Читать книгу Compromising Positions - Kate Hoffmann, Kate Hoffmann - Страница 9
ОглавлениеAMELIA STARED UP at the ceiling of her room at the Blackstone Inn. Somewhere deep inside the darkened inn, a grandfather clock chimed. She counted three chimes, then threw her arm over her eyes. But nothing she did helped her find the peace of sleep.
She sat up, tossed aside the down-filled pillow and swung her legs off the bed. She needed something to eat. Just a little something to get her through until breakfast. Her mind was racing with thoughts of work and Sam Blackstone; a confusing jumble that didn’t make any sense no matter how hard she tried to put it all in order.
She grabbed her sweater and pulled it on over her T-shirt and yoga pants, then searched her bag for something to put on her feet. She found a pair of socks and slipped them on. Dragging a deep breath, she snuck out into the dimly lit hall and headed for the stairs.
The stairs creaked with each step she took and Amelia winced, wondering just how far away the family slept. She assumed they had quarters somewhere in one of the newer wings. By the time she reached the kitchen, her heart was pounding and she was breathless.
“Apple pie,” she murmured. She and Sam had taken the first two pieces of the freshly baked pie. All the other guests had eaten and left the dining room by the time Amelia had finished. So the rest of the pie had to be around somewhere. Amelia searched the refrigerator first but all she found was the can of whipped cream. A search of the freezer resulted in a carton of vanilla ice cream. But there was no pie.
Amelia glanced around the kitchen and noticed an old pie safe. Tall and narrow, the ancient cabinet sat in a spot near the stone hearth. She walked over to it and ran her hand across the pierced tin panels on the door. Of course the pie would be in the pie safe.
To her surprise there was also a raspberry pie tucked in beneath the apple. She pulled them both out, set them on the island and grabbed a dinner plate and fork from the drying rack beside the sink.
The pie tasted as good as it had earlier that evening, and Amelia’s thoughts drifted back to the man who’d shared her table in the dining room.
She’d only ever had one boyfriend in her life and to say that Sam Blackstone was his exact opposite was stating the absolute truth.
Her thoughts shifted to Edward. She wasn’t really sure what to call him anymore. He’d been her boyfriend, then her fiancé and then her ex-fiancé and then her friend. He’d said he’d wait for her, but as time passed, their relationship had grown more and more distant.
Amelia took another bite of the pie and sighed softly. Edward Ardmore Reed the Third. Heir to an old and very successful Boston banking dynasty. He’d been the only man she’d ever loved. At least she’d thought she’d loved him. But he’d been her parents’ choice from a very early age. She hadn’t even dated anyone else. And when she’d broken from her parents’ control, she’d ended her engagement, as well.
In her anger and frustration, she’d thrown him in with her parents, certain that he’d try to control her life the moment her parents signed her over to him. He’d always been good to her, but Amelia wanted more.
They’d stayed in touch over the past year and Amelia knew that he hadn’t given up hope she’d come to her senses. But though there was affection between them, there had never been any heat or passion.
“Can’t sleep?”
The sound of his voice startled her and she spun around to find Sam watching her from the shadows. Her heart skipped a beat, then began pounding in earnest. “I—I didn’t see you there.” Amelia looked around, embarrassed to be caught raiding the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I’m a late-night snacker. I can’t sleep if I’m hungry.”
“It’s all right,” he said, stepping forward. “If you need anything, you just have to call.”
He was dressed only in a pair of basketball shorts that were slung low on his hips. His chest was bare, as were his feet. A tiny shiver skittered through her and her fingers twitched, eager to trace the muscles of his chest. “Would you like some?” Amelia asked.
“Sure.”
He pulled out a stool and sat at the island. “It’s been kind of a crazy day,” he murmured as he watched Amelia cut into the pie.
“Pretty crazy,” she repeated. “Not the typical day in the life of an innkeeper.”
“It’s an exciting life,” he muttered, a sarcastic edge in his voice. “Just what a guy like me always dreamed about.”
“You didn’t want to be an innkeeper?”
Sam took a bite of the pie. “Maybe at some point in my life. But not at twenty-five. To be tied down to one place for the rest of my life is kind of a daunting prospect.”
