by Barbara Lohr
Her friend’s hoot could probably be heard out in the hallway. Amy stepped closer to the window.
“So your Mallory’s a man?” Delight lifted her friend’s voice.” “I love it! What’s he like?”
“He’s not my Mallory, and he’s hot. Gorgeous doesn’t begin to cover it. Southern.”
“That’s awesome! See? Lose a bonehead, gain a hottie. Karmic law.”
Maybe she should have called Vanessa instead of McKenna. A mother, Vanessa might be have been more grounded.
“Amy, are you there?”
“Barely. Okay, McKenna, here’s where I am. I decided to go for it. I mean, make the most of it. But Caitlin’s arrival really threw me. You know I was always Big Dumpling compared to her.”
“That nickname was your father’s bad joke. Forget it. Besides, sometimes I think your sister could be anorexic. Get over it. You’re in Italy! Caitlin’s there so you’re good. You don’t know this Mallory person, and it’s good to have a sister around while you check him out. Southern, huh? Justin Timberlake is from the South. They make hotties there.”
“Very southern. Savannah.”
“Three words, Amy. Be a babe.” McKenna’s reckless chortle attacked the knot in Amy’s neck. “What are you wearing?”
“My cargo pants and a T-shirt.”
“Remember that bag I told you to pack?”
“Right. I barely fit it in my luggage. Didn’t peek, just as you said.” You didn’t cross McKenna.
“Time to break it open. Enjoy!”
“Okay, but got to go. He could come back any minute.”
“You can only hope.” McKenna was still laughing when they hung up.
Pressing the phone to her lips, Amy scrutinized the room.
These beds weren’t far enough apart.
~.~
With a few creaks and groans, the elevator slowly descended.
Good God, Amy had just about taken out a measuring tape to gauge the distance between the two beds. He’d put a quick call in to Miriam to change the reservations in Florence. Chad didn't ever have to know. When traveling, Mallory liked soft carpet, dim lights, warm towels. Miriam would see to it. Somehow Mallory would make all this acceptable to Amy.
When the elevator doors swept open, he stepped out and grabbed the handles of the two suitcases. Seconds later, he was punching the button for the third floor.
His thoughts raced as the elevator climbed. Could Amy Shaw really be this sweet? Probably not. Most women were devious. Hadn’t he learned that with Rhonda? From her name to her family background, she’d had a mind as creative as General Oglethorpe when he designed Savannah. But Rhonda proved sadly lacking in the general’s ethics.
Well, this was a wager, not a wedding. Short week.
The elevator bounced to a halt on the third floor, and Mallory tugged the bags through the narrow hallway, trying hard not to scrape the walls. His mother had been very patient with the servants, but marring the walls meant no hush puppies for one week. Mallory did so love the deep fried bits of cornmeal.
After he hustled their bags into the room, Amy and Mallory stepped around each other carefully as they unpacked. This was like shooting hoops with the guys and trying not to foul. The room was even smaller than his dressing room at home.
“Would you like to shower?” He thought he’d come back and find her in the bathroom. Wasn’t that what women did…take total control of the bathroom as if they were Sherman, marching through Georgia?
“No, you go first. I just didn’t want to leave all this yet.” Amy got this dreamy look on her face and turned back to the balcony.
Certainly not going to argue. Grabbing some fresh clothes, he headed for the shower. Good God. Felt like he’d walked directly into a closet…with running water. But once inside the tiny shower, those picayune points dissolved in the blistering hot water. After a few minutes, he switched to ice cold. Time to douse the totally inappropriate thoughts about his travel chum.
How had Amy become confused with Miss Sandusky in his mind?
When he emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, Amy was folding what looked like personal items into a drawer. Wedged between the open french door and the bathroom, they faced each other. Her neck and cheeks reddened as she slammed the drawer shut and brushed that flowing hair back from her face. Were her cheeks silky soft like the curls that had tumbled over him on the plane? Almost worth getting his nose cracked.
Amy’s eyes focused on his chin.
