It Happened One Week (8 page)

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I told you, it’s no big deal.”

“You won’t think so if you lose your job.”

Dane shrugged. “Jobs are easy to come by.” His smile, while warm, was unthreatening. “Now, dinner with a beautiful woman, that’s well worth throwing caution to the wind for.

“I’m volunteering for purely selfish reasons, Amanda. If I help out with the rest of the challenge week, you won’t have to spend so much of your evenings with that cretin you’re working so hard to get promoted back East, so I can be with you.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know I was trying to get Greg promoted to Manhattan?”

Amanda desperately hoped that he hadn’t overheard any of the team members discussing such a possibility. She
hadn’t wanted anyone but Susan to know about her plan to win Greg Parsons’s job. The job, she reminded herself, that should have been hers.

He watched the fear leap into her eyes and wondered if she realized that the goal she was chasing was not only illusive, but not worth the struggle.

“Don’t worry. It was just a wild shot in the dark.” He wanted to touch her—not sexually, just a hand to her cheek, or her hair, to soothe her obviously jangled nerves. “It’s you city folks who are big on corporate intrigue. Out here in the boonies, we tend to spend more time trying to decide whether to take our naps before dinner or afterward.”

Amanda still hadn’t gotten a handle on Dane. But she knew he wasn’t the country bumpkin he was pretending to be.

“I’d love to have you take over leading the corporate challenge. Of course, the agency will insist on paying you.”

The figure she offered would pay for the new furnace the inn needed if he wanted to stay open year-round. Pride had Dane momentarily tempted to turn it down. He remembered just in time that the money would not come out of Amanda’s pocket, but from the corporate checkbook of a very profitable advertising agency.

“That sounds more than reasonable. It’s a deal.”

“Believe me, Dane, you’re saving my life.”

He watched the worry lines ease from her forehead and wished that all her problems could be so simple to solve. He also wondered how bad those headaches would become, and how many cases of antacids she’d have to chew her way through before she realized that advertising wasn’t real life.

“So, now that we’ve solved that problem, what about dinner?”

“I honestly can’t.”

She paused, running through a mental schedule. Now that they didn’t have to come up with new activities, she and
Greg didn’t have all that much to cover. Besides, he’d undoubtedly want to get away early in order to sneak off to Kelli’s room. Which, she’d noticed, conveniently adjoined his.

“How about dessert? We have to get together,” he reminded, “so you can fill me in on the rest of the activities the leader you originally hired had planned for the week.”

Telling herself that she’d just have to keep things on a strictly business level, Amanda said, “With your mother in the kitchen, how can I turn down dessert?”

“Terrific.” His smile was quick and warmed her to the core. “I’ll meet you down by the boathouse.”

The boathouse had been one of their secret meeting places. Amanda knew that to be alone with Dane in a place that harbored so many romantic memories was both foolhardy and dangerous.

“Something wrong with the dining room?”

“It’s too public.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Ah, but I was under the impression that part of the corporate challenge agenda was to keep the teams off guard. So you can observe how they respond to unexpected trials.”

Amanda vaguely wondered how Dane knew so much about corporate game-playing strategy. “So?”

“So, if we go over the events you have planned in any of the public rooms, some of the team members might overhear us.”

He had, she admitted reluctantly, a good point.

“There’s always my room,” he suggested when she didn’t immediately answer.

“No,” she answered quickly. Too quickly, Dane thought with an inward smile. It was obvious that they were both thinking about the first time she’d shown up at his door.

“Okay, how about the tower room?”

Not on a bet.
“The boathouse will be fine.”

“It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date.” Amanda felt it important to clarify that point up front. “It’s a business meeting.”

Dane shrugged. “Whatever.” Matters settled to his satisfaction, he resumed paddling.

As Amanda had suspected, other than complain about the outcome of the first challenge event, Greg was not inclined to linger over dinner. Forgoing appetizers, he got right to the point of their meeting as he bolted through the main course.

“Today was an unmitigated disaster.” His tone was thick with accusation.

“It wasn’t all that bad,” she murmured, not quite truthfully. The race hadn’t been as successful as she’d hoped.

Unsurprisingly, Julian and Marvin had not meshed. They never managed to get their stroking rhythm in sync, and although each continued to blame the other loudly, their kayak had gotten so out of control that it had rammed into the one piloted by Laura and Don at the far turn around the lighthouse. Fortunately, Dane was proved right about the stability of the craft. But although neither kayak overturned, once the four were back on the beach, the three men almost came to blows.

