by Barbara Lohr
“I’m sure Miriam would appreciate it.” Every time he said Miriam’s name, Amy softened a little more, her green eyes turning to summer limes. Scanning the tables, Amy took her time. Mallory followed behind, enjoying the way the sun caught the blonde streaks in Amy’s hair, fighting the urge to touch one.
“You think she’s not into…” Amy swept one hand over the tables of clearly erotic displays of lingerie.
“Oh, how I wish she were into black lace. It would probably help things.” Mallory shook his head with what he hoped was convincing regret.
“Oh, dear.” Amy paused.
“Not married.” Dropping his voice, Mallory leaned closer. The scent of her coconut sunblock loosened every muscle in his body. All but one. “An unclaimed treasure, if you will.”
Amy’s face emptied. “How sad.”
Mallory gave her a wry smile. “Very, but she needs to relax. Loosen up.”
“Loosen up?” Amy straightened.
Time to poke the bear, as Chad would say. “Miriam's a little uptight. A lady with a schedule, not that a schedule is a bad thing. After all, she does have responsibilities.” Mallory circled close enough to inhale that sunblock again and detect the spicy orange scent Amy spritzed on herself in the morning. Felt strange, getting to know her personal habits. So intimate.
Amy searched his face before her eyes fell. “Scheduled, huh?”
“Organization can be a good thing sometimes.” But it was too late. Amy’s face fell. He felt like a heel. Sometimes you could poke the bear a little too hard and break the skin.
Not with Amy. Not from him.
They’d reached a table piled high with linens of crisp white, pale pink or yellow. A white cloth hung overhead with lacy something-or-other joining squares of fabric—the kind of linen his grandmother once brought out for a holiday dinner.
“What about one of these?” Amy asked. “Tablecloths are always good.”
He nodded. “Miriam might like these.”
Hand sorting the piles efficiently, Amy eventually pulled out a pale lemon folded square. “What about this?”
“You know, I think she might prefer white.” White seemed like a sensible choice. And Miriam was certainly sensible.
“Your sister must be very traditional.” Amy laid the yellow linen aside and snagged a white replacement. “Done deal?”
“Done deal,” Mallory echoed, handing the tablecloth to a waiting saleswoman just as Louise and Emily strolled toward them, heads together and bags hanging from their arms.
“Want to share our shopping with your family?” Mallory asked, watching her smile straighten into a leaden line. “Get their opinion?”
“There are some things I don’t share with my family.” When the woman handed her a plain white bag, Amy quickly stashed the pink plastic inside. Mallory swallowed a laugh.
After Louise and Emily caught up, the four of them spent the rest of the afternoon wandering from shop to shop while Mallory observed. Their family dynamics fascinated him.
Being an only child in the Thornton line had been a responsibility. Even as a child, Mallory had understood that. From the start, his father was far more interested in training than in education. Rules. That's all Mallory remembered. Teachers commented that he was bright, but he lacked focus. ADD wasn't on the scene yet. His mother ended up running interference for him with his father, which put them at odds. That didn't make anyone happy.
If he was ever lucky enough to have a son, Mallory would make sure his son ran and played like the other guys.
By five o’clock, the women’s attention had turned from their formidable collection of bags to dinner. A quick call to Caitlin revealed she and Kurt were tied up.
“Caitlin’s in love,” Louise said in an undertone to Mallory while Amy said goodbye and pocketed the phone. “I’m hoping for another wedding.”
“Louise,” Aunt Em prodded gently, eyes darting to Amy.
“Sorry. A wedding,” Louise corrected herself, and Amy sighed.
There it was again. Sure he had questions, but he wanted Amy to answer them. Maybe he would have a chance to learn more during dinner. They set up a tentative time and decided to meet at the restaurant.
Amy fell silent after her mother and aunt went on their way. “Tired?” he asked as they ambled toward the hotel.
Pushing her hair behind one shell-like ear, Amy caught a strand and bit down on it. “Maybe we need some alone time.”
