Best Laid Plans (8 page)

"Is that a convoluted crack
about my no longer being a size eight?" Amanda admonished, not hesitating
to reach for the dish and the cheese covered eggs and ham.

He handed her a knife and fork, then drew
out a yellow-cushioned chair for her. "I always said you were too
thin," Lucas reminded her, pouring the vintage nectar into twin crystal
goblets.

"Hmmm," she swallowed a
mouthful of midnight snack. "I joined one of those health spas, and
somehow the exercise program added inches and ten pounds. I must admit I do
feel better."

"You look fantastic," Lucas
stated, pulling out another chair. "In fact," he reached out, letting
his long fingers snake through the short, damp curls, "I still can't get
over how different you do look. I love the hair."

Amanda cleared her palate with wine,
then leaned closer to him, her nose butting his, her lips a scant inch from his
mouth. "I'm crazy about your moustache." She relaxed back into the
chair and broke into the second cheddar-covered egg yolk. "Now about this
proposition?"

He swirled the contents of his glass,
dimples deepening in his cheeks. "All in good time," Lucas stalled.
He shifted position in the chair, his dark head inclined toward the archway.
"I like what you've done. Knocking out that wall really opened up this
place."

Amanda pushed her scraped plate to
one side. "I really needed a dining room more than a guest room. This
kitchen is tiny and I entertain a lot," she told him, her thumb and
forefinger wiping her lips. "I roughed out an idea and called in an
architect. He said it would be easy and inexpensive, and it was."

She peered over his shoulder and
smiled. Moonlight splayed through gossamer window panels and bounced off the
glass doors of the china cabinet, illuminating oriental and brass accessories
on polished oak wood. "I like interior designing almost as much as fashion
designing."

"You do them both with
excellence," Lucas refilled their glasses, "but as your houseguest, I
don't fancy sleeping on a serving cart."

She stood up, wineglass in hand,
crooked a finger and bade him to follow. Ten steps took them into the
great-room living area. Amanda's bare toe groped the floor lamp's base for a
switch. The low light cast shadows against the bold raspberry walls that were
tempered by the pristine white of the high ceiling. The furniture was eclectic
but classic. The result was dramatic yet clean and understated. "This
smooth, sleek contemporary module may look like a conversation pit,"
Amanda intoned, "but it also turns into a very comfortable hide-a-bed for
visitors."

"In that case," Lucas gave
her his best leer, "let me take you to bed." His free hand cupped her
elbow, guiding her to the center section of the white Haitian cotton sofa that
was splattered with rainbow-colored throw pillows.

Four long legs stretched against the
matching ottoman. Two bodies totally submerged themselves in comfort and
tranquility. Amanda didn't bother to adjust the ankle-length robe that
slithered open to mid-thigh. "How much longer am I to be kept in
suspense?" She slanted an amused glance.

"For a little while," he
decided, clinking his wineglass with hers. "I want you in a mellow
mood." Lucas' left arm formed a pillow for her neck while his long fingers
amused themselves by twirling ringlets into the chestnut hair that sculpted her
head.

Amanda inventoried his perfectly
relaxed frame. The tuxedo jacket and black tie had been discarded; the pleated
shirt lay open to bare half his torso, long sleeves rolled to elbows. Lucas was
still wearing the dish towel-cum-apron, but his shoes and socks had been lost
somewhere along the way. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, the words
sexy
as hell
loomed large. Quickly, she pushed that thought away

A soft chuckle escaped her. Amanda
finally put words to her laughter under the insistent tugging of her hair.
"I was just thinking how easily you adjust yourself to the moment. An hour
ago you were quite polished and proper and now…" her toes nuzzled against
his, "you're down-to-earth, casual, right at home."

"Those new dress shoes were
killing me," he reported, rubbing one foot against the other. "I knew
you wouldn't mind. After all, you once paid me fifty bucks to bare these
handsome toes."

"The art class paid,"
Amanda corrected. "I was just the procurer…" she winked at him,
"of various body parts to draw. As I recall, you only cooperated as far as
the knees."

