by Carol Devine
"How was your day?" she asked as they entered the borrowed Jeep.
"Busy," he said, backing the car from its parking place.
Amanda sat up and glanced at him. A smile played around his mouth. "I know that look, Bram. Not another surprise."
"What, don't you like surprises?" he asked innocently.
"You know I love surprises. But you've given me so many the last few weeks."
She thought of the plush toy tiger from FAO Schwartz he'd managed to smuggle into her car after their first long weekend together, the tiny bouquets of wildflowers which showed up unexpectedly in her briefcase, the picnic basket left one day at her office door, filled with a corned beef sandwich, carrots and a can of diet coke.
"The plan, my dear Ms. Tarkenton, is to sweep you off your feet. Is it working?"
Impulsively she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Wow, it must be. We haven't even made it out of the parking garage yet and I can’t keep my hands off you." She groped around his lap, batted her eyelashes and fanned her face dramatically. "Why, I don't know what’s come over me," she said in her best southern accent.
"It's my animal magnetism." He steered down the exit ramp with one hand and squeezed her hand with the other. "Stay over there like a good girl until we make our getaway."
They exited from the garage. The decoy with Julie appeared to be working. Amanda's Cadillac was well down the street, turning right on Broadway. Several cars, each emblazoned with a different insignia from the local television stations,were following. Bram turned in the opposite direction and checked the rearview mirror.
"All clear," he announced."We're officially on our way home."
"Home," Amanda sighed. "I like the sound of that ."
He extended his right arm across the back of the seat and she snuggled next to him. They talked of inconsequential things during the long drive towards Boulder and gradually she decompressed, soothed by his voice and comforting presence. By the time they reached the ranch, Amanda couldn't wait to get into the house so she could discover the surprise.
When they parked in the driveway, she flung open the passenger door and ran around the front of the jeep to grab his hand. He chuckled when she pulled him out, flattered by her eagerness. It usually took quite awhile before she was able to relax and be herself.
"Where's the surprise?" she demanded, tugging him into the house.
"You're going to have to find it on your own."
"You know I can't stand suspense," she said and scanned the living room off the entry way. It looked the same as always. A leather couch and his matching big chair flanked the fireplace. Navajo rugs were scattered on the floors and log walls. "Tell me where you've hidden it."
“Never.” He tossed the car key on the hall table so Mandy could find them when she drove to work the next morning.
"You mean you can't be persuaded to tell me right here and now?" Halting before him, she slipped her hands inside his coat, threaded her arms around his waist and looked up at him with an impish smile. He loved that smile. "I think the only question is, will your confession come before I torture you or after?"
"What kind of torture did you have in mind?" he asked and removed her cowboy hat, flinging it across the room.
"Terrible torture," she said. "The kind that takes all night."
"I'm shaking in my boots," he said, telling the truth. Just looking at her did that to him. He plucked the pins from her hair. It unraveled in his hands. He sifted through, pulling gently, wanting to give her a taste of what she'd promised him.
"Will you confess?" she asked, pressing closer. “Where is it?”
Already he was hard, a fact she was well aware of since she was rubbing the front of her body up against his. He growled an answer deep in his throat, knowing she'd won this game long before they'd started. The best part was, he didn't care.
"You like to torture me, don't you, Mandy?" he asked and bent to string kisses down the slope of her lovely neck. His reward was her sigh and the languid way she leaned into the caress.
"Only because you like to torture me," she said dreamily. "By the way, where's Tasha?"
He smiled into the place where neck met shoulder, letting his teeth graze her skin, moistening it. Usually Tasha greeted them the moment they walked in the door. She and Amanda had become great friends. "I locked her outside."
"You locked her out? Why?" she asked breathlessly. He followed the path his teeth had taken with his tongue, kissing her with warmth. She shivered and stretched to loop her arms around his neck.
"Because I didn't want her to pick up on how nervous I am," he admitted.
"You, nervous?" She lifted her face, seeking his mouth. He liked how malleable she was in his arms. He hoped it was a good omen. "Bram, confess. Why are you nervous?"
"The surprise," he explained, brushing her lips, letting the tension build .
She trembled and the note of shaky laughter in her voice made his groin tighten painfully. "I don’t know where my head is these days. I forgot all about it."
He kissed her, fully and deeply, wanting to forget about it for a moment, too. There was always the possibility she would say no. Mandy was, above all else, unpredictable. She’d turned into a tigress in bed. When Mrs. Barton wasn’t around, she was busy trying new recipes. Homemade fig newtons were a favorite.
"Bram?" she gasped after a few minutes.
He drew back, glad that she at least, possessed some sanity. They were still standing in the front hall. "Yes?" he asked, matching her inflection.
"I love you."
Bram went still. He'd waited for this moment for three long weeks. It couldn't have come at a better time. He looked deep into her eyes, seeing the question there, and the vulnerability. "I love you, too, Mandy. "
Her gaze lowered and she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. "I'm scared," she admitted.
"Scared of what?"
"Scared of how good I feel when I'm with you. Scared that once you really know me, you won't want to be with me anymore. "
"I don't think that's going to happen, Mandy."