“Can’t you sell the inn?”
He shook his head. “This is a family business. It’s passed down from generation to generation, from the first son to the first son. And I got lucky. If I’d been the second son of the second son, I could have been an architect. Building great buildings instead of fixing leaky pipes.”
“You have Sarah to help you.”
“She stays out of guilt.”
“Why?”
“The tradition is that the inn is passed along in a person’s later years, almost like a job for retirement. I got it about thirty years early because my father and stepmother wanted out.”
“What about your mother?”
“They divorced when I was ten,” he said. “My mother never wanted the whole inn-keeping life. It’s a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. The demands never go away.” He sighed deeply, then rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain. Hell, I have a job and it’s not like I’m digging ditches for a living.” Sam pushed back from the counter. “I’m just going to leave you to your pie.”
“Don’t,” she said, reaching out to grab his hand. “I like the company.”
“The grumpy company?”
“You’re not grumpy.” She smiled. “Well, maybe a little bit. But that’s what the pie is for. Pie always brightens one’s spirits. Look at that cabinet over there. It’s quite a wonderful piece. A Colonial-era pie safe.”
“You’ve been examining our antiques?”
“I can’t help myself,” Amelia said. “It’s what I do. And I can tell you that I wish I had that pie safe in our collection. It’s gorgeous.”
“It was a wedding present from my seventh great-grandfather to his new wife. There’s an inscription carved in the back.”
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Do you have more? I’d love to go through the inn and see everything you have. Especially in the attic.”
“I’ll take you on a private tour,” he said.
“I’d like that,” she said. Amelia looked and realized they’d made a big dent in the pie. “I think I’d come back here just for the pie.”
“It’s an authentic Colonial recipe,” he said. “Right down to the lard. My sister believes that if you’re going to stay in an eighteenth-century inn, you need to be prepared to eat like they did then.”
“I admire that you’ve dedicated yourselves to authenticity. It’s honest and pure.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Amelia finally broke her gaze away from his and stood, placing her hands flat on the counter. “I should go to bed.”
“When are you going back to Boston?” he asked.
“When my bed is packed in the trailer,” she teased. “Do you want to get rid of me? That’s how you can do it. Pack it up and I’ll be out of here.”
“No, I don’t want to get rid of you,” he said with a grin. “I’m starting to like having you around. You make things interesting.” Sam reached out and took her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you up to your room.”
They strolled through the dining room and the keeping room, the old plank floors creaking beneath their feet. When they reached the second floor, she had to walk ahead of him through the narrow hallway. They stood in front of her door for a long moment and Amelia noticed how dark it was in the hallway—how private, intimate.
He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head. “It’s been an interesting day,” he murmured, his gaze scanning her features in the dim light.
“Yes, it has,” Amelia said.
“Kind of a change of pace for me.”
“Really?”
Sam nodded. “You’re the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” His gaze moved to her lips. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered, leaning close. His lips brushed against hers. It was so sweet, so simple, that she wanted it to go on forever. But Sam seemed determined to leave her needing more. He stepped back and smiled. “Good night, Amelia. Sleep tight.”
“Sam?” she called out.
He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Do you kiss all your guests good-night?”
He chuckled softly. “No. You’re the first.”
He continued down the hall. Amelia’s knees started to buckle and she leaned against the door for balance. This was what Sam Blackstone did to her. He kept her completely off balance, until she really wasn’t sure what was up and what was down. And she was starting to enjoy the feeling.
* * *
JERRY HAD CALLED early that morning with the news that he’d spoken to Abigail Farnsworth and she’d made a decision. He’d asked Sam to meet him at the warehouse. When Sam had asked about Amelia, Jerry had told him that he’d contact her, as well, but Sam decided to take the initiative.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, a mug of hot coffee in his hand, and walked down the hall to her room. He paused, his mind rewinding to the kiss they’d shared in the predawn hours.
Sam had never been an impulsive guy, especially when it came to women. But Amelia was unlike any other woman he’d met. From the moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d felt as though a clock had begun ticking, measuring out the minutes and hours they had together.
