It Happened One Week

by JoAnn Ross

  “Oh, Dane…”

  “Lord, I like the way you say my name.” His breath was like a summer breeze against her parted lips. “Say it again.”

  At this suspended moment in time, unable to deny Dane anything, Amanda softly obliged.

  “Your voice reminds me of warm honey.” He soothed the flesh his teeth had bruised with his tongue. “Sweet and thick and warm.”

  He angled his head and continued making love to her with his mouth. The tip of his tongue slipped silkily between her lips, then withdrew. Then dipped in again, deeper this time, only to withdraw once more.

  Every sense was heightened. Every nerve ending in her body hummed.

  His clever, wicked tongue repeated that glorious movement again and again, each time delving deeper, seducing hers into a slow, sensual dance. The rest of the world drifted away. Until there was only Dane. And the pure pleasure of his mouth.

  Damn. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. The rich, warm taste of her was causing an ache in his loins far worse than the teenage horniness he’d suffered the last time he’d been with Amanda like this. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he felt the soft swell of her belly pressing against his erection.

  Her throaty moans were driving him crazy and if she didn’t stop grinding against him that way, stoking fires that were already close to burning out of control, he was going to throw her down on that bed and rip away those travelrumpled clothes.

  He imagined sliding his tongue down her throat, over her breasts, swirling around the hard little nipples that were pressing against his chest, before cutting a wet swath down her slick, quivering stomach, making her writhe with need; then lower still, until he was sliding it between her legs, gathering up the sweet taste—

  “Hell.”

  Jerking his mind back from that perilous precipice, Dane literally pushed himself away from her. For his sake, not hers.

  It had happened again! Ten minutes alone with Amanda and he’d nearly lost it. What was it about this woman? Even at nineteen he’d been far from inexperienced. Yet all it had taken then—and, apparently, all it took even now—was a taste of her succulent lips, the feel of her hot, feminine body pressed against his, to bring him to the brink of exploding.

  Her head still spinning, her body pulsing, Amanda stared at Dane and watched as his rugged face closed up.

  He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans with such force that her eyes were drawn to the brusque movement. Heaven help her, the sight of that bulge pressing against the faded denim caused something like an ocean swell to rise up from her most feminine core.

  Realizing what she was staring at, Dane again cursed his lack of control. “I’m not going to apologize.” His voice was distant, and amazingly cold for a man who, only moments earlier, had nearly caused them both to go up in flames.

  “I wouldn’t ask you to.” She dragged her hair back from her temples, appalled by the discovery that her hands were shaking. “I’m no longer a teenager, Dane. You don’t have to worry about my father showing up at the door with a shotgun.”

  Dane almost laughed. He wondered what she’d say if he told her that he found the idea of an irate father far less threatening than what he was currently feeling.

  “You’re tired.” And she had been for some time, if the circles beneath her eyes were any indication. “We’ll talk tomorrow. After you’ve had some rest.”

  “There’s no need to—”

  “I said, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Amanda stiffened, unaccustomed to taking such sharp, direct orders from any man. Before she could argue, he said, “Just dial three for room service. The cook will fix anything you’d like. Within reason.”

  With that, he was gone. Leaving Amanda confused. And wanting.

  As he descended the narrow, curving stairway, Dane assured himself that his only problem was he’d been taken by surprise. Initially, he hadn’t expected Amanda to show up from the shadows of the past. Then, when she had arrived, he certainly hadn’t expected such a knee-jerk, gut-wrenching physical reaction.

  By tomorrow morning, Dane vowed, he’d have control of his body.

  What was worrying the hell out of him was the problem he feared he was going to have gaining control over his heart.

  4

  Amanda was not in a good mood the following morning, as she went downstairs to prepare for the kickoff meeting. Her headache had returned with a vengeance and her stomach was tied up in knots. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, reliving old memories of her days—and nights—at Smugglers’ Inn.