“What?” He ran one hand over his face.
“You must have been in a hurry,” she murmured in a voice as soft as the shaving cream she swiped from behind his left ear.
The touch of her finger sent heat ripping through Mallory’s body. His fingers closed over hers. “Not much time.”
“We should go out. See the area.” Eyelids fluttering, she swayed toward him.
He reached out to steady her. That's all he had in mind. Really. The pulse in her neck throbbed like a horse’s hooves on race day. When Amy’s head tipped up, Mallory read the startled question in her eyes.
This is so wrong. The kiss began with sweet surprise but quickly shot into the torrid zone. Amy’s lips parted slightly, and his tongue swept in, a honeyed invasion. Startled, she jerked back, body rigid. Heart thudding, he pulled in a breath and waited. Then with a soft moan, she melted into his arms.
“Be a babe.” Was that what she whispered?
No time for questions. Amy was so sweet, and he couldn’t resist. Her curves filled Mallory’s hands as he pulled her closer. His body’s immediate response became embarrassingly obvious.
“Oh, my.” Voice ragged, she clutched his arms. Were her hips grinding against him a bit? Was that moan coming from her or the rumble of the maid’s cart out in the hallway? With those body movements, he picked what was behind Door Amy. But just as he was settling in, she jerked away. Stiff-armed him.
“I am so sorry!” Her tangled blonde curls shivered.
“Nothing to be sorry about, Miss Amy.” With considerable reluctance, Mallory loosened his hold.
Pressing the fingers of one hand against her lips, Amy looked at him with mute appeal before veering to the twin beds. “Promise me?” Circling back, her gaze clung to him, like she was sliding over a cliff and he was the only one close enough to save her.
Of course.” He would have promised anything.
“Promise me that this will not happen again,” she said sternly and then seemed to reconsider, lips pouting. “Not today anyway.”
Mallory nodded. Not today? The gate had indeed been left ajar. And she was being so damn cute about it. “Of course not,” he whispered, a thirsty man who'd been promised a drink and still held out hope.
Never had Mallory Thornton had to do more than glance over, and women swarmed toward him like sand gnats in August. But they were all the wrong women. He was rather enjoying this and not in a gentlemanly way.
“The bathroom is all yours.” He stepped aside.
“Thank you.” As she edged around him, he stifled the urge to kiss her creamy neck.
“I'll meet you downstairs.”
With a slight nod, she closed the bathroom door. Were those nude silky things in her hand panties? He sank onto a bed to regroup.
Stifle it, Thornton. Five minutes later, he was strolling down the green-carpeted hallway toward the elevator, but his mind was back in that tiny bathroom, soaping Amy’s porcelain back, cupping her curves, feeling her heated body against his and hearing her moan, as she had only moments ago.
He had to get a grip. Stabbing at the elevator button, he broke into a sweat, mind still back in that bathroom. His yellow polo felt damp.
When he got to the main floor, he took his phone from his pocket. Time to give a status report. That might put him back on track.
“We’ve landed,” Mallory announced when Chad answered.
“And she’s sending you back to the states, right?”
“My dear man, I am in Rapallo. On the Italian
Riviera.” Mallory strolled to the door and looked out. “The beach looks fantastic.”
“Man,” Chad said with an exhalation of breath. “She must really be desperate.”
Was Amy desperate? Something was going on, from the looks exchanged by the two sisters. “She’s quite a challenge. You probably knew that when you chose her.”
“Neither one of us knows that much about her,” Chad warned. Now, this was unexpected. “Have fun, but watch it.”
“She’s a sweet girl.”
“Looks can be deceiving. We both know that. Just have fun. That’s the main point. And remember, no flashing of credit cards. No indication that you are Mr. Big Bucks.”
“Absolutely. Poor as a church mouse.”
What Chad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Like a Georgia rain shower in July, the remorse washed over him and was gone.
“Want me to come over and chaperone? Mirandah might be up for that.” Chad and Mirandah Fairchild had recently become an item.
“Her sister will be doing the chaperoning, thank you very much.”