He had no time to contemplate every move he made. When he’d felt the urge to kiss her, he’d had to act. To his surprise, she’d seemed pleased that he’d kissed her. But he wondered if that feeling would survive the light of day. Well, he was sure he could find a pleasurable way to convince her.
Sam rapped on the door and waited. A few seconds later it swung open and Amelia greeted him with a soft, “Hi.” She brushed the dark strands of her hair out of her eyes and smiled.
“Morning,” Sam said, holding out the coffee. “I wasn’t sure how you took it. Black. I hope that’s all right.”
“Perfect,” she said.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?”
“What time is it?” Amelia asked.
“A little past eight.” Sam paused. “I just got a call from Jerry. He wanted me to meet him at the warehouse. He has news from Abigail.”
“How did he know I was here?”
“He didn’t,” Sam said. “And he didn’t specifically ask that you be there. But I think you should, since whatever he has to say will affect you as well as me. So, I’m going to leave in about ten minutes. If you want to hear what he has to say, meet me down in the lobby.”
“I do want to know,” Amelia replied. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “No problem.” Sam stepped back into the hall and, when the door clicked shut, cursed himself softly.
He should have stepped into the room, wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her. It was the last chance he’d probably have. Once Amelia found out that the bed was his, she’d immediately head home to Boston.
Sam reached out to knock on the door again but pulled his hand away. He’d make sure there’d be a quiet moment for them sometime before she drove off. Sam turned and walked downstairs. Sarah was just going through the reservations as he passed.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“We’ve got that wedding coming in this weekend and I wanted to get a jump on the preparations. I hope you’re going to be around today. Our other guests are leaving in the next few hours. I’m going to need your help.”
“Sure. I just have to run over and see Jerry about the bed. Then I’m free. When Amelia comes through, tell her to meet me outside in the truck.”
“Yes,” Sarah murmured. “I will tell the piece of work that you’re awaiting her in the truck.”
He gave her a dismissive glare and she laughed. Was he that obvious? If Sarah had already picked up on the fact that there was something going on, then the whole town would probably have it figured out within a day. Even more reason to step up his plan to get to know Amelia more intimately.
Sam was still cleaning out the front seat of his truck when Amelia hurried down the porch steps. Yesterday she’d been chic and aloof. Today, dressed in jeans and a fleece pullover, she looked relaxed...and beautiful.
Sam ran around to her side of the truck, opened the door and then helped her in. As he closed the door, Sam realized that he’d missed another chance to kiss her—and he had very few of those chances left.
Cursing softly, he got into the truck and turned to her. Slipping his fingers around her nape, he gently pulled her toward him. Amelia didn’t offer any resistance, and by the time their lips met, hers were slightly parted.
She tasted like sweet toothpaste, cinnamon and coffee. His fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her more deeply into the kiss. His mind spun and for several long moments he couldn’t make himself think rationally. He wanted to stop; he knew he had to. But the kiss continued to spin out of control as they groped for closer contact.
He couldn’t explain the attraction. It was part physical, part intellectual. Yes, she was out of his league, but that didn’t seem to stop him. Maybe if he could understand what drew him to her, he could find an excuse to stop himself.
Finally Amelia pulled away. She stared out the front windshield, her breath coming in tiny gasps.
“Good morning,” Sam murmured.
A tiny smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. “Good morning,” she said. She opened the door and jumped to the ground. “I think I’ll drive myself.”
“You can ride with me,” he shouted as she headed toward her Lexus.
“No, I’ll take my truck. I’ll need the trailer for the bed.”
He leaped out of the truck. “You still believe you’re going to get the bed?”
“I’m hopeful,” she called.
“I think you’re going to be disappointed.”
Sam watched her start her truck, then hopped back into his own and turned the key in the ignition. He drove silently into town and within a few minutes pulled up in front of an old storefront on Center Street, on the north end of the business district.
Gold letters painted on the huge glass window identified the place as Benny Barnes Antiques and Auction Gallery. Benny, one of the town’s more colorful characters, had added his own personal tagline to the window: I Buy Old Stuff.
Benny had agreed to take the bed, along with the other disputed pieces, and hold them until ownership had been determined. Ever the marketing genius, he’d taken the opportunity to get some publicity out of it for himself, setting the Washington bed up in his front window with a lovely hand-painted sign and antique bed linens.
