Читать книгу A Memorable Man - Joan Hohl - Страница 9

Two

“Damn.”

Washing the trickle of blood from the razor nick on his jaw, Adam dug a styptic pencil out of his shaving kit and grimaced as he applied it to the minor wound. The grimace wasn’t in reaction to the sting of the pencil, but to the visible tremor in his fingers.

Ridiculous, Adam decided, flinging the towel aside and striding into the bedroom.

He was always cool, collected and logical. He ran a far-ranging family-owned corporation. He never lost his composure, maintaining his vaunted, steel-edged control through even the most intensely fought business battles.

The very idea of him suffering so much as a slight case of the shakes over the prospect of spending time with a woman was a concept beyond the pale.

Ms. Sunny Dase—preposterous name!—intrigued him, Adam concluded, absently rejecting one shirt in favor of another, too distracted to take note of his unusual indecisiveness concerning his choice of apparel.

Every article of clothing Adam possessed was well made, elegant, tasteful and outrageously expensive. Whatever he chose to wear suited him and any occasion. Formal wear excepted.

Should he wear a tie—or go for a more casual look?

The thought jolted Adam into the realization that he was actually agonizing over a necktie.

Was he losing his mind...or simply bewitched?

The follow-up thought brought a wry smile to his compressed lips. The consideration of bewitchment immediately wiped the smile from his mouth.

Nonsense.

Sunny was an enigma, a puzzle, nothing more. Adam had earned a reputation for his ability to untangle puzzles and expose supposed enigmas.

But she did possess the power to excite him. He had felt the zing and sting of that power with his first sight of her striding across the Palace Green.

Forgoing the neck wear, Adam felt a recurring sizzle dance along his nerve endings as he shrugged into his jacket. He would be meeting Sunny in exactly...

He shot a glance at his wristwatch. Another jolt went through him. While he had been musing on his limited sartorial section, time had slipped away from him.

Scooping his loose change, wallet and keys from atop the dresser, he shoved them into his pockets as he strode into the sitting room of the suite, then to the door. He had never known a woman to be on time. Still, he had three and a half minutes to get his rump down to the lobby—in the unlikely event Sunny proved to be the exception.

She was waiting for him.

The sight of her, standing at ease and relaxed next to the impressive bust of Patrick Henry on a pedestal in the lobby, not only surprised but delighted Adam.

The contrast in her attire alone was startling. Whereas before she had appeared the picture of an eighteenth-century maiden in her period costume, with her hair pulled up into a loose knot on top of her head, Sunny now projected an image of an ultramodern, thoroughly “with it” young woman.

She was dressed in a severely cut, perfectly fit, austere-looking black suit, with a figure-hugging pencil-slim ankle-length skirt, the side seems slit to just above the knees. The peek of curvaceous calves, in addition to her enticingly rounded bottom and long, slender thighs, caused a sudden dry tightness in Adam’s throat.

Swallowing with some difficulty, he shifted his gaze, giving her person a more encompassing look.

The severity of her black suit was balanced by a snowy white blouse with a froth of lace at the collar and cuffs, the lace spilling over the backs of her hands. Sheer black nylon encased her legs. Her slim, delicate feet were enhanced by highheeled black suede evening pumps.

Slowly, reluctantly, Adam dragged his gaze up along the alluring lines of her body and settled on her face. She appeared to be wearing a minimum of makeup: perhaps a light, translucent base, a brush of color on her cheeks; a darkening swish of mascara on her lashes; a clear, true red applied to her luscious lips.

Gliding his tongue over his own lips, Adam forced his glance away from temptation, past her straight nose, the glowing skin of her cheeks, the alert and bright interest in her curious green eyes, to the top of her head and...

And her hair... Oh, Lord, her hair. Sunny’s wavy mane of gold-streaked brown hair tumbled onto her shoulders and halfway down her elegantly straight spine.

In truth, the sight of her took his breath away. Adam’s fingers twitched with the desire to spear into the alluring brown mass; his mind reeled with an image of those gold-streaked strands spread out on a pillow...his pillow.

But first things first, he advised himself, crossing the lobby to her. Dinner, then...

“Hello,” he said, attempting to corral his bedbent thoughts as he came to a halt beside her. “Were you early or am I late?”

“Oh...hi.” Sunny flashed a nerve-crunching smile at him. “Since it is now precisely six, you are not late. So I guess I was a few moments early. No big deal.”

“Even so, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Adam replied, appalled by the slight catch in his voice, the rapid beat of his heart, the quivery sensation inside him...all direct effects of her disarming smile.

Boy, he mused, inwardly shaken by his response, mentally and physically. He had heard about dynamite smiles, had even witnessed a few, but this woman’s smile went way beyond dynamite; megaton came closer to the mark.

