Compromising Positions (5 page)

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed. “I'm sure I'll be fine. And I don't want to keep you from work. I know you're a very busy man around town.”

“No,” he said. “Not so busy.”

She stood. “Well, then, maybe you can keep an eye on the bed while I go out and pick up a few things? I would really appreciate the help. And I don't trust Sam Blackstone.”

Benny looked vaguely disappointed but he shrugged. “Sure. I'll be around for the next hour or two.”

“You won't let Sam take the bed?”

“Nope,” Benny said. “I'm your man. You can count on me...Amelia.”

She grabbed her purse and headed for the front door, grateful to make her escape. Given time, maybe Benny could be convinced to transfer his loyalties to a new friend. There was nothing to stop her pleading her case to him. That wouldn't be dishonest, would it?

She headed to the inn to gather up her things. Then she'd have to stop by the local discount store for new bedding and pillows and something to keep her fed. Amelia was willing to give the strategy a few days, and if Sam didn't relent, she'd come up with a new plan.

When she stepped inside the Blackstone, she found Sarah sitting at the front desk.

“Hello,” Sarah said.

“Is he here?”

“Sam? He raced in and out about ten minutes ago. What's going on?”

“The second battle of the bed,” Amelia said.

“Don't expect him to surrender. If you take on Sam Blackstone, prepare yourself for a long siege. He can be very stubborn.”

“It's just a bed,” Amelia said.

“I know,” Sarah replied. “It's not that valuable and he's never seemed attached to it in the past. I mean, it was a gimmick to bring guests to the inn. But he seems to be obsessed with it now.” Sarah paused. “Or maybe it's you he's obsessed with and not the bed.” She cupped her chin in her hand and smiled at Amelia. “This really will be fun to watch.”

Amelia sighed softly. “So I suppose I don't need to ask whose side you're on?”

“Oh, I'm rooting for you,” Sarah said. She came out from behind the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You could wrap up one of those pies of yours. And I could use a couple of pillows and some sheets for the bed. And some comfortable clothes to wear. I didn't intend to spend more than a night here.”

“I'll put together a little survival kit,” Sarah said. “Why don't you go pack your things and I'll have them ready when you come down?”

Amelia trudged up the stairs and headed to her room at the end of the hall. When she'd left Boston, she'd expected to be less than a day. She'd expected to show her letter from Abigail Farnsworth, pick up the bed and haul it back to the city. But now that simple task had turned monumentally complex and all because of Sam Blackstone.

She unlocked her room and stepped inside. Crossing to the bed, she flopped facedown across the handmade quilt.

Maybe she ought to just give up and go home. The thought of spending a few more days with Sam was beginning to frighten her. He already had such a powerful effect on her emotions—and on her body.

Never in her life had a man held that kind of power over her. Though she tried to stop thinking about him, tried to keep her body from reacting to his touch, it was no use. And when they weren't together, Amelia had to stop herself from getting caught up in some silly fantasy. And the fantasies were only becoming more vivid as time progressed.

At first she'd imagined him kissing and touching her, and that wild, exhilarating feeling when he pulled her into his arms. But now she'd moved on to naked bodies and soft beds, whispered urges and orgasms that seemed to last forever.

Amelia rolled onto her back and pulled the pillow over her head. Her professional reputation was on the line here. She'd come to Millhaven for one thing: to get the Washington bed that she'd been promised. And suddenly that goal had become twisted up in this game with an impossibly handsome and sexy man.

Every instinct she possessed told her to give up and go home to Boston. She could make the exhibit work without the bed. Grabbing the pillow, she tossed it across the room. It hit a small tea table that sat beneath the window and something clattered to the floor.

Amelia crawled off the bed and retrieved the silver tankard that had held a small bunch of flowers and some water. The tankard looked old; clearly a rip-off of a Revere design and burnished by a believable patina. She flipped it over, searching for the maker's mark. Her gaze came to rest on a familiar set of letters: P REVERE.

Revere silver had been reproduced many times over the years and was often marked with the original hallmark. It was impossible to tell if the tankard was a true Revere.

The weight felt right for silver and the patina looked authentic. What were the chances that the Blackstone family owned some original Revere silver?

“Pretty good,” Amelia murmured. She took a couple quick photos of the tankard and the hallmark with her phone and sent them to Lincoln Farraday, the museum's expert in silver and porcelain. She placed the tankard back on the table and headed for the door.

