Blogger Bundle Volume I: Dear Author Selects Unusual Heroines

by Jo Leigh, Kathleen O'Reilly, Kay David

  Amanda held his arm. “Stay, just a little bit longer.”

  “Can’t. Look, I’ve got a few hours off on Saturday. I’ll call you and we’ll do something then.”

  “Have sex?”

  Just for that, he kissed her again. “Amanda. I’m shocked.” He tried to keep his tone light, but if he sounded like he was completely turned-on, well, there it was.

  Her cool blue eyes flashed at him. Damn, she looked good when she was angry. “I don’t want you shocked, I want you aroused.”

  Like lightning, he had her pressed against the wall. Locked together from breasts to thighs, he made sure she felt every tortured inch of him. “You don’t think I want you? You think I’ve been killing myself to keep from touching you—” he laughed “—God, I can’t even do that right.”

  “You must be joking,” she said, sounding completely rational.

  Her calm attitude did it. He didn’t answer, instead took her mouth with more teeth and anger than finesse. He didn’t care. He tangled his hand in her hair, and pulled until her mouth opened beneath him. Still it wasn’t enough. Right now, anything short of full-body possession wasn’t enough. He dragged his lips where her dress skimmed her breast, sucked hard, marking her. Damn it, she was his. Her hands twisted on the front of his jacket and he heard a whimper come from within her. Fear?

  That stopped him. He lifted his head, and stared, frustration and desire beat like a drum behind his eyes. Her lips were swollen where he’d kissed her, her eyes were more shut than open, and her prim little bra peeked out from beneath her not so prim dress.

  Still, there was no hiding the victorious gleam in her eye. Somehow that only made it worse. “You did that on purpose,” he said.

  With trembling hands, she fixed her dress. “Damn straight, Barrington. You sure you have to go?”

  Satin sheets. Satin sheets. Satin sheets.

  He didn’t answer, just tucked her into a cab and then took off for the strain station. The long walk was just what he needed to cool off.

  Soon, Amanda. Very soon.

  11

  THE WEEKEND PASSED in one caffeine-induced blur for Joe, but by the time Monday morning arrived, he was feeling rather proud of himself. He had booked a suite at the Ritz for Saturday night, had a reservation for two at Chanterelle and had arranged for two dozen roses to be delivered to her office on Friday.

  Yes, everything was falling into place.

  When the final reservation was confirmed, he called Amanda. The weekend would be a surprise. His gift to her. Hopefully, it’d be one she’d never forget.

  It was about time he was living up to his potential. Joe arranged to start flying lessons in October. The money would be a little tight, but his crew leader had been great about letting Joe work extra hours.

  After twenty-seven years as Avery Barrington’s no-account brother, Joe was ready to do something about it. Amanda would be proud.

  It was 10:00 a.m. before he finally had a break. Working out on the line was hard work, which was good. They were too busy getting the planes in and out of the gates for him to think about her. Making love to her. Sliding her oh-so-prim bra right off her shoulders and watching her eyes drift with pleasure. He looked at his hands, wishing they weren’t so rough, wishing they weren’t so…crude.

  He stared out the terminal window, wondering why he hadn’t been an engineer, or a Wall Street mogul, or some other mogul.

  Because he liked planes.

  Damn it.

  He liked Amanda just as much as planes. Considering the thirty minutes of sleep he’d finally gotten last evening, he suspected he liked Amanda more.

  A DC-10 pulled up, ready for take-off. Slowly she cruised down the runway, picking up speed, finally lifting in the air, graceful as a bird. Planes were steady, reliable.

  Just like Amanda.

  And Joe could be steady and reliable, too.

  Planes didn’t have feelings.

  Unlike Amanda.

  He picked up the phone. Steady and reliable—that’s who he was.

  “Amanda Sedgewick’s office.”

  “Amanda, please.”

  “May I say who’s calling, please?”

  “Joe Barrington.”

  “Oh.” The secretary drew the word out five syllables long. Disapproval in four out of the five. Then one, long, heavy sigh, just in case he missed it. “You’d think her boyfriend would know when she’s ill, considering this is the first sick day she’s taken in six years.”