  And then, when she had finally fallen asleep shortly before dawn, her dreams had been filled with the man who had, impossibly, become an even better kisser. The sensual dreams had resulted in her waking up with an unhealthy curiosity about all the women with whom Dane had spent the past ten years practicing his kissing technique.

  After a false turn, she found the conference room Susan had reserved. Ten years ago, the room had been a sleeping porch. The oversize green screens had been replaced with glass, protecting occupants from the unpredictable coastal weather without taking away from the dazzling view, which, at the moment, was draped in a soft silver mist.

  It was absolutely lovely. Greg would find nothing to complain about here. The only problem would be keeping people’s minds off the scenery and focused on the challenge.

  Drawn by the pull of the past, she walked over to the wall of windows and gazed out, trying to catch a glimpse of the cave where she and Dane had shared such bliss.

  Both relieved and disappointed to see the fog blocked the view of that stretch of beach, she turned her back on the sea and crossed the room to a pine sideboard where urns of coffee and hot water for tea had been placed. Beside the urn were baskets of breakfast breads, and white platters of fresh fruit.

  Amanda poured herself a cup of coffee and placed some strawberries onto a small plate. When the fragrant lure proved impossible to resist, she plucked a blueberry muffin from one of the baskets, then set to work unpacking the boxes of supplies.

  As she separated T-shirts bearing the team challenge logo into red and blue stacks, Amanda wondered what Dane was doing.

  Although she remembered him to have been an early riser, she doubted he’d have arrived at the inn. Not after the late hours he’d worked yesterday. Which was just as well, since she still hadn’t sorted out her feelings. All the agonizing she’d done during the long and sleepless night had only confused her more.

  Last night, alone with him in the tower room that had been filled with bittersweet memories, it had felt as if no time at all had passed since that night they’d lain in each other’s arms, driving each other to painful distraction, whispering tender words of love, vowing desperate promises.

  This morning, Amanda was trying to convince herself that stress, exhaustion and the surprise of seeing Dane again had been responsible for her having responded so quickly and so strongly to him. To his touch. His kiss.

  Memories of that enticing kiss flooded back, warming her to the core. “You have to stop this,” she scolded herself aloud.

  It was imperative that she concentrate on the difficult week ahead. If she allowed her thoughts to drift constantly to Dane Cutter, she’d never pull off a successful challenge. And without a successful challenge, not only would she lose her chance for promotion, she could end up being stuck with Greg Parsons for a very long time.

  “And that,” she muttered, “is not an option.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Having believed herself to be alone, Amanda spun around and saw a woman standing in the doorway. She was casually dressed in navy shorts, a white polo shirt and white sneakers. If it hadn’t been for her name, written in red script above her breast, Amanda would have taken her for a guest.

  “I was just talking to myself,” she said with embarrassment.

  “I do that all the time.” The woman’s smile was as warm and friendly as Mindy Taylor’s had been last night. “Sometimes I even answer
myself back, which was beginning to worry me, until Dane said that the time to worry was if I began ignoring myself.”

  She crossed the room and held out her hand. “I’m Reva Carlson. And you must be Amanda Stockenberg.”

  Having observed the frenzied activity that had gone into preparing the tower room, then hearing how Dane had insisted on carrying Amanda’s bags last night, Reva was more than a little interested in this particular guest. As was every other employee of Smugglers’ Inn.

  “You’re the conference manager Susan spoke with,” Amanda remembered.

  “Among other things. The management structure around this place tends to be a bit loose.”

  “Oh?” Amanda wasn’t certain she liked the sound of that. One of the advantages of the Mariner Seaside Golf Resort and Conference Center had been an assistant manager whose sole function had been to tend to the group’s every need.

  “Everyone’s trained to fill in wherever they’re needed, to allow for optimum service,” Reva revealed the management style Dane had introduced. “Although I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve been barred from the kitchen after last week’s fire.”

