Promise Me

by Deborah Schneider

  “Walter,” the young man mumbled, as if she were so dense she couldn’t remember his name.

  “Walter”—she made her voice cheerful despite a sinking sensation in her belly—“has been kind enough to help me solve a little problem I’ve been having.”

  Sam’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “You came over here to see Walter?”

  Amanda’s confidence faltered at the harsh tone of his voice.

  “No, that was just lucky happenstance.” She stepped toward him, curving her lips in the provocative manner that had made him melt in her arms earlier this morning. He didn’t seem to notice as he leaned around her to slam the front door shut.

  “Did you want something, then?”

  Amanda was growing irritated. Instead of looking happy to see her, he looked annoyed. And he seemed distracted by his fierce encounter with the men who had just exited the building. It was clear a business deal had gone sour. Perhaps timing was everything, and hers couldn’t be worse.

  “I...wanted to discuss something with you, but perhaps it can wait.” She shifted her position and backed toward the door in an effort to beat a hasty retreat. His words stopped her.

  “No point in wasting the trip. You might as well come in.” He held open the door to the inner office and she slowly made her way past him, berating herself for not planning this better. Manipulating an aroused, passionate Sam was one thing. Dealing with an angry, irritated one was quite another.

  “Sit down.” He gestured to a chair before sliding down into his own at the large solid table covered with papers and maps. His fingers drummed against the oak surface while he waited for her to compose herself.

  Butterflies flittering through her belly made her too nervous to sit still, and she wandered the room to study several large maps nailed to the wall.

  “These are very interesting. What are all those areas outlined in red?” She pointed to several large tracts of land.

  “Did you come here to discuss my leased land holdings, Amanda?”

  She tried to hide her surprise and turned back to investigate the maps. “Are all those parcels yours, Sam?”

  He picked up a glass pen and tapped it against the inkwell. “Yes. Or at least that’s land I have options on. Now, does that satisfy your curiosity?” He tossed the pen on the blotter and sat back in his chair with his arms folded in front of him.

  She moved to a large table covered with papers and tried to hide her nervousness by shuffling some of them. Instead they flew in several directions. “Oh my,” she muttered.

  “Amanda.” His voice was sharp. “Sit down this minute and quit destroying my office.”

  She tried to comply, but her skirt caught on a paperweight as she brushed past, and it nearly toppled to the floor before he caught it.

  He stood, walked around the table, and pushed her into the chair. “What the hell do you want, Amanda?”

  She stared up at him in horror. Where was the tender lover she’d been with this morning? The man who’d said he worshipped her and that she was a goddess? She wanted to ask this cold, angry stranger what he’d done with the body of Samuel Calhoun.

  “I...” She couldn’t cajole this Sam into being her protector, to move into the hotel, into the room adjoining hers. She didn’t even think she liked this man very much, with his rude behavior, unkind attitude, and sharp words.

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake, please forgive me.” Standing up again, she worked to keep a quiver out of her voice.

  She turned to hurry out of the room, but he stopped her by putting his hands on her shoulders. Moving closer, he lowered his lips to the back of her neck, kissing her gently and sending shivers down her spine.

  “I’m sorry, Amanda. It’s been a helluva day.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I shouldn’t take it out on you, though.”

  “I thought you were already regretting last night.” She couldn’t keep the note of sadness from her voice.

  His lips moved to the side of her throat, just beneath her ear. “God, no. Why would I regret that? It was wonderful.”

  Warmth exploded deep within her. She turned to face him, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Then you’re not angry that I came to the office to see you?”

  He wrapped a curl around one strong, thick finger. “I didn’t say that. Coming here in the middle of the day was a foolish thing to do. You’re a respectable woman, and you can’t be visiting men in broad daylight.”

  The corners of her lips lifted into a smile as she trailed her hands down the fabric of his vest. “But it’s perfectly respectable to cavort with a man in the early hours of the morning, is that what you’re saying, Mr. Calhoun?”