Needless to say, Greg’s subsequent cursing and shouting only caused the friction level to rise even higher. The only thing that had stopped the altercation from turning into a full-fledged brawl was Dane’s quiet intervention. Amanda had not been able to hear what he was saying, but his words, whatever they were, obviously did the trick. Although their boatmanship didn’t improve much during the second heat, the combatants behaved like kittens for the remainder of the afternoon.

“It was a disaster,” Greg repeated. He pushed his plate away and lit up one of the cigars he was never without. “I
don’t have to tell you that your career is on the line here, Amanda.”

She refused to let him see how desperately she wanted the week to be successful. If he knew how important it was to her, he might try to sabotage her participation.

She held back a cough as she was engulfed in a cloud of noxious blue cigar smoke. “If I remember correctly, this entire scheme
was your
idea.”

“True.” He turned down a second cup of coffee from a hovering waitress, and declined dessert. “But my job’s not in jeopardy so long as
I’m
the one who eats a family holiday dinner with Ernst Janzen every Christmas.” He placed his napkin on the table and rose.

“Make it work, Amanda,” he warned, jabbing the lit cigar toward her. “Or you’ll be out on the street. And your assistant will be pounding the pavement, looking for a new job right along with you.”

She felt the blood literally drain from her face. It was just an idle threat. He couldn’t mean it, she assured herself. But she
knew
he did.

It was one thing to blow her plans for advancement. She was also willing to risk her own career. But to be suddenly responsible for Susan’s job, six months before her assistant’s planned wedding, was more pressure than Amanda needed.

“I expect tomorrow’s exercise to be a model of efficiency and collaboration,” he said. “Or you can call Susan and instruct her to start packing both your things into boxes.”

With that threat ringing in her ears, he turned on his heel and left the dining room.

The long day, preceded by a sleepless night, had left Amanda exhausted. Her dinner with Greg had left her depressed. And although she’d been secretly looking forward
to being with alone with Dane, now that the time had arrived, Amanda realized she was more than a little nervous.

Butterflies—no, make that giant condors—were flapping their wings in her stomach and she’d second-guessed her agreement to meet with him at least a dozen times during dinner.

Admittedly stalling, she was lingering over dinner when Mary appeared beside the table, a small pink bakery box in her hand.

“How was your meal?”

Amanda smiled, grateful for the interruption that would keep her from having to decide whether or not to stand Dane up again. Which would be difficult, since they were scheduled to spend the remainder of the week working on the challenge together.

“Absolutely delicious.” The salmon pasta in white-wine sauce had practically melted in her mouth. “I’ll probably gain ten pounds before the week is over.”

“From what Dane tells me, with the week you have planned, you’ll undoubtedly work off any extra calories.” Mary held out the box. “I thought you and Dane might enjoy some carrot cake.”

For ten years Amanda had been searching for a carrot cake as rich and sweet as Mary Cutter’s. For ten years she’d been constantly disappointed.

“Make that twelve pounds,” she complained weakly, eyeing the box with culinary lust.

Mary’s look of satisfaction was a carbon copy of her son’s. Although not as direct as Dane, in her own way, Mary Cutter could be a velvet bulldozer. “As I said before, a few extra pounds couldn’t hurt, dear.”

Running her hand down Amanda’s hair in another of those maternal gestures Amanda had never received from her own mother, Mary returned to the kitchen, leaving
Amanda with two pieces of carrot cake and a date for which she was already late She was on her way across the front parlor when someone called her name. Turning, she viewed the gorgeous young woman who’d been on duty last night, standing behind the desk.

“Yes?”

“I hate to ask, especially since you’re a paying guest and all, but would you mind doing me a favor?” Mindy Taylor asked.

“If I can.”

“Could you tell Dane that the furnace guy promised to begin work on Friday?”

Two things crossed Amanda’s mind at nearly the same time. The first being that her meeting with Dane seemed to be common knowledge. The second being the fact that along with his other duties, Dane appeared to be in charge of maintenance.

“If I see him,” she hedged.

“Great.” Mindy flashed her dazzling Miss Satan’s Cove smile. “Isn’t it great how things work out?”

“What things?”