“The two of us? I agree.” Funny, he felt a little disappointed. He’d enjoyed time with Louise and Emily.
“No, I meant each of us might need some time alone.”
Hell’s bells. What was this? They were approaching the hotel, and he turned to face her. He thought the day had gone pretty damn well. “Is this like a trial separation?” Irritation razored Mallory's words.
They reached the front entrance. The doorman snapped to attention, holding the glass door wide. Amy hesitated. Then she stepped through, chin down.
~.~
Now she’d hurt his feelings. Inside the hotel lobby, Amy glanced up at Mallory. He’d been such a good guy, accepting her family and everything. The pink bag was crunched in her backpack. She couldn’t even go there. Her black thongs were all at home. Shopping for one with a man? First time for everything. Sometimes this week felt totally out of control. She wanted to talk to her family alone. Explanations were in order. “Just for this evening. I’m not ditching you, really.”
“Sure. Fine.”
But it wasn’t. Mallory’s face had hardened into disappointed ridges that surprised and pleased her. Reaching out, she tugged his hand. “Just tonight, okay?”
A corner of his mouth tweaked up. “Fine. But just for tonight.”
Felt like they’d just agreed on something, but she wasn’t sure exactly what that something might be.
Chapter 16
Rolling over with a yawn, Mallory stretched. The sheets smelled so damn good. But different. He pried his eyes open and rolled toward the other bed. The morning light caressed Amy’s curves. Damn.
What a beauty. Peachy skin and light freckles. Golden curls tossed against the pillow and lips slightly open. His body registered an immediate response. Good God, his hands tingled as he imagined skimming that soft skin. A healthy imagination took him to areas he hadn’t seen…yet.
Falling flat on his back, he shoved his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling. The night before had been deadly dull. Even a call to Chad failed to lift his mood. His cousin had teased him unmercifully, and he’d said very little. Finally Chad asked him why he’d called. Downright testy. Short conversation.
After an uneventful dinner in some cafe, he’d wandered back over the bridge toward the hotel. At the highest point, a man and woman had drawn a small crowd. While the guy strummed a beat-up guitar, they sang what sounded like a French love song, a hat at their feet.
He wanted Amy there with him. After tossing some bills in the hat, he took off. A lot to think about as he strolled back to the hotel.
Was he, Mallory Thornton, actually missing someone? When Rhonda moved out, taking her heavy perfumes and reality TV shows with her, he was so damned relieved. Stretching out on the leather sofa in the TV room, he’d snapped on a game and cracked open a beer. Relaxed and enjoyed his newfound freedom.
One evening without his travel chum, and he was bored out of his skull. Was it the clean scent of her sunblock or her cute giggle?
Or was it the fact she was part of a family he liked very much?
By the time Mallory had returned to the hotel room, Amy was tucked in her twin bed like some nun, a sheet pulled up to her chin. Apparently she liked the heavy silk drapes open. Moonlight fell across the bed in thick, creamy waves.
Amy had looked luminous—like a woman in a Rossetti painting. His mother had made him take Art Appreciation in prep school. Finally it paid off. Yes sir, Amy was full-on Rossetti. Generous lips. Heavy eyes and all that long, wavy hair. And yet, she had such innocence about her. Good God, she’d
blushed scarlet when he’d teased her about the thong. Almost made him feel guilty.
Almost, but not quite.
He sure wasn’t a good judge of women. Rhonda was proof of that. But he’d become an excellent judge of families. So far, Amy’s folks ranked high on his list. Could a woman coming from that family be deceitful? He doubted it.
Restless and lonely, he’d had trouble falling asleep with a beautiful woman within his reach but so far away.
Amy gave a deep heartfelt sigh as she rolled toward him, the sheet slipping below the tank top she wore at night. The top didn’t cover much.
He’d always been a believer that suggestion was a bigger turn-on than full nudity. He studied her curves and imagined.
Good God, enough.
Careful not to wake Amy, he threw back the covers and padded through the thick green carpet toward the bathroom. As he showered, Mallory mentally reviewed the calendar. The week was wasting away. It was Wednesday and high time to advance his strategy.