  Sam closed his eyes at her sensual assault. “This is hardly the time or the place to discuss such things, Amanda.”

  He caressed her arms and pulled her closer. Desire smoldered in the depths of his eyes.

  “But that’s exactly the reason I came over here, to discuss some important details about our arrangement.” She stroked his cheek and marveled at the way her touch transformed him. Already he was more relaxed, his voice calmer, his demeanor softer.

  “Amanda, we don’t have an arrangement. Quite frankly, it would be better if you just waltzed out of this office right now and never looked back.” He tried to step away from her. She refused to release him.

  Her heart plummeted and her words stuck in her throat. He still wanted to send her away, even after all the things they’d done together. Even after their night of passion, a night he had just referred to as wonderful. She backed away to give him a scrutinizing stare. Maybe she needed to use more persuasion.

  “I want you to move into the hotel.” She lifted herself on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his chin. It didn’t seem to distract him.

  “I have rooms right above here. Why would I want to move into the Parmeter House?” He tried to release her, but she still refused to let go.

  “To be closer to me, of course.” She gave him a look that should have curled his toes. Instead, he managed to free himself and step back. Calmly, he sat upon the edge of his desk, crossing one leg over the other. He pulled out a cheroot, but he didn’t ask her permission to smoke.

  “I think you’d better sit down and explain yourself, Amanda. I have no intention of moving into the Parmeter House, even if it means being closer to you.”

  The finality of his answer convinced her she’d been right. Arousing a man appeared to be useful for a very limited time. She couldn’t accurately gauge what the exact amount of time had been, but not nearly long enough for her purposes.

  “I thought you’d want to be closer to me, so that we could, well, you know.”

  He tapped some ash from his cigar and gave her a mischievous grin that lit his eyes with touches of gold. “Judging from last night and this morning, don’t you think I’m close enough to manage just fine?”

  Her face grew hot, and she wished she could reach that big glass paperweight; it would be the perfect thing to smash his arrogant skull.

  She stood abruptly, brushed at her skirts, and arranged her petticoats before tossing him a cold glare. “Please forgive me for interrupting your important business. I can see I’m wasting my time, so I’ll just leave you alone, Mr. Calhoun.”

  “Tell me what you want, Amanda.” The chiseled features of his face were set in hard planes, and his eyes snapped bright amber flashes. “The truth, without any tricks or deception. Just tell me what the hell you want.”

  She stomped her foot and shook with anger. “I want you to move into the hotel, into the room adjoining mine. I want you nearby so I can feel safe. I want you to protect me from the men who want to hurt me.”

  Her tears shamed her, and she truly wanted to whack this man with a sturdy object. Then she could slink out, humiliated.

  He rubbed his hands across her shoulders and the smoldering heat in hi
s eyes hypnotized her. “That’s all I wanted, darlin’. Tell me the truth. I hate all the lies and deceit, and the one true thing in my life right now is you. Always be honest with me, can you promise that?”

  His breath, warm and soft, caressed her as he moved closer. “I promise,” she whispered, instantly forgetting his earlier bad temper.

  His lips crushed hers, and she was lost in a whirlpool of sensation before she could demand the same of him. By the time they stepped away from each other, she was too breathless to ask him for anything else. Too grateful for her success to wonder if she should demand honesty from him, also. Her own sensuality captured her, and she didn’t question his sudden change of heart.

  “I’ll move in tonight, but Amanda...” She didn’t let him finish before she silenced him with another kiss.

  ***

  She was walking back to the hotel before she recalled the words he’d whispered before they’d become lost in a sea of desire.

  “I’m no good for you, Amanda. I’m not the man you think I am.”

  Her intuition demanded she examine that phrase, to think about those words of warning. Instead she ignored them. In her opinion, goodness was a highly overrated quality, anyway. What had being good ever gotten her? Years of Father Mikelson’s sermons echoed in her ears, but she shut them out.

