Best Laid Plans (27 page)

"You could rent," he
persisted, his hand closed over her slender forearm. "In fact, there is a
very nice sublet, fully furnished, in my condo. Would you at least take a
look?"

"Let...let me think about
it." Amanda smiled at his eager expression. "Right now the new store
is number one on my mind."

Wade leaned closer, and his mouth
whispered against her ear. "As number two on your mind, I'm definitely
going to have to try harder!" His teeth sank a gentle love bite into the
soft skin beneath her lobe.

***

Days moved by with inordinate speed.
Amanda became a consummate time budgeter. She worked mornings on Lucas' house,
afternoons at the mall and evenings planning the next day's activities.

The physical activities proved more
energizing than draining. Emotional pressure was minimized when Lucas had to
return to El Paso for a week and Wade attended a four-day convention in Los
Angeles. Both men kept the phone beeping with late-night catch-up calls.

"I thought I'd find you
here." Wade's voice caused Amanda to look up from an engrossed study of
numerous rolled blueprints.

She gave him a cheery wave from her
cross-legged position on the newly installed burgundy carpet that blanketed the
shop's floor. "You're back early." Amanda smiled as his tall frame,
clad in casual tan slacks and a navy knit shirt, moved to her side.

"I'm a day late." He bent
down, fingers lifting her face. "So much for the theory that absence makes
the heart grow fonder." His mouth pressed an urgent kiss against her lips.

"I have missed you, Wade."
Amanda ruffled through the vibrant lock of heavily gray-streaked hair that fell
in a youthful feather across his forehead. "I could have used you to order
around some incredibly slow workmen. They don't seem to respond to a woman
giving orders."

"That's not the kind of missing
I wanted to hear!" Two steely arms pulled her up, crushing her in a savage
embrace. "I missed touching you." His fingers roughly pulled the
cinnamon T-shirt free of the waistband of her jeans, hands kneading her supple
skin, enjoying the satiny texture too long denied him.

"I missed tasting you,
too." Wade's lips again sought Amanda's, nibbling and biting in unbridled
restraint. He inhaled her scent; the soft oriental tones only increased his
passion. "Do you realize how you control me." His hoarse tone rasped
into her ear. "Here I was at a convention, ignoring parties, ignoring
other women, concentrating my energies on the days I had spent with you."

"Wade, I-"

His fingers stilled her lips.
"Amanda, you must know by now that I am not able to handle any more on and
off again where you are concerned." His eyes transmitted a warning message
to hers. "I want you to become part of my life, a permanent fixture. I
realize you are totally involved in getting your new shop off the ground. I
respect your commitment to your business. I just hope you'll be able to make
the same type of total commitment to me." Wade released her and headed for
the exit. "I'll be waiting for your call."

Exhaling a futile sigh, Amanda
riffled through the papers that were spread on Lucas' new dining table. Wade's
words echoed heavily in the back of her mind, as they had all day long.

The telephone beeped. She jumped
nervously, hesitating for a moment before walking to pick up the kitchen
extension.

"Hi, Mandy. How's everything
going?"

"Lucas," she said, relaxing
into the counter stool, "everything is falling, either into place or
apart. How are you doing?"

"I'll be coming home tomorrow,
should be there at six. Mandy," he took a deep breath, "I've missed
you. We've got to talk. Get things straightened out. I don't think I can take
any more platonic pleasures."

Amanda swallowed the lump in her
throat. That stabbing pain was back in her eye, the scrambled eggs she had for
supper were gnawing in agony against her stomach. "Lucas . . . can't you
give me a little time? I'm . . . I'm . . ."

"I know. You're confused and
busy. But I'm frustrated and…Amanda Juliet, I love you."

His words were said with such
conviction that Amanda did the first thing that came to mind: She hung up the
phone.

Ten

Amanda sneaked a peek at the digital
watch strapped to the passenger's wrist in the seat next to hers on the plane.
Lucas should be walking through the front doorway right about now. He'd be
surprised and pleased at his newly acquired oak executive desk and tan leather
posture chair that were housed in the alcove, and the dining room furniture. He
wouldn't be pleased with the note that was taped on the refrigerator door.

Dearest Lucas:

I'm taking a quick trip to New
Orleans to place fashion orders. I'm not trying to delay our talk. I do need
time to get things in order. Please don't call. I fed the horses.

Mandy

And Wade? Wade should be arriving
home momentarily. He'd see the red light on his answering machine and listen to
her voice recite the very same words, except for the horse feeding. He wouldn't
be pleased either.

The only people Amanda had pleased by
leaving town were the workmen. They had promised, on the heads of assorted
sainted mothers, to finish constructing the display closets, install the six
chandeliers that had arrived, and protect any of the furnishings that might be
delivered in her absence.

How long an absence could she
justify?
Amanda had
agonized over that longer than she had in composing the messages to both men.
She had finally decided on ten days: seven to complete her business, three to
try to decide her future.

A chuckle escaped her. She was doing
it again. Allowing her business to rule her personal life. The bald
octogenarian in the next seat gave her an odd look before going back to the
in-flight magazine's crossword puzzle. Amanda turned toward the window, eyes
preoccupied by darkness illuminated by a few colored wing lights.

Maybe that was
her
? Maybe that
would never stop. Her business had always been an integral part of her life.
Like a second heart. In it she found joy and happiness and power. Why should
she abdicate such a lovely throne? Shouldn't the man in her life want to share
that too?

"Welcome home!" Sherry Lau
embraced her employer with sister-like affection. "You look . . .
tired." Almond eyes assessed unusual ashen features, dull eyes, and
wrinkled turquoise raw-silk T-shirt that was half tucked in dark jeans.