As Sam parked beside her, Amelia hopped out of the truck, not waiting for him to get her door. She stood in front of the wide plate-glass window and Sam joined her.
“Nice to know I can keep an eye on it,” Sam muttered.
A worried expression crossed her face and she gnawed on her lower lip. “Right.”
He rested his palm on the small of her back as he held the front door open for her and they stepped inside the dimly lit interior. Jerry was waiting for them, stretched out in a tattered wing chair, a mug of coffee in his hands.
“Morning,” he said, nodding to the two of them.
“Morning, Jerry,” Sam said. “You remember Amelia Sheffield. She stayed at the inn last night, so I let her know about the meeting.”
Jerry frowned, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Will you excuse us, miss?” he said, getting up and grabbing Sam by the arm. He dragged him to a quiet corner of Benny’s office. “You’re giving aid and refuge to the enemy now?”
“I’m confident we’ll prevail,” he said. “And she’s a paying customer.”
“Yeah? Well, you’d best watch yourself. A woman that beautiful is nothing but trouble.”
They walked back out to Amelia and found her inside the large display window, examining the details on the bed.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad,” Jerry began. “Good news is there’s no one else making a claim on this piece. Bad news is Miss Abigail has decided to leave the decision up to you two.”
“How’s that going to work?” Sam asked.
“Hell if I know. But you’re going to have to fight this one out yourselves. When you’ve got it sorted, give me a call and I’ll write up the paperwork. Until then, Benny says he’ll keep the bed here.”
After he walked out, they stood next to each other, silently, both of them weighing their options. Amelia was the first to speak. She removed her phone from her purse. “Where can I buy some bed linens? Sheets and a pillow?”
“Why would you need that?”
“I’m going to stay here, live here in this bed, until you give up your claim. Unless you want to give up right now, which would save us both a lot of time and trouble?”
“I’m not giving up. It’s my bed. It’s a family heirloom.”
“And you thought by seducing me, I might forget that point? Well, I haven’t. You can kiss me all you want, Sam Blackstone, and it’s not going to shake my determination.” She sat on the edge of the bed.
“You want to stay here in this dusty old window?”
“Yes. I hope the store has a bathroom. Why don’t you go check on that for me?”
“I’m not going to stay here,” Sam said.
“Then you’re giving up already?”
“No. But this isn’t the way to decide this. We could flip a coin. We could arm wrestle or cut cards. We don’t have to live here.”
“Well, I am going to live here. I’m going to sleep in my bed until it’s all mine.”
He cursed beneath his breath. This was crazy. How was it that she was dictating the terms? Hell, they could take the bed back to the inn and live in relative comfort and seclusion.
“Hello! Anyone here?” A moment later Minerva Threadwell came around the corner. She wore a bright purple warm-up suit and had her gray hair pulled into a tidy bun at the top of her head. Rabbit-fur earmuffs covered her ears and she looked as if she’d just happened in on her morning walk. “Oh, here you are. I just got a tip that there was new development on the bed. I can get it into our Thursday edition.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her notepad and pen. “Care to comment?”
Sam groaned. “Is this really what you consider newsworthy, Minerva?”
“It’s a small town,” she said in a clipped tone. “I take what I can get. So, whose bed is it, yours or hers?”
Amelia pulled a business card out of her pocket. “Amelia Sheffield of the Mapother Museum. And it seems Miss Farnsworth left the decision up to us. So, I’ll just be staying here, sleeping in this bed, until Mr. Blackstone agrees to let me take it to Boston for my exhibit.”
“Well, this is an interesting development,” Minerva said. “Kind of a John Lennon-Yoko Ono thing.”
“What?”
“Oh, right,” Amelia said. “A sleep-in.”
“So you two are going to sleep in the bed together?”
“I’m not sleeping here,” Sam protested.
“Then what’s to prevent her from taking off with your bed in the middle of the night?” Minerva asked, an inquisitive arch to her eyebrow.
Sam cursed beneath his breath. “I guess I’ll be sleeping here with her.”
