Compromising Positions (11 page)

“Wait, ten million dollars?”

Sam's mind recalled his sister's advice for solving all their problems.
Marry a woman with a ridiculous amount of money.
He'd known all along that Amelia's family was wealthy, but she'd made it clear that she'd abandoned any claim to their wealth when she'd defied their wishes.

Amelia shook her head. “It's just money,” she said. “My independence means much more to me than ten million.” A long silence grew between them and she crossed the room to sit beside him. Amelia slipped her arms around his waist and pulled his body against hers. “I'm sorry. That sounded so crass after all you've been through the past few days. It's just that it's not money I can spend. If I want it, I have to jump through all their hoops. So I don't even think about it anymore. It's just imaginary money.”

“You get ten million and I get a run-down inn. I'd say you'll get the better end of the deal.”

“No,” she said. “Not at all. Believe me, it's true what they say. Money does not buy happiness.”

“I would love to have enough money to test that theory. Today, I have to take that little mug over to the bank and try to convince them to give me a large enough loan to pay for the new boiler and water heater at the inn.”

“I got an email from the Mapother's silver expert. After reviewing the pictures I sent, he agrees that the tankard probably is an authentic Revere, but he can't say for sure unless he looks at it. I don't think you can use it for a loan until it's been authenticated. I'm sorry.” She held her breath and offered, “Let me pay for the bed.”

“You said the museum didn't have the money.”

“I'll buy it myself.”

“You don't have that kind of money.”

“I have my father's credit card.”

He shook his head. “Thank you,” Sam said. “I appreciate your offer. But this isn't your problem to solve, it's mine.”

“Tell me,” Amelia said. “When do your problems become my problems? As someone who cares about you, I want to help you with this, and I'm not sure why you think those feelings are wrong.”

“I said no.” His words were sharp and cold, and Sam immediately wished he could take them back. But why couldn't she understand? The last thing he wanted to do was to pull her down with him. Right now, the anchor that was the Blackstone Inn was dragging him beneath the surface and he wasn't sure he'd survive. He didn't want Amelia to suffer the same fate. She deserved more.

Sam glanced around the room. “I need to go over to the inn and check on things. I'm not sure how much time I can spend here today.”

“Don't worry,” she said. “I'll find something to do. Maybe I can catalog your silver collection for you. That's the first step in getting it appraised.” She held up her hand. “I promise, I won't try to steal it.”

“I don't know. Can I trust you?” he said, only half joking.

Amelia nodded. “You can. I promise.”

“You sure you want to spend your whole day doing that?” Sam said.

“It's better than listening to Benny talk about his milk bottle collection.”

Sam finally nodded. “I'll have Sarah bring some of it over right away.” He pulled her into his arms, then looked out the window to make sure no one was outside before he kissed her.

“I'll see you later this afternoon. We'll mess up that bed again.”

That brought a smile to her lips and Sam felt better about leaving her. Everything was still good between the two of them. Though the outside world had intruded for a time, they were back to their little life played out in a display window.

“Be careful out there. The roads will be slippery with this snow,” she said.

“You do care about me, don't you, Millie? I like that.”

“And I like it when you call me Millie,” she said before pulling him into one last kiss.

6

T
HE
SNOW
HAD
built into a blizzard by sunset. Amelia had left the curtain pulled back so she could watch the snow fall, illuminated by the streetlights. No one was watching from the sidewalk now. No one was outside.

Earlier that day Sarah had brought her three crates of antique silver, each piece wrapped in rags yellowed with age. The final box was what had been stored in the pantry. Sarah had informed her that this was every piece of silver the Blackstone Inn owned.

Over the course of the snowy afternoon Amelia had researched the hallmarks on each item, looking them up in Benny's reference catalogs and then again with her online sources. She photographed those she couldn't find and sent the photos to Lincoln Farraday. She and Linc had started at the Mapother on the same day and they'd become great friends over the past year.

She talked to Sam a couple of times on the phone. He spent the day at the inn, helping the plumber with the installations of the new boiler and water heater. The inn was booked for the weekend and Amelia could hear the stress he was under in his voice.

She understood how he felt. The frustration, the anger that his life seemed to belong to someone—or something—else. She'd felt the very same thing near the end of her engagement to Edward. She was doing everything for her parents and nothing for herself. She was living the life they wanted for her and not her own life.

Thankfully she'd been able to walk away. Though she'd left behind a large trust fund, she'd been able to create a whole new life for herself on her own. But Sam wasn't so lucky.

Sam was tied to the inn physically as well as emotionally. He and Sarah were on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He probably hadn't taken a vacation in ages. And even if he wanted to alter his life, he couldn't. The inn would always be there; a tether to this place, this town.

She thought about the two of them together on some warm, sandy beach, palm trees rustling overhead, the ocean a beautiful turquoise blue, the days filled with sun and their nights with sex.

