Читать книгу Seduced - Metsy Hingle - Страница 7

“This isn’t working, Amanda.” Michael paced the length of the small school office. “It’s been almost two months and Summer’s still having the same problems. I’m pulling her out of the therapy program.”

Amanda’s heart lurched as she stared at Michael’s stiff back. Despite all her silent lectures and resolutions not to become involved, both the man and the child had become important to her. “Michael, you can’t do that. Not now. Not when she’s starting to make progress.”

He spun around, pinning her with steely blue eyes. “Progress? You call going into another trance in the middle of class ‘progress’? We’re right back where we started.”

“She’s had a minor setback. That’s all. And I’ve already explained to you and Sister Mary Grace what happened.”

“I know,” he said, his voice weary. “But Summer can’t keep tuning the world out every time she gets upset about something.”

“She won’t,” Amanda assured him. “Try to understand. A confrontation with a teacher can be traumatic for any seven-year-old, but given one with Summer’s background... Meditating was her way of dealing with the situation.”

At his silence, Amanda pressed on. “Give it a little more time. Let me work with her—at least until the end of the school term. Two more months, that’s all I’m asking for. That isn’t very long.”

“It is to me.”

His eyes caught hers and held. Amanda saw clearly how much frustration their relationship and the restraints she’d placed on it had caused him. Had caused them both, she admitted.

In two short months Michael Grayson had managed to confuse her, tempt her, and make her question her resolve not to become involved with him. The fact that she’d agreed to meet him this evening after the rest of the staff had gone instead of waiting until the next day was only proof of just how involved she had become.

Knowing that she had broken her own rule and allowed their innocent conferences to become something more only added to her dismay.

“No, Amanda. I don’t see any point in putting Summer...or us through any more of these sessions.” He shoved his thick black hair away from his eyes. It fell stubbornly across his brow once again. “It’s just not worth it.”

The words were hard-edged—like the man himself, Amanda thought, studying the strong lines of his face, the firm set of his jaw.

She tried again. “What about Summer? Have you thought about how this is going to affect her?”

“Of course I have,” he said, his voice gruff. “She’s always been my first concern.”

It was true, Amanda acknowledged silently. His devotion to his niece had been one of the things that had attracted her to him.

“Believe me, if the therapy was working, I’d stick with it regardless of how I felt about you. But it isn’t. And seeing you, being with you week after week, trying to keep things between us on a professional level has been hell. I’m used to going after what I want, Amanda.” His gaze slid from her eyes to her lips. “And I want you.”

“Michael, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you that even when I’m not with you, I think about you? The way you look. The way you smell.”

Amanda closed her eyes a moment and tried to slow the thudding of her heart.

“It’s true. And I’m tired of you making excuses to keep me at arm’s length.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m your niece’s doctor.”

Michael placed his hands flat on her desk and leaned forward, crowding her, filling her entire line of vision. “You’re also a woman. There’s no reason for us not to see each other if we want to.”

“Michael, please. I’ve already explained. It would be unethical for us to...to become involved.”

“You think we’re not already involved?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “Are you going to deny that there’s something between us? That you haven’t felt this...this chemistry growing between us, pulling us together?”

Unable to deny his accusations, Amanda remained silent. It was true. She was attracted to him, had been from the moment she’d glimpsed the kind, caring man hidden behind the rough-edged persona he presented to the world. It was the gentle Michael who had somehow managed to sneak beneath her defenses.

“I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. Whether you admit it or not, we’re involved. And as for those ethics you’re so worried about, it’s not a problem anymore. Because as of right now, you’re no longer Summer’s doctor.”

Amanda swallowed. Perhaps it was best this way. If she would no longer be working with Summer, she would no longer be forced to see Michael. And if she didn’t see him, talk to him, maybe these...these feelings he had awakened in her would wane.

Striving for some emotional distance, she tried to make her voice cool. “Very well, then. But if you change your mind and decide you want Summer to see another psychologist, there are several I can recommend.” She reached for her Rolodex file.

Michael caught her wrist. “Dammit, Amanda. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? I’m not interested in another psychologist.”

Amanda stared into his stormy eyes and tried to ignore the effect of his nearness.

“What happened with Summer today is only part of the reason I’m calling the therapy quits. The other reason is us. I want there to be an ‘us.’

“I’m through playing games. Either we see each other as two consenting adults, or we don’t see each other at all.” Releasing her wrist, he cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “What’s it going to be? Yes or no?”

The word no stuck in her throat, lingered on the tip of her tongue.

She couldn’t say it.

