Lonely Millionaire (3 page)

"I noticed," he said in a deep voice. He pulled her close to him, until the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. The steam had given her skin a dewy sheen and he wanted to reassure her, tell her she hadn't done anything wrong, and show her just how human he found her. But not with words, with action. He wanted to release all his pent-up emotion by kissing her until she couldn't think, couldn't speak. Until he'd tasted those soft lips and she'd had a taste of what he had to offer.

But he wasn't there to kiss his best friend's prospective fiancée. He'd already gone too far. Reluctantly he let go of her hands and opened the door behind him. A rush of cool air blew in and dissipated the steam and the mood.

"I'll clear this stuff out of here," she said, folding the ladder. "Then it’s all yours. Thanks for the help."

He reached for the ladder and his fingers brushed hers. She bent over to unplug the steamer. "Where shall I put this?" he asked.

"I was reading your brochure in my room. Sherry time is where you meet the other guests and the hostess tells you interesting anecdotes about the house."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot." She looked at her watch, embarrassed that she'd forgotten what her own brochure said. The combination of him and the steam had definitely fogged her brain. "How about four o'clock?"

He nodded. "It will give me a chance to take a shower and change."

Absently she smoothed a piece of wallpaper with her fingers and let her gaze travel over his wrinkled shorts, his muscular thighs and bare feet. Then she brought her eyes back to his face. He was studying her intently. What did he want? What was he looking for? Was this gorgeous man really just in search of some California sunshine?

"I can tell you about the house," she said, "but I'm afraid you won't get to meet anyone but me." She smiled self-consciously. "Not tonight, anyway."

He smiled back, sending a rush of warmth through her body. Then he carried the ladder down the stairs while she put the bathroom back in order. She wondered idly if Adam had ever considered entering into another long-term relationship. Not with her, of course, but with someone else who was also employed in the Yukon, a welder maybe, or a pipefitter.

She was still wondering about Adam Gray as she clipped the hedge out in front of the house that afternoon. And she was still wearing her old shirt and shorts when the car pulled up. Not someone on their way to the beach, not someone who was looking for the restaurant down the road, but surprise, surprise, someone, someones, who were looking for her, for the Miramar Inn.

She practically swept them up into her arms, all three of them: Mr. Richard Davis, Marilyn Davis and little Jeremy Davis, age eighteen months. She proudly showed them to the other bedroom, the one with the master bath, and set up a crib for the little boy. They loved the room, they loved the view, they loved the fact that she accepted children, and they loved the idea of sherry in the parlor at four.

Mandy hummed to herself as she showered in the small, downstairs bathroom next to her bedroom. Miramar Inn was full, it was occupied, she was on her way to success. She dressed carefully in the same outfit she'd worn in her brochure picture. Not for luck, not so she'd be recognized as the hostess, but simply because it was the only nice outfit she had. A long cotton skirt and a hand-knit sweater with a pattern of wild roses on it.

With Laurie's hair dryer she tried to tame the wild mess that was her hair with only moderate success. If only Laurie were here to do it for her. But if Laurie were here, Adam would be all over her like glue. Laurie's hair was always manageable, she was trim and slender, looked great in a uniform or anything else. Mandy reminded herself that the only reason Adam was giving her a second glance was because she was the only woman for miles around.

But that knowledge didn't detract from the pleasure in having a full house tonight. As it neared four o'clock she went to the kitchen. She unwrapped a package of crackers and took a duck liver pate and a round of Brie from the refrigerator. Then she piled pears and apples into a bowl and loaded everything onto a tray.

When she walked into the front room balancing the tray in her hands, she saw Adam was there ahead of her in khakis and a blue oxford-cloth shirt, looking at the old photographs on the wall. He turned and gave her a long, appreciative look and took the tray from her hands.

Again the brush of his fingers against has, and this time she was sure it wasn't an accident. Electricity crackled in the air. She couldn't blame it on the dry air or the carpet. The air was damp and the Oriental carpet was threadbare. A current rippled through her body and sent a message that said, Beware, this is your second warning!

Adam's hair was still damp from the shower and his skin looked as if he'd scrubbed it with the loofah she'd placed in the bathroom. He smelled like the soap she'd left out. Wild blackberry—or was it wild cherry? Now she understood why they called it that. It made her wild just thinking about him rubbing it all over his well-toned body. With shaking hands she set the decanter of sherry out on the sideboard along with the glasses.

"Help yourself," she said, not trusting herself to pour any drinks. Where were the Davises? Why didn't they come and fill the silence with their conversation and their questions?

Adam turned back to the pictures on the wall. "Is this your family?" he asked.

She managed to slosh some sherry into a glass for herself and walked over to the wall. "Yes, that's us. I was four and my sister, Laurie, was two. We lived in Ohio."

"Anything more recent?"

"Over here. Here's Laurie in her uniform." She held her breath. When he saw how beautiful Laurie was, he'd probably stay around until she came back. That was the effect Laurie had on men. And it wouldn't surprise Mandy. She was used to having men drop her when they met someone else, witness Todd and her best friend.

But he passed right by the photo with only a perfunctory comment and went on to the other pictures while she explained them to him—uncles, aunts, cousins at picnics, parties and reunions.

"I envy you," he said, examining an old photograph of her grandparents.

"What for? You can get frames and hang pictures of your family, can't you?"