"Why not?"
"Because I love you and you love me.”
"Didn't you love your ex-wife?"
He understood what she was asking and gathered her close, stroking her hair. "This is a great adventure we're on. I know there's no guarantee that we'll make it all the way to the end of the road or that it will be all fun and games, like it is now. In fact, I'm betting it won't be. I'm betting that you and I will have a few mountains to climb. If we're going to make it to the very end, we'll have to learn to compromise with one another."
"Maybe that's why I'm scared," she whispered against his jacket. "I'm not good at compromising."
He chuckled. "Me neither. But then, aside from you, I haven't met too many people worth compromising with." He dropped a kiss on her nose. "Which brings me to the surprise. It's upstairs."
"Upstairs?"
“On the bed," he clarified.
"I bet," she said and winked at him.
He laughed and tucked her into the shelter of his arm to escort her upstairs. "Sometimes I get the impression, Ms. Tarkenton, you believe there is only one thing on my mind."
"I can't imagine how you got that impression."
They climbed the stairs and the rounded curve of her hip rubbed provocatively against his. His body responded, giving truth to her words. If he didn't keep his hands off her during phase one of the surprise, there was no way in hell he'd get to phase two. "I'd better go first," he said and leaped the last of the stairs two at a time. He opened the bedroom door and checked to make sure all was as he'd left it.
She'd added her own feminine touches here. Large plants in glazed blue pots gathered in the corners. She'd placed candles on the dresser, magazines on the two tables flanking the huge bed and, in the dressing room, on the long sterile vanity between the two sinks, little bottles of perfume. He liked to sniff the fragrances when she wasn't looking.
He'd made the bed this
morning. She'd left her mark here too. Mandy liked pillows and had brought some from her own apartment. Some were big and square, others fluffy and edged with lace. They lay piled along the plain pine headboard and he had to admit, the haphazard arrangement looked very inviting. Maybe too inviting, given the way his body was reacting to the sight of the bed with Mandy in close proximity.
He turned with a grand flourish, gesturing her inside. She passed by him, gifting him with a loving look before she entered the room. He crossed one leg over the other, leaned against the doorjamb and watched her face, wanting to judge her reaction. Startled, she stared at the bed or more specifically, the garments laid upon it.
"The tuxedo's mine," he said offhandedly, in case there was any doubt in her mind. She gaped at him, then moved to pick up the hanger which held the delicate straps of a floor-length gown. He would have paid good money to get a picture of her reverent expression at that moment. Lifting the garment high, her eyes misted over.
"Oh, Bram," she whispered. "What a dress."
"You like it?" he asked, worried because of the gingerly way she held it.
"It's a fairy dress."
"A fairy dress?" he repeated, unsure if this was good or bad.
"Made by fairytale fairies.” She brushed the fabric of the long flowing skirt, strung vertically with delicate gold and silver beads. The moment he'd seen the gown in the window of an upscale boutique, he'd known he'd buy it for her and for what occasion. "Surely human hands couldn’t make something as delicate and beautiful as this."
"Put it on."
She stared at him, her eyes wide. "Is this the surprise?"
"The first half, yes," he confirmed. "We'll have dinner after we're dressed. Before she went home, Mrs. Barton cooked up something special. It's waiting in the oven, so we'll eat whenever you're ready. Then I'll show you the second half of the surprise."
He didn't trust himself to keep his hands off her while they changed so he let her have the bedroom and carried his tuxedo into the bathroom. He hated wearing the thing, with all its constrictions and paraphernalia and dressed quickly. The part he liked best about putting it on was how he looked forward to taking it off. If everything went according to plan, when this evening was over, Mandy would help him undo the cummerbund and the damn studs. He stepped away from the mirror after tying his tie, smiling at the thought.
He didn't speak when he opened the door which led into the bedroom. Head bowed, she stood on tip-toe next to the dresser, one hand on it for balance, while she slipped on the gold tinted sandals he'd bought. The gown sheathed her body in streaks of gold and silver. Held by thin straps he could break with a flick of one finger, the bodice criss-crossed her breasts. The skirt fell straight to the floor, clinging only to the curve of her hips. Her pale skin had taken on a glow he'd never seen before. She wore a simple gold chain around her neck. Her hair was curled on the ends and swept up on one side, held by a sequined barrette. His hands itched to take it down.
"Wow," she said when she straightened and saw him. "You should wear tuxedos more often."
Somehow he found his voice. "You look, Ms . Tarkenton, like a fairytale princess."
Evidently, this was the right thing to say, for she beamed at him. "Thank you."
"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm.
He escorted her down the stairs, his senses attuned to her every movement. She whispered when she walked. The sound made him recall the swathes of silk and lace he'd bought to go beneath the dress and the long length of gossamer stockings covering her legs. Maybe he should have saved the first part of the surprise for last. Maybe he should have planned to have her put on the dress, only to have him take it off immediately thereafter.