  “Fire?” After having watched her first choice of resort go up in flames, Amanda definitely didn’t like hearing that.

  “Oh, it wasn’t really that big a deal.’ The shoulders of the white knit shirt rose and fell in a careless shrug.” I was merely trying my hand at pears flambe. When I poured just a smidgen too much brandy into the pans, things got a little hot for a time.” Her smile widened. “By the time the fire department showed up, Dane had things under control.”

  When even the sound of his name caused a hitch in her breathing, Amanda knew she was in deep, deep trouble. “Dane was working in the kitchen?”

  “Sure.” Another shrug. “I told you, we’re pretty loose around here. And Dane’s amazingly handy at everything. He shot the pan with the fire extinguisher, and that was that. But in the meantime, I’ve been banned from any further cooking experiments, though Mary did promise to let me frost a birthday cake for one of our guests tomorrow.”

  “Mary?” At the familiar name, Amanda stopped trying to picture Dane in an apron, comfortable in a kitchen. “Mary Cutter?”

  “That’s right.” Reva tilted her head. “Sounds as if you know her.”

  “I used to.” Amanda couldn’t quite stop the soft sigh. “I came here with my parents on a vacation ten years ago.”

  “Mindy mentioned something about that.” Reva’s friendly gaze turned speculative. “I guess Dane must have been working here at the time, too.” Her voice went up on the end of the sentence, turning it into a question.

  It was Amanda’s turn to shrug. “I suppose. It was a long time ago, and there was quite a large staff, so it’s hard to remember everyone.”

  From the knowing expression in the convention manager’s eyes, Amanda had the feeling she wasn’t fooling her for a moment. “I do remember his mother made the best peach pie I’ve ever tasted.” She also, Amanda had discovered this morning, baked dynamite blueberry muffins.

  “Mary’s peach pie wins the blue ribbon at the county fair every year.” Returning to her work mode, Reva glanced around the room. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “I think so.” Amanda’s gaze took another slow sweep around the room, trying to seek out any lapses Greg might catch.

  “If you think of anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to call on any of us. I have to run into town on some errands, but Dane’s around here somewhere.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Amanda said quickly. Too quickly, she realized, as Reva’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly.

  “Well, good luck.” Reva turned to leave. “With everything.”

  Matters taken care of to her satisfaction, Reva Carlson returned to her own work, leaving Amanda with the feeling that the woman’s parting comment had little to do with the upcoming challenge exercises.

  After she finished unpacking the boxes, Amanda headed down the hall to the kitchen, to thank Mary Cutter for the superb Continental breakfast, when she heard her name being called.

  Believing it to be someone from the agency, she turned, surprised to see two familiar faces.

  “Miss Minnie? Miss Pearl?” The elderly sisters had been guests the last time Amanda had stayed at the inn.

  “Hello, dear,” one of them—Minnie or Pearl, Amanda couldn’t remember which was which—said. Her rosy face was as round as a harvest moon and wreathed in a smile. “We heard you’d come back. It’s lovely to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too. It’s also a surprise.”

  “I don’t know why it should be,” the other sister said. “With the exception of the three years the inn was closed—”

  “A terrible shame,” the other interrupted. “As I was telling Dane just yesterday—”

  “Sister!” A scowl darkened a sharp, hatchet face. “I was speaking.”

  “I’m sorry, sister.” There was a brief nod of a lavender head that had been permed into corkscrews; the pastel hue complemented the woman’s pink complexion. “I was just pointing out to Amanda how sad it was that such a lovely inn had been allowed to fall into disrepair.”

  “You’d never know that to look at it now,” Amanda said.

  “That’s because Dane has been working around the clock,” the thinner of the two sisters huffed. It was more than a little obvious she resented having her story sidetracked. “As I was saying, with the exception of those three unfortunate years, we have been visiting Smugglers’ Inn since 1932.”

  “I believe it was ‘33, sister.”