She did want to see Michael, to be with him. She’d been drawn to him from the start, had been surprised by the strength of that initial attraction. Even now, she couldn’t explain it. Since her disastrous marriage to Adam, few men had been able to make her pulse race.

Michael Grayson had.

And somewhere along the way those innocent coffees they had shared after her sessions with Summer had turned into something more...something that both frightened and excited her at the same time. Somewhere along the way, she had grown to care for him.

She looked at his handsome face and silently chastised herself. How had she ever believed she could work with him, be with him, and keep her emotional distance? Hadn’t she already proved she was a sucker for his type—a man who came as part of a package deal?

“Well, Amanda?” Michael’s eyes searched hers.

She couldn’t risk another mistake. The last one had cost her far too much. “I’m sorry, Michael. I can’t.”

An odd expression—something that resembled panic—crossed his face; but it disappeared so quickly, Amanda wondered if she’d imagined it.

His jaw hardened. Slowly he pulled back. Walking over to the chair, he picked up his sport coat, hooked it on his finger and slung it across one shoulder.

“Funny, I never pegged you for a coward. Despite all that blue blood and those oh-so-perfect manners, I thought you were a pretty gutsy lady. Guess you’re not quite the woman I thought you were. My mistake.” He started toward the door.

Suddenly she felt confused, unsure of herself. A sinking sensation washed over her at the prospect of him walking out of her life. “Michael, wait!”

He paused at the door and looked back at her.

“I—” She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

His expression wary, Michael retraced his steps across the room. He tossed his jacket on the chair and folded his arms across his chest. And waited.

Nervous, Amanda smoothed the skirt of her suit. Squaring her shoulders, she used all the poise she’d acquired as a diplomat’s daughter to meet his gaze. “You’re right,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “I’ve been using professional ethics as an excuse when my reasons are personal.”

His expression softened. “Whatever it is, we can work it out. Just talk to me. Tell me what it is you’re afraid of.”

He made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t. There were too many risks. Amanda shook her head. “There’s really no point.” Releasing a sigh, she continued. “Try to understand. I never meant for anything to happen between us. I don’t want to become any more involved with you than I already am. I know from past experience that it...that we won’t work.”

Myriad emotions crossed Michael’s face. “You know, you’re not the only one with personal demons, Amanda. Maybe I’m letting some of my own demons cause me to overreact just as you have.”

He sat down on the edge of her desk and toyed with the sleek silver pen that lay beside her appointment book. “Maybe you’re right, maybe pulling Summer out of therapy now isn’t the right thing to do.” His gaze tangled with hers.

“Then you’ll let her stay in the program?”

“I’m willing to discuss the possibility.” He set down the pen. “But later. Right now, I have to get home. I left Summer with a sitter. I didn’t want her sitting in the hall while you and I discussed her.”

Amanda wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. While her head told her to get him out of her life, her heart told her another story. Hooking a length of her hair behind one ear, she opened her appointment book. “When did you want to meet?”

“Friday.”

She flipped the page and frowned. “It’ll take some rescheduling, but I could see you at—”

“Seven o’clock. Over dinner.”

Amanda looked up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I thought you wanted a chance to convince me to let Summer stay in the program?”

“I do.”

“Then convince me on Friday.” He shot her a slow, sexy smile that Amanda knew was meant to ease the tension, but didn’t. “Come on. It’s only dinner.”

He was right. It was only dinner, she told herself. How much harm could there be in having dinner? “All right. Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Michael, I don’t think—”

“Try not to think so much,” he said, leaning forward. “Sometimes it’s better to just let yourself feel.”

Gently he brushed his lips against hers. The contact was light, tender, a nonthreatening kiss. Yet the feel of his mouth, warm and firm against her own, sparked a fire inside her that seeped to her core.

Stifling the urge to pull her into his arms, Michael lifted his head. He looked into her brown eyes, all soft and dreamy, and checked the need to taste her lips again.

Slowly her dazed expression began to fade. “About Friday,” she whispered.

He caught the note of doubt in her voice and refused to give her a chance to change her mind. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something casual.” Easing off the desk, he retrieved his jacket and slipped out the door.

Standing outside the office, Michael drew a steadying breath. For a moment he’d been sure he’d blown it. He hadn’t meant to issue her an ultimatum; and he certainly hadn’t meant to kiss her. But the sight of that pretty pink mouth telling him no again, shooting holes in all his plans, had been too much.

As he headed for the exit, his thoughts were filled with Amanda. A slow burning began in the lower part of his body as he recalled the warmth of her lips, the sweet hesitation of her response.