When she walked downstairs, Sarah was waiting for her, a large wicker basket dangling from her arm and two down pillows resting on a nearby chair. “I put some brownies and cookies in there, too,” she said. “And a couple of menus from the restaurants in town that deliver. And a box of condoms.” She smiled apologetically. “It pays to be prepared.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Amelia said.

“Has he kissed you yet?”

“Yes.”

“You don't know my brother. There haven't been many women in his life, but when he finds someone he likes, nothing gets in his way.”

“And you don't know me,” Amelia said. “I'm pretty determined myself.”

“Did you see the tankard full of flowers in your room? He picked those flowers for you,” Sarah said.

“And where did he get the tankard?”

“We have whole cabinets full of old silver. I stopped trying to keep it polished years ago. We use glass vases instead.”

Amelia walked to the front door and Sarah held it open for her, the pillows clutched in her arms. “If I survive the night, I'd like to see the silver collection.”

Sarah shrugged and waved Amelia out the door.

As she hurried to her truck, a shiver skittered through her as she thought about sleeping in the same bed with Sam.

Then she remembered her words to Sarah. She didn't have to sleep with him. She didn't even have to let him into the building. This was a battle of wills and he had no idea how stubborn she could be.

3

S
AM
PULLED
HIS
truck
up in front of Benny's Antiques and Auction Gallery and shut off the engine. Several minor crises at the inn had kept him from returning until the evening. The sun had set an hour before and the lights inside revealed the bed and its lone occupant.

Amelia sat in the center of the bed, books and papers spread out around her. She'd made a comfortable spot for herself with bedside tables and lamps, most likely provided by Benny. She wore glasses with dark rims that stood out against her pale skin. Her hair was pulled back, revealing the full beauty of her profile.

Sam watched as a pair of pedestrians strolled by the window, then backtracked to peer at Amelia. After a few seconds Amelia noticed them and gave them a little wave before they moved on. He chuckled softly. She was a beautiful but very stubborn woman—a difficult combination and one that fascinated him more and more with every moment he spent with her.

He grabbed the pizza box and six-pack of beer from the passenger seat, then hopped out of the pickup. When he reached Benny's door, he found it locked, so he walked to the window and rapped on the glass. She glanced up and their eyes locked for a long moment. A groan slipped from his throat and his pulse quickened.

Sam pointed to the door and Amelia shook her head, turning her attention back to the book. Undeterred, he rapped on the glass again, this time holding up the pizza and beer. She shook her head again. Sam had no intention of letting her win this battle.

He set the pizza and beer on the sidewalk, shrugged out of his jacket and slowly began to unbutton his shirt. He was nearly finished by the time she looked up. Amelia scrambled off the bed and hurried to the window.

“What do you think you're doing?” she shouted, her words muffled through the glass.

“Let me in,” he said. “I brought dinner.”

“I'm not hungry,” she said, shaking her head.

“It's cold out here,” he said, rubbing his chest.

“Put your jacket on.”

“Let me in.”

Sam saw the indecision in her gaze. Finally she mouthed a curse and headed to the front door. He grabbed his jacket and the dinner and reached the entrance just as the lock clicked open.

Sam slipped inside and followed her into the makeshift bedroom. The bed had been made with bedding he recognized from the inn. One of the Blackstone's picnic baskets sat at the foot of the bed, along with her overnight bag. Confirming his suspicions that Sarah was a traitor, Amelia was wearing a sweater that looked like one of his sister's thrift-shop finds.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “I didn't expect you to leave me alone with the bed for so long.”

“I trust you. Besides, you could never get this bed apart and loaded before someone called me.”

“I'll find someone to help me...like Benny. I'm sure he could be persuaded.”

“If Benny could be persuaded, you'd be halfway to Boston by now.” Sam dropped his jacket on the floor and circled the bed, setting the pizza down in the center. “I brought dinner. I thought you might be hungry.”

Amelia shook her head. “I can't believe we're doing this. Isn't there some way we could work this out?”

“I'm willing to entertain offers.” He opened a beer, helped himself to a slice of pizza and leaned back into the pillows, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Get your dirty shoes off my bed!” she cried.