Did he have a plan?
Stay with Amy. All week.
The stupid bet began to make sense. Hadn’t it brought her to him? He was starting to feel grateful for Chad’s nonsense.
Minutes later, he pulled on some clothes and quietly scribbled a note. As he closed the door to their room, she began to rustle in her bed, making all kinds of luscious stretches. He had to get out of there.
When Amy showed up in the cozy breakfast room of the hotel, Mallory was savoring his Italian coffee. Wearing a soft peach T-shirt and a dark green mini skirt with a matching sweatshirt knotted around her waist, Amy glowed. The saffron walls complemented her coloring. Blondish curls slipped from the pony tail that bounced when she walked.
Full-on Miss Sandusky. Damn.
He sprang to his feet. “My, oh, my. Don’t you just look like a Georgia peach this morning.”
Flashing a shy smile, Amy slid into the chair opposite him. “When I was a little girl, my mother would always dress me in peach—her favorite color, not mine. Now I like it. Go figure.” A dainty lift of one shoulder and she reached for the coffee pot.
Mallory chuckled. “Why does that not surprise me that you gave Louise a hard time about your clothes?”
“So it shows, huh?”
“A bit.” He leaned toward her, hoping to capture that citrus scent that drove him crazy. “How was last evening?”
“My family missed you.” A note of disbelief echoed in Amy’s voice.
“No kidding?” Mallory felt positively tickled.
“Sorry if I offended you by suggesting time alone.” She picked at a croissant. “I just thought it might be a good idea. Stupid really.”
“The teacher in you? Getting things organized.”
Amy grimaced before she took her first sip of coffee. “Maybe. I’m still getting over the shock of seeing them all here. But at least, the, ah, situation gave them an excuse to make this trip. Mom and Aunt Em have booked a five-day stay here in Florence. Caitlin and Kurt are moving on to Venice.” She hesitated, her gaze flashing to his.
“Fine with me,” Mallory assured her. So far Caitlin and Kurt had been pretty absorbed with each other. “So, today the Uffizi is the first stop?”
“Gosh, I’ve read about that museum for so long. Can’t wait to see The Birth of Venus,” she murmured, face brightening as if she were already in front of the masterpiece. Her excitement was contagious.
Anticipation revved through his veins. “Botticelli.”
“You know it?”
“Sure. Art class. All I can remember about that painting, if I have it right, is really long hair, broken by the strategic placement of Venus’ hand.” Erotic as hell. Amy probably had no idea she’d strongly resembled the masterpiece as she rose from the waters in Monterosso.
“Sounds wonderful. Can’t wait.”
But a melancholy note in her voice snapped him to attention. Damn, what had he said now? Amy’s eyes were filling while she played with the packets of sugar. “You probably have questions after my family’s comments yesterday.”
“A few, yes, but when you’re ready.”
“Jason was more than a friend, okay? Jason was…my fiancé. Our wedding was called off at the last minute. There were some, ah, complications.”
“I’m so sorry.” He appreciated the honesty.
Her blush deepened. “The truth is, he preferred a physical education teacher over me, I guess. Caught them together in the locker room shower. I just didn’t want to give up this…honeymoon.” She could hardly get the last word out.
A waitress arrived.
“Nothing for me, thank you. I’m not hungry,” Amy told her.
“I’m also fine, thank you, ma’am.”
The waitress left.
Mallory considered what to say while Amy continued to shred a croissant. “Amy, the man’s not worth a second of regret.”
“I know it.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
He handed her a napkin.
“Maybe it was awful to involve you in my mistake.”
Good God, she was killing him. Her story wasn’t any more pitiful than his own.
“We both signed up on that site, Amy. For what it’s worth, I can tell you it’s better to call the wedding off now than regret it later.”
Amy’s gaze latched onto his. “Are you are talking about your short marriage? Bad experience, huh?”
His attempt at a laugh came out a bark. “Trust me, my marriage was more than a bad experience. More like being flayed alive.”