Lucas exhaled a dramatic sigh.
"What can I tell you? I'm basically very shy and retiring."

"And I remember exactly how many
female members of the art class you ended up retiring with! Ouch!" She
twisted away from a sharp hair tug.

"You are still a very sassy
brat," he admonished. Lucas' smile turned pensive. "Why do I get the
impression your comment has little to do with feet and more to do with your
previous beau?" His hand slid from her curls to her cheek, turning her
face upward for inspection. "Didn't Brian Neuman ever take off his
shoes?"

"Only at the proper time,"
Amanda returned on a dull note. "You know, Lucas, I could never put my
finger on what the problem was with Brian until tonight. The man just never
stopped being a doctor."

"Well, I think that's only
natural," he put up a quick defense. "He probably had patients'
maladies whirling through his mind, prescriptions to remember, operations to
schedule, consultations to…"

"Brian was a dermatologist,
Lucas. Rashes and zits are not life and death." She took a final swallow,
then put her glass on the sofa table. "You're a lawyer and yet you don't
act the jurisconsult at every moment. You know how to adapt to your
surroundings and audience."

He studied the contents of his glass.
"Tell me about Brian."

Amanda's head slid into the spicy,
scented curve of his neck. "I met Brian while I was putting together a
Christmas fashion show for Cedars Hospital. He was about your height,
sandy-haired, dark blue eyes, played racquetball. Like you, he was very easy to
talk to. We started dating, hit or miss for about a month, then it became twice
a week, then every day.

"You know me, Lucas. I'm…I'm
selective. You once said God himself would have a tough time getting my
undivided attention. I just never felt the need to compensate for years of
female oppression. I stayed in the Victorian closet. The idea of waking up next
to someone I didn't know and didn't trust made me physically nauseous."

Amanda exhaled a soft sigh. "I
guess years of early conditioning and values can't be erased overnight by
contraceptives and liberated mores. Maybe I'm wrong, but then I listen to my
girlfriends who jump from bed to bed and they aren't all smiles either. And a
few have germs that antibiotics can't kill.

"Well, it took me a long, long
time to feel comfortable with Brian. I liked him. He was a wonderful person and
our relationship was maturing and involving. I really felt this was going to be
it. We'd meet for lunch, he'd come here for dinner, sometimes stay for
breakfast." She peeked at Lucas, noting tightness in his jaw. "Brian
began to get very vocal about my business. He didn't like my buying trips, my
'artsy' friends, as he called them. I started balking, feeling stifled.

"Then I began to concentrate on
the little things Brian did that bothered me and discovered there were a lot of
them. We'd go to the beach and I'd get a lecture on the sunlight. We'd go on a
picnic, Brian would pack the bug spray and calamine lotion and say no to a walk
in the woods. Everything had to be planned, nothing spontaneous. I was getting
a rash from his inspecting my pores!" Amanda gave Lucas a poke in the
ribs. "Stop laughing!" she ordered gruffly.

"I was right. I think you'd even
find fault with God," he countered. "I doubt it was anything like
you're describing."

"Lucas, Brian licked his coffee
cup!"

"Oh, well, that's grounds for
the electric chair!"

Amanda gave a snort. "I knew it wasn't
going to work. We just started to drift apart. We're still friends, still have
an occasional dinner or lunch. I think my mother was the most upset. To her,
Brian was perfection. A doctor! Of course, she's had psoriasis for ten years.
Lucas, you're laughing again!"

He swallowed hard and wiped his eyes.
"I'm sorry. It's just that when I talked to your mother she said to tell
you to date a plumber."

"That's because the house needs
a new septic system and Dad went crazy when he got the estimate." Amanda shook
her head. "You're lucky, men don't get stuck with the Jewish-mother
syndrome."

"All mothers have chicken soup
flowing through their veins. What's the difference whether it's served with
matzos or croutons?" Lucas gave her a sympathetic pat. "My mother
worries about every woman I take a liking to and so does my father."