“Well, if the Mariner resort hadn’t burned down, your advertising agency wouldn’t have come here in the first place. Then, if your adventure leader hadn’t spun out on his Harley on that rain-slick curve, you wouldn’t have needed to hire Dane to fill in, and the inn would have to close after Labor Day.”

Last night, Amanda had been impressed with Mindy’s seeming combination of intelligence and beauty. Tonight she wondered if she’d made a mistake in judgment.

“I don’t understand what hiring Dane to lead the challenge week has to do with Smugglers’ Inn being able to remain open after Labor Day.”

“Without a new furnace, we would have had to shut down for the winter.”

“But what does that have to do with Dane?”

It was Mindy’s turn to look at Amanda as if she was lacking in some necessary intelligence. “Because he’s using the check from your agency to buy the new furnace.”

“But why would Dane…” Comprehension suddenly hit like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue summer sky. “Dane’s the new owner of Smugglers’ Inn.”

“Lock, stock and brand-new gas furnace,” Mindy cheerfully confirmed.

A
full moon was floating in an unusually clear night sky, lighting Amanda’s way to the boathouse. At any other time she might have paused to enjoy the silvery white path on the moon-gilded waters of the Pacific Ocean, or stopped to gaze up at the millions of stars sparkling overhead like loose diamonds scattered across a black velvet jeweler’s cloth.

But her mind was not on the dazzling bright moon, nor the silvery water, nor the stars. Amanda was on her way to the boathouse to kill Dane Cutter.

He was waiting for her, just as he’d promised. Just as he had so many years ago. Unaware of the pique simmering through her, Dane greeted her with a smile that under any other conditions she would have found devastatingly attractive.

“I was getting worried about you.”

She glared up at him, a slender, furious warrior with right on her side. “I got held up.”

“So I see.” Lines crinkled at the corners of his smiling eyes. “I hope that’s Mom’s carrot cake.”

She’d forgotten she was still carrying the pink box. “It is.” She handed it to him. Then reached back and slammed her fist into his stomach.

He doubled over with a grunt of surprise, dropping the cake box. “Damn it, Amanda!”

He gingerly straightened. She was standing, legs braced, as if intending to pound him again. He waited until he was sure his voice would be steady.

“You get one free shot, contessa. That’s it. Try another cheap stunt like that and I’ll have no choice but to slug you back.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” He might be a liar, but the man she’d fallen in love with ten years ago would never strike a woman. Then again, she reminded herself, apparently there was a lot she didn’t know about the man Dane Cutter had become.

“I wouldn’t risk putting it to the test.” His dark eyes were hard. Implacable.

Dane saw her hand move to her stomach and damned himself for having caused another flare-up of her obviously touchy nerves.

But damn it, he hadn’t started this. His plans for the evening had been to start out with some slow, deep kisses. After that, he’d intended to play things by ear, although if they ended up in bed, he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

The worst-possible-case scenario was that they might waste valuable time together actually talking about her damn challenge-week events. One thing he hadn’t planned on was having a fist slammed into his gut.

“You know, you really ought to see a doctor about that.”

She frowned, momentarily thrown off track. “About what?”

“You could have an ulcer.”

Following his gaze, she realized that the way her hand was pressed against the front of her blouse was a sure giveaway that she wasn’t as much in control as she was trying to appear. “I don’t have an ulcer.”

“You sure? They can treat them with antibiotics, so—”

“I said, I don’t have any damn ulcer.”

Dane shrugged. “Fine. Then I’d suggest you work on your attitude.”

“My attitude?” Her hands settled on her hips. “How dare you question
my
attitude. After what you’ve done!”

“What, exactly, have I done? Other than to offer to pull your fat out of the fire? Corporately speaking, that is.”

Physically, she didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on her—one of the things he was hoping his mother’s cooking could change. Amanda’s society mother had been wrong; there was such a thing as a woman being too thin.

“That wasn’t exactly the act of pure selflessness you made it out to be at the time,” she countered with a toss of her head. “Not when you consider the new furnace for the inn. Which is scheduled to be installed Friday, by the way.”

“Ah.” It finally made sense. “Who told you?”

Amanda didn’t know which made her more angry. That Dane had lied to her in the first place, or that he appeared so cavalier at having gotten caught.

“That doesn’t matter,” she said between clenched teeth. “What matters is that you lied to me.”

