The Glass Shoe (15 page)

"Stop it!"

"But it's just one ghost, isn't it, Amanda? Just one ghost you can't get out of your head."

"Yes!" She glared at him furiously. But then, as the satisfaction in his eyes registered, her anger died. He hadn't been accusing her of sleeping around, she realized slowly. And he hadn't wanted her to compare his prowess as a lover to any other man's. That had been a... a diversionary tactic. He'd chipped away at her guard, arousing her anger deliberately in order to get at the truth.

"One man," he said quietly.
"One past lover.
And it was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

Why was he doing this? She didn't understand why he wanted to know. But she couldn't retreat from his insistence, because he had stripped away something and there was nothing left for her to hide behind.

"What were those expectations of yours, Amanda? How did he hurt you?"

After a moment she went over to the couch and sat down. She didn't speak until he joined her. He didn't touch her, just sat about a foot away, half turned on the couch so that he could watch her.

"Ryder, I was nineteen. He isn't in my head anymore. I can barely remember what he looked like."

"That isn't what I meant, and I think you know it." Ryder hesitated,
then
said, "You don't expect anything at all from me, do you?
Nothing.
And I want to know why, Amanda."

"I don't expect anything from anyone." Her voice was tightening. "And I don't see why that should matter to you. It's my own business."

"Tell me."

She looked at him levelly.
"All right.
But telling won't change anything."

"Just tell me."

Amanda shrugged. "As I said once before, it isn't a particularly original story. I fell in love. It's easy to do when you're nineteen.
Storybook stuff.
We were going to get married. And live in an ivy-covered cottage with a rose garden and a white picket fence. I was that far gone," she added self-derisively.

Ryder felt an urge to reach out to her but kept himself still and waited.

She wasn't looking at him now. She wasn't looking at anything at all. "I think they ought to have mandatory high school courses in reality," she said softly, not at all derisive now. "Because it was right there in front of me all the
time,
and I didn't see it. I was in love, so I... I expected him to be in love. That was what hurt so much in the end.
Not that he didn't love me, but that I had so blindly assumed he did.
That wasn't his fault. It was mine."

"What happened?" Ryder asked.

Her smile was twisted. "You know what they say about eavesdroppers hearing no good of
themselves
. I heard him talking to a friend of his one day. He was bragging that he had me right where he wanted me. He said I'd do anything for him, anything at all. And he was right, that was what sickened me. He was right."

"Amanda—"

"I stood there, listening. And I couldn't believe what I was hearing. All that storybook stuff kept getting in the way, all those expectations. Even when I listened to him talking to his friend, carefully detailing his step-by-step plan to marry a fortune, I was making excuses for him. Because I couldn't bear to lose the dream that everything was perfect.

"But every word he said tore the dream away until there was nothing but reality left. And do you know
,
I was still willing to believe in him. I thought he could explain away that cold-blooded plan, convince me it was just a joke or something. So I confronted him."

"And he couldn't," Ryder said quietly.

"He didn't even try." Her voice was almost inaudible. "He was the one who was convinced.
Convinced that I'd do anything for him.
That I'd even marry him knowing the truth.
He said we were a perfect match. That hurt most of all."

Ryder drew a hard breath.
"So, no expectations.
Keeping yourself emotionally detached."

She didn't look at him because she was afraid he'd somehow see that her "detachment" with him was only a lie she was clinging to. "Don't you see? If you expect nothing, you won't be disappointed."

"You let one bastard do that to you?"

Amanda rose abruptly from the couch because she had to move. She stood before the fire, looking down at the flames, aware that he had followed her. "I asked myself that in the beginning. So the next time I met a man I liked, I just tried to—well, expect a little less. But the end was the same."

"Was he a lover?"

"No.
Nor the next man.
I didn't want to be that vulnerable again."

Ryder put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "What about when I showed up?"

She looked at him and, very deliberately, said, "You didn't know who I was."

His jaw tightened. "So you could be sure I wanted you for yourself. But you let yourself be vulnerable again."

"No. Not this time. You were right. This time I don't expect anything at all. Why should I? You weren't using sex as a means to an end—sex was the end. And I wanted it too."

Ryder's hands tightened on her shoulders. In the same deliberate tone she had used, he said, "Live with me."

She wanted to lean against him, to put her arms around him and agree to anything if it meant being with him. The depth of
her own
love was terrifying.
/ would have done anything for him.

"Amanda, dammit—"

"Ryder, we can talk about that later."

He stared at her for a long moment and then said, "You're going to live with me, you know. I'll convince you."

Relieved that they were at least getting away from that other, painful subject, she managed a light tone. "Oh? Are you going to promise me hot and cold running maids who do windows? All the latest movies beamed into your house by satellite?
A spectacular view?"

His lips curved slowly. "No."

"What, then?"

Ryder lifted her into his arms and strode toward the stairs. "A king-size bed," he said.

Amanda clutched at his neck. "What're you—"

"If you don't know, I wasted my time last night."

She didn't know whether to giggle or swear at him. He was so damned overpowering. Baiting her until she told him things she hadn't meant to reveal, listening without saying very much, and then telling her she was going to live with him.
And now...

She couldn't pretend it was just sex, not when he touched her. He had to know there was more. She wanted to say it, wanted to tell him she'd never felt like this about any man, never felt so wildly. But he hadn't asked for her love, and she wasn't going to offer it.

As he reached the landing she cleared her throat and managed to say, "Ryder, it's almost noon—"

He gave her a fierce look as he carried her into the bedroom and kicked the door shut.
"I know, it's indecent.
You've got to stop throwing yourself at me like this."

