by Nina Bangs
She’d never been speechless. She was pretty sure that on the night she was born, when the doctor slapped her bottom, instead of crying she’d calmly pointed out the hospital’s unfortunate color scheme.
She was speechless now. A slipstream of nightmare images trailed behind her careening imagination. Black walls. Velvet paintings accented in blood. Fake fur bedspreads. Lava lamps.
Ignoring her openmouthed horror, he sat on the floor facing her. He trapped her legs between his and then pulled her bare foot more snugly between his thighs as he prepared to put her sandals back on her feet. His gaze lifted to meet hers.
Amanda was still speechless, but for a completely different reason now. She remembered. They’d sat this way on the beach that night. She curled her toes reflexively, feeling again the cool wet sand beneath her feet, the even cooler breeze off the Gulf. But none of that chill could lower the heat they were generating or hold back the flames. Desire was the perfect combustible.
Swallowing hard, she tried to find her voice. She must have a deer-in-headlights expression. Who would’ve guessed she’d be ambushed by hot memories in the Sleeping Princess room?
Con’s gaze darkened, and his lips parted slightly. He remembered, too. Of course, she didn’t want him to remember anything that would interfere with their business relationship. Uh-huh, and you’re a pitiful liar.
“We have unfinished business, sweet-heat.” His voice was a husky murmur of erotic promise.
Amanda opened her mouth knowing there was a very real possibility nothing but a panicked squeak would emerge. What had happened to all that self-assurance she’d cultivated over the years? She mentally got down on her hands and knees searching for it. Here, backbone. Come to Mama. Nope, her backbone had left the building.
“The only business we have together is getting this castle ready for the public.” Take that, Conleth Maguire.
His smile was slow, sensual, and said that no matter how good she’d been at handling everything else in her life, she’d never been any good at all when it came to handling him.
Handling him. Oops. Freudian slip. “Just put my damned shoes on so I can get up.” Good. A healthy “damned” always made an assertive statement.
“No.”
Checkmate. Now what? Wrestling him for her shoes lacked dignity, and she was all about dignity. Besides, initiating physical contact would just play into his hands. Literally.
Con watched her, seeing every one of her thoughts in her eyes. He laughed softly. “Come and get them, Mandy.” And wondered at what point his mouth had parted company with his brain. But it wasn’t his brain that was driving him now. It was a primitive part of him that bypassed thinking in favor of pure sensation, a part that had never forgotten sex with Amanda Harcourt.
For a moment, he thought she’d jerk her foot away, stand, and then start tacking up paint chips on the wall. She surprised him.
“I can make you give them back.” Her smile held the remembrance of what they’d done ten years ago and how good it had been. “Don’t make me resort to the foot torture.”
“A threat? Intriguing.” Con dropped his gaze as she moved her bare foot from his grasp and pressed it against his sex. He bit back a gasp as his body took notice of the pressure and reacted with positive growth.
Her eyes darkened, and he knew she felt him growing hard. This was probably not the best way to start a business relationship, but it was fourth and goal, and he wanted to score. That at least hadn’t changed in ten years.
“I still remember that night, Mandy.” He almost groaned as she pressed harder. “We were both naked, sitting like this. You put your foot against me and then . . .”
Her smile was wicked anticipation. “And then I did this.”
She slowly rubbed her foot up and down against his erection, and when he figured he couldn’t get any harder, she curled her bare toes into him. He closed his eyes and almost panted to keep from dragging her beneath him, having crazy sex with her, and then promising she could paint the walls any damned color she wanted.
With his last bit of self-control, he grasped her ankle and stilled her effort to visit death by foot massage on him. With his free hand, he handed her the sandals. “Your foot should be registered as a lethal weapon, lady.”
“Yes, well, it sort of went off and did its own thing. I mean, I don’t want you to think that foot was me. Those toes were out of control.” She was all wide-eyed shock and disbelief. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let herself wander out of the neutral zone. “I’ll bet my foot was kidnapped by aliens. They must’ve done horrible experiments on it, and then programmed it to make you a sexual minion who would help them conquer Earth.” Lowering her gaze, she concentrated on putting her shoes back on. “I can’t believe I just said that. I don’t usually babble.”
