Lonely Millionaire (14 page)

"I will, but don't get your hopes up, because all he's going to say is, 'You're welcome.' I tell you he's not interested in a relationship. He told me, and I'm telling you," Mandy said emphatically, and hung up. Sometimes she wondered if she repeated these things for Laurie's benefit or her own. Whatever the reason, she reached for the phone before she lost her nerve and dialed the number Adam had given her.

"Parvo Petrochemicals."

"Adam, this is Mandy Clayton," she said all in one breath. "Thank you for sending that letter to the newspaper."

"You're welcome," he said just as Mandy had predicted he would, but she felt a rush of disappointment anyway. "Did it do any good?" he asked.

"What are you doing?" Adam asked, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on his desk. The sound of her voice brought back memories, memories he hadn't been able to bury sitting at his desk only an hour away. Memories of Mandy on a ladder in a steamy bathroom, Mandy by candlelight. He'd thought that he would forget about her once he got away, but apparently he hadn't gotten far enough. Things would be different when he got out of the office. But Gene was still recuperating, and Adam couldn't upset him by asking him when he could leave.

"Oh, just the usual," Mandy answered. "Painting, papering and planting."

He noticed her voice was smooth and calm. He assumed she'd recovered from Jack's defection over to Julie and that her life was back to normal. If only he could say the same. He was glad he'd sent the letter. She'd thanked him and now he could hang up. But he didn't want to.

"I was just writing a speech," he said, although she hadn't asked him what he was doing. "To give at the U.S. Geological Service monthly meeting."

She thanked him again and hung up, breathless from having heard his voice again after so long. The question was, should she go to Menlo Park, or not?

She hadn't said she would come to the lecture, Adam noted, but she hadn't said that she wouldn't. Though why he wanted her there so desperately, he didn't want to consider. He wanted to see her again more than he cared to admit. The lecture was a good place to see her, even if she did yawn her way through his slides of the Yukon. Then he would say goodbye once and for all. Before long, he'd be on his way. He tilted his head back and looked at the expanse of blue labeled North Sea on the wall map. It looked cold and empty and far away.

Chapter Seven

Adam had given many speeches to many groups and he'd never been bothered by nerves. In fact, he usually enjoyed explaining his job and describing the vast riches that lay under the land and sea. But every time he'd opened his mouth so far tonight, his throat went dry and his stomach felt as if it were bungee jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge. He'd arrived an hour early at the auditorium, in the first rainstorm of the season, to set up the projector and load his slides.

He stood drumming his fingers on the podium, listening to the rain and the wind, wondering if Mandy would come in this storm and, if she came, where she'd sit. He told himself not to think about her. She wasn't coming because she wasn't interested in the Yukon or in him.

Women found the Yukon cold and remote and unlivable. He'd never forget the look on his ex-wife's face when they'd landed in Whitehorse—shock, disbelief and disgust. And that had been for Whitehorse, the one thriving metropolis of the Yukon.

He wished now he'd never mentioned the lecture to Mandy. He didn't want to see those same emotions on her face when she saw his slides of the frozen northland. He'd rather leave here not knowing that she was like every other woman, including Julie from Illinois, who had forced Jack to quit his job and head for the States. He told himself not to worry. She wasn't going to come. The rain pelted the windows. Nobody was going to come. He shuffled his notes and straightened his tie and adjusted the microphone.

By eight o'clock, however, there was a decent crowd filling the seats. Adam inhaled deeply and stopped looking at the double doors at the rear of the auditorium with relentless fascination. He cleared his throat and began his lecture.

And then she came. At least, he thought it was her. It was a woman with brown hair in a belted trench coat and knee-high leather boots who stood at the back, in the semi- darkness.

He wanted to drop his notes, race back there and throw his arms around her, but he didn't. He kept talking as if nothing had happened. Nothing had, after all. Then why did he stumble over his words and skip two lines of important information? Could it really be Mandy under that coat, or was he hallucinating?

He talked about the history of exploration in the territory, noting out of the corner of his eye, as she took a seat at the end of the back row. And suddenly he relaxed. Suddenly everything was right, including his jitters and his speech. He told stories of old-timers and grizzled prospectors, and then he showed his slides.

Just watching them gave him a pang of longing to feel the Arctic wind in his face, to breathe the cold air, to see the fir trees bend in the wind and to face the unknown. It was worth the hardships, the discomfort and the loneliness. It was where he belonged and the sooner he left, the better. He turned the lights on and, to his surprise, no one was asleep. Not even Mandy, who was leaning forward in her seat, her eyes glued to his face. He knew what she was thinking. How could anyone want to live there?

The audience clapped and he thanked them. Mandy stood and turned toward the exit. He jumped down from the stage, and wedged his way through the crowd. He finally caught up with her in the lobby and sauntered up to her as if he hadn't panicked, as if she weren't trying to get away before he could talk to her. Just in case she thought about trying, he took her hands and held them in his.