"Thanks, I needed that!"
Amanda deliberately ruffled Sherry's sleek black cap of hair. "I'm going
to camp out in my office and put through some orders for the new shop. Will you
run interference?"

"No one will get back there. Not
customers, sales reps or handsome men."

"Especially the latter."
Amanda gave her a rueful grin before heading back into the tranquil environment
of her design studio.

Settled behind her desk, Rolodex
waiting to transport her to Seventh Avenue, Paris, Rome, London and Japan,
Amanda took a deep breath, wished for a crystal ball, and went over the edge of
dissolution into excitement. The struggle to thrive in this risky, competitive
fashion world injected new vitality and strength into her soul.

Every year the fashion industry grew
more diverse and more complicated. It was a world in which furs and woolens
were bought in the sweltering heat of May and June; bathing suits and cottons
purchased in the frigid winter. Piracy flourished, high fashion was full of
apparent contradictions, and the American woman would no longer tolerate a
closet of clothes that were designed to become obsolete.

As a designer she had tried to
stimulate clients' appetites; as a buyer she tried to discern her customers'
likes and dislikes; as a businesswoman she tried to make sure both efforts
succeeded so she could continue again the following year. Now Amanda found she
was at the helm of a new ship, sailing in uncharted waters. Like Columbus, she
knew the world was round . . . but there was just a slight chance it was flat
and down she'd fall.

Amanda was, as usual, warmly received
by the various design houses. She had decided to order fall merchandise, buying
things women could find only in her store. She made additional purchases of
cruise and resort wear. Texas adjoined Mexico. Acapulco, Cozumel, Cabo San Lucas
- those resort areas would be popular vacation spots for her new clientele and
cruise ships were now departing from Galveston.

Jewelry was ordered from French
Quarter artisans: hammered silver and gold, goldstones, lapis, and scarabs.
Unique, numbered pieces that elicited second glances. Scarves and hair accessories
were included, as were novelty items such as socks, jeweled stockings, incense
sticks and sachets. And she would add Texas artisans to her shop as well, once
she found them and inspected their quality and design.

Loungewear for day and night was next
on Amanda's list. Then she ordered fun items. The unusual: sheer, innocent
camisoles accented with winsome ribbons of satin and lace. A few with some
erotic Texas fringe. Elegant bustiers and teddies that were meant to form a
barrier between a woman's soft skin and her crisp business suit. And some
naughty ones that would need no further covering. Leather and lace, silk and
suede - such dichotomies formed the basis of her purchases. Textures and
fabrics that were striking in contrast, just as were most women.

Business took only four days. Amanda
worked overtime, the phone bill would be enormous, she prayed the results would
be too. In the back of her mind, pushing forward, making itself constantly
known, was her major problems - Lucas and Wade.

Amanda pushed herself out of the
graceful Georgian armchair. Bare feet shuffling across the carpet to her
bedroom. Then she dropped face down on her crisp white eyelet bedspread. She
rolled over, kimono robe twisting beneath her body, to stare in confused contemplation
at the ornately carved ceiling.

Wade's face loomed with
three-dimensional accuracy. The shaggy hair, more gray than black, blue eyes
that matched the easy smile, the age lines that only made him more attractive.
There was no doubt she found him sexually exciting. And she had certainly
acknowledged it. But she had never acted on it. Why?

She was no dithering virgin. Hell,
she hadn't dithered when she was a virgin. That thought made her smile. Amanda
knew the difference between sex and love. She'd had sex. Nothing wrong with
that.

Having sex with Wade had made her
hesitate. She still wasn't sure why.
That was a lie
. Wade recited the
randy teenage boys' national anthem – "if you love me, you'll have sex
with me. You can't leave me like this."

Well, she had left him
like that
.
He hadn't been the first. And neither of them were teenagers. With all the new
sexual germs running around, some permanent, some lethal – she had been more
than surprised by his attitude. She had grown concerned.

At times Wade had made her feel
insecure. He was too positive. Too fast. Too:
I want what I want and I want
it now
. Amanda had held back little bits and pieces of herself. Why? She
was afraid they would be examined too closely.
So totally unlike me!

When he had gone to the California
convention, she had wondered about his fidelity. Wade was no boy. He was a
mature man with desires of his own, needs that must be fed. But could she trust
him? Trust. So very important to a relationship.

Did they really have a relationship?
Or was it just infatuation? He had made his position known. His wants. His
needs. His demands.

"What about my needs?"
Amanda's words echoed around the bedroom. She'd never been the type of woman to
ask permission. To be submissive. A shiver coursed through her body and it
wasn't one of pleasure. Wade wanted to be the center of her attention. He
needed to be her focus. He'd take it and thrive.

But what about her? Her career was an
integral part of her heart and soul. Like the blood that coursed through her
veins, it gave her life. Her career gave Wade Lloyd competition. She could tell
it made him jealous.

And she wasn't flattered.

Wade had been upfront about his
career, his accomplishments, his goals. Had he understood hers? Would the fact
she'd be consumed by setting up the new shop turn his fascination into
jealousy? Turn his stated pride into fear? Would confusion and anger take
center stage and doom their relationship?

"Or am I just afraid of losing
myself?" Amanda pummeled her pillow with such forceful frustration that a
feather escaped.

Other masculine features became
superimposed in her mind. This was a face that had spanned over a decade,
changing and aging - along with hers.

Lucas. His hazel eyes grew soft with
concern or green with laughter. Brown hair that curled when he sweated. She had
once counted eight cowlicks in the thick waves that sculpted his rugged
profile. The long, rangy body that had broadened under physical exercise, the
thick moustache he had hoped would alter the "cuteness" of his
dimpled cheeks.