Amanda might have come up with some retort to that very unfair remark, but Ryder set her on her feet and covered her lips with his before she could say a word.

He had her so off balance by then that she simply melted against him. His hands curved over her bottom to hold her tightly, kissing her the way he did, in that strange, focused way that was like gasoline thrown on a fire.

"No ghost this time," he muttered as he lifted his head. He caught the bottom of her sweater and pulled it quickly off. Her bra followed, and his hard hands surrounded the swollen curves of her breasts.

Amanda bit back a moan, trying to think. "There wasn't one before."

"Yes, there was."

"No. He—"

"Not him. What he left you with." Ryder's voice was low and hoarse, and he didn't pause in undressing her.

The heat filling her made thought impossible. Amanda gave up trying to understand what he meant. Her senses were reeling and her hands were shaking as she tried to help him get rid of their clothing. And when they fell together onto the bed, she was conscious of nothing but him.

"Some manager I am," she murmured in disgust a considerable time later.

"You're managing your guest just fine as far as I'm concerned," Ryder told her complacently, then uttered a faintly exasperated oath as she pulled away from him. "Where are you going?"

Amanda slipped from the tumbled bed and began dressing determinedly. She still felt a bit self-conscious but tried to ignore that. "Downstairs. I've heard the phone ring several times, and poor Penny's had to answer it. I told you I was here to work, dammit."

"We've been snowed in," he pointed out, linking his fingers together behind his neck as he lay and watched her dress. "There's been no work to do."

"There will be now. The storm's over, and they've already started clearing the roads. The work crew will probably be back tomorrow, and I've got to get the old office ready for them to paint."

Ryder frowned slightly. "So that means the other guests will be showing up."

"I suppose." Amanda went over to the dresser to run a brush quickly through her hair. Then, with the automatic habit instilled in her by her aunt, she touched a perfume stopper to her wrists and throat. "Unless some of them have canceled by now. That might be why the phone was ringing."

"All our beautiful solitude shot to hell. Come here."

She eyed him warily. "I don't think so."

"I just want a kiss," he said in an innocent tone.

Amanda tried to judge his mood. Playful, she decided, but the intensity was lurking. "Ryder, I'm just going downstairs, not out of your life forever. And you'd better head in that direction yourself if you want lunch."

"You aren't going to serve me in bed?"

"Fat chance."

He sat up abruptly. "Then come here and kiss me. It's the least you can do to keep a guest happy."

She found herself moving toward the bed, and wondered rather desperately if she was going to have any will left by the time he was through with her. He caught both her wrists and tugged gently until she bent down, then fitted his mouth to hers and kissed her thoroughly.

When Amanda was finally allowed to straighten up, she drew a breath and blurted out, "Lord, you're dangerous."

His eyes gleamed at her. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She backed toward the door. "Don't take it as a compliment. I'm not sure I meant it that way."

Ryder swung his legs from the bed. "We should certainly make sure. I hate imprecise definitions."

The intensity wasn't lurking anymore. It was there. Amanda opted for discretion over valor, and beat a hasty retreat.

Ryder sat on the side of the bed, looking blindly at the door. Something was nagging at him, and the feeling had been growing. There was something... something familiar. It was like a tune he knew the words to but couldn't remember. He drew a short, impatient breath,
then
went abruptly still.

Again.
A sense of déjà vu too fleeting to grasp.
Something he had heard before, or said before, or done... something. It came in a flash, a maddening sliver of knowledge,
vanishing
the instant he was aware of it. And it had something to do with Amanda.

He had the feeling that if he could only concentrate when he was with her, he'd have it. But when he was with her she filled his mind to the exclusion of all else.

He rose slowly and began to dress, trying to keep his mind blank and receptive. But the sliver of knowledge remained just out of reach.

When Ryder went downstairs a few minutes later, he found Penny at the counter in the entrance hall frowning down at a paper lying between her elbows. She had the air of someone waiting patiently, which roused him from his abstraction.

"What's up?" he asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

She looked at him. "I just thought I'd wait for Mr. Fortune to call. He's the only one who hasn't."

"Cancellations
? "

"Yep.
They hadn't bargained for full winter, just the edge of it. So they called in regrets and apologies.
Everybody but Cyrus Fortune."

"I don't think he'll cancel," Ryder said absently. "Where's Amanda?"

She nodded toward the secondary hallway that ran behind the staircase.
"In the office.
She was looking for a ladder, and then—"

"A ladder?"
He muttered a curse, and turned away before she could complete the sentence. He went quickly down the hallway, looking into two bare and empty rooms before he found the old office. There wasn't much in it, just a big steel desk pushed into the center of the room along with a couple of filing cabinets and uncomfortable-looking chairs.

And Amanda up on a ladder as she struggled to unhook a tremendous moose head from the wall between two curtainless windows.

Ryder didn't waste any time, especially since the ladder looked treacherously unsteady. He went swiftly and soundlessly around the clutter of things in the center of the room, and firmly grasped the ladder on either side of Amanda's thighs.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

She started and looked back at him. "Damn! Don't creep up on people like that. You scared me."

"I think this is where I came in."

"I didn't fall this time," she protested.

"Come down from there. You can't possibly wrestle with that trophy while you're on a rickety ladder."

Since she had already realized how heavy the moose head was, Amanda was forced to agree with him. "I know," she said with a sigh. "But I want that thing down. I won't leave any house decorated with an executed animal."

He eyed the creature in question, which was a very large specimen of its kind. "I'll get it down for you," he said. "And you don't have to sound so hot about it. I don't really agree with the practice myself, and I certainly didn't shoot the beast."

"I should hope not."

"I shoot only stubborn redheads."

"With ladder fetishes?"

"Those are the ones."