  “Sick?” She’d looked healthy on Friday. Sexy, vibrant, alive. In fact, he was getting a little hot just thinking about her physical well-being.

  “Yeah, Mr. Joe Not the Doctor, she called this morning, coughing and sneezing, poor doll. Said she spent the night puking her guts out. You would think someone who professes to care for her would be sitting by her bedside, tucking in the covers. You would think someone who enjoys her witty repartee would be bolding her head as she worships the porcelain goddess. You would think that the man she adores would be at her side with chicken noodle soup, and not that pond scum that comes out of a can, neither. Obviously some of the members of the stronger sex do not think at all. I bet Dr. Barrington would not be so crass, Mr. Barrington. Goodbye.”

  Joe could only stare at the phone.

  “Problem, Barrington?”

  He didn’t know she was sick. Hell. He was innocent here. “Hmm?” He looked up, and there stood his crew leader, Buzz.

  “Barrington? Everything all right? You look a little pale.” Not everybody could carry off the nickname, Buzz, but Edward Taylor could. He was tough, could stand up to even the most impatient pilots, and when the planes went out, everything was exactly right.

  “I’m fine,” Joe murmured.

  Buzz gestured to the phone in Joe’s hand. “Uh, if you’re done there, then…”

  Joe handed off the receiver. “Can you cover for me? I need to leave. It’s an emergency.”

  Buzz scratched his head, looking doubtful. “Well, we got ten ‘PS’ checks, one ‘B’ check on a 737, and there’s a 747 that needs a new carbon seal on the gearbox.”

  “I’ll pull double shift tomorrow for anybody that can help. Amanda’s sick.”

  “Who’s Amanda?”

  “She’s my, my…” Joe gave up, not wanting to figure out that answer right now. “I need to be there,” was what he ended up with, sure of that one.

  “Did you sign off on that little Guppy over at Gate C17?”

  Joe nodded.

  “All right. But be back in four hours. I’ve got a 727 coming in that’s got a slow oil leak. We’re going to try and get it back in the air this afternoon.” The crew leader grinned. “I still remember what it was to be in love. Calling home right now.”

  In love? Yeah, sure. And where in hell would be find homemade chicken noodle soup? “Thanks, Buzz. I’ll be back. You’re the best.”

  Joe grabbed his keys and ran out of the ready room, the door slamming behind him.

  AMANDA HAD NEARLY finished her first wall when she heard the buzzer. She put down the paint brush and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. Not bad for a novice.

  Today she was the new Amanda. No more long nights pacing the floors because Joe Barrington didn’t feel the need to call her and say “Hello.”

  “You can’t change ’em, honey.” Wasn’t that what Grace told her? No, she couldn’t change Joe, but she could change Amanda.

  She waded through the drop cloth and pressed the button. She certainly wasn’t expecting company. Might be somebody from work, though. A messenger with the transcripts from the Northcott mediation. She coughed into the intercom. “Yes?”

  “Amanda. You okay?”

  Joe. She looked at her painting clothes and wanted to cry. Sweatpants and a tank top. Not the best look. “What are you doing here?”

  “Let me up and then go lie down. It’ll be all right.”

  Go lie down? What was that all about? Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he was here to
ravish her. Obediently, she pressed the button and took one last look at her self.

  She opened the door, and there he stood, panting. What was the emergency? Her heart started to lift. Maybe he needed to see her. Maybe that was the emergency.

  “Joe? Is everything all right?”

  He looked at her, the sweats, the tank top, the can of paint thinner at her feet. “You’re painting?”

  Well, he wasn’t dressed much better. Jeans and grease-covered shirt. And a wonderful-smelling paper sack. He’d come straight from the airport. With food. “Are you all right?”

  He strode into the room, rubbing his face. “I thought you were sick.”

  And it all made sense. The worry, the out of breathness, the—oh my God, soup. He’d brought her soup. She struggled to find the chair under the drop cloths, couldn’t find it and settled for leaning against a blob in the middle of the room. It felt like a chair.