  Being bad with Samuel Calhoun was more fun than being good with anyone else had ever been.

  Chapter Nine

  “Sweet Jesus in the morning, Amanda, what the hell happened in here?”

  Sam stood in the doorway, taking in the clothing strewn about, the unmade bed and open trunks with shoes, corsets, and various women’s accouterments piled haphazardly within.

  Amanda turned from the dressing table mirror where she was arranging her hair and frowned.

  “Happened? I was just getting ready for dinner.” She turned back to the mirror to tuck a few glossy red curls into an arrangement on top of her head.

  Sam picked his way carefully through the chaos of the room to stand behind her. She smiled at his reflection. It was a lazy, inviting, seductive smile, and heat shot through him and pooled in his most sensitive parts. It bothered him a bit that she could arouse him so easily.

  “I wish you could wear your hair down, it’s beautiful when it shimmers in the lamplight.” He touched one errant curl gently.

  She shook her head and frowned. “It wouldn’t be suitable for a widow to pretend to be a maiden.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m supposed to be devastated by my recent loss, remember?”

  Sam nodded and walked across the room, carefully stepping over clothing. He tossed enough items into a trunk to clear a spot, then settled himself on the bed.

  “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that, Amanda. For all your talk about keeping your promise to Arthur Wainwright, you don’t exactly appear to be...” He coughed politely. “Overwhelmed by grief.”

  Amanda stood and adjusted her black crepe skirts. “I’m not devastated, if you must know the truth.” She crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. “Arthur Wainwright married my money. He and my father were business partners, and when I turned eighteen I was informed that I was to be wed.” She gave him a thin smile.

  “No one suggested I might have any choice in the matter, or asked me if I wished to be married. It was simply a matter of doing what I was told.”

  Sam looked up at her, amused by the petulant tone of her voice. “And it never occurred to you to argue, or to run away?”

  Amanda nibbled at her lower lip. “I was raised to be an obedient Catholic girl, to do what my father and the church thought best for me. I didn’t argue because I’d been in the convent so long, I believed one simply did what one was told to do.”

  She slammed one of the trunks shut and sat down heavily upon it. “I was miserable after our wedding night. Arthur was rather perfunctory, shall we say, about the whole thing.”

  Sam stared at her. He knew some men didn’t care if women were pleasured and simply saw to their own needs. But the thought of having a partner as passionate as Amanda in bed, then wasting the opportunity, disgusted him.

  Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “I know it’s not good to speak ill of the dead, but Arthur was, well, very dull. He certainly lacked your imagination.” She gave Sam a dimpled grin. “He never seemed very interested in me, and then, after a while, when he realized I wasn’t going to produce he son he wanted, he never entered my room. I had to give up on the idea of having children.”

  The depth of her loss shone in her emerald eyes when she lifted her gaze to meet his. A shimmer of tears appeared, but she took a deep breath and continued.

  “I learned to accept things as they were, a marriage that lacked emotion. But Arthur took care of me, and we made the best of the situation.”

  Sam fought a sudden urge to stand, pull her into his arms, and kiss the pain away. He pictured her then, an innocent young woman, filled with dreams of babies and happiness.

  He knew only too well the painful loss of such dreams. He had once been young and filled with plans for his life. A war and prison camp had changed all that. For many years, he had been content to live each day as it came, without hope. But lately, he’d started to look towards the future with a new sense of purpose. Something profound had changed in his life, starting that night in the kitchen when he first met Amanda Wainwright.

  She smiled. “Arthur encouraged me to learn and to try new things. In many ways, I was his protégé. He trusted me, and that’s why I must honor the promise I made to him.”

  Sam stood and approached her. He brushed a finger across her cheek. “So it has nothing to do with a stubborn streak about a mile wide that I’ve observed?”