“Her sister is with you?”
“An unexpected surprise.” For the time being, Mallory was believing that.
“This could add to the challenge.” He could sense Chad’s wheels turning.
“With or without the sister, this lady is Mt. Everest.” But he wasn't discouraged. Amy was not cold, far from it.
“Keep me posted,” Chad said before they ended the call.
Fine, let Chad believe he was working his ass off. Mallory tapped the phone against one palm. What had just transpired in the room had been a game changer. A platonic trip with a travel chum? He wasn’t so sure.
Stepping into the small lounge to the right of the reception area, he ordered an Arnold Palmer. The icy lemonade and iced tea might keep his head together, although he certainly would have appreciated the customary sprig of spearmint. Sipping, he considered his options.
The CEO of a major corporation attempting to travel with a woman he didn’t know so he could retain his power? His father might have been pleased by his efforts, even if he didn’t approve of the method. His mother’s assurances that his father loved him deeply never quite softened the jibes Owen Thornton continually threw at his son. Mallory’s grades were barely passing throughout his schooling, and his interest in the company never measured up to his father’s high standards.
From the corner of his eye, Mallory saw Amy step up to the front desk, wearing a little flowered dress. The short little thing with blue flowers looked light as air, a definite improvement over the bulky safari pants. As she stood there in her brown leather sandals, he admired her legs—shapely and athletic.
He left his half-finished drink on the bar.
“Shall we?” Opening the door, he inhaled her clean, citrusy scent. Rhonda had crowded her dressing table with bottles of outrageously expensive perfume that were all too heavy for his taste.
Stepping out into the sunlight, he adjusted his sunglasses. How delightful. An adventure. They set off at a fast clip, headed for the beach and the bright blue cabanas lining the edge of the narrow shore. As they walked along together, they chatted about the tourist town, shops they were passing, and the parking lot crowded with small European cars. Her enthusiasm was contagious and extended to just about everything.
The sand, the water, the people—she loved it all.
For him, the beach often involved exclusive private homes perched above an equally private cove. This beach stretched wide, dotted with shaded lounge chairs. Since it was later in the afternoon, parents were packing up beach bags and retreating to their hotels, sleepy children in tow.
The slight squeezing around his heart surprised him. Almost thirty-five, and it looked as if he'd never have this. Picking up the pace, he told himself it didn't matter.
The sandy beach and sea sparkled in the sun. Out in the bay, stately cruisers sat at anchor, rocked gently by the waves. Mallory had seen many stretches of beach, from Brazil to Thailand, but this sure looked like paradise. Amy and her friend must have been planning this for quite a while to get it right.
“Isn’t it wonderful!” Amy threw her arms wide.
Smiled at her childlike delight, he eyed the boats bobbing in the bay. “Great place to rent a yacht for a week or two.”
Stripping off her sandals, Amy laughed. “You and Daddy Warbucks, right?”
Mallory’s chortle fell flat as he kicked off his dockers. Lordy, he had to watch it. What would she think if she knew who he was and how he’d ended up here? The sour taste in his mouth wasn't from the lemonade and iced tea. Scuffing the warm sand under his feet, he followed Amy to the shoreline.
While his travel chum flexed her feet in the sand, Mallory watched the movement of her shapely calves. He pictured her standing demurely behind a desk lecturing to a class about some poet or playwright while she arched upward. Her calf muscles would tense and release, tense and release.
The mental images tensed certain muscles in Mallory’s own body.
“Isn’t this a great way to start out?” Glancing over, she caught him staring at her legs. “Hello?”
Mallory jerked his head up. “Start what?” That phrase again.
Jerking her head back, she frowned at the horizon. “The trip of course.”
Often candid in the way of the Midwest, Amy could also be a puzzle. In Chicago business meetings, Mallory had observed that Midwesterners said what they thought and wanted to get on with it. Must be that cold weather. No use dallying and he was all for it. Sometimes in the South you wondered just what a woman was saying and did she want you to pass the damned butter or not? Phrases like “If I could just prevail upon you” littered the walkway of their words. You had to tread carefully. Not so with Amy. At least so far.
