Flash and Fire (18 page)

“Look, forget it—“

Pierce laid a finger to her lips. “Sorry, all promises are final and binding.”

She jerked her head back. “I didn’t promise.”

No, not in so many words. But he wasn’t listening to words. “Your eyes did.”

She wasn’t going to allow him to talk to her like this, to undermine her as if she were some sophomoric high school girl. She’d learned too many lessons for that. “Leave my eyes out of this.”

“If only I could, Mandy,” he said soulfully. “If only I could.”

She sighed. Maybe she hadn’t learned anything at all. “What time should I be ready?”

He grinned. She was great for straight lines. “All the time, Mandy. All the time.” He saw her face cloud over and decided not to push his luck any further tonight. “But the concert starts at six. I’ll pick you up at five.”

She nodded.

Suddenly, she was almost too tired to stand. It was time to get him out of here. “I’ll walk you to the door.” She began to head toward the front of the house.

He followed her and laughed. “Don’t trust me, do you, Mandy?”

Reaching the door, she opened it and smiled at him sweetly. “As long as we understand each other.”

He let her ease him into the doorway, then turned to look at her. He studied her eyes for a moment. He saw a vulnerability there as well as weariness. But he also saw something else. Something that shimmered and called to him. A passion that was kindred to his.

Just a matter of time.

“I think we do, Mandy, more than you’re willing to admit.”

Amanda closed the door firmly behind him. She would have slammed it, but then she would have woken Carla and Christopher up, and she was in no mood to deal with sly questions or suddenly energized two-year-olds.

She stared at the closed door, seeing Pierce through it. She was making a mistake, she thought. A tremendous one. Tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, she was going to rethink this and find a way out. She wasn’t about to go unarmed into his verbal tap dance. The man could probably talk the Queen Mother into doing a striptease at a Shriners’ Convention.

Right now, she was far too tired, too vulnerable, too confused to think, much less to hold her own. She’d agreed, she told herself as she slowly walked to her bedroom, only to get rid of him. Her mind and her body felt as if they had just gone over the falls in a barrel and been dashed against the rocks. She’d just barely escaped with her life intact.

Tomorrow, when she was feeling alive again, she’d find a way to get out of the “date from hell” that her evening with Pierce promised to be. Tonight all she wanted was her pillow. And maybe a bed under her.

An empty bed, she added silently, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door.

A multitude of emotions warred within Pierce as he drove away from Amanda’s. He wasn’t used to this. He liked his thoughts just the way he liked his women. Free, with no demands.

Pierce turned his car toward the Sin Pit. He needed a drink. And noise to numb his thoughts. He wasn’t acting like himself, or feeling like himself either.

Without completely understanding why, he found himself being jealous of Granger, of the loyalty he inspired within Amanda. Even if she hadn’t been to bed with the man—and Pierce had his doubts about the truth of that—Amanda cared about Granger, cared about the man with a quiet, steady passion Pierce had never known.

For the first time, he knew that he wanted something like that in his life, just as he knew that he would never attain it.

Preoccupied, Pierce almost went through a red light. He slammed his foot on the brake, and his car fishtailed as it came to a screeching stop more than a foot over the street’s white boundary lines.

More tired than he realized, he scrubbed his hand over his face. Like some kind of witch who had the inside track on his mind, Amanda was scrambling his brain. The sooner he got her in bed, the sooner this temporary madness would ease away and he could think straight again.

He wanted her out of his system.

No other woman had ever had him leaping through hoops like this before. He’d never pushed like this before, not for a woman. He’d been available and they had always done the rest.

Amanda was different.

Maybe wanting her was the sign of some sort of early mid-life crisis, although he figured he should have been spared that. God knew he’d had enough crises when he was younger to have filled up his dance card. God should have found someone else to torture.

That was assuming there was a God, he thought cynically as he approached the dim lights of the Sin Pit.

And he didn’t. He’d long since given up believing in a deity who would allow the atrocities he’d seen. Better to believe in nothing than to feel that there was a power over him with such a cold disregard for the life He’d created.

But if there actually was a God, Pierce thought vaguely as he parked his Car, He had one hell of a sense of humor.

Pierce got out and went in search of about the only thing that did seem to make sense at the moment: a shot of whiskey.

Chapter Nineteen

She’d changed three times, from jeans into the yellow spaghetti-strapped sheath, into jeans again, and then finally back into her dress. The jeans represented her staying home, the dress her going. Her emotions were in a state of complete upheaval as her common sense warred with her sense of adventure.

Common sense won. She was on her way back into her bedroom, to change into her jeans, when the doorbell rang.

Amanda was across the room instantly, pulling the door open. Her apology was on her lips before she even looked at Pierce. “I’m sorry, but you drove over here for nothing. I’m not going.”

His eyes slid over her and registered approval. She was wearing a dress that begged him to peel her out of it. Each short breath she took raised her breasts invitingly up for his pleasure.

“You look like you’re going.”

She wasn’t accustomed to seeing him look like this. In fact, she had never seen him dressed in anything but casual clothing and pullover shirts that strained against his muscles. Right now, he was wearing a navy sports jacket, gray slacks, and a shirt that was just the first hint of pink.