  He looked around. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m painting the apartment.” She held out a paint brush. “You can help. Unless you’re going to leave now. After you’ve come all this way to give me…soup,” she tried to stay cool, like she didn’t care that he had run out on their date and hadn’t called her once over the weekend, she really did, but the warm smell of chicken noodle soup was turning her into mush, and her voice softened right at the end.

  “I’ll help.” He handed her the brown paper bag. “But only if you eat this first.”

  How did he do it? She spent the weekend watching the Home Improvement Channel and called her mother four times. Just to chat. Something she’d never done before. Anything to keep her mind off the phone. But no matter what she did, her thoughts always returned to Joe.

  Everything between them was so new, so uncertain. She’d planned on seducing Joe, but he’d turned the tables on her—made her fall in love—and he probably didn’t even know.

  When he gazed at her, a thousand apologies in his eyes, she turned even gooier.

  “Deal.”

  He looked down and stared at her feet. Bare feet with red paint spots. Embarrassed, she curled her toes. It didn’t help. Finally, he raised his eyes to her face and waved half-heartedly at the walls. “It looks good.”

  The walls were as red as red could be, and her vision tended to blur when she stared at them too long, but she’d done it. All by herself. Her apartment was thirty-five percent completely covered in red. Not white, not beige, not taupe, not wheat. Red.

  She started to fold her arms across her chest, then remembered she was holding her soup. Hot soup. She placed it on the kitchen table. “Yeah, I think so.” Actually, she was beginning to rethink the color scheme, but wasn’t quite ready to admit that.

  She returned to the living room and he looked down at her feet again. “You sure you need help?”

  She shrugged defensively. “No, but you’re welcome to stay if you want.” She flicked back a strand of hair from her face. “If you have the time.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well.” Amanda exhaled and his gaze rested on her chest. The room heated for a moment. “Would you like to eat first or just start painting?”

  “Why don’t you eat,” he answered, still staring at her chest.

  Here they were. Alone in her apartment. He’d said “soon”…Suddenly now wasn’t even soon enough. She breathed again. Deeper this time. His jaw tightened. “Okay.”

  He followed her into the small kitchen, off-white with a Danish modern breakfast table. “Do you think I should paint in here, too?”

  Joe looked startled, and then cleared his throat. “Nah.”

  She put two bowls on the table, but he pushed one aside and sat down. “Not hungry. Thanks.”

  He still looked a little pale. “Smells good.”

  “You’re playing hooky today?”

  She nodded. “Yup. It’s the new me.”

  “The old you wasn’t all that bad.”

  She stopped. Checked to see if he was joking, but he looked sincere. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well, that may be, but the times they are a-changing.”

  “Looks like they’re changing to red.” He tried to smother his grin, but his lip twitched suspiciously.

  Today it didn’t bother her at all. “You’re laughing at me.”

  Magically his face transformed. All trace of humor gone, but there was a telltale dimple in his left cheek that hadn’t been there before. “No, no.”

  She felt like laughing herself. “Actually, it’s Flambeau Red.” She sat down at the table and began to eat. “I may change it.”

  JOE PICKED UP his paintbrush and surveyed the wall in front of him. Not bad. He’d done lots of painting in his high school days. Now, Amanda, well, obviously she didn’t put herself through law school by painting. But for a first effort it wasn’t awful.

  But red? Paint was everywhere. In her hair, on her feet and on that sinful, white tank top. No, Joe, don’t want to think about that. He felt the familiar blood-draining reaction to even a hint of Amanda’s flesh and swore.

  “Everything okay?” He watched as she climbed down from the ladder she was on, completely unaware of the lurid thoughts running through his head.

  “Not a problem,” he answered, trying not to look at her chest. She was wearing one of those slinky bras, the kind he didn’t understand why women bothered with at all. She was either cold, or charged up, or…he closed his eyes. Damn, he needed to change the subject here.

  Satin sheets. That was his new mantra. He had a beautiful scene for seduction all planned out and it didn’t include a drop cloth amid paint rollers and turpentine.