He grinned. “My bed. And if I'm not mistaken, also my quilt and my pillows.” He slid the pizza toward her with his foot. “Have a slice.”

“I'm not that hungry,” she murmured.

“Come on, Amelia. Let's just call a truce for tonight and enjoy some dinner.” He grabbed a beer and opened it, then handed it to her. “Go on. Relax.”

“I don't drink beer,” she said.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that. You seem like a wine kind of girl.”

“And you didn't bring me wine?”

“Bringing aid and comfort to the enemy? I'm not that stupid,” he said with a laugh.

She growled in frustration and grabbed the beer from his hand. “You think you're so charming.”

“I am charming.”

“Then why aren't you married? Or engaged? You don't even have a girlfriend.”

“How do you know that?”

“You wouldn't be here with me if you did,” she said. Her voice grew soft. “You wouldn't have kissed me.”

“No,” he murmured. “I wouldn't do anything that would hurt you.” Sam grinned. “I kinda like you, Amelia. Haven't you figured that out?”

“You brought me dinner. I guess that's a start.”

“Yes, it is. So why don't you just relax and tell me all the details of your life. I want to get to know you a little better.”

“Don't you think that will give you some kind of advantage?”

Sam thought about her objection, then shrugged. “All right, I'll tell you everything I already know about you and you can just fill in any holes.” He took a sip of his beer. “You were kidnapped as a baby and were raised by a pair of wolves on an island off the coast of Maine. When missionaries found you in the woods, they sent you to a vocational school where they taught you how to color within the lines and how to weld. You graduated high school at the age of thirteen and then studied carpet weaving at an ashram in New Delhi. After that you—”

“All right. Ask me a question.”

“Tell me about your family,” he said.

She sighed. “I'm an only child. My father is a banker and my mother does charity work. I grew up in Boston, went to private schools and then a girls' boarding school. I majored in art history in college and took a job at the Mapother a year after I graduated. I was promoted to assistant curator of special exhibitions last year.”

“So, if you get this bed, what will that mean for you at work?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, really.” She took a ragged breath. “They won't fire me if I don't get it.”

“They won't?”

“I'm a Gardner. My mother is, anyway.”

“Flowers or vegetables?”

She was in the middle of taking a sip of beer when she laughed, spitting beer on herself. Her laughter was infectious and her eyes began to water as he chuckled. “Am I missing something?”

“No,” she said, gasping for breath. “It's just...charming that you thought I meant gardening. My mother's family name is Gardner. It's a very important name in Boston. Comes along with a lot of expectations.”

“Such as?”

“I'm expected to find a proper husband with a large fortune and impeccable breeding. They'd already picked someone for me. We started dating when I was seventeen and we were engaged my third year of college, but then I broke it off.”

“Your parents picked a husband for you?”

She shook her head. “I've known him all my life. And we've always been aware that our parents wanted us to marry. It's not quite as shocking as it sounds.”

“You get a husband, I get an inn,” he said. “We're kind of in the same boat. I really didn't have much choice in the matter. At least you got away.”

She took another sip of her beer. “You never really get away,” Amelia said. “My parents still expect me to come to my senses and marry Edward someday. After I grow bored with this silly career I've chosen and realize I do want a confining life the exact replica of my mother's.”

“Who's Edward?”

“Edward Ardmore Reed. My former fiancé.”

“Do you love him?” Sam asked.

Amelia groaned and fell back onto the pillows. “I should. He's a really nice guy. He's smart and kind and very patient with me. And I'm sure if we got married, I'd come to love him. But there's just no...spark.” She clapped her hands over her eyes. “That sounds like such a cliché, but doesn't there need to be a spark?” She peered at him through her fingers, then pulled her hands away.

“Yes,” Sam said, rolling onto his stomach. “A spark is important.” His gaze met hers and for a long moment he considered how he wanted to kiss her. Soft and slow? Or fast and fiery? But in the end she pushed forward on her elbows and kissed him.

Her lips were warm, her tongue sweet and intoxicating.

Sam slipped his hand around her nape, pulling her closer, deepening their connection until he was desperate for more.

Sam brushed aside the pizza box and pulled her body beneath his, running his hand along the length of her thigh and dragging it over his hip. He felt like a teenager, as if every sensation racing through his body was brand-new and never experienced before.