Con grimaced. Right now, his body was howling its rage. Sexual organs didn’t take deprivation well. He’d leave his cock to work out its own painful destiny. He switched his brain back into reasoning mode. “Hey, we were both into the moment.”
She stood. “It won’t happen again.”
“Sure.” It would happen again.
Gingerly, she sat on the bed. “Did they prosecute the person who decorated this room?”
Amazing that for ten years he’d gone about his life like a normal man, not obsessing about any particular woman, just enjoying what came his way. He tried not to sweat anything. Life was too short. Mandy never could’ve understood his laid back attitude. It would’ve annoyed the hell out of her.
Thirty minutes with Mandy had destroyed that man. He wasn’t quite sure what he was morphing into, or even if he’d like the final product, but he couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to stop it. “By the way, I have a new take on the Castle of Dark Dreams.”
Mandy raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Thank you, God.”
“I think we’re talking dark as in sensual.” He leaned back on his elbows, trying to bring visuals into focus.
“Sensual?” Mandy looked wary.
And well she should. “Yeah.” He could see it now, deep red walls and erotic murals. He’d keep the murals as a surprise. She thought he was one-dimensional.
“I don’t think the owner had that in mind. I’m not trying to restart our argument here, but the owner hired me to decorate the castle, and that includes wall colors. I’ve been trained for this. It’s what I do. I’m willing to take your ideas into consideration, though.” She smiled stiffly.
She was trying to appease the uncultured slob who’d just been hired to do the painting grunt work. Con knew he was probably being unfair, but he needed to be mad. If for no other reason than to convince his aroused body it hadn’t wanted her anyway. But his body was too smart to buy that crap.
“Unless I missed something, I don’t think the owner told us squat.” Con shrugged. “So I’m going to interpret the Castle of Dark Dreams any way I want. Besides, Holgarth contracted my company to do the painting, and if I take my paint and go home, you have nothing.” He regressed to a ten-year-old around this woman. Mandy bugged him. Her unswerving drive to be perfect had always driven him crazy. Of course, she’d also been a perfect lover. He was okay with that.
Con watched the horror return to her eyes. He had to admit he liked her playful sensual look better.
“You’ve spent a lifetime being the best at whatever you did—cheerleader, class president, top of your class. You were driven in high school, and then you went off to New York and I guess drove yourself some more. So you’re a good designer, but don’t give me that decorating diva act.” What the hell? He’d never realized how mad he was with Amanda Harcourt. Where had all this anger come from? They’d had one night of incredible sex. She shouldn’t be able to do this to him. “Give other people some credit for maybe having a few smarts.” Shut your mouth, Maguire. You have to work with her. “Tell me something, Mandy. Does being the best at everything make you happy?” That was cold. And that last comment wasn’t who he was. He was a live and
let live kind of guy.
She looked stricken. “I’m not—”
Con held up his hand. “Look, I’m sorry.” Rising, he raked his fingers through his hair. “How you live your life is your own business.” He fixed his eyes on her toes as he walked toward her. Pale pink polish. Soft, feminine, and able to bring a grown man to his knees.
A sudden blur of motion made him look up just in time to see Deimos leap across the white table in a soaring trajectory aimed at the arrow slit’s ledge. Mandy turned to follow Con’s gaze.
Deimos’s trajectory calculations were a little off, though, because the only part of him that hit the ledge was his chin. Tumbling back onto the table, he rolled off taking the limp plant with him. Con winced as the cat hit the floor and came up wearing the pot on his head like a battle trophy. Mandy would approve. It was a neutral pot. The hapless plant lay on the white carpet in a scatter of dirt.
Con could tell that Mandy was biting back laughter. “How about a chorus of ‘Oops, I Did It Again?’ ”
Con shook his head. “I really believed cats always landed on their feet. Learn something new every day.” He reached down to lift the pot off Deimos’s head.