"I don't have any. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, and we traveled light. And even if I had them, where would I hang them?"

"Wherever they send you. There are walls, aren't there?" Mandy asked.

"There are walls on drilling platforms on the North Slope, but you don't get much chance to look at them. They keep you busy sinking pipe into the bottom of the sea."

"Is that where you're going, to a drilling platform?" Mandy asked, surprised.

"That’s the plan. That's what I asked for. But you never know. I've got an appointment with my boss next week. I'll find out then," Adam said.

At that moment the Davises finally joined them, eighteen-month-old Jeremy tottering straight for the sherry decanter. Adam grabbed it from the table just in time and poured drinks. Mandy shot him a grateful look and introduced them.

"Wonderful," his mother said. Mandy left the room to get the juice, and Marilyn turned to Adam. "Can you recommend someplace for dinner?" she asked.

For some reason he found he didn't want to tell her that he was a guest, too, and that he had no idea of where her family should go eat. "What kind of food do you like?" he asked instead.

"Seafood," she said.

"You'll have to ask Mandy about that." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jeremy sitting in front of the bookcase removing the books, one by one. When Mandy came back with a tumbler for the little boy, Marilyn was spreading cheese on a cracker.

"Yes, I know just the place." When she recovered her composure she gave than the directions to the Seadrift, a few miles away. They had excellent food and a beautiful view.

"I don't see how the view could be any better than yours." Richard Davis spoke for the first time, looking out the side window at the sun setting over the blue-gray Pacific.

"It isn't, but the food is," she said, watching Jeremy smash a cracker into the carpet with the heel of his foot. She swallowed hard to keep from saying anything.

"Of course. I haven't had many children so I almost forgot." There was a long silence while her mind went absolutely blank. Where on earth would she ever find a babysitter?

"We'd be glad to take care of Jeremy for you," she heard Adam say, and she whirled around to look at him. He shrugged as if to say, What choice have you got?

"He may cry for a few minutes," Marilyn said, "but it won't last long. He's really very good."

"Don't worry about a thing," Adam said reassuringly, and Mandy shot him a desperate look.

How could he tell them not to worry about a thing? He would probably retire to his room and leave Mandy with this eighteen-month-old terror who'd start screaming the minute his parents left him. But what choice did Mandy have? Regardless of Adam's offer she had advertised baby-sitting. That she'd been caught off guard didn't matter. Mandy sipped her sherry and smiled brightly. She'd get Adam for this later. For now she had to "hostess."

And screaming was exactly what the little boy did. Mandy brought shiny copper pots from the kitchen and sat down on the floor to play with him later, but he refused to play. She gave him spoons and metal measuring cups, but he ignored them. He stood in the middle of the room and opened his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs. Mandy tried to pick him up, but he stomped on the floor and threw the cups across the room. His face was bright red and the tears streamed down his cheeks. Clearly he was not happy at being left with these people who were not his parents.

Still on the floor, Mandy leaned against the overstuffed chair and threw her head back on the cushion. "This was your idea," she yelled at Adam over the din. "You offered. Do something."

Adam kneeled on the floor and banged two pots together, but Jeremy wasn't interested. He threw himself on the floor and continued screaming.

Mandy crawled on her hands and knees to where Adam had taken refuge against the wall so she wouldn't have to shout. "No, it doesn't. It says bed and breakfast, not bed and dinner. I don't do dinners."

He didn't argue. He went back to the little boy, lifted him by the elbows and carried him into the kitchen, with Mandy following close behind. "Give him something—anything," Adam said. "If you can get him quiet, I'll cook dinner."

Mandy grabbed a blueberry muffin from the freezer and popped it into the microwave oven, then installed Jeremy at the table by stacking phone books on a chair. His screams had turned to snuffles, but he still wasn't a happy camper. She broke off a corner of the muffin and held it up in front of him. He took it, looked at it, and threw it across the floor.

"Not much of a testimonial to your baking skills, is it?" Adam remarked with a grin.

Mandy retrieved the crumbs and gave Adam a look of desperation. "Are you really going to make dinner?" she asked hopefully.

"That depends," he said, his head in the freezer. "Aha, chicken. You're in luck. After ten years in the bush I am known as the best chef in the Arctic Circle."

"Is there much competition for that honor?" she inquired, taking a chair next to Jeremy and preparing another bite of muffin to pop into his mouth.

Adam tossed the frozen chicken onto the drainboard. "Plenty," he assured her.

"Then how come no one's snapped you up by now, or have they?" she inquired casually. If they had, why wouldn't they be here together, here at this romantic bed and breakfast? Still, it didn't hurt to ask.

"Women don't like living miles from the nearest shopping mall."

"What about someone who already lives up there, who works with you?"

"Nobody works with me, except one other person, and he's a man. How would you like it, living in the Arctic with only your dog team for company?"

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. It wasn't the first time she'd wondered about it. Ever since she'd been writing to Jack, she'd tried to picture herself there. Even though Jack told her he was planning to leave the Yukon and work somewhere else. "What’s it like?" she asked. Even though she knew what it was like from Jack's colorful letters, she wanted to hear somebody else's opinion.

"It’s cold, it’s bleak, but it’s beautiful, too. We've got Mt. Logan covered with snow even in summer, the Yukon River rushing to the sea. And it's so quiet you can hear the snow fall."