  A forceful chin thrust out. “It was 1932.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. It was the year the Lindberg baby was kidnapped and all the guests were talking about the tragedy.”

  “I seem to remember everyone talking about those two bank robbers.”

  “That was two years later,” the other snapped with the certainty of a woman who’d spent forty-five years as the research librarian for the Klamath County Library in southern Oregon. “Bonnie and Clyde were shot in 1934. That was also the year FBI agents killed John Dillinger outside that movie theater.”

  The term sibling rivalry could have been invented to define Minnie and Pearl Davenport. Recalling all too well how these arguments could go on all day, Amanda repeated how nice it was to see the women again and escaped into the kitchen.

  This room, too, was as she remembered it—warm and cheerful and immensely inviting. Fragrant, mouth-watering steam rose from the pots bubbling away on the gleaming stove; more copper pots hung from a ceiling rack and the windowsill was home to a row of clay pots filled with fresh green herbs.

  An enormous refrigerator that hadn’t been there the last time Amanda had sneaked into the kitchen for a heart-toheart talk with Mary Cutter was open.

  “Hello?”

  A dark head popped out from behind the stainless-steel door. “Amanda, hello!” Dane’s mother’s expression was warm and welcoming. She closed the refrigerator and opened her arms. “I was hoping you’d get a chance to escape those boring old business meetings and visit with an old friend.”

  As she hugged the woman, Amanda realized that Mary Cutter had, indeed, become a friend that summer. Even though, looking back on it, she realized how concerned Mary had been for Dane. As she would have been, Amanda admitted now, if some sex-crazed, underage teenage girl had been chasing after her son.

  “They’re not that bad.” Amanda felt duty-bound to defend the group.

  “Oh?” Releasing her, Mary went over to the stove and poured two cups of coffee. She put them on the table, and gestured for Amanda to sit down. “Then why do you have those dark circles beneath your eyes?”

  Amanda unconsciously lifted her fingers to the blue shadows she thought she’d managed to conceal successfully this morning. It was bad enough having to deal with Dane and their past, which now seemed to be unsettled. By the time the corporate challenge week was
over, she’d undoubtedly be buying Erase by the carton.

  “I’ve been working long hours lately.”

  “You’re not sleeping very well, either, I’d suspect. And you have a headache.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Amanda lied as Mary reached out and rubbed at the lines carving furrows between her eyes.

  The older woman’s touch was gentle and more maternal than any Amanda had ever received from her own mother. Then again, the Stockenbergs never had been touchers. The Cutters—mother and son—definitely were.

  Mary’s smile didn’t fade, but the way she was looking at her, hard and deep, made Amanda want to change the subject. “I just ran into Miss Minnie and Miss Pearl,” she said. “But I couldn’t remember which was which.”

  “Minnie is the one with white hair and an attitude. Pearl has lavender hair and hides Hershey’s Kisses all over the inn.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because the poor dear has an enormous sweet tooth. And Minnie has her on a diet that would starve a gerbil.” Mary flashed a quick grin that was remarkably like her son’s, although it didn’t have the capability to affect Amanda in such a devastating manner. “I feel so sorry for Pearl. She’s been sneaking in here for snacks ever since they arrived last week.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand that. I had a muffin that was just short of heaven.”

  “I’m so pleased you enjoyed it.” Mary’s eyes skimmed over Amanda judiciously. “You’re a bit thin, dear. We’ll have to see what we can do about fattening you up a little.”

  “A woman can never be too thin,” Amanda said, quoting one of her sleek mother’s favorite axioms.

  “Want to bet?” a deep voice asked from the doorway.

  Amanda tamped down the little burst of pleasure brought about by the sight of Dane, clad again in jeans. Today’s shirt was faded chambray; his shoes were high-topped sneakers.

  Mary greeted him with a smile. “Good morning, darling.”

  “Morning.” He crossed the room on a long, easy stride and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Do I smell sugar cookies?”