“Look, dumbass, I’m not used to handling four legs. Okay? I just wanted to get away from all that X-rated garbage you guys were projecting. You need to throw cold water on those mental images. Young and innocent eyes are watching here.” Deimos sat down and used one spotted paw to scrape off a few mangled leaves from his head. “I hate this job. I want real action, violence, destruction. You know, guy stuff.”
Con sucked in his breath as he stared down at the cat. The pot fell unnoticed to the floor. “Tell me you heard that, Mandy.”
“Heard what?” Mandy frowned at the dirt. “Where’s the vacuum?”
He didn’t answer. The cat had spoken in his head. Again. Con wasn’t imagining it this time. No blaming it on the heat. When he was a kid, he used to imagine he had magical powers like his supposed Druid ancestors. But this wasn’t make-believe, and he wasn’t a kid anymore. First he had to figure out if this was real or if he was going crazy. Who could he ask? Not Mandy. She already half thought he was nuts.
She turned to see why he hadn’t answered, and sudden concern flooded her eyes. “You look terrible. You’re gray and”—she put her palm on his forehead—“clammy. It’s the heat. We need to get some liquids into—”
She never got a chance to finish her sentence, because Sparkle Stardust rushed into the room. Sparkle’s face was red, and she was puffing. “Ran all the way up those damned stairs.” She scanned the room. “Someone hurt Sweetie Pie. I felt her cry out to me.”
Her? Con could’ve sworn Deimos was male. Mandy glanced at Con for inspiration, but he could only shrug. How could he concentrate on Sparkle when he was trying to come to terms with the bizarre fact that a cat was talking in his head?
Mandy’s expression said he was a poor excuse for a hero. “Deimos is fine. It was . . .”
Sparkle swept by all of them, including Deimos, without a glance. She plunked herself on the floor beside the plant, scooped it up gently, and then held it cradled against her chest. “Who did this to you?”
If the blasted plant answered her, Con was gone.
“It was an accident. Deimos was trying to jump onto the ledge, and he misjudged the distance.” Mandy’s tone said she pretty much thought Sweetie Pie was too traumatized to get her facts straight, and why was everyone so bent out of shape?
Sparkle glanced at Deimos and cocked her head as though she was listening to something only she could hear. Con had a good idea what it was.
“Oh for crying out loud. Cut the whining. I guess I have to do everything myself.” Sparkle stood and then picked up Sweetie Pie’s pot. “I’ve got to get her back in her pot right away.”
“Are you talking to me?” Mandy looked completely confused.
“Hmm?” Sparkle looked at Mandy as if she’d just seen her. “No, I’m talking to Deimos.” She shifted her attention to Con. “I hope you guys will be getting it on soon.”
Con stared at Sparkle, Deimos, and Sweetie Pie. This was some serious weirdness. “Is this place cursed?”
Sparkle smiled, a sly calculating lift of her lips. “I’m not asking for myself, hot bod. I’m asking for Sweetie Pie.”
“Ah, everything is clear now.” Mandy looked amused. “You want Con and Sweetie Pie to hook up.”
Sparkle cast Mandy a slitty-eyed glare. “Is this where I’m supposed to laugh?”
Mandy had the sense to shut up.
“Sweetie Pie’s well-being is in your hands . . .” Sparkle paused to consider her words. “Or other body parts. According to Holgarth, the owner wants you guys to take care of the plants. I was just keeping an eye on them until you got here.” She carefully set Sweetie Pie in her dirtless pot.
“Here’s the fun part. The owner enjoys studying plant behavior. Experiments have shown plants react to the things humans do and say. Plants seem to be healthiest in places with a lot of sexual activity.” Sparkle smiled a wicked smile. “So I guess we’ll all know how things are going by how perky Sweetie Pie and her siblings are.”
Satisfied with her bombshell, Sparkle carried Sweetie Pie to the door and then paused. “I’ll bring her back once I’ve replaced her soil.”
As Sparkle left the room, Deimos trailed after her. He glanced at Con before disappearing. “I hope you’re not buying that. Umm, but if you do decide to help old Sweetie Pie get perky again, let me know your schedule so I can be far, far away.”