He moved his hand under the soft cotton of her sweater, exploring the silky skin beneath. When they finally paused to take a breath, their gazes met and a tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth.

“A spark,” she whispered.

“That's what I'd call it,” Sam said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “A definite spark.”

“What should we do? Throw water on it?”

“Let it burn?”

Amelia sat up with a gasp, staring out the window. Sam pushed up on his elbow. A small crowd had gathered outside, watching as if the show had been created just for them. A camera flashed and Amelia scrambled to turn off the two bedside lamps.

Sam stepped up to the window. He recognized a few faces in the crowd and shook his head. “Don't you all have something better to do with your time?” he shouted. He pounded on the window with his fist and they scattered in different directions.

When he turned around, she was standing in the shadows, clutching a pillow to her chest as if it might protect her from the curious crowd. She looked so shocked, so vulnerable, that he immediately crossed the room and pulled her into his embrace.

“I guess we sort of forgot where we were,” he said.

She nodded. “Maybe you should go.”

“And leave you alone in my bed?” Sam shook his head. “Here's the deal. If you stay tonight, I stay. But if you agree to come back to the inn with me tomorrow, I'll agree to leave the bed here. I won't do anything to...repossess it.”

She looked up, her gaze scanning his features for the truth in his words.

In truth, Sam didn't really care where he spent the night as long as it was with Amelia.

* * *

A
MELIA
DIDN
'
T
WANT
to give up her single advantage in the battle: her tenacity. It had helped her escape her parents' control, it had gotten her the job at the museum and it would get her the Washington bed! She could stay in the dusty old store overnight for one night or ten. And she would, until Sam surrendered.

But first, a little privacy was in order. He helped her find an old tarp to cover the front window and they hung it from a pair of rusty nails they'd found in the wood above the window. Once that was done, Amelia crawled into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, satisfied that she had enough privacy to sleep. “Good night,” she murmured.

Closing her eyes, she waited, wondering what his next move would be. Would he join her in the bed? Would he try to touch her again? Amelia's pulse quickened when the mattress beside her moved and a long sigh slipped from her lips.

She opened her eyes and found him stretched out beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing?”

“I'm sleeping in my bed,” he said.

“You might have asked if it was all right with me,” she said.

“Polite, but not necessary. It's my bed.” He rolled onto his side and threw his arm across her waist. “We could spend the night arguing over ownership or we could find something else to do.”

“We could sleep,” she said.

“I'm not tired.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I don't know. Maybe we could kiss? That would pass the time.”

She smiled up into his sleepy gaze. She couldn't deny that she wanted to kiss Sam. It had almost become a required activity for her. She loved the way it made her feel all crazy and tingly inside. But there were other more interesting things they might try; things she'd been fantasizing about.

But Amelia had never had the courage to turn her fantasies into reality. She'd spent her entire relationship with Edward waiting for him to stumble upon something more exciting and passionate in the bedroom—and he never had.

She had a chance now to change all of that. To push past her insecurities and inhibitions to try something daring and new. “Just one kiss,” she whispered.

He cupped her cheek with his hand and gently tugged her into his embrace. Amelia wasn't ready for her reaction. Her body seemed to melt against his and warmth flooded through her veins. Though he held the power to seduce her, she wasn't afraid. In truth, she'd already decided that it was exactly what she needed.

How often did a woman get a chance like this, finding a man who could arouse passions that she didn't even know she possessed? Whether she and Sam had a few days or a lifetime together, the risk of letting this experience pass her by was just as dangerous.

One perfect memory of a perfect man. That's all she really wanted. And if her life went on without him, she could survive on the memories. Maybe there would be other men, and maybe they'd steal her heart in the same way Sam had. But she'd know that she could have a relationship on her terms, one that she controlled, that satisfied her wants and desires. And right now she wanted Sam.

As the kiss deepened, Sam pushed her back into the down pillows. The weight of his body against hers caused a blissful feeling to overwhelm her and Amelia wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned softly. She'd never thought much about the pleasures of kissing. With Edward, kissing was a greeting, a farewell and a short invitation to sex. But Sam took the activity to another level.

He seduced her with his lips and his tongue, teasing and testing. And when she arched against him, he moved lower, kissing her neck and then tugging at the sweater until he exposed her shoulder. His lips traced a warm path over her skin, sending delicious sensations racing through her body.