Minerva’s smile widened. “Now, that will make the story even more interesting. You’ll be sharing the bed?”
“No,” Sam and Amelia said at the same time.
Then Sam realized this could be the opportunity he’d been hoping for. “I mean yes,” Sam said. “It’s only fair. It is my bed.”
“It’s my bed and you won’t be sleeping in it,” Amelia said.
“Which is it?” the reporter asked. “Are you going to sleep together or not?”
“Yes,” Amelia said.
The reporter turned to look at Sam. “And...you’re all right with that?”
“Sure,” Sam said. He sent Amelia a lazy smile. “I don’t plan to do a lot of sleeping.”
He heard a tiny gasp catch in Amelia’s throat and took satisfaction in the realization that he’d managed to rattle her. Miss Cool and Collected had a weak spot. Was she imagining what might happen once the lights went out?
“What’s so important about this bed?” Minerva asked.
“George Washington slept in this bed,” Amelia said.
“I expect he slept in many beds over the course of his life,” Minerva commented.
“It’s not very important,” Sam countered. “But it’s always had a home with the Blackstone family. Ms. Sheffield doesn’t seem to understand the value of family traditions.”
“Do you have proof that George Washington slept in the bed?”
Amelia nodded. “Of course. Mr. Blackstone’s grandfather included paperwork on the provenance with copies of Washington’s signature from the inn’s guest book. I’ve done other research, as well.”
“Would you care to elaborate?” Minerva said. “I’d also be interested to know the value of the bed.”
“On second thought, I could have been wrong,” Sam murmured. “Maybe that wasn’t the bed in the corner room. I may have confused things.”
Minerva looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’d like to send Wilbur over to take a photo. How long do you think it will be before the two of you are in bed together?”
“I’ll leave that up to Ms. Sheffield,” he said.
“No comment,” she murmured, her cheeks flushed with color.
“I have enough for now, anyway,” Minerva said. “I know how to contact both of you. If I need anything else, I’ll drop by.” She sighed. “Wilbur’s going to want to get this on the noon news.” Minerva tucked her notepad into her pocket and hurried out the front door.
They stood in silence for a long moment before Sam clapped his hands. “All right,” he said. “We’re on. I say we meet back here at noon with everything we need and then we’ll get started.”
“All right,” Amelia said, tipping her chin up. “The battle for the bed starts at noon. May the best...person win.” She held out her hand and he shook it.
She was ready to leave it at that, but he wasn’t. Instead he slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her against his body. His lips covered hers in a deep, damp kiss, their tongues creating a delicious connection he didn’t want to break. When she pulled away, he looked down into her wide eyes.
“May the best man win,” he whispered.
Her expression hardened and she wrapped her hand around his nape and pulled him into another kiss. Her mouth was soft and searching, her tongue tracing the width of his mouth, teasing him in a way that was more provocative than he expected.
The blood in his body warmed and desire flooded his senses. His hands skimmed along her torso and settled on her hips, holding her against him. The friction between them caused an instant reaction in him.
But Amelia wasn’t about to let him take control. She stepped away and gave him a coy smile, her lips still damp and glistening. “Don’t you mean the best woman?”
* * *
AMELIA WATCHED THROUGH the plate-glass window as Sam drove away. When he was finally out of sight, she turned to the bed. By her estimate, it would take about a half hour to disassemble it and get it loaded into the trailer. If he came back at noon, that would give her a half-hour head start to Boston; a half hour before he even realized she was gone.
She didn’t regret deceiving him. This was war and she had to use whatever advantage she was given. He’d have done the same thing given the opportunity. She hurried over to the bed and examined it. Getting the canopy off on her own would be difficult, but once that was done, the rest of the bed would come apart quickly.
She crawled up on the mattress and began to untie the stays on the fabric covering. Struggling with a knot, she had a brief flash of conscience, then reminded herself that all was fair in love and war.
Her mind skipped to the kiss they’d shared earlier. His powerful and demanding; hers defiant and daring. Somehow she’d allowed desire to become part of their battle and it wasn’t helping her gain the upper hand. Every time he touched her, she felt weak, vulnerable, and yet so amazingly alive that she wanted to cry out. Her body pulsed with a need so powerful it threatened to sweep her away. She’d never experienced anything remotely similar when Edward had kissed her, and he was supposed to be the love of her life.