She tried to stop herself from getting carried away, knowing full well that there could be no future for them. They led different lives in different places. Maybe there could be a vacation here and there, though. Or a weekend away.

“Stop it,” she murmured, shaking her head. She'd promised herself that she'd never let her mother control her life again. Yet here she was, planning a future with a man she barely knew. What was next? Fantasies about a diamond ring and a lavish wedding?

She didn't need a man in her life to be happy! What she needed was sex. This time with Sam had proved that. But she could get that from a casual boyfriend; a guy who came with no strings attached. A friend with benefits.

Could Sam be that man? It certainly made more sense for the two of them. A three-hour drive wasn't impossible. She made a mental note to look for a nice motel at the halfway mark between Boston and Millhaven.

But no matter what their plans, she had to return to Boston soon. Though Vivian had ordered her to remain for a bit, Amelia had responsibilities in Boston. She'd come to Millhaven on a Monday. A week away from the office was her limit, and she had to be home to help with the setup of the exhibit. The clock was ticking faster every day.

She picked up a slotted serving spoon and examined it, squinting to read the hallmark. But her mind was still on Sam.

How long could they go on as sex buddies? Was it fair to use him that way? Amelia wondered. She may not want a husband, but that didn't mean that Sam didn't want a wife. Having a partner in running the inn might make his life so much happier. If she kept him away from meeting someone like that, then she didn't really care for him at all.

And she did care for him. More than she ever thought possible. She just couldn't be his small-town girl.

“His small-town girl,” she murmured, staring at the spoon. “What does that mean?”

There weren't any major museums in Millhaven or anywhere outside the big cities. But she was a smart girl. Hell, she'd managed to find something to occupy her time. She was valuing a silver collection. And after that, she had an urge to catalog all of Benny's collection and advise him on some needed divestments.

Two projects. It wasn't enough to create a career or to hold her interest for long. But if she was forced to live in a small town like Millhaven...

She'd love to completely redecorate the inn. Fresh paint and new textiles would go a long way to returning it to its former elegance. Then she'd relieve the rooms of their clutter. There were too many pictures on the walls and bric-a-brac scattered around. Simple and clean would do so much more to show off the Colonial-and Federal-style furnishings.

Then she imagined Sam's reaction.

“Oh, my,” she murmured to herself, remembering how cold he'd turned after her small suggestion about paying for the bed.

As much as Sam might want a woman in his life, Amelia wondered how easy it would be for any female to fit into it. He considered the inn his own personal torch to bear, but he was very protective of the Blackstone, too. If she tried to help out at the inn, she'd have to run her every idea and action by him first. And Amelia wasn't sure she could live that way after paying such a high cost to control her own life.

They'd have to make some decisions soon about their relationship, but none of the possibilities seemed perfectly right for the two of them. She loved her job and the independence she'd fought for in Boston. And yet she was falling in love with Sam Blackstone. No matter how she looked at the scene in her head, the two never completely meshed. If she wanted one, she'd have to let the other go.

A rap on the window interrupted her thoughts and she looked up to see Sam outside, the snow whirling around him. Amelia scrambled to her feet and hurried to the front door. She unlocked it and let him in, wincing as the cold wind and icy shards hit her face.

“It's getting nasty out there,” she said.

“Six inches of snow and counting,” he said, brushing the flakes from his jacket. “It's shaping up to be a huge nor'easter. Boston is completely snowed in and New York City is getting hit.”

She wrapped her arms around him, brushing the cap from his head. “I'm glad I'm here,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cold lips. “Snug as a bug.”

“Mmm,” he growled. “I'm glad you're here, too.”

She helped him out of his coat and pulled him along to the window. “So, I spent the afternoon working on your silver collection.”

Sam kissed her again, then grabbed the drapes and closed them, blocking their view of the snowstorm and the street. “And I've been elbow deep in mechanicals,” he said, “and thinking about you the whole time.”

“The whole time?” she asked.

“The whole time,” he said. “Well, not every second, but certainly every minute.”

“And who else were you thinking about in those other seconds?” Amelia teased. “Another woman?”

“Sarah,” he said. “I'm beginning to suspect there's something going on between her and James—the plumber. I'm not very good at figuring these things out, so I may be completely off base.”

“What are the signs?”

“Well, she spent the entire day helping us in the basement. And she hates the basement. I have to pay her to go down there to flip a circuit breaker.”

“And?”

“And she was laughing at all his stories. Believe me, they were not that funny. He was telling plumbing stories. Plumbing isn't funny. Backed-up pipes...flooded bathrooms. Not funny.”

“Yup, sounds like she's got a crush on him,” Amelia said, nodding. “Did she touch him?”

He gasped. “In front of me?”

“Not... I'm not talking about a...you know...a—”

“A hand job?”

