"Aunt Coco knows more about the furnishings than any of us," she told him. "This is Sloan O'Riley. Sloan is the architect who's designing the renovations."
"Mr. O'Riley." The handshake was brief. Sloan had already taken a dislike to the three-piece-suited, sherry-sipping antique dealer. "The work here must present quite a challenge." "Oh, I'm getting by."
"I was just telling William how slow and tedious the job of sifting through all those old papers is. Not at all the exciting treasure the press makes it out to be." Coco beamed. "But I've decided to hold another sйance. Tomorrow night, the first night of the new moon."
Amanda struggled not to groan. "Aunt Coco, I'm sure William isn't interested."
"On the contrary." He turned all his charm on Coco while a plan formed in his mind. "I'd love to attend myself, if I didn't have pressing business."
"The next time then. Perhaps you'd like to go upstairs—''
Before she could finish, Alex burst through the terrace doors, followed by a speeding Jenny and a laughing Suzanna. All three had dirt streaked on their hands and jeans. Eyes narrowed, Alex skidded to a halt in front of Livingston.
"Who's that?" he demanded.
"Alex, don't be a brat." Suzanna snagged his hand before he could spread any of his dirt over the buff-colored tailored pants. "I'm sorry," she began. "We've been in the garden. I made the mistake of mentioning ice cream."
"Don't apologize." Livingston forced his lips to curve. If he disliked anything more than dogs, it was small, grubby children. "They're...lovely."
Suzanna squeezed her son's hand before he could resort to violence at the term. "No, they're not," she said cheerfully. "But we're stuck with them. We'll just get out of your way." As she dragged them off to the kitchen, Alex shot a last look over his shoulder.
"He has mean eyes," he told his mother.
"Don't be silly." She tousled his hair. "He was just annoyed because you almost ran into him."
But Alex looked solemnly at Jenny, who nodded. "Like the snake on RikkiTikki-Tavi."
"You move, I strike," Alex said in a fair imitation of the evil cartoon voice.
"Okay, guys, you're giving me the creeps." She laughed off the quick shiver. "The last one in the kitchen has to wash the bowls." She gave them a head start while she rubbed the chill from her arms.
Chapter Nine
“There, you see." Amanda gave Sloan a quick kiss on the cheek. "That wasn't so bad."
He wasn't quite ready to be placated. "He hung around for five hours. I don't see why Coco had to invite him for dinner."
"Because he's a charming, and single man." She laughed and slipped her arms around his neck. "Remember the tea leaves."
They stood at the seawall, inside an ornate pergola. Sloan decided it was as good a time as any to nibble on her neck. "What tea leaves?"
"The ones that...mmm. The ones that told Aunt Coco that there would be a man coming along who'd be important to us."
He switched to her ear. "I thought that was me."
"Maybe." She gave a surprised yip when he bit her. "Savage." "Sometimes the Cherokee in me takes over."
She leaned back to study his face. In the bleeding lights of sunset, his skin was almost copper, his eyes so dark a green they were nearly black. Yes, she could see both sides of his heritage, the Celtic and the Cherokee, both warriors, in those knife-edged cheekbones, the sculpted mouth, the wild reddish hair.
"I really don't know anything about you." Yet it hadn't been like making love to a stranger. When he had touched her, she'd known everything. "Just that you're an architect from Oklahoma who went to Harvard."
"You know I like beer and long-legged women." "There's that."
Because he could see it was important to her, he sat on the wall, his back to the sea. “Okay, Calhoun, what do you want to know?"
"I don't want to interrogate you." The old nerves resurfaced, making it impossible for her to settle. "It's just that you know everything about me, really. My family, my background, my ambitions."
Because he enjoyed watching her move, he took out a cigar, lighted it, then began to speak. "My great-great-grandfather left Ireland for the New World, and headed west to trap beaver. A genuine mountain man. He married a Cherokee woman, and hung around long enough to get three sons. One day he went off trapping and never came back. The sons started a trading post, did pretty well. One of them sent for a mail-order bride, a nice Irish girl. They had a passel of kids, including my grandfather. He was, and is, a wily old devil who bought up land while it was cheap enough, then hung on until he could sell it at a profit. Keeping up family tradition, he married Irish, a redheaded spitfire who supposedly drove him crazy. He must have loved her a lot, because he named the first oil well after her."
Amanda, who had been charmed thus far, blinked. "Oil well?"
"He called it Maggie," Sloan said with a grin as he blew out smoke. "She got such a kick out of it, he gave names to the rest of them, too."
"The rest of them," Amanda said faintly.
"My father took over the company in the sixties, but the old man hasn't stopped putting his two cents in. He's still ticked that I didn't go into the company, but I wanted to build, and I figured Sun Industries didn't need me."
"Sun Industries?" She nearly choked. It was one of the biggest conglomerates in the country. "You—I had no idea that you had money."
"My family does, anyway. Problem?"
"No. I just wouldn't want you to think that I..." She trailed off helplessly.
"That you were after the family fortune?" He let out a hoot of laughter. "Honey, I know you were after my body."
He had the uncanny ability to make her want to swear and laugh at the same time. "You really are a conceited jerk."
He tossed the cigar aside before making a grab for her. "But you love me."
"Maybe I do." With pretended reluctance, she slipped her arms around him. "A little." On a laugh, she lifted her lips to his. His mouth started off teasing, then heated with demands. His hands were light, then impatient, until she was wrapped tight around him, pouring herself mindlessly into the kiss.
"How do you do that to me?" she murmured as he nipped at her moist, parted lips.
"Do what?"
"Make me want you until it hurts."
On an unsteady moan, he pressed his lips to her throat. "Let's go inside. You can show me my room."
She tilted her head to give his busy mouth more freedom. "What room?"
"The room where we'll pretend I'm going to sleep when I'm sleeping with you."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about making love with you until we both need oxygen." Because he knew he was on the point of dragging her down on the hard, cold tiles, he set her away from him. "And I'm talking about the fact that I'm staying here until the alarm system's operational."
"But you don't need—"
"Oh, I need." He crushed his mouth to hers again to show her how much.
She waited for him, chiding herself for being as nervous as a new bride on her wedding night. Perhaps the waiting was more intense because she knew what they would bring to each other.
She slipped on a thin blue chemise, an impulsive extravagance that had been folded away for months. Unable to settle, she turned down the bed. There were candles she'd kept at the bedside and on the bureau for emergencies. But when she lighted them now, their glow was soft, romantic, and anything but practical. Suzanna had placed flowers in the room, as she always did. This time they were fragile lilies of the valley that added a haunting fragrance. Though there was no moonlight, she opened the terrace doors to let in the steady roar of the water on rocks.
Then he came to her, as she stood in the open doorway with the black night at her back.
The quick joke he'd meant to make melted from his mind. He could only stare, his hand growing damp on the knob, his heart bounding up to block his throat. To have her waiting for him, looking so desirable in the flicker of candlelight, to see that smile of welcome, was everything he'd ever wanted.