After they were gone, Mandy closed the door and leaned her back against it. “Tell me that woman didn’t say we had to have sex so the plants would stay healthy.”
“That’s what she said.” Now why hadn’t he ever thought of that for a school science fair project? He shook his head to clear it. Forget the plants, he had more important things to think about.
“And what’s with Deimos? You and Sparkle were acting strange around him.” She was talking to him, but her gaze was riveted on the small pile of dirt.
Ha! She thought a pile of dirt was her biggest worry. “Deimos was talking to us.” Mandy wouldn’t believe him, but he wanted to see her expression anyway.
“Uh-huh.” She never took her eyes off the dirt. “I need a vacuum cleaner.”
“There’s one in my room.”
Long pregnant pause. “And that would be where?”
“Across the hall.”
A longer, more pregnant pause. “Uh-huh. So you’re the Brave Prince.”
“I slay what dragons I must for my queen.”
“You only live a block away.”
He shrugged. “It’s in my contract.”
She shifted her attention from the dirt to his face. She sighed. “I knew I should’ve asked for more money.”
CHAPTER ♦ THREE
Amanda should’ve known it wouldn’t last. A week of uneasy peace was more than she’d expected. Con and his men had worked outside all week painting the keep white to make it look as though the stones had been lime-washed.
She knew this because each day she spent her lunch hour in recreational babe-watching. Con might own the company, but he worked right alongside his men—shirt—less, muscles rippling, skin gleaming with sweat. Hot visuals equaled fever. After each lunch hour, she jacked up the air to Arctic level.
She hadn’t left the castle much except when she drove into Houston to buy furnishings, rugs, and accessories that would put her unique signature on the castle. They hadn’t been together, ergo no fighting. The separation hadn’t done a thing to ease the sexual tension, though. Like the Gulf tides, it rose and fell with regularity, although each day high tide lasted a little longer.
Shutting down her notebook, she stared at the blank wall of the great hall. A soon to be cream wall. She didn’t think Con was a cream kind of guy. Amanda sighed. He’d fight her. And even if she won, she’d lose, because she’d bet he believed in payback.
Which made her think about t
his morning. No more peaceful coexistence. She’d peeked outside and watched as he took up where he’d left off a week ago. Red trim. Rushing outside, she’d ordered him to cease and desist. Words were spoken, then shouted. Without warning, he’d grown quiet and said he’d paint the damned trim white. Yes. She’d won, she’d won. She maintained her dignity until she was safely back in the castle. Then she allowed herself a mini victory dance. Only afterward did she pause to wonder why he’d given in so easily. Amanda knew enough about Conleth Maguire to figure he was probably planning to run right around her defensive line into the end zone.
The object of her worry swung wide the castle doors and strode into the great hall bringing the smell of fresh paint with him. Wet paint was a sexy smell.
“Done for the day?” Duh, yes. Like you haven’t timed down to the second what time he quits each day?
Con nodded. “I’m heading up to my room so I can take a shower.” He glanced at her. “You have a line between your eyes. Doing some deep thinking?”
It never occurred to her to tell the truth. She wasn’t sure what that said about the deteriorating state of her character. “Sweetie Pie is still droopy. I tried talking dirty to her. She perked up a little, but when she realized I wasn’t following up my talk with action, she went back to being sad. Any ideas?”
His laugh was incredulous. “Is this a trick question? What do you think my idea is?”
“Sex. Right. Forget I asked.” She couldn’t make love with Con, because he was the one man who might be able to compete with her career. She didn’t want to be conflicted. Amanda would just let Sweetie Pie wilt and die. Then she’d deliver the dead body to Holgarth with appropriate regrets. “Oh, you can start painting the great hall as soon as you get the paint.”
He stilled. A dangerous quiet that spoke of silent predators crouched in jungle shadows.
“Meow.”
Hmm. As jungle predators went, that was pretty weak. Wait. That wasn’t Con, it was . . . Amanda glanced down. Deimos stared up. He crouched. She put a protective arm across her notebook. He leaped. She closed her eyes as he slid across the small table and fell off the other end. At least he hadn’t taken her notebook with him.