Seduced

Unable to stop herself, Amanda touched the tip of her tongue to his.

Michael shuddered. His heart beat like a drum against her fingertips and she strained closer. When his tongue began another slow foray of her mouth, Amanda’s control broke. She curled her fingers into his shirt, crumpling the soft cotton in her fists.

When Amanda’s tongue darted into his mouth, Michael thought he would explode. This time there was no hesitancy. This time there was fire; this time there was passion.

He crushed her to him, tangled his fingers in her silky hair.

A whimper escaped her lips, making his body burn anew. Not since he’d been a teenager had he responded so wildly to a kiss. Not since he’d been a young man had he wanted something so much. Never in his life had that something been a woman.

Until now.

This doesn’t mean anything, Amanda told herself as she leaned against him. It was simply a matter of chemistry...of proximity.

It was more than that. And she knew it. Suddenly frightened by the realization, Amanda pushed at his chest.

Easing his hold, Michael drew away slightly. He looked into her eyes, smoky and warm with desire.

“Michael.”

“Shh.” He dropped another kiss on her lips. The sight of Amanda’s beautiful face flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses, caused his body to ache even more. He pulled her back into his arms.

“No,” she whispered, panic seizing her. Kissing Michael had been insanity on her part. “This was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he insisted, hearing the alarm in her voice and not understanding it. He stroked her hair, wanting to reassure her.

Amanda heard the denial in his voice, saw the yearning in his eyes. She stepped back, out of his arms. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with fresh air, trying to clear her senses. How could she have done this? Let things get so out of hand?

“Don’t push me away, Amanda.”

“Please, Michael. It was just a kiss,” she said, deliberately sounding flip. “Let’s not make it into more than it was.”

Michael stiffened. Just a kiss? He dropped his hands to his sides. It was a hell of a lot more than a simple kiss and they both knew it.

“Thank you for dinner,” she continued primly as though nothing had happened. But Michael heard the slight catch in her voice, saw the tremor of her lips.

“We’ll have to do it again—soon.” He edged a little closer and experienced a small measure of satisfaction at the flash of panic that clouded her brown eyes.

Just as quickly, she schooled her expression and retrieved her keys from her purse.

Michael took them from her fingers. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open.

“Well, thanks again,” she murmured politely.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in for a nightcap?” he baited, irritated with her for denying there was something between them and with himself for caring.

Amanda shot him a look that would, no doubt, quell a lesser man. “No, I’m not,” she said in those crisp, clear tones that had made him peg her as a New Englander the first time he’d met her.

Michael bit down on his anger at her rejection. “Then next time,” he managed.

“There won’t be any next time,” she said, tipping up her chin.

The haughtiness of her tone caused something to snap inside him. Before he could stop himself, Michael reached for her. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her to him. “I promise you there will be a next time, Amanda. Tonight was only the beginning.”

Three

Amanda glanced at the small, crystal clock sitting on her desk. Four-twenty. The knot in her stomach tightened. Only ten more minutes before Michael arrived.

Unable to concentrate, she closed the file folder she had been studying and, walking across the room, she gazed out the window to the school playground at the dozen or so children who had remained for after-school care.

Hearing a squeal of laughter, Amanda smiled as she spotted Summer—her long, dark braids flying behind her while she raced across the yard engaged in a game of tag.

She wasn’t at all the same child she had been when they had started working together ten weeks ago, Amanda thought. Sad and withdrawn, it had been so heartening to gain the little girl’s trust, to help her sort through her confusion and pain at her mother’s death. Of course, Michael’s love and attention had made her job easier by far.

Michael.

Amanda cursed herself for thinking of him again. It was pointless to think about him.

Instead she focused on Summer’s smiling face, and her heartstrings tugged once more. She was going to miss the child. But there was nothing she could do. And considering the outcome of her last encounter with Michael, perhaps it was for the best. She certainly couldn’t risk another evening like the previous Friday’s.

Amanda touched her lips, recalling all too vividly how that evening had ended. Longing, hot and demanding, flickered through her as she remembered the feel of Michael’s lips, the warmth of his breath, the hardness of his body against her own. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought back a groan as she recalled her own wanton response.

“Amanda?”

She tensed at the sound of Michael’s voice. She wasn’t ready to face him—not yet, not when the memory of his kiss was so fresh.

“The secretary did say four-thirty, didn’t she?”

Attempting to school her expression, Amanda turned around slowly. “Yes. Please, come in.”

When he closed the door and stepped inside, the room seemed somehow smaller. “You can sit down, if you’d like.” She gestured toward the chair across from her desk.

He cut across the room in swift, easy strides, stopping in front of her. “I tried to reach you all weekend,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers.

“I know. I got your messages.” All five messages. And because the temptation to pick up the telephone and talk to him had been so strong, she had deliberately spent her weekend working in the garden and stalking the city’s shopping centers. She’d tried on clothes she neither needed nor wanted only to return home empty-handed and exhausted. When the calls had persisted, she had taken herself off to a movie.

“Why didn’t you return my calls?”

Amanda met his questioning gaze. “I thought it best not to.”

“Better for whom?” he asked, frowning.

“For me. And possibly for you, too.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, a slight edge in his voice. “On both counts. There’s something good between us, Amanda, and you know it. What are you so afraid of?”

You, she wanted to shout. The things you make me feel, the things you make me want. The risks you make me want to take.

Instead she simply said, “I told you before, my reasons for not going out with you are personal. I have no desire to explain those reasons to you and I doubt that you’d understand them even if I did. The problem is me, Michael—not you. But, believe me, I’m serious when I tell you you’re wasting your time. There can’t ever be anything between us.”