  Amanda tilted her head and fluttered her lashes. “Stubborn? Why, how could you even insinuate such a thing Mr. Calhoun?”

  He leaned back on his heels and laughed. “I seem to remember a certain amount of—ahem— persuasion was used to encourage me to move into the Parmeter House.”

  Amanda’s eyes turned dark and sultry. She licked her lips and that flash of heat surged through him again.

  “I have an idea that I didn’t need to persuade you nearly as much as you pretend I did.” She stood up and rubbed his chest. “In fact, I hardly had to say a thing other than please.”

  Sam grasped her chin, turning her face up toward him. “Maybe it’s just the lovely way you say please.” He crushed his mouth to hers and reveled in the softness and immediacy of her response. Her lips parted and she invited him in. He wrapped his arms around her, and for a few moments, their hearts beat in cadence. Her body molded against him. She felt so right in his embrace.

  He knew he could carry her to the bed, and without a word of protest, she’d allow him to make love to her. The primal need they experienced for each other tantalized and terrified him at the same time. He craved her touch, the sound of her voice, even the sweet lilac scent of her. A warning sounded deep within him.

  His own desire was nothing compared to the mission with which he’d been charged. He needed to focus on the conspiracy of the mine owners, not be sidetracked by the comely Widow Wainwright.

  Releasing her, he swallowed and stepped back. “We’d better go down to supper before we get distracted.” He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and smoothed his hair back, trying to calm his enflamed senses.

  Amanda picked up a shawl and gave him a playful smile. “I’m really not that hungry, perhaps Harriet could simply leave us one of those midnight suppers.”

  Sam considered her words. He wanted to stay in this room and make love to Amanda. Yet he also wanted to prove to himself that he could resist her.

  “We have a long night ahead of us. Let me help you with that and let’s get downstairs to eat. If memory serves me correctly, I’m going to need the sustenance to survive another night with you.”

  Amanda batted at him play
fully, and the ugly black shawl fell to the floor. She grimaced when she retrieved it.

  “I’m so tired of black. I swear this year will be the longest of my life. Widow’s weeds are so depressing, it’s no wonder women wearing them don’t want to go out unless they have to.”

  She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and picked up her gloves.

  “Why don’t you just dispense with them? After all, you’ve admitted you’re not exactly in mourning for good ol’ Arthur. Why not exchange them for some bright colors and get on with your life?” He stepped over several petticoats piled in front of the door.

  Amanda made a disparaging sound and shook her finger at him. “As if that wouldn’t make people talk. Women are expected to follow strict rules of mourning. There are very specific wardrobe requirements. Black, to gray, to blue, to colors.”

  Sam opened the door and followed her into the hall, offering her his arm gallantly.

  “Well, you don’t always have to do what other people want you to. Isn’t it time you learned to defy the expectations of society and do what you want? Don’t wait for someone else’s approval, Amanda, because you might have to wait a very long time.”

  Maybe a lifetime, and then you discover what you wanted wasn’t worth the price you were forced to pay. For a moment he wanted to tell her about Elsbeth, his beautiful aristocratic wife. The woman who had deceived and nearly destroyed him. But not yet. A tiny door slammed shut inside him. If he told her about Elsbeth, she’d know the worst of him. He couldn’t face the possibility of Amanda backing away, shocked and frightened. He wanted a few more precious days of believing in happiness.

  They descended the stairs together, and Sam noted all talk ceased when they entered the dining room. They faced curious glances from the other diners, and a few whispered comments swirled around the room. It was already common gossip that he’d moved into the hotel and taken the room next to Amanda Wainwright. He expected a visit from Jack Pruitt, who was probably awaiting a public boast from Sam about bedding the widow.

  As he pulled her chair back and inhaled her scent, he faced the reality of his situation. One simple comment at the bar of the saloon, and his mission would move forward. He’d earn the trust of the other mine owners, and he’d discover if they were stockpiling silver in an effort to force up the value.