Now that he knew what all the storm and fury was about, Dane found himself enjoying the murder in her eyes. It spoke of a passion he had every intention of experiencing before this week was over.

“I’d never lie to you, Amanda.”

She folded her arms and shot him a disbelieving look. “I don’t recall you telling me that you were the new owner of Smugglers’ Inn.”

“I don’t recall you asking.”

Frustrated and furious, Amanda let out a huff of breath. “It’s not the sort of question one asks a person one believes to be a bellman.”

Her words were dripping icicles. Although hauteur was not her usual style, having been on the receiving end of her mother’s cool conceit for all of her twenty-five years,
Amanda had learned, on rare occasions, to wield the icy weapon herself. Tonight was one of those occasions.

Dane revealed no sign of having been fatally wounded. “You know, that snotty attitude doesn’t suit you, contessa.” Ignoring her warning glare, he reached out and stroked her hair. “It’s too remote.” Stroked her cheek. “Too passionless.” Stroked the side of her neck. “Too untouchable.”

That was precisely the point, damn it! Unfortunately, it wasn’t working. Seemingly undeterred by her fury, he was jangling her nerves, weakening her defenses. Reminding herself that she was no longer a naive, hopelessly romantic young fifteen-year-old, Amanda moved away from his beguiling touch.

“You let me think you were still just an employee.” Although his touch had regrettably cooled her ire, the thought that he might have been laughing at her still stung.

Just an employee.
He wondered if she knew how much like her rich, snobbish mother those words sounded. “I suppose I did.” Until now, Dane hadn’t realized that he’d been testing her. But, he admitted, that was exactly what he’d been doing.

“Does it really make that much of a difference? Whether I work at the inn? Or own it?” Her answer was suddenly uncomfortably important.

Amanda had worked long enough in the advertising jungle to recognize a verbal trap when she spotted one. “That’s not the point,” she insisted, sidestepping the issue for the moment.

He lifted an eyebrow. “May I ask what the point
is,
then? As you see it?”

“You were pretending to be something you weren’t.”

“We all pretend to be something—or someone—we aren’t from time to time.”

Like that long-ago summer when she’d pretended to be the Lolita of Satan’s Cove. She hadn’t fooled Dane then. And she didn’t now. Although he had no doubt that she was more than capable of doing her job, he also knew that she wasn’t the brisk, efficient advertising automaton she tried so hard to appear.

“I don’t.” She jutted her chin forward in a way that inexplicably made Dane want to kiss her. Then again, he’d been wanting to kiss her all day long.

Thinking how ridiculous their entire situation was turning out to be, Dane threw back his head and laughed.

“I hadn’t realized I’d said anything humorous,” she said stiffly.

Her vulnerability, which she was trying so hard to conceal, made him want to take her into his arms. “I’m sorry.” He wiped the grin from his face. “I guess you’ve spent so many years perfecting your Joan Crawford career-woman act that you’ve forgotten that it really isn’t you.”

His accusation hit like the sucker punch she’d slammed into his stomach. The familiar headache came crashing back. “It isn’t an act.”

“Of course, it is.” As he watched the sheen of hurt, followed by a shadow of pain, move across her eyes, Dane damned himself for putting them there. Laying aside his romantic plans, he began massaging her throbbing temples, as he had last night.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” she complained.

“Sure you do. The problem is you don’t want to
want
me to touch you.” His fingertips were making circles against her skin. Igniting licks of fire, burning away the pain. “Would it make you feel any better if I promised not to seduce you tonight?”

“As if you could,” she muttered, trying to ignore the delicious heat that his caresses were creating.

Dane didn’t answer. They both knew there was no need.

He abandoned his sensual attack on her headache, sliding his hands down her neck, over her shoulders, and down her arms. Amanda did not resist as he linked their fingers together.

“For the record, I think you’re intelligent, creative, and ambitious. You believe you think you know what you want—”

“I do know,” she insisted.

“And you’re not going to stop until you get it,” he said, ignoring her firmly stated correction. “Whatever the cost.”

“I have every intention of becoming Northwest regional creative director of Janzen, Lawton and Young.” Determination burned in her eyes and had her unconsciously lifting her chin. “Once I get rid of Greg Parsons, just watch me go.”

He smiled at that, because tonight, despite the change in plans, was not a night for arguing. “Believe me, I have no intention of taking my eyes off you.”