“Still hungry?” he asked politely, quashing a different hunger expanding inside.

“Starved.” Though her tone was somber, her eyes, those amazingly expressive green eyes, conveyed her understanding of and amusement at his unstated appetite.

Batten down the hatches, Mabel, there’s a rocka-butzer storm gathering on the horizon.

The sudden recollection of one of Adam’s late father’s favorite expressions in times of trouble had a settling effect on his equilibrium, easing the strain from his voice, allowing him to return her perceptive smile.

“In that case, I suppose I’d better feed you.” Taking her by the hand, Adam steered her to the restaurant.

“My hero,” Sunny murmured, batting her eyelashes—her long, dark eyelashes—at him. Then, as she moved around the bust, she drew her fingers along the chiseled jawline of Patrick Henry. “It’s a good likeness,” she said, slanting a teasing look at him. “The fiery radical would be pleased.”

Adam laughed at her whimsy, but composed himself enough to give his name to the pleasantfaced hostess standing in the restaurant entrance, checking names against the leather-bound reservation list in her hands.

“Ah, yes, good evening, Mr. Grainger.” She offered a smile and an ushering movement of her hand. “Right this way. Your table is ready.”

“Have you eaten here before?” Sunny asked, after they were seated and proffered menus, when the hostess had departed.

Adam shook his head. “No. I didn’t get in until early this afternoon. I had lunch on the plane.” He grinned. “Unlike some, I find nothing wrong with the in-flight food. In truth, I thoroughly enjoy it.”

“So do I.” She grinned back at him. “Does that make us peasants or merely plebeian?”

“Or, just maybe, it makes us too honest to affect a pseudosophistication,” he suggested.

“Yes,” she agreed, giving him the chills with the soft look she swept over him. “You always were...honest, I mean, almost to a fault.”

Not again, Adam thought, smothering a groan. Not yet another not-too-veiled reference to them having met, known each other before.

Still, he couldn’t deny the spark of interest her remark generated.

Studying her, and more than a little impressed by her clear-eyed and direct regard in return, Adam decided that perhaps it was time he probed the depths of her assumed previous knowledge of him, his personality.

“We’ve only just met,” he said. “How could you possibly know that I’ve always been honest.”

Her eyes darkened, as if with an inner amused knowing. A gently mocking smile kissed her lips, making his mouth ache with desire to do likewise.

“I’ve known almost forever.”

“Indeed?” The skeptical arch of one eyebrow underscored his tone of voice.

“Yes.” Though quiet, her tone was absolute.

“But, how?” he persisted. “How could...”

Adam broke off with the arrival of a waiter at the table. He concealed his impatience until they had given their drink and dinner orders and the man had left them.

“How?” he repeated the moment they were alone again. “How could you know anything about me?”

“Oh, Andrew...”

“Adam,” he interjected, his voice taut and impatient. “My name is Adam.”

“Of course.” She winced. “I’m sorry.” The expression in her eyes revealed the depth of her contrition. “I...I’m having some difficulty keeping the two separated.”

Adam was struck by a blast of feeling, too close to jealously to be acceptable. Dammit, he thought, he barely knew the woman. How could he be jealous?

“We are so alike, this Andrew and I?” he asked, in a harsh tone made almost cruel by his inner struggle of denial.

“Yes.” A gentle smile curved her lips. “But please try to understand, you are alike because you are one, the same being, the same soul.”

Oh, hell. A New Age basket case.

Adam wasn’t into New Age. He was too busy staying on the cutting edge of his current age.

Disappointment bruised his mind. Sunny had caught Adam’s interest from his first sight of her. She was not only lovely but fascinating, exciting, different. Too different.

“You’re having trouble dealing with this.” Her voice was soft, her tone sympathetic.

Staring at her, at the concerned expression dimming the glow in her fantastic eyes, Adam was only vaguely aware of the waiter silently placing their drinks in front of them, then moving away again.

“Have a sip of your wine. It might help a little,” she suggested.

Distracted, Adam picked up the stemmed goblet, took a generous swallow of the dark red wine, then frowned. Why had he ordered it? Other than for toasting purposes on holidays, birthday gatherings, weddings and such, he didn’t drink wine, preferring light beer, or when in need of fortification and something stronger, bourbon or scotch, neat.

He transferred his frown to Sunny. “Did I order this—what is it, anyway? Burgundy?” It was a pure guess.

“Yes.” The glow flared to life again in her eyes. “And yes, you did order it.”

“Odd.”

“Not to me,” she said, her smile nostalgic. “It was always your wine of preference...even with a fish or fowl course.”