He stepped out into the waning sunlight and started for the parking lot. He’d enjoyed that kiss—a lot more than he had bargained for. And for a few crazy moments he’d been tempted to shelve his plans.

He couldn’t. Too much was at stake.

Frowning, Michael slipped inside the black sedan and removed the letter from his coat pocket. As he scanned the legal jargon once more, he thought back to that day six weeks ago when he’d decided to take his attorney’s advice.

Find yourself a wife, Dave had said. Summer needs a mother. You always said you were going to get married someday. Why not do it now?

It had made perfect, logical sense. By taking a wife, he could give Summer the one thing she wanted most and the one thing Martha Winthrop with all her money and influence couldn’t buy—a family. And what court would remove a child from a loving, two-parent home and opt for one with only a rich, elderly widow?

None, he’d told himself.

All he had to do was find a wife. The plan was simple. At least, he had thought so, until Summer had quickly dismissed each potential candidate he’d brought before her.

The only exception had been Amanda. She had been the only woman Summer seemed to truly like.

Shoving the letter back into his coat pocket, Michael started the engine and backed out of the parking lot. Amanda was perfect. Not only was she beautiful, smart and interesting to be with, but she genuinely cared for his niece.

And she was attracted to him.

The feeling was mutual, he admitted. Moving the car into the line of traffic, he laughed out loud, the sound echoing inside the empty car. Who was he kidding? He’d been attracted to Amanda from the beginning. Over the past two months those feelings had only grown stronger...and they’d had nothing at all to do with Summer.

He wanted Amanda, period.

Michael’s lips curved into a self-mocking smile. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want her? With her pale blond hair and creamy skin, that long, sleek body, she looked more like a princess than a psychologist.

Granted, he was no prince. But he’d come a long way from the sixteen-year-old punk who’d lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Twenty years and a successful business could change a lot of things.

But it can’t change who you are or who you have been, a small voice inside him whispered. Switching to the left lane, Michael frowned. He and his sister had both learned that no amount of money or success could make up for lack of the proper bloodlines. If he’d ever doubted it, the Winthrops had driven that point home when Sara had gotten pregnant.

Michael’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as all the bitter memories came back. He would protect Summer from them no matter what the cost—even if it meant using Amanda.

Guilt pricked at his conscience as he remembered the sad look in Amanda’s velvety brown eyes.

He shoved it aside. He had no choice. He had to make Amanda fall in love with him and convince her to marry him.

And he had to do it soon because time was running out.

* * *

Amanda glanced around the cozy little restaurant, noting the candlelight, the soft music. The place Michael had chosen was charming, intimate, and threatened to sweep her resistance away. She would have preferred bright lights and noisy chatter. Absently, she traced the red-and-white squares of the tablecloth with her fingertip while Michael ordered a bottle of wine.

“I hope you like Italian food,” he said.

She looked up and Michael flashed her a sexy grin that made her mouth dry. Tearing her gaze from his lips, she took a sip of water. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Good. I thought about taking you to one of the more popular places in the Quarter, but I figured you’d probably been to most of them already and I wanted to take you someplace different.”

Chiding herself for being so susceptible to him, Amanda was grateful when the waiter arrived with the wine. Anxious to put things back on a business footing, she said, “I hope you’ve given some more consideration to allowing Summer to continue with the counseling program.”

“I have. Summer thinks quite a lot of you.” He took a slow sip of his wine. “So do I,” he said softly.

Heart pounding, Amanda reached for her wineglass.

As though sensing her uneasiness, Michael leaned back in his seat. He gave her a considering look. “You know, I’ve been curious. What made you decide to become a psychologist?”

Relieved by the change in subject, Amanda released her pent-up breath and tried to relax. “I guess you’ve probably heard that my father’s an ambassador?”

Michael nodded.

“Well, as an ambassador’s daughter, I got to attend a lot of receptions, ribbon cuttings, that sort of thing. Pretty boring stuff for a child.” Amanda smiled weakly, remembering how lonely she had been. “And because of my father’s position, it was important that I not do or say the wrong thing.”

“Did you? Ever say or do something you shouldn’t have?” Michael asked.

“Not unless you count the time I asked one of the Arab emirs why he needed three wives. Of course, I was only seven at the time,” Amanda said, grinning.

Michael laughed, the sound rich and full of life. Then slowly the smile slipped from his lips. His deep blue eyes moved over her face like a caress. “I bet you were a beauty even then.”