Alerted by the huskiness in his tone, Amanda blew out a breath. “Am I going to have trouble with you?”

His answer was a slow masculine grin. “I certainly hope so.” He moved closer. “Lots and lots of it.”

She pulled a hand free and pressed it against his shoulder. “Damn it, Dane—”

He touched a finger against her mouth, cutting off her weak protest. “If you can forget what we had together, Amanda, you’re a helluva lot stronger person than I am.”

With effort, she resisted the urge to draw that long finger into her mouth. “It’s over. And has been for years.”

“That’s what you think.” He lifted the hand he was still holding and pressed his lips against her knuckles. Their eyes met over their linked hands—his, hot and determined; hers, soft and wary. “It’s just beginning, Amanda. And we both know it.”

Those words, so quietly spoken, could have been a promise or a threat. Needing time to think, not to mention space in which to breathe, Amanda tugged her hand free and backed away. Both physically and emotionally.

“I only came down here to discuss the challenge.”

Frustration rose; Dane controlled it. For now. “You’re the boss,” he said agreeably.

“Not yet,” Amanda corrected. “But I will be.” Because her unpleasant conversation with Greg was still in her mind, her shoulders slumped. “If I’m not fired first.”

He wondered if she had any idea how vulnerable she could appear and decided that bringing it up now, after what even he would have to admit had not been the most successful of days, would serve no purpose.

Dane wanted to put his arm around her, to soothe more than seduce, but knew that if he allowed himself to touch her again, all his good intentions would fly right out the window. That being the case, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep them out of trouble.

“I can’t see that happening.”

“Believe me, it’s a distinct possibility.” She hadn’t thought so, before today. Oh, she’d considered herself so clever with her little plan to get Greg promoted. Caught up in the logistics of getting the horrid man out of Portland, she hadn’t given enough thought to the inescapable fact that half the challenge team actively disliked the other half. “After what happened today.”

She dragged her hand through her hair. “Speaking of which, I suppose I ought to thank you.”

“And here I thought you wanted to knock my block off.”

“I did. Still do,” she admitted. “But, as angry as I am at you for not being entirely honest with me, I can’t overlook the fact that you were probably the only thing standing between me and the unemployment line today.”

She sighed and shook her head as she stared out over the gilded sea. “From the way Julian, Marvin, Don, and Greg were behaving, you’d think we’d all come here to play war games.”

“Business is probably as close to war as most people get,” Dane said. “Other than marriage.”

His grim tone suggested he was speaking from experience. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You’re not married, are you?”

Dane swore. Annoyance flickered in his dark eyes, and drew his lips into a hard line. “Do you honestly believe that if I had a wife, I’d be planning to take you to bed?”

“Planning is a long way from doing.” As she’d learned, only too well. She’d had such plans for this week!

“That may be true for some people. But I’ve developed a reputation for being tenacious.” He cupped her chin between his fingers, holding her gaze to his. “I’m going to have you, contessa. And you’re going to love it.”

The last time she’d allowed him to bait her, she’d ended up kissing him as if there were no tomorrow. Afraid that the next time she wouldn’t be able to stop with a mere kiss, Amanda jerked her head back, folded her arms across her chest and reminded herself that it was important at least to pretend to remain cool.

“You may be accustomed to women succumbing to your seduction techniques, Dane. But I have no intention of joining the hordes. I’m also a tougher case than you’re obviously accustomed to.”

“Victories are always more satisfying when they don’t come easily. And you haven’t answered my question.”

Discounting his arrogant male statement about taking her to bed, despite the fact that he was also confusing, beguiling, and distracting her, Amanda sensed that Dane was a caring, compassionate individual. And although he had misled her, she knew, from past experiences, that he was
also an honorable man. Most men would have taken what she was literally throwing at him ten years ago without a backward glance when the summer was over. But Dane was not most men.

“I suppose I can’t imagine you committing adultery.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a start. Perhaps I ought to have someone write a reference letter. How about my mother? She’d love an opportunity to sing my praises.”

“That’s not the way I remember it.”

“Ten years ago she was a single mother concerned her son was about to repeat her own romantic mistake.” Because he could not continue to stand this close to Amanda without touching, he reached out and twined a strand of her hair around his finger.

“These days, she’s a mother who’s begun to worry that her son isn’t ever going to provide her with the grandchildren she’s so eager to spoil.”