  Thankfully the phone rang. Amanda picked up the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  She listened for a minute and then turned to him, mouthing, “It’s Avery.”

  Trouble.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  He watched her talk, watched her face change from calm to amused. “No, Joe didn’t dump me.

  “No, I didn’t dump him, either. Tell me about Penelope.

  “Self-absorbed? No, not really.

  “Well, yes, she likes to talk about her job, but I mean, we all do that Avery.”

  She smiled. It was a nice smile. “Yes, even you.

  “In the right environment, a man who listens can be quite appealing.

  “Yes, Joe’s a good listener.

  “Maybe you should. Listen, I need to go Avery.”

  She didn’t need to hang up on his account. He was content just to watch her. He sat down against the one remaining white wall and it felt good. He closed his eyes, letting Amanda’s voice wash over him.

  “No, you don’t need to come over. It’s just a little runny nose.” She sniffed into the phone.

  “Yes, he’s here.

  “No, you’re not being a pest. I think you’re being sweet. I wish you’d talk to Penelope, though. Maybe send her orchids…”

  Orchids, he thought sleepily. Maybe he should send her orchids instead….

  WHEN AMANDA hung up the phone, she looked over at Joe. Asleep. He’d looked so tired. What the heck was he doing? And why? Not that it mattered right now, she certainly wasn’t going to wake him up. She grabbed a pillow and then put it behind his head. For a few minutes she sat next to him, just watching him sleep.

  He didn’t stir at all. Well, she could wait. Amanda noticed the red paint that stained her shirt and her feet. Yuck. No wonder he opted for painting instead of making love. That was something she could fix, so she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then went off and picked out her sexiest lingerie. Next up, a long shower. Let him sleep a little bit more.

  By the time she emerged from the bedroom, Amanda was feeling pretty good. She’d gotten most of the paint off herself, and even painted her toenails.

  Hopefully he was awake by now. She closed her eyes and leaned against the doorframe, striking a seductive pose, all ready for him to awake and take her in his arms.

  When she was gre
eted with nothing but silence, she shook her hair and sighed. Loudly. Nothing. Heck, she couldn’t even hear him breathe.

  Finally, she opened her eyes to survey the situation. The room was exactly the way she’d left it. Open paint cans, rollers and her toolbox. Everything was there.

  But Joe.

  12

  HE CALLED HER on Tuesday afternoon and apologized. He had to work. Again. Amanda tried to sound nice and understanding, but inside she was seething.

  “I’ll see you Saturday,” he said.

  “Are you off all day Saturday?” she replied, still trying for that understanding tone. She didn’t want to sound like she was being sarcastic.

  “Not just Saturday, the whole weekend.”

  “Good. Why don’t you pick me up about ten in the morning? I’ve got an idea.”

  He laughed in the phone. Just the way it sounded, warm and intimate, gave her goose bumps in places she’d never had before.

  After he hung up, she smiled, determined. This time, there would be no question. Joe Barrington, you’re going to be seduced.

  Amanda called Grace into her office. She needed something one hundred percent guaranteed. She’d tried subtle, she’d tried sexy. Nothing had worked.

  Now it was time for the heavy ammunition.

  SATURDAY DAWNED warm, breezy, not a cloud in the sky. Joe took his time getting ready. Hot shower, close shave. He had no idea what Amanda had planned for the day, but everything was set up for tonight. He couldn’t wait to see her face.

  At last she’d see him for what he could be.

  He stared at himself in the fogged-up mirror. What he could be. He wiped down the mirror, drawing a big L on the reflection of his forehead. He didn’t want to stop seeing her. Not ever. Why was he working double-shifts now? Because of Amanda. Why was he learning to cook now? Because of Amanda. Why was he watching Law & Order? Well, he really liked the show, but because of Amanda, too. Lawyers weren’t so bad after all.

  God, a guy’s ego would really take a beating with her. But wasn’t she worth it?

  Yeah.

  He had disappointed a lot of people in the past, but not anymore.