by Janet Dailey
A waiter was approaching them, carrying a tray of drinks. Cheryl touched her arm and leaned forward. “Are you supposed to drink with gloves on?” she murmured self-consciously.
“I think eating is the only thing that's taboo with gloves,” Amanda replied.
“I'm so afraid I'm going to do some terribly gauche thing,” Cheryl declared, pressing a hand against her stomach.
Amanda took two drinks from the tray and handed one to Cheryl. “Drink this,” she ordered. “It might settle your nerves."
The truth was she felt in need of it herself. She had truly not believed that seeing Jarod Colby would affect her very much, and certainly not to the extent that it had. She was an adult, mentally and legally, and she wasn't about to allow a fantasy of the past to take possession of her again.
Taking a sip of her drink, Amanda ordered her mind to concentrate on the conversation between her brother and Tobe. Whether it was due to the strength of her determination not to allow her thoughts to dwell on Jarod Colby, or the fact that she didn't see him, nearly an hour later Amanda found she was enjoying herself, laughing and joking among her friends and meeting acquaintances of Tobe's family.
An attorney named Carl Grierson who had just joined them said to Tobe, “I haven't seen you dancing with this beautiful young lady tonight."
A twisted smile quirked one corner of Tobe's mouth. “This isn't the music I'm used to dancing to, and those skirts with their hoops don't allow a man to enjoy the advantages of dancing slowly with a girl."
Actually Tobe had danced with her once, exhibiting an expertise and fluidity of movement that had surprised Amanda. Yet he had seemed embarrassed by it, as if he wished that he possessed the stilted steps of her brother.
“With a lady as lovely as this one—” the attorney winked at her “—the honor is in being her partner. May I claim this dance?"
A nod from Tobe signaled his permission, and with a mock curtsy Amanda accepted the invitation. A faint smile of pleasure dimpled her cheeks as her partner led her to the dance floor. She enjoyed dancing to any kind of music, but the swishing material of her gown was made for the gracefully stately tunes of the past.
The middle-aged attorney was more than an adequate partner as he sedately guided her around the floor. The height of her heels put her nearly eye level with him, but at five foot five in her stockinged feet, she was hardly a dwarf.
“You dance as beautifully as you look,” he commented. His head dipped slightly in salute, enabling her to see the reason his hair was combed forward—to conceal the rapidly receding hairline.
“You make it very easy for me,” Amanda replied, feeling suddenly very much like a Southern belle, artfully turning compliments back on the giver.
“If you had a dance card and I were ten years younger, I would insist on claiming every dance with you. Unfortunately my wife might have some objections to that.” He smiled, his pale blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
She tipped her head back and released the laughter that sprang so easily to her lips. But the movement changed her line of vision and Amanda found herself staring into the dark eyes of Jarod Colby. He was standing on the sidelines, ostensibly talking to a group of men, but his eyes were on her, retaining that same cool look of analytical appraisal as before. Nothing on his face revealed that he liked what he saw. There was no provocative gleam or message of appreciation in his gaze. Yet the very fact that he was watching her caused her heart to beat faster.
Forcing her gaze to slide nonchalantly from his, Amanda refocused on her partner. “You're very good for a girl's ego,” she smiled.
“Believe me, it isn't difficult to compliment you. You're what I envisioned Scarlett O'Hara to look like, but with flaming red gold hair. Do you live here?"
The rest of the dance was occupied with questions and answers relating to Amanda's family. Her gaze didn't stray to Jarod Colby, although he managed to remain in her peripheral vision and she felt sure he was still watching her. There was a feeling of exultation in her heart that she couldn't ignore, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that his apparent interest in her didn't mean a thing.
But when Carl Grierson returned her to Tobe with a laughing comment that he was off to pacify his wife, she found it exceedingly difficult to forget Jarod Colby's presence in the room. All the arguments that he was an arrogant snob and tyrant, a man she heartily disliked because of his rudeness to her several years ago, faded into the background, and she found herself wondering if she hadn't condemned him too harshly because of one minor incident.
There was a stifled gasp from Cheryl in midsentence while she was pointing out a necklace worn by one of the guests. “He's coming this way!” Her voice was lowered to a squeaking whisper of excitement.
Amanda didn't need to turn around to find out who Cheryl meant. Without wasting a guess, she knew it would be Jarod Colby. The acrobatic movements of her stomach were at odds with her attempt to appear composed. As his tall form entered her side vision, she noted his unhurried approach, nodding or speaking to the other guests while he continued the progress that would bring him to their group.
When he was only two steps away from them, Amanda allowed her gaze to be drawn to him while permitting only a mild show of interest to be displayed. His eyes were on Tobe, ignoring the two girls completely, much to Amanda's chagrin.
Very smoothly, he extended a hand to Tobe. “Jarod Colby,” he introduced himself. “You are John Peterson's son, aren't you?"
“Yes. Tobe Peterson,” Tobe supplied. Then he turned to Brad, who was standing beside him. “This is my friend, Brad Bennett. His girl, Cheryl Weston. His sister and my date, Amanda Bennett."