He went back to get his equipment, feeling strangely euphoric. The speech was over, Mandy was here, and the heavens were dumping moisture on the earth. Not too much moisture, he hoped, not enough to prevent Mandy from sharing one last cup of coffee.

Outside he found the rain had let up and Mandy agreed to follow him through the wet streets. He drove slowly, keeping the headlights in his rearview mirror as they climbed up into the hills. He turned into Gene's long driveway and parked in front of the two-story house. On a hill, it commanded a spectacular view of the bay. It was dark in the driveway and he reached for her hand when she got out of her car so she wouldn't stumble.

"Nice place," she said, looking up at the tall trees that lined the driveway.

"My boss's," he explained, drinking in her profile as if he'd been dying of thirst. He hadn't forgotten the slight tilt of her nose, her determined chin and full lips, but he'd forgotten the effect she had on him, the feeling that he couldn't get enough of her, no matter how much time he had.

He gave her a crooked smile, then led the way up the brick steps as the heavens opened up and threatened to drench them both. He slammed the front door behind them and took her into the high-ceilinged living room. Then he took her wet trench coat from her shoulders and again he was caught staring.

"I've never seen you in a dress before, either." His gaze lingered on the silky fabric that caressed her breasts, that drifted past her hips and aided at midcalf.

She ran her palms down the sides of the dress self-consciously. "I don't usually wear one, so I had to raid Laurie's closet. But I thought since it was a lecture..."

"You didn't get wet, did you? Do you want to change into something else?" he asked hopefully, picturing her in his terry-cloth robe or a jumbo sweatshirt.

"I'm fine," she said. "But you go ahead."

He looked down at his damp, wing-tip shoes and nodded. Just then a loud, squawking voice came from the rear of the house. "Hello," the voice screamed.

Startled, Mandy jumped.

"That s just Elvis," Adam explained. "Come back and meet him."

Mandy followed Adam through the living room and down a long hall to a den. When Adam flicked on the lights, a brightly colored tropical bird in a large cage opened his enormous bill and chirped, whistled and gurgled at her.

"A toucan. My boss brought him back from South America a few years ago and taught him to talk by playing old Elvis Presley records for him. Don't be afraid. He likes people." Adam bent over and lit a flame to the paper, kindling and logs that had been carefully laid in the fireplace. "Elvis is the real reason I'm here and not in the North Sea," he said, watching the flames flare. "Gene had surgery last week, and I'm running the office for him. But when I call in my daily report, the first thing he asks about is his bird."

Mandy finally left the safety of the doorway and crossed the room to peer at the bird in the cage. "He's not married?"

"Elvis? No, and neither is Gene. He was, but his wife got sick of his traveling. It didn't work out. It never does."

Mandy nodded slowly, noting the bleak look in Adam's eyes before he turned to stare into the fireplace. Then he glanced at her. "I'll go change. Make yourself comfortable."

She watched him leave, then she sank into the large, soft armchair that flanked the fireplace.

What on earth am I doing here?" she asked, gazing into the bird's beady eyes. But he didn't answer. If he had, he would have told her she shouldn't have come. He would have cited the weather and the unstable condition of her feelings for Adam.

It was bad enough she'd driven over the hills in the rain to see and hear how wonderful the Yukon was, she didn't need to be reminded that marriage to an oil-drilling scientist never worked out. Unless, of course, you married Jack Larue, who was the one man willing to make sacrifices to make his marriage work.

It was a good thing she'd never known what Jack looked like. If he looked anything like Adam she'd have real reason to be depressed. There was no denying that Adam in that suit was sinfully handsome. More Leonardo DiCaprio than James Bond. The man should be sent back to the Yukon before he broke any more hearts. Not that he'd broken hers. It was just... Oh, Lord, she didn't know what was wrong with her. She had all the business she could handle and yet she still wasn't happy. She was sad, lonely, depressed and confused. First there was Jack and then there was Adam.

Both men were from the Yukon, but that was where the resemblance ended. The only other thing they had in common was this strange attraction she felt for both of them. On the other hand, it wasn't so strange. They were the only men in her life, so naturally, being isolated and all, she'd fallen for both of them. But was it natural?

Adam walked back into the room wearing old gray sweats and carrying two small cups of dark, strong coffee in his hands. She stared. So it wasn't the suit that made him so irresistible. It was just him. She hadn't seen him for a week or so and she'd forgotten how broad his shoulders were, how dark and penetrating his eyes were, as if he could see into her heart. Which she sincerely hoped he couldn't.

She certainly didn't want him to know she thought about him all the time, relived that last kiss on her patio, the touch of his hands against her sensitive skin and the slight scratch of his cheek against hers. She took a cup from his hands and managed to keep her hands steady.