"He wants you to marry a
girl-just-like-the-girl, et cetera."

"My mother is a dear but I
couldn't marry one like her." He was thoughtful for a moment. "I need
a woman who is independent and doesn't need to have me around twenty-four hours
a day. I also would like one with a good sense of humor and a good sense of
trust and fidelity.

"When my father was going from
state to state building bridges, I remember my mother's tension wondering if he
was staying alone nights in the hotel rooms. But even though Mom was able to
leave the three of us kids, she never took Dad up on his offer to visit any of
the areas he was working. I'd like my wife to be a bit more adventurous than
that."

Amanda levered herself slightly; her
gray eyes studied Lucas' face. "Does Kitty Byrnes incorporate all those
virtues?"

"I don't know, Mandy." He
was being truthful. "We've been dating for just six weeks, not even a
dozen dates. To be honest, Kitty and I aren't even friends yet."

"Just lovers." Again she
saw his jaw tighten. Amanda smiled slightly, her feminine curves filled against
his warm masculine angles. "Obviously the search for Ms. Right is just as
tough as the one for Mr. Right, my friend." A tiny yawn escaped her.
"How is your practice doing?"

"Being on my own is a great
incentive. I'm playing the game for keeps, no going back into public law,"
Lucas rubbed his face, trying to hold off the invasion of weariness that
threatened him. "My clients are actually paying, and I've got myself on
retainer to two companies." He yawned and shook his head. "That's
what I meant about finding a woman who can be happy functioning on her own.
Sometimes even when I am home, my mind is on a case."

"Speaking of homes," her
eyelids fluttered under a consuming burden, "the pictures you sent of all
your remodeling were amazing." Another yawn interrupted. "You really
turned that rambling ranch into a
House Beautiful
place."

"Well, thank you." Lucas
burrowed deeper into the sofa cushions. "From all those summers working in
construction, I'm really good at handling all the big things. You know, moving
walls, building walls, sinking floors, building risers. The electricity and the
plumbing weren't even a problem. It's the little things that make me shudder.
The wallpaper, what colors to paint, drapes, furniture, lamps, pictures.

"Then I remembered what a
beautiful job you did making your dorm room bright and cheery and the way you
fixed up that loft I rented my last year in New York. Of course, this
place…" he took his time examining every inch of the décor, a smile curved
his lips, "this townhouse is functional and livable, but it has that
classy dash and snap."

Lucas gave a low laugh. "Look at
this. Without even nagging, you made me spill the beans on my
proposition." He gave her a quick hug. "What do you say, Mandy? How
about taking a month off - now, don't interrupt. I remember you saying the shop
can get along without you. You just got through admitting how much you liked
interior decorating. I've got a pretty healthy bank account set aside. You'd
have fun at the ranch. I've got two horses and there's a great stream-fed pond
for swimming. You can relax. Meet my friends. Well? Mandy? Come on, don't be
bashful. Mandy?" He finally ventured the courage to look. Instead of
seeing a face wry with incredulity, he found instead that Amanda Wyatt was
sound asleep!

"Some scintillating
conversationalist you are, Crosse," Lucas chided. He knew he should carry
her into her bedroom. But he didn't. He managed to slide their bodies into a
more comfortable position without disturbing Amanda.

Lucas indulged himself, cuddling her
against him. His dark eyes toured her well-curved anatomy, taking in the
pleasure of her feminine form. There was a glimpse of a velvety breast beneath
the lilac satin; he enjoyed the sensation of the suppleness of her slender legs
and thighs between his own.

He would try again tomorrow. Lucas
found there was desperation in his thoughts to convince Amanda to come to
Texas. A desperation born of sudden physical need. Lucas swallowed down
that
thought. And made a vain attempt to sleep.

Three

Amanda’s greedy fingers broke into
the warm beignet. She rubbed the cake doughnut in its own powdery sugar before
transferring it to her eager mouth. Aromatic cups of chicory coffee dotted the
bistro tables, its rich scent awakening the interest of the patrons at the
Cafe
du Monde
.