Adam felt his facial muscles tighten and his stomach clench. “Don’t start that always business again. I’m not buying into it.”

“You will...eventually.” Once more, her smile and the glow in her eyes faded. “At least, I pray you will.”

This was getting heavy, Adam told himself. And he was getting edgy.

“Look, Sunny,” he began, determined to stay calm and reasonable. “I’m not sure...” he broke off as the waiter put in another appearance at the table, this time to deliver their soup course.

After smiling and thanking the waiter, Sunny glanced down at the creamy potato-leek soup the man had set before her, then back up at Adam.

“Could we postpone further discussion until after we’ve eaten?” she asked. “I truly am very hungry.”

It wasn’t easy, but drawing a deep breath, Adam managed to temper his impatience. Besides, he was hungry, too, and the soup did look inviting.

“Okay.” He watched her take a sample taste of her soup; his breath got stuck in his throat as her lips closed around the bowl of the spoon. “Good?” he asked, despairing of the dry catch in his voice.

“Mmm,” Sunny nodded, dipping the spoon into the creamy broth once again. “Heavenly.”

“You’re right,” he murmured, after his first sip. “Absolutely heavenly.”

Though she smiled, she made no response.

Adam concluded that when the hungry Sunny involved herself with eating, her involvement was complete. He couldn’t help but wonder if she became as deeply involved while in the process of assuaging a different, more earthy appetite.

The soup was consumed in silence. While polishing off his soup, Adam was consumed by erotic images of Sunny, feasting on the sustenance of his mouth.

“Oh, that was wonderful,” she said when the last drop had been scooped from the bowl. She grinned. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have had to order the salmon. I could have made a meal of a large bowl of the soup.”

I could make a meal of you.

The smile that tugged at Adam’s lips was more in response to his thought than Sunny’s impish grin.

“We could change your...” he began, then shook his head on sight of the waiter approaching the table, a large tray balanced on one palm and held aloft at shoulder level. “No, we couldn’t,” he went on, lowering his voice as the waiter came to a stop. “You’ll have to settle for the fish.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She shrugged. “I like fish...as you should know.”

Adam scowled at her and at the taunting remark and undertones of her voice.

Of course, with the waiter there, he could not retaliate or even question her assertion, not without sounding like a reject from a New Age publishing house.

“Mmm, it all looks and smells delicious.” Sunny gave the waiter a decidedly sunny smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, returning her smile full wattage, while sparing a mere glance at Adam. “Ma’am, sir, enjoy your dinner.” Giving a half bow from the waist, he withdrew from the table.

“Nice young man, isn’t he?” she asked, brightly.

“Charming,” he said, darkly.

Her lips twitched; her eyes teased. “I do love the sound of that gentle Virginia drawl.”

Adam grunted and slanted a pointed look at her plate. “I thought you were starving?”

“That was before the soup,” she said, pleasantly. “Now I’m merely hungry.”

“Then eat.” Adam was chagrined by the snarling sound of his voice, and even more so by the startling rush of emotions that had caused it.

That old green-eyed monster again?

First that gut-wrenching twinge because he thought Sunny’s reference to an Andrew was to an actual, living, breathing man, and now because of a pleasant, soft-spoken—incidentally good looking—young waiter?

Adam rejected the very idea; or at least he tried to reject it. Problem was, it wouldn’t stay rejected. His mind persisted in examining the phenomenon.

Could he actually be jealous of the smile, the brief attention she had bestowed upon the seemingly ubiquitous waiter? he mused uncomfortably.

Ridiculous. He barely knew the woman—and he wasn’t too sure about her mental stability. The very idea of him being jealous was ludicrous in the extreme.

So why, then, was he feeling as if he wanted to break things, starting with the Virginia drawlvoiced waiter?

“Have you lost your appetite?”

Sunny’s question intruded upon his unappealing ruminations. For the salmon in dill sauce, yes, he answered in silent frustration. But for her, dammit, no.

Noting with some surprise that she had made inroads into her meal, Adam avoided responding by posing a query of his own. “Is it good?”

“Excellent.” She smiled; his pulses raced. “But why not try it for yourself?”

He did. She was right. It was excellent. But Adam was no longer hungry. Not for food. Nevertheless, he continued to eat, growing more restless by the minute.

When at last they had finished and the charming waiter had served their coffee and removed their plates and himself, Adam determined to have answers.

“Okay, you said you’d explain after dinner.” He arched his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

Sunny gnawed on her lip and glanced around at the laughing, chatting diners crowding the room. “Not here,” she murmured. “I’d prefer somewhere more private.”

“Like one of the seating areas in the lobby?”

“Or, better yet... Perhaps, your room?”