in to anybody your whole life. Face it. You came here because you wanted to go to bed with me."
Her gaze switched to his."Don't flatter yourself."
"I'm not. Women proposition me all the time ."
"Not this woman."
"Is that what you don't want to admit? That you're attracted to the likes of me?"
"Attracted to you? Dream on, buster! I don't even like you!"
"Really?"
"I'm suing you, aren't I? That generally is taken as a sign of fundamental disagreement and by natural extension, dislike."
"I love it when you talk like a lawyer. All those big words, that prep school diction. That's as much a part of you as your blonde hair and blue eyes. You've turned yourself into the perfect prosecutor, a real crusader, just like your dad and the rest of your family. And you can't picture me as a part of all that, can you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're doing it right now. I'm different from you. You're saying I couldn't possibly fit into your world, your plans."
"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."
"Let me make it clear then. Being the man, I'll take the lead and lay out what I want."
"I'm supposed to care about what you want?"
He ignored her sally with an infuriating smile. "First, you'll drop the lawsuit. Second, I'm interested only in the short term. Once I start wrestling again, I'll be on the road, so don't expect me to hang around for any length of time. That won't be a problem, will it? Save you from having to introduce me to all your friends, much less your relatives."
Amanda knew her mouth hung open and the funny warmth firing her stomach dissipated. She hadn't seen this side of him since the arena. All her former outrage came flooding back. "Do you hate all women or am I the only one to be presented with this particular honor?"
"I don't hate women."
"You could have fooled me. I've rarely felt this insulted in my entire life. Even if you were the last man on earth, I wouldn't give you the time of day."
"You need proof that there's chemistry between us?"
She sensed what was coming. "Don't even think about it," she warned.
"That's the problem." His eyes roved her face. "I think about 'it' all the time. What do you say, Mandy? Are you brave enough to prove me wrong?"
"What do you have in mind?" As if she didn't know. But if he named the act, she could soundly reject him and be vindicated.
"A simple kiss. Ten seconds ought to do it.”
"That's it? A kiss? You think I'll succumb after a ten second kiss?" The man had the ego of an elephant. She measured the curve of his smile, the infuriating glint in his eyes and knew she could stand anything for ten seconds. All she had to do was clamp her jaw and she'd win. Victory was at hand. "Okay, Masterson. You're on."
He grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him. "You keep track of the time."
Amanda resisted being drawn forward. "We don't have to be this close."
"My kiss, my rules," he declared, positioning her between his thighs. "Are you ready, Ms . Official Timekeeper?"
"I-I'm not wearing my watch."
"I took it off last night when I put you to bed. Here," he offered, tilting back on the vanity as he brought his hands together in front of his chest. Flipping open the flexible band, he slipped it from his wrist. "Use mine."
"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically. The inseam of his jeans pressed the wrinkled skirt covering her hips. Branded by his heat, she clutched the watch and peered into its face, picking out the sweeping second hand. The metal band, warm from his body, made her fingers perspire.
"Can you see okay?" he inquired.
A blunt finger touched the delicate skin beneath her left eye, setting her face aflame. She flinched, keeping her gaze trained on the watch. "Quit touching me. I'm not ready to start the countdown yet."
"Rule number two. The countdown starts when the kiss starts. Not before." His finger trailed across her temple and rimmed her left ear.
Amanda tried not to shiver. "Now wait a minute." "What are you afraid of, Mandy?" The tanned skin around his eyes crinkled and he traced slow circles along the line of her cheekbone. Whenever he smiled like that, her knees turned to mush.
"I think," her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat, trying not to react to the nerves tingling on her face. "I think you're taking unfair advantage of this situation."
"When have I ever not done that, Mandy?"
Her mouth twitched but she told herself it was because his finger now traced her upper lip. Before she could reply, he said, "I've fantasized about doing this, you know." His eyes sought hers. "I've fantasized about touching your mouth. Kissing your mouth."
His gaze dropped and so did her stomach. She wet the lips he stared at so hungrily.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" he asked. His finger rubbed her bottom lip, circling the fullest part before pressuring a corner. "Like I want to taste you? I do, you know. All over." His fingertip trailed a moist line to her temple. "Here. And here." He touched her chin. "And especially ..."
She sensed what was coming and knocked his hand aside before he could get past the outline of her throat. "Just get it over with," she said through clamped teeth.
"Impatience doesn't become you, my sweet. But if you insist." He placed his knuckles under her chin, nudging it upward.
She'd forgotten to check the time and propped the hand holding the watch on his shoulder. His hair obscured her view and she had to tilt her head sideways, which, she realized too late, gave him better access. He swooped in for the kill and she wanted to run but she thought ten seconds, only ten seconds. A Tarkenton could withstand anything for ten seconds .
He nuzzled her lower lip. The thrill of it quickened her heartbeat. In all their talk, she hadn't realized how flushed she'd become. Somehow she focused on the ticking second hand, which appeared to be moving awfully slow. For the first time she realized just how long ten seconds truly was.
He smiled against her lips, whispering, "Which will it be, Mandy? Fantasy or reality?"
The tension in her jaw melted. She had to close her eyes in order to concentrate and her other senses were heightened. Mint tinged his breath. She refused to react to her impulse to inhale and
pressed her lips tight, grinding her teeth. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her cheek.
"Mandy, take a chance."
Fingers sifted her hair, lifting it from her temples. She got lightheaded. His tongue flicked the line of her lips. Her knees unlocked. He steadied her with his thighs, clamping inward. His hand dropped to her breast, cupping the fullness, pressing the hard nipple with his palm.
"Hey!"
His thrusting tongue cut off her protest. Mortified at falling for his ploy, she jerked her head back and slapped his hand away. The taste of toothpaste stayed with her as she scrambled out of reach.
"How dare you!"
"Did I go over a bit on the time? But, Ms. Official Timekeeper, you didn't say when."
Swearing, she threw the watch. He caught it deftly, then reached for the medicine cabinet, chuckling the entire time.
"Here, I've got a little present for you. I hope this will make up for my numerous transgressions."
"I don't want--"
"It may not be something you want, Mandy. But take my word for it, it's something you need." Withdrawing a long, thin rectangular package, he flipped it in her direction. The cellophane wrapped toothbrush bounced off her shoulder and landed at her feet.
"You horrible bastard!"
"I don't see why you're upset. I was just trying to give you a tip about personal hygiene. If you don't want to take my advice, that's fine." He stood and rubbed his hands together. "Feel like eating now?"
"Yes, so I can throw it in your face!"
"I guess I'd better watch my back from now on. Mandy the Assassinator is bent on revenge. I wouldn't be surprised if you've got an Uzi hidden somewhere in your tank of a car."
"After what happened to my father, I have never wanted to own a gun. Until now."
The utter disdain in her voice must have reached him because for the first time she saw genuine contrition cross his face. She brushed by him, unwilling to accept an apology even if he did verbalize it. From the first moment they'd laid eyes on each other, he'd gone out of his way to humiliate her. That would never change.