“Hardly. I had skinny legs and two missing front teeth,” she quipped, unnerved by the sudden tension. “Anyway, I became good at studying people. When it was time for me to go to college, I decided to major in psychology. Gracie—Sister Mary Grace,” she amended, “was one of my teachers. Since I liked working with kids, she encouraged me to specialize in child psychology.”

Michael reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I, for one, am glad you followed her advice.”

Warmed by his approval, Amanda studied him under the soft light. His hair, a dark, rich ebony, fell at an angle across his forehead and brushed the back collar of his shirt. Struck by the urge to smooth it with her fingertips, she shifted her gaze to his face.

At the look in his eyes, her pulse quickened. It had been a long time since any man had looked at her with such desire. And even longer, she admitted, since she had felt any response.

Shaken, Amanda pulled her hand free as the waiter served their salads.

“Since you like kids so much, I’m surprised you don’t have any of your own.”

Amanda’s chest tightened. She had wanted children, had been thrilled to gain a stepdaughter when she’d married Adam. She had even hoped to fill their home with more children. But that had been before she’d discovered Adam’s secret, before she’d suffered the humiliation of his deception. “Things don’t always work out the way we plan,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No, they don’t.” An odd expression crossed his face, then quickly disappeared. “Do you see much of your ex-husband’s daughter since the divorce?”

“Kimberly and I—” Amanda paused, her fork in midair. “How did you know I had a stepdaughter?”

“Sister Mary Grace mentioned it.”

Surprised, Amanda set down her fork. She narrowed her eyes. “Why on earth would she do that?”

Michael shrugged. “I was asking her about you and I guess it sort of came up in the conversation.”

“I see,” Amanda said, growing irritated. Dear friend or not, she wished she could get her hands around Gracie’s neck.

“Don’t be upset with Sister. I was the one asking the questions.”

“Did it ever occur to you to ask me?”

“I did,” he said, a slight edge in his voice. “But if you’ll recall, you weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

“So you decided to ask Sister Mary Grace?”

“Yes,” he replied evenly. “I told you, I believe in going after what I want.”

And he wanted her, Amanda finished silently. “What else did the dear Sister tell you?” she asked, too annoyed by the thought of him learning the details of her personal life to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“That you’ve been divorced about eighteen months, are disgusted with men in general, and that if my interest in you is genuine, I should be prepared for a tough battle.” Michael flashed her a disarming grin. “She also said it was going to take a lot more than a handsome face and sexy smile to break through that Boston reserve of yours.”

Amanda wanted to crawl under the table. “I can’t believe she said that. She’s a nun for heaven’s sake.”

“Yeah. Surprised me, too. I think she was trying to scare me off.” Michael chuckled and shot her a considering look. “But as you can see, I don’t frighten easily.”

“Obviously,” Amanda said, feeling exposed and vulnerable, and hating it.

“All I wanted was to get to know you better,” he said gently. “I never meant to upset you.”

“I’m not upset, just embarrassed.” His sincerity touched her.

“There’s no need to be.” He gave her a disarming smile. “What do you say we call a truce and enjoy dinner? I promise Antonio’s manicotti is the best in the city.”

Amanda nodded her acquiesence.

Three hours later she was glad she had agreed to the truce. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much in one evening—or had so much fun. And playing putt-putt, no less.

Smiling, Amanda leaned her head back against the seat of the car and listened to the soft melody playing on the radio as they headed for her home.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Michael offered.

She shifted her gaze to him. “Only a penny?” she teased, feeling lighthearted. “The way you were trying to get me to bet on the outcome of that last game, I would have thought you were a much bigger gambler.”

Michael chuckled. The sound was warm, intimate, inside the confines of the car. “How about a quarter, then?”

Amanda laughed. “Now that’s what I call a big spender.”

Exiting the interstate, Michael pulled the car to a stop at the red light. He turned to Amanda. The smile disappeared from his lips as he reached over and traced his thumb along the line of her jaw. “What’s really going on inside that pretty head of yours?”

“I was thinking about what a nice time I had.” Amanda swallowed, acutely aware of how close he was. In the darkness of the car, with only the dim light of the street lamp, his eyes reminded her of polished gems.

“Glad you came?”

“Yes,” Amanda whispered. “I am.”

“Me, too.” He moved his thumb across her lower lip.

Amanda’s heart pounded as he leaned closer. Frightened, excited, she closed her eyes and lifted her mouth.

A horn sounded behind them and Amanda pulled back.

Muttering, Michael yanked the gear shift, sending the car jerking forward. “Sorry,” he mumbled as they sped down the dark street.