Bram kept his thoughts to himself. He wanted this evening to be special, wanted to make this a memory so he could savor it later. She couldn't always be at his side. He'd need memories like this to keep him sane, memories where he had her all to himself. He had a feeling that in the not too distant future, she would be on the minds of many, that there were people who saw her as potentially a political star, a leader in the tradition of her father. Those people would want her attention as much as he wanted it. He’d have to find ways to deal with that, prove to her that he was equal to the challenges that came with being the supportive spouse of a woman who had the brains, beauty and ambition to achieve greatness in the public service arena. If that turned out to be her choice, her destiny, he was not going to be the one to hold her back.
After dinner, when the time was right, he asked her to dance. They moved from the dining room to the living room. He turned the music on and the lights off. When she came to him in the semi-dark, he closed his eyes and let the sway of her body seep into his soul.
When he couldn't wait any longer, he led her to the wide leather chair set in front of the fireplace. She sat gracefully, her legs outlined beneath the clingy material of the gown. He looked down at her, recalling the time she'd fallen asleep in that chair. He'd felt like a gawky teenager then, too.
He extracted the small velvet box, keeping it hidden in his hand. He went down on one knee, then remembered the fire. He turned to stoke it and add a couple of new logs. He wanted more light in order to see every nuance of expression when he gave her the ring and asked her to marry him.
Chapter Fourteen
Amanda watched Bram poke the fire into new life. Beneath the smooth black coat of his tuxedo, the muscles of his back bunched and smoothed, making her quiver inside. Her heart was beating way too fast. At this rate, she'd faint before he asked the question. If he asked the question. Her mother always said it was unladylike to anticipate a proposal of any kind. Amanda gripped her hands together in her lap, trying to still their stupid trembling.
He finished with the fire and turned once more to face her.
She read the tension in his face and an unexpected ambivalence built in her breast. It had been one thing to joke about this with Julie. It was another to feel the drama of the moment.
He opened his hand, revealing a small black velvet box. Her heart skipped a beat. During the last couple of weeks, she had dreamed of this day. Like an ardent schoolgirl, she'd written his name and hers out together in her mind. Amanda Tarkenton Masterson. But the reality of what she would sacrifice hadn't hit her until now. In another minute, her life would be changed. Irrevocably.
He took her hand, grasping it with his warm, blunt fingers. She tried to respond, tried to smile at least, but the corners of her mouth kept quivering. She bit her lip and studied his beloved face. If he asked her to marry him, she was going to say yes, she decided, no matter what the consequences.
"Mandy?"
She nodded, too overcome to speak. His gaze was dark and intent. A lock of black hair fell over his forehead. Two creases marked the space between his brows. Recognizing the source of the tension which put them there, she reached with the fingers of her free hand and smoothed the creases away.
He closed his eyes and she sensed the easing of tension her gesture brought him. If only she could make all their other problems go away as easily. She let her arm drop, her thoughts dwelling on the gauntlet of reporters she'd face again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.
He opened his eyes and squeezed her hand. "You look scared."
"Do I?" she murmured, trying not to be. She concentrated on his face, this face she loved, but the image of her mother rose anyway, making her heart beat fast against her throat. What would her mother say when she presented her with this face?
“Amanda, you could do so much better.”
"You don't have to be scared, Mandy. I'd never let anyone hurt you, me included."
"I know," she said and meant it. But she couldn't make the same promise to him, much as she might want to. Mother would wound his pride with a mere snort of her patrician nose. Worse, Amanda knew she'd be powerless to stop her. How could she protect him from the insinuation that a Beastmaster would never be good enough for a Tarkenton, when she wondered the same thing herse
lf?
"I love you," he said, and his thumb tightened against her hand. "Mandy, I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?"
She felt herself smile even as tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Bram," she whispered.
"Is that a yes?"
He opened her hand and pressed the ring into her palm.
Amanda looked down and gasped.
"If you don't like it," he said, "we'll exchange it for another."
"Oh, no, never." Her vision was too blurred with tears to see clearly. "It's perfect," she said, meaning it.
"Try it on," he prompted.
Her hands were shaking so bad she didn't dare lift the ring from her palm. He picked it up and held it between forefinger and thumb, giving her a chance to see it in all its sparkling glory. She blinked at the large stone set in delicate gold filigree and swallowed. "You must have spent a fortune on it.”
"The money doesn't matter. What matters is whether or not you'll accept it. Say yes. Say you'll be my wife, Mandy."
Say you’ll be a good girl, Mandy.
Stiffness built in her back and shoulders. She had to clench her hands to keep him from seeing how shaky they truly were. If she held up her left hand with splayed fingers, she was sure she’d embarrass herself completely. Her father would not be proud. Neither would Bram. He’d remember this moment as the time he saw how scared she truly was, scared of disappointing people, of being a woman less assured of herself than her education, background and character would suggest. How disappointed her father would be if he knew she'd given up her dreams for a man, even a man as wonderful as Bram.
She studied his wide forehead and strong jaw, the intensity of feeling in the depths of his green eyes. Words jammed in her throat. She couldn't say them, couldn't even say a simple yes.
"I can't," she said.
"Can't?"
"Bram, I love you. You must believe that. As for getting married, I-I need some time to think it over."