But she could be ambiguous sometimes, and gentlemen did not ask for clarification. At least, not southern gentlemen.
They waded into the shallow water. The underwater sand ridges formed by the rhythmic waves flattened easily beneath his feet. At that moment, everything felt so simple, so refreshing. Maybe Chad had been right. This trip, crazy as it was, might be just what he needed to restore his competitive spirit.
At one point, Amy stumbled and Mallory reached out. She clasped his forearm for just a second, her fingers so delicate against his dark tan. Her tangy citrus scent teased his senses as she fell back against his abs and then pushed away. The imprint of her body tingled, soft and rounded. Damn near took his breath away.
Too soon, they came out of the water. The scent of food curled across the boulevard from the restaurants. Grilling. Olive oil. Fresh bread.
“Let’s check them out.” He had to think of food to get his mind off Amy Shaw and the fact that she would be sleeping with him that night.
Well, almost.
Chapter 7
The light turned green and Amy took off. Crossing the boulevard felt like walking on warm bread. The asphalt had retained the heat of the day and it curled up Amy’s legs, invasive and downright arousing. One kiss in the room and her mind was running wild. Amy picked up her pace to match Mallory’s long-legged strides.
Women's heads turned. The women of Rapallo weren’t subtle in attempts to catch the eye of her travel chum. Mallory was eye candy, no doubt about it. She’d had a fair share of that neck craning when she was with Jason. After all, he was head coach and always gave them a nod.
Mallory kept walking.
When she’d lost her footing on the beach, his chest and stomach had been solid support behind her. She’d been so tempted to stay there, snug against his muscled chest.
Had that kiss in their room made her crazy? She had to think about this. A warning bell went off in her head.
Think about it? That was the old Amy. Might take her a while to let loose. After all, she was a woman without babe experience, not really. In many ways, she felt like a freshman on the first day of school.
“Anything wrong?” Mallory peered down at her.
�
��Nope, nothing.” She followed him into a restaurant. A young man with a broad smile and dark curly hair led them to a table on the patio and handed them menus. After they were seated, Amy’s gaze drifted back to the bay, still visible across the busy boulevard traffic. Huge and luminous, the sun continued to slide toward the sea, setting the water afire with a rosy glow. “Will you look at that? Lake Michigan is great, but this, this is exquisite.”
“I always enjoy trips to the shore.” Mallory opened his menu.
“The shore?” Sounded like something from a travel catalogue.
Either Mallory flushed pink or he was sunburned from their short walk. Ducking his head, he nodded. “The Outer Banks. Or Tybee Island. So many wonderful areas, or so I’m told.”
“So I'm told,” she repeated, clamping a lid on her suspicions.
He held up the wine list. “Your pleasure?”
“What?”
With a slow grin, he pointed to the listing. “What kind of wine would you like?”
Holy moly, it was hot in here. “Why don't you choose?”
His gaze pulled away from her like sticky taffy.
Amy concentrated on the menu while Mallory ordered the wine. The man from Savannah sure seemed to know his way around the wine list. They both ordered their entrees.
“The pollo con gorgonzola and grilled eggplant sound great,” she told the waiter. You were always safe with chicken.
“And I’d like the satimboca alla romana,” Mallory said, the entrée rolling off his tongue as if he were ordering a steak with fries back home. Had he said he rarely traveled? What would McKenna say about her constant doubts? She silenced her chattering mind.
After the waiter brought the wine, they sat and sipped in silence, although Amy felt jumpy with questions. Why had Mallory chosen this trip? Why he had chosen her? But if she quizzed him, turnabout was fair play.
She straightened in her chair. “Wonder where Caitlin and Kurt ended up.”
“From the look of the two of them, they won’t have trouble finding something to do.” Mallory nudged the linen napkin aside in the bread basket and took a slice.
“This is a committed relationship.” She hated the prim, defensive note in her voice.