A small part of her admired the way Tobe made the introductions with ease while she watched Jarod Colby shake hands with her brother, nodding politely and with equal interest to her and Cheryl in turn. She was too conscious of him standing between her and Tobe to pay attention to the polite conversation they were exchanging. Her senses were dominated by his potent virility and his ruggedly compelling features.
His lack of any display of interest in her during the first few minutes made it a surprise when she found herself looking into his jet black eyes. “With your escort's permission, I would like to have this dance with you,” he stated, his tone implying that he expected no opposition from her or Tobe.
“I have no objection,” Tobe murmured, a curious smile on his face when he looked at Amanda.
On general principles she should refuse, she thought, then chided herself for dwelling on some imagined hurt of the past. After all, he was only asking her to dance, she told herself, just as she heard the bandleader announce that it would be a “change partners” dance. Idly she wondered if Jarod had known that when he asked her and decided that he had.
“I would be delighted, Mr. Colby,” she answered coolly, offering him her hand.
She felt his eyes move lazily over the erect carriage of her head, which she kept averted. There was a satirically amused gleam in his eyes when he turned her into his arms on the dance floor. For lingering seconds he held her eyes with the compelling blackness of his gaze before he began to move her in time to the song. The firm pressure of his hand on her back left her in no doubt as to who was leading whom.
“Amanda—a soft gentle name with a hint of spirit,” he commented. “Yet it fits the languid, drawling speech of the South."
“That's true,” Amanda replied with a nod, prickling a little as she wondered if she had heard a hint of mockery in his voice. “And you Yankees always seem to have such hard, uncompromising names, like Jarod."
“The way you say it, it doesn't sound hard at all.” The lines deepened around his mouth without humor and she knew he hadn't missed the bite in her voice. “Do you live here in Oak Springs?"
“All my life,” she answered, gazing past the expensive black material of his suit and the silver gray waistcoat accenting the muscular chest.
“It's strange that we've never met."
“Oh, but we have.” Her lips tightened fractionally as she remembered the blow her ego had suffered at his hands.
“When was that?” His eyes were making a relentless search of her face as though he was seeking something that would be familiar.
“About four or five years ago when I first came to work here at Oak Run,” she answered, discovering a candor she didn't know she possessed. “I was sent over to the Winter House for some brochures by your aunt, and you very peremptorily ordered me off your property."
“I'm ashamed to say I don't remember meeting you.” But he didn't look ashamed and made no effort to apologize for his actions, “Did you get your brochures?"
“Yes, after you'd stopped insulting me long enough to hear my explanation for why I was there."
His eyes were guardedly thoughtful as they met the slightly defiant look of hers. “You must have formed a very bad opinion of me."
“Yes.” Her answer was simple and direct.
“Then I must persuade you to change your opinion.” A smile glinted in his eyes, although the line of his mouth didn't alter.
The pressure of his hand against the back of her waist increased as he whirled her into a fast series of spins while keeping to the gliding tempo of the melody. Her eyes saw the dancers separating and seeking new partners and Amanda realized the signal to change must have been given.
“We're supposed to change partners now,” she informed him.
This time there was a decidedly mocking tilt of his head. “One of the advantages of being Jarod Colby of Colby Enterprises is doing what I want to do."
“Yes, but—” she began, seeing the interested glances from the others at their failure to change partners.
“I thought you wanted to dance with me,” Jarod chided.
“I do.” Then she wished she hadn't replied so quickly.
“It shouldn't bother you to discover everyone is watching us,” he murmured, holding her gaze again while he made another cool appraisal of her attributes—an action that wasn't complimentary but rather assessing, as if he was deciding if she was worthy of his interest. “There are quite a few men who haven't been able to take their eyes off you this evening. The combination of that gown and your hair would capture any man's attention, and the fact that you have a face and figure to complement them increases his interest."
“You're very flattering.” Amanda swallowed nervously, trying to conceal the fact that he had the ability to disturb as well as antagonize her. “But people are looking at me now because I'm dancing with you."
“Not just because you're dancing with me,” he corrected smoothly, “But because I don't intend to relinquish my possession of you. You might as well know that I'm accustomed to getting what I want, Amanda."
She wasn't sure how much she was supposed to read into that statement. That he wanted to dance with her was obvious, but was he implying more than that? Many times she had imagined herself in a similar situation with this very man. Now she found he was an unknown quantity that she didn't know how to handle.
When she continued to remain silent, he said, “Are you afraid to ask what I want?” His deep, husky voice vibrated over her.
“You've already told me,” she replied, trying to force a lightness into the charged atmosphere. “You want me to revise my opinion."
There was another signal to change partners which Jarod ignored. “And I shall succeed in doing that."
It rankled that he was so certain of his attraction. “Will you?” Amanda challenged, haughtily arching a red brown eyebrow.
“I must have already partially succeeded. You're dancing with me."
“I had the impression I was ordered to dance with you.” Attraction shifted to antagonism. “I didn't think it was permissible to ignore a royal summons."
The amused glint in his eyes told her that he didn't believe one word she was saying. “I believe it was a case of knowing that I was attracted to you and it would give you a chance to score off on me for that incident a long time ago. And perhaps a little bit of curiosity."