Her parents had never seemed to share any passion between them and Amelia had always assumed that those emotions were saved for the privacy of their bedroom. But now she realized that it was impossible to hide such intense reactions. She felt her need with every breath she took. She wanted Sam to kiss her, to touch her, to throw her down on the bed and have his way with her.
She cursed softly as she worked at the knot. Amelia Gardner Sheffield was not the kind of woman who wielded her sexuality to get what she wanted. Until she’d met Sam, she hadn’t been aware that she had that power at all.
But was it a power she wanted to wield? She could soften him up; make him more amenable to her. And once he’d fallen for her, he’d want to give her the bed. But she’d been manipulated her whole life. She didn’t want to do that to someone else.
“You need any help with that?”
The voice startled her and she spun around quickly, losing her balance. A man stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. He chuckled, then held out his hand. “Benny Barnes. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Oh,” Amelia cried, stumbling off the bed. “This is your place. No, we haven’t met. Amelia Sheffield. Mapother Museum of Decorative Arts. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“So you’re the one fighting with Sammy over this bed,” Benny said. “No one mentioned you were such a pretty little thing.” He grinned widely. “Can I give you a hand?”
“You could help me take this bed apart and move it into my trailer,” she said.
Benny shook his head. “Nah, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Unless Sam gives me the word, the bed stays here.”
“I see,” Amelia said. “You’re a friend of his?”
“This is a small town, miss. Everyone is friends with everyone else. Minerva filled me in on the whole situation. I have to say, you’ve got your work cut out for you. That Sam is used to getting what he wants. We went to high school together. He was a few years younger than me but, yeah, we were good buddies. Wasn’t as popular as me or as smart, but we hung out.”
Benny puffed out his chest and continued to talk about his high school exploits, nodding and smiling as if she were impressed. Maybe he thought she was. After all, she had invited herself to spend the night in his place of business.
“I’d like to thank you for allowing this to play out in your front window.”
“No problem. It’ll bring a lot of attention to my business. As a thank-you, why don’t you let me take you out to lunch? Or how about dinner? I can show you around town, introduce you to the right people.”
“There is one thing you can do for me,” Amelia said with a warm smile. “I could use a sheet or something to hang over the front window. For privacy.”
“Well, you can’t do that,” Benny said. “What would be the point? I gotta promote the hell out of this thing.”
“Well, I can’t just change in front an open window... Is there a bathroom?”
“There’s one in the back, but it’s a little rough. I live upstairs. You’re welcome to use mine. I’ll just leave the door unlocked and you can come up whenever you need anything.”
Amelia sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. And I don’t want to keep you from work. I know you’re a very busy man around town.”
“No,” he said. “Not so busy.”
She stood. “Well, then, maybe you can keep an eye on the bed while I go out and pick up a few things? I would really appreciate the help. And I don’t trust Sam Blackstone.”
Benny looked vaguely disappointed but he shrugged. “Sure. I’ll be around for the next hour or two.”
“You won’t let Sam take the bed?”
“Nope,” Benny said. “I’m your man. You can count on me...Amelia.”
She grabbed her purse and headed for the front door, grateful to make her escape. Given time, maybe Benny could be convinced to transfer his loyalties to a new friend. There was nothing to stop her pleading her case to him. That wouldn’t be dishonest, would it?
She headed to the inn to gather up her things. Then she’d have to stop by the local discount store for new bedding and pillows and something to keep her fed. Amelia was willing to give the strategy a few days, and if Sam didn’t relent, she’d come up with a new plan.
When she stepped inside the Blackstone, she found Sarah sitting at the front desk.
“Hello,” Sarah said.
“Is he here?”
“Sam? He raced in and out about ten minutes ago. What’s going on?”
“The second battle of the bed,” Amelia said.
“Don’t expect him to surrender. If you take on Sam Blackstone, prepare yourself for a long siege. He can be very stubborn.”
“It’s just a bed,” Amelia said.