“I’m so sorry, Mallory.” The huskiness of her voice stroked every sensitive cord in his body.
“A mistake from the very beginning.” His coffee had turned lukewarm and he set the cup down.
Was this the time to come clean? Tell her about the bet and the car. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What would she think? He'd feel like a total fool, and he snapped his mouth shut just as she glanced up.
Where this was headed, a confession might ruin everything. He wasn’t going to risk it.
“What about your parents’ marriage?” Amy heaped what was left of her croissant with orange marmalade and dug in as if she hadn't eaten in days.
“Although my father could be inconsiderate, my mother made up for it.” Images of happier times flooded his mind. “I never realized it could be so hard. Marriage that is.”
A frown puckered her forehead. “Maybe good marriages just make it look easy. My mother really misses my dad. They were good friends.”
Amy might be the kind of woman who'd be a great friend. The thought was novel and unsettling. He checked his watch. “Maybe we should move along. You don’t want to miss your family.”
“We're meeting them after the Uffizi at the statue of David. Since they’re staying in Florence after we leave, they wanted to devote an entire day to the museum.”
Mallory left any regrets about his hesitation at the table. He could probably look all over hell and half of Georgia and not find a woman like Amy. He wasn’t about to spoil it.
~.~
Sprinting down the narrow streets in the freshness of the morning, Amy felt her spirits lift. Telling the truth had brought relief. Birds twittered overhead, and shopkeepers hosed the sidewalks in front of their storefronts.
This solo honeymoon—well, except for Mallory and her family—she’d finally come to terms with it.
Mallory took her hand. Picking up the pace, she laced her fingers through his.
When they finally found the Uffizi, a line of restless tourists stretched down the long portico and into the street. They joined the group. The cool morning air held an early September dampness that hinted at fall. Unknotting her green sweatshirt from around her waist, she slipped her arms into the sleeves with Mallory’s help.
“You’re very well trained. You know that?” she kidded him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, thickening his southern accent. “My dear mother sure did, ma’am.” His hands rested on her shoulders.
Th
e conversation ahead of them became heated, and the German father made a chopping motion with his hands. “Kaput!” he exclaimed while his wife nodded in stolid agreement. Their two teenage sons looked chastened.
“Kaput.” Mallory’s lips were warm against her ear. “I do declare. Sounds like my ill-fated marriage.”
His lips tickled and she smiled. “My relationship too. Kaput. Thank goodness.”
Now, when had her feelings about that canceled wedding changed to relief? Ear still tingling, she tried to squelch the heat shimmering through her body. But why? One deep breath and she released her longing for Mallory in delicious waves that would lead who knew where.
As the crowded packed closer, Amy wound up leaning against Mallory. He looped one arm around her waist. The warmth pulsing in her veins circled her stomach and dipped lower. The line moved forward, and his arm dropped.
But it had felt good. Way too good.
Finally they reached the counter, got their tickets, and dropped off Amy’s backpack in the checkroom. Mallory grabbed a map, and they took the wide stone steps to the wide gallery above. Upstairs, the sun shone brightly through leaded glass windows onto an assortment of marble statues. Various viewing rooms led off of the gallery. Their map was carefully marked by time period.
Amy stared at the diagram. “Guess we should do this historically.”
“Or we could just go for the good stuff first.” Mallory’s blue eyes narrowed with a challenge.
Grabbing his hand, she tugged him into the nearest room.
As they wandered through gallery after gallery, Amy became distracted by the brush of Mallory’s body, the scent of his aftershave, the eyes that focused totally on her when he talked about a painting. Longing rippled through her body in rich waves.
How amazing. Here she stood, surrounded by breathtaking art, and all she could think about was Mallory’s impossibly thick mane of dark hair. How would it feel in her hands? Heavy and substantial, the type that clung to your fingers when she cupped his head?
Anticipation left her trembling.
Finally, they reached The Birth of Venus. “Here we go.” Mallory pulled up short in front of the masterpiece. “My, oh, my. Botticelli.”