While he maneuvered the car through the city, Amanda studied the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his mouth. Feelings, long buried, stirred to life inside her. She recalled how those lips had felt—warm and hungry against her own. Realizing where her thoughts had drifted, she turned to stare out the window.

A few minutes later Michael pulled the car to a stop in front of her cottage and shut off the engine.

“Amanda?”

Pulling her gaze from the pink-and-white azaleas that lined the walkway to her home, she looked up. Michael stood in front of her, holding the door open.

Michael held her hand as she stepped out onto the driveway.

After closing the door, he pressed his hand to the small of her back and steered her toward the house.

It was a simple gesture of courtesy. Yet his touch made her nervous, edgy, acutely aware that she was a woman and he was a man. When they stepped into the alcove of her doorway, she wanted to race inside and bolt the door against him and the things he was making her feel.

“I had a great time tonight.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth. His fingertips caressed her cheek. “When can I see you again?”

He was so close, she could see the faint shadow along his jaw that would demand a razor’s edge in the morning. The night seemed to close in around her. The sweet scent of gardenias faded and was replaced with the scent of woods, of earth. Of Michael.

Michael sucked in his breath. “Amanda, don’t look at me like that.”

She looked up and saw her own hunger mirrored in his eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you want me,” he said in a voice husky with desire. Extending his arms on either side of her head, he placed his palms flat against the door, trapping her within his embrace. “Like you want to touch me. Taste me.” His gaze fell to her mouth. “The way I want to touch and taste you.”

Knees weak, Amanda leaned back, grateful for the solid door. As Michael lowered his head, she braced her hands against his chest, intent on pushing him away.

She leaned toward him instead.

And then his mouth touched hers.

His kiss was just as she remembered it. Gentle, coaxing, a slow brushing of lips against lips. He took her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled, slowly explored its shape with his tongue.

Unable to stop herself, Amanda touched the tip of her tongue to his.

Michael shuddered. His heart beat like a drum against her fingertips and she strained closer. When his tongue began another slow foray of her mouth, Amanda’s control broke. She curled her fingers into his shirt, crumpling the soft cotton in her fists.

When Amanda’s tongue darted into his mouth, Michael thought he would explode. This time there was no hesitancy. This time there was fire; this time there was passion.

He crushed her to him, tangled his fingers in her silky hair.

A whimper escaped her lips, making his body burn anew. Not since he’d been a teenager had he responded so wildly to a kiss. Not since he’d been a young man had he wanted something so much. Never in his life had that something been a woman.

Until now.

This doesn’t mean anything, Amanda told herself as she leaned against him. It was simply a matter of chemistry...of proximity.

It was more than that. And she knew it. Suddenly frightened by the realization, Amanda pushed at his chest.

Easing his hold, Michael drew away slightly. He looked into her eyes, smoky and warm with desire.

“Michael.”

“Shh.” He dropped another kiss on her lips. The sight of Amanda’s beautiful face flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses, caused his body to ache even more. He pulled her back into his arms.

“No,” she whispered, panic seizing her. Kissing Michael had been insanity on her part. “This was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he insisted, hearing the alarm in her voice and not understanding it. He stroked her hair, wanting to reassure her.

Amanda heard the denial in his voice, saw the yearning in his eyes. She stepped back, out of his arms. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with fresh air, trying to clear her senses. How could she have done this? Let things get so out of hand?

“Don’t push me away, Amanda.”

“Please, Michael. It was just a kiss,” she said, deliberately sounding flip. “Let’s not make it into more than it was.”

Michael stiffened. Just a kiss? He dropped his hands to his sides. It was a hell of a lot more than a simple kiss and they both knew it.

“Thank you for dinner,” she continued primly as though nothing had happened. But Michael heard the slight catch in her voice, saw the tremor of her lips.

“We’ll have to do it again—soon.” He edged a little closer and experienced a small measure of satisfaction at the flash of panic that clouded her brown eyes.

Just as quickly, she schooled her expression and retrieved her keys from her purse.

Michael took them from her fingers. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open.

“Well, thanks again,” she murmured politely.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in for a nightcap?” he baited, irritated with her for denying there was something between them and with himself for caring.

Amanda shot him a look that would, no doubt, quell a lesser man. “No, I’m not,” she said in those crisp, clear tones that had made him peg her as a New Englander the first time he’d met her.

Michael bit down on his anger at her rejection. “Then next time,” he managed.

“There won’t be any next time,” she said, tipping up her chin.

The haughtiness of her tone caused something to snap inside him. Before he could stop himself, Michael reached for her. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her to him. “I promise you there will be a next time, Amanda. Tonight was only the beginning.”