“I know,” Sarah replied. “It’s not that valuable and he’s never seemed attached to it in the past. I mean, it was a gimmick to bring guests to the inn. But he seems to be obsessed with it now.” Sarah paused. “Or maybe it’s you he’s obsessed with and not the bed.” She cupped her chin in her hand and smiled at Amelia. “This really will be fun to watch.”
Amelia sighed softly. “So I suppose I don’t need to ask whose side you’re on?”
“Oh, I’m rooting for you,” Sarah said. She came out from behind the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could wrap up one of those pies of yours. And I could use a couple of pillows and some sheets for the bed. And some comfortable clothes to wear. I didn’t intend to spend more than a night here.”
“I’ll put together a little survival kit,” Sarah said. “Why don’t you go pack your things and I’ll have them ready when you come down?”
Amelia trudged up the stairs and headed to her room at the end of the hall. When she’d left Boston, she’d expected to be less than a day. She’d expected to show her letter from Abigail Farnsworth, pick up the bed and haul it back to the city. But now that simple task had turned monumentally complex and all because of Sam Blackstone.
She unlocked her room and stepped inside. Crossing to the bed, she flopped facedown across the handmade quilt.
Maybe she ought to just give up and go home. The thought of spending a few more days with Sam was beginning to frighten her. He already had such a powerful effect on her emotions—and on her body.
Never in her life had a man held that kind of power over her. Though she tried to stop thinking about him, tried to keep her body from reacting to his touch, it was no use. And when they weren’t together, Amelia had to stop herself from getting caught up in some silly fantasy. And the fantasies were only becoming more vivid as time progressed.
At first she’d imagined him kissing and touching her, and that wild, exhilarating feeling when he pulled her into his arms. But now she’d moved on to naked bodies and soft beds, whispered urges and orgasms that seemed to last forever.
Amelia rolled onto her back and pulled the pillow over her head. Her professional reputation was on the line here. She’d come to Millhaven for one thing: to get the Washington bed that she’d been promised. And suddenly that goal had become twisted up in this game with an impossibly handsome and sexy man.
Every instinct she possessed told her to give up and go home to Boston. She could make the exhibit work without the bed. Grabbing the pillow, she tossed it across the room. It hit a small tea table that sat beneath the window and something clattered to the floor.
Amelia crawled off the bed and retrieved the silver tankard that had held a small bunch of flowers and some water. The tankard looked old; clearly a rip-off of a Revere design and burnished by a believable patina. She flipped it over, searching for the maker’s mark. Her gaze came to rest on a familiar set of letters: P REVERE.
Revere silver had been reproduced many times over the years and was often marked with the original hallmark. It was impossible to tell if the tankard was a true Revere.
The weight felt right for silver and the patina looked authentic. What were the chances that the Blackstone family owned some original Revere silver?
“Pretty good,” Amelia murmured. She took a couple quick photos of the tankard and the hallmark with her phone and sent them to Lincoln Farraday, the museum’s expert in silver and porcelain. She placed the tankard back on the table and headed for the door.
When she walked downstairs, Sarah was waiting for her, a large wicker basket dangling from her arm and two down pillows resting on a nearby chair. “I put some brownies and cookies in there, too,” she said. “And a couple of menus from the restaurants in town that deliver. And a box of condoms.” She smiled apologetically. “It pays to be prepared.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Amelia said.
“Has he kissed you yet?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know my brother. There haven’t been many women in his life, but when he finds someone he likes, nothing gets in his way.”
“And you don’t know me,” Amelia said. “I’m pretty determined myself.”
“Did you see the tankard full of flowers in your room? He picked those flowers for you,” Sarah said.
“And where did he get the tankard?”
“We have whole cabinets full of old silver. I stopped trying to keep it polished years ago. We use glass vases instead.”
Amelia walked to the front door and Sarah held it open for her, the pillows clutched in her arms. “If I survive the night, I’d like to see the silver collection.”
Sarah shrugged and waved Amelia out the door.
As she hurried to her truck, a shiver skittered through her as she thought about sleeping in the same bed with Sam.
Then she remembered her words to Sarah. She didn’t have to sleep with him. She didn’t even have to let him into the building. This was a battle of wills and he had no idea how stubborn she could be.