“Yes, a hand job, to be precise. I'm talking about a casual touch. Did she put her hand on his arm when she was laughing or did she brush a piece of lint off his shirt?”

“Yes!” he cried. “Yes to both. And then she kept touching his tools. Not his—you know—his pipe wrench.”

Amelia laughed. “I got that. His wrench. I would agree that there's something going on there. Maybe she's falling in love.”

“With a plumber,” he murmured.

“It wouldn't be the worst choice in the world for an innkeeper. Not like an art historian,” Amelia teased.

He gave her an odd look and Amelia instantly regretted what she'd said. They could certainly talk about a romance between Sarah and James, but it was way too early to examine their own relationship too closely. Sure, she was just making a joke, but maybe he didn't find her jokes funny, either.

“I think we're great together,” he said.

“Do you?” she asked. “I mean, I do, too.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, lingering over her mouth as he teased her with his tongue. Every time he kissed her, Amelia wondered if it would ever seem ordinary or unremarkable. But then he would do something that would make her knees feel like jelly and they were off again, down a whole new road to sexual satisfaction.

He pulled back and looked down at her. “What are you thinking about?”

“Right now?”

He nodded.

“I was thinking that your kisses were like James's plumbing stories. I'm the only one in the world who can truly appreciate them.”

He chuckled. “You're the strangest woman I've ever known.”

“I'm glad you believe that,” Amelia said. “Your expectations won't be quite so high.”

“Maybe you're perfect for me,” he said.

She didn't answer. Instead Amelia wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She pulled him toward the bed, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. By the time she pushed him down on the mattress, his shirt was on the floor. Next, she worked on his damp boots, tugging them off along with his socks. With single-minded efficiency, she removed every last item of clothing from his body until there was nothing left to do but stare at him.

He grinned. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”

Amelia returned his smile. “I'll look at you every now and then. But I should probably finish my work.” She sat on the floor and picked up her papers, rearranging them and then fastening them onto a clipboard.

“And I'm just supposed to lie here?”

Amelia nodded, then glanced over her shoulder. “You could come down here and help me. You could be my manservant. My naked manservant.”

He moved to sit next to her and she pointed to a spot across from her. “Right there. So I can enjoy the view.”

Grudgingly, he sat on the rug, crossing his legs in front of him. “This is strange. You are a very peculiar woman. Why don't you take your clothes off, too?”

“Because this is my fantasy, not yours,” Amelia said. She handed him the clipboard. “I want you to read the description line. So I can make sure I got all of these.”

“Your fantasy involves old silver? That's really weird, Amelia.” He held up his hand. “Just being honest. Also, it's not all that warm in here.”

“Actually, my fantasy has to do with a deserted tropical island. We're living there and we don't have to wear clothes because we're all alone on the island.”

“Then why aren't you naked?”

“Because it's not that warm in here and I wanted to finish my work.” She glanced up at him. “Not so weird anymore, is it? Oh, and then there's my manservant fantasy. In that one I have a very handsome man who caters to my every whim. And he does that while naked.” She released a slow breath. “And erect.”

“I'd assume you're not referring to my posture,” Sam murmured.

“No,” she said with a coy smile, her gaze dropping to his lap.

He crawled across the space between them and dropped a kiss on her lips. “If you want to speed that fantasy along, you'd take your clothes off, crawl under the covers with me and try to warm me up.”

She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his growing erection. “You feel warm enough to me,” she murmured.

“Are you taking advantage of your manservant? There are many other things I can provide you with, madam. You only need to ask.”

He stood, pulled her to her feet and began to strip the clothes off her body. When she was naked, Amelia ran to the bed and yanked the covers up, inadvertently sending her papers and books flying. She let out a little scream when he caught her around the waist and pulled her down onto the bed.

“Don't you want to know how much your silver collection is worth?” she asked, wriggling beneath him.

“How much?” Sam murmured, his lips already finding the ticklish spot on her neck.

“Without the potential Revere, about seventy-six thousand. Give or take five thousand.”

He pushed up, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “Are you kidding me?”

Amelia shook her head, pleased to see his reaction. “That's a conservative estimate. Some of it could go for more at auction. And I'm still waiting for appraisals from my friend on a couple of odd pieces that didn't have a hallmark. If you have another Revere, it could be even more.”

He was silent for a long time before slowly shaking his head. “Kind of ironic. I have the riches of silver, yet I'm cash poor.”

“Why can't you sell it?” she asked.

“It belongs to the family. To the inn. My grandfather sold this bed for cash and look where it got us. What if I make the same mistake?”

“But couldn't you use the silver as collateral?” she asked.

“It's a risk,” he said. “And it didn't work with the Revere mug. When I mentioned it, George at the bank patted me on the back and treated me like I was his crazy old uncle trying to pawn trash as treasure.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I wish I could help.”