Attracted to her! The words struck at her midriff like a physical blow. There was no longer any need to try to surmise his reasons for being with her. It was out in the open, plainly stated that he was attracted to her. In spite of all her efforts to remain poised, inside Amanda was quivering like a schoolgirl. Her legs were incredibly weak and it was with relief that she discovered the last note of the song was fading away. She needed time to compose herself and regain the perspective of Jarod Colby the man, instead of Jarod Colby the dream.
When their steps ended, the hand on her waist claimed her elbow, gently guiding her off the dance floor. Her gaze quickly sought the side of the room where Cheryl, Brad, and Tobe had been standing, only they weren't there.
“Would you care for some refreshment?” Jarod asked.
The small buffet table was in front of them, a punch bowl filled with shimmering red liquid and surrounded by ornate cut-glass cups. Platters of artistically prepared hors d'oeuvres flanked the sides of the bowl.
“Some punch, please,” Amanda requested, her eyes straying around the room for some sign of her friends.
In what seemed like mere seconds, he was holding a cup in front of her, his gaze noting her search of the room. She took the cup from him and held it nervously in both hands.
“Would you like something to eat?"
“No,” Amanda refused politely, her glance straying to the bite-size morsels on the platters, then returning to her gloved hands.
“I forgot,” Jarod murmured, arching a thick brow in her direction. “It isn't proper to eat with gloves on, is it? We can remedy that.” She watched him curiously as he eyed the trays, wondering if he intended removing her gloves. “This pâté looks very tasty.” He picked it up and turned to Amanda. “Open wide."
Self-consciously she drew back as she realized he intended to place it in her mouth. Her action brought another glitter of amusement into the obsidian black eyes. She had the feeling he was going to hold it inches in front of her mouth until she gave in, and the longer she hesitated, the more likely someone would see them. Unwillingly Amanda opened her mouth. His fingers brushed her lips as he placed it in her mouth. The sensation of his touch remained, the incredibly intimate contact changing her blood into liquid wildfire.
“Your friends seem to have deserted you,” Jarod murmured after Amanda had managed to swallow the hors d'oeuvre.
“I don't know where they could have gone,” she answered, her gaze anxiously searching the room again.
“Perhaps they've stepped out on the veranda for a breath of air,” he suggested.
“Yes, they may have."
“Shall we go look for them?"
Chapter Three
AMANDA HESITATED, feeling ridiculously awkward and out of her depth. She felt uncomfortable standing beside Jarod in a room full of people, and to be alone with him on the veranda would disturb her even more. Still, she had to find Tobe and the rest. Thankfully she was aware that none of her inner agitation was revealed in her expression as she accepted his suggestion.
There were several knowing looks cast their way as she and Jarod walked through the French doors onto the veranda outside. Very few people were outdoors. Mostly they were men who had come out to smoke cigars or cigarettes. Amanda was conscious of Jarod lighting a cigarette while she tried to peer through the shadows cast by the flickering torchlights.
“Are you going to college or working?” Jarod was the first to break the silence as his hand once more closed over her elbow and began guiding her along the darkened path into the garden walk extending out from the veranda.
“Both,” she answered, catching a glimpse of three figures standing beneath an oak tree and holding her breath, only to discover that all three were men. “This fall will be the start of my last year in college."
“What are you studying?"
“English Literature with a minor in Journalism."
“Where are you working?"
>
“Here at Oak Run. I'm still a tour guide,” she answered with an expressive lift of her shoulders.
“No wonder you look so natural in that gown. You wear them all the time.” His steps ceased and the pressure of his fingers on her arm forced her to do likewise. “If you're an example of the guides here, I'm going to have to take more notice of the people in my employ!"
Before Amanda realized what she was doing, she found herself thinking of the other girls who worked at Oak Run and which ones might appeal to Jarod, all the while fighting a twinge of jealousy.
“Looks are one of the requirements for the job,” she managed to say.
“You're very beautiful."
His superior height put her at a disadvantage. The play of his gaze over her face and shoulders made her disturbingly aware of their solitude.
“Thank you,” she breathed. Her mind was blank of any witty repartee to parry his compliment. She made a half turn to escape his eyes.
The night was languid and still. There was a roof of stars above the thick foliage of the giant oaks. Distantly the strains of a waltz filtered out of the plantation into the night air, while crickets chirped loudly in competition.
His fingers touched her neck and blazed a trail to her shoulders. “Your skin is very creamy.” It was more of a comment than a compliment, yet it brought about the same reaction to her jumbled nerves.
Amanda turned back toward him, hoping to elude the touch of his hand gracefully. “Did you know crickets chirp until they ... fi ... find their mate?” What began as a bright attempt to change the conversation ended in a breathless whisper as his fingers moved down her shoulders, following the neckline of her dress over the swell of her breasts up to the opposite shoulder.
“No, I didn't know that,” Jarod remarked dryly. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held hers, making her look into his while his fingers caressed the hollow of her throat. “I want to take you home.” The suddenness of his statement jolted through her.