Seeing him made refusing more difficult. Amanda searched for strength. She had to be resolute in her decision.

“I’m not.”

Pierce looked into her eyes and made a decision. Crossing the threshold, he looked around the living room.

“Where’s your purse?” There was a small beaded clutch purse lying on the sofa. He walked over and picked it up, then held it aloft. “This it?”

Amanda swallowed, not knowing whether to be angry or afraid. He was usurping her authority—and reading between the lines.

“Yes, but—“

He tossed the purse to her casually. Amanda just managed to catch it as he crossed back to her. “Have you told your baby-sitter where you’re going to be?”

“Home,” Amanda insisted. “And she’s not a babysitter, she’s a—“

“A home engineer, specializing in preadults. Yes, I know.” He was tired of euphemisms and titles that put ribbons on the truth. Nobody was a janitor or a housewife anymore. As far as he was concerned, there was no
shame in honest work. “You women, with your galloping
need to be independent and have your existence justified.” He gave a disparaging shake of his head. “Carla?” he called out.

He needn’t have bothered raising his voice. Carla was in the next room, listening to every word. He figured she would be. She hurried in, her eyes eager and all over him. “Yes?”

Pierce placed a proprietary hand on Amanda’s arm. Amanda shook him off. It didn’t faze him. “Mandy and I are going to a concert at D’Jazz Club. If you need the number for some reason, call information.”

He saw the pad Christopher had been scribbling on earlier. A spilled box of crayons lay next to it. He selected one and wrote down a series of numbers in magenta.

“Here, this is my number. Leave a message if you need to.” He winked at the woman as he handed her the pad and crayon. “And don’t wait up.”

Carla giggled, clearly envying Amanda the evening that lay ahead.

Amanda didn’t feel like a person who should be envied. She felt as if she were a person under siege. She glared at Pierce. Who the hell did he think he was?

“You can’t just take over like this.”

Contradicting her words, Piece took her hand and drew her out the door. “I just did.” He shut the door behind them, then looked at her.

Amanda saw something in his eyes that she couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Look,” he began honestly. “I don’t often dress up for a woman. This jacket’s uncomfortable.” He rotated his shoulders as if to prove how confining he found it. “And I’m not in the best of moods.” He opened the passenger car door and gestured for her to get in. “So—“

Against her better judgment, Amanda got in. “Where’s your tie?”

He didn’t answer her until he got in on his side. “I don’t own a tie.” He turned on the ignition. “Ties are for hanging people with.” He guided the car out of her driveway. “We’d better get going. Traffic at this time of night can be pretty heavy.”

Amanda sat back, but she couldn’t bring herself to relax. This was a mistake; she felt it in every part of her body. “There’s a penalty for kidnapping,” she reminded him nonchalantly.

He slanted her a look just before taking a turn. “There’s one for murder, too, but I’m not planning to do either—unless I’m provoked.”

Amanda worked at unknotting her hands. They were going to a crowded outdoor theater. There was nothing to worry about, except rain.

“Are you always this charming?’

“No.” He swore as he just missed a light. It gave him a moment to look at her again. Dusk was beginning to paint wide, dark strokes across the sky. It created a more intimate environment. He felt desire tightening its hold. “But I’ve never had to cajole a woman before.”

It was a line; she knew it was a line. And yet, she couldn’t suppress the smile the words generated. “Poor baby.”

Her mouth, even at this angle, was sensuous and tempting. “I’m counting on you to stroke my ego later.”

“I hope you know how to count to a very high number, Alexander.”

Pierce stepped on the accelerator and laughed.

The restaurant was softly lit, hushed, and came as a complete surprise. She had expected him to bring her to the Sin Pit after the concert. Instead, he’d brought her to The Islander, a restaurant known for its good food, its excellent service, and its very high prices. She didn’t know whether to be impressed or very, very wary.

She was a little of both.

Amanda toyed with her second glass of champagne. The sparkling wine went down with amazing ease and helped to soothe her nerves. She realized that she’d been enjoying herself for most of the evening. Wonder of wonders.

Who was this man sitting across from her? She’d been so sure she knew at the outset of the evening. Now she was beginning to think she hadn’t a clue.

“I had no idea you liked jazz.”

The light from the candle on their table was trapped in the sphere of her earrings, shining there like tiny moonbeams. He watched, fascinated.

“You didn’t ask.” His voice was slow, measured, flow
ing like molasses. It coated her completely. “When I was a kid, sometimes I’d sneak out of my grandmother’s house and go listen to the jam sessions that went on at The Club down the river.”

Like a child listening to a bedtime story, Amanda felt herself being drawn in, wanting to know more. “What was the club called?”

“Just ‘The Club.’ They never took the time to name it. They were too busy making the sweetest music outside of New Orleans.”

If he closed his eyes, he could still hear it. Sitting there in the smoky, darkened room, watching wearied black men suddenly turn young before his eyes as they played their beloved, battered instruments, was one of the more pleasant memories he carried with him. Perhaps the only one.

She shook her head. “You just don’t look like the type to enjoy jazz.”

He took a sip of his drink. “I told you before, I don’t typecast well. There are a lot of different sides to me, Mandy.”

She was beginning to believe that. And all the sides were gathering together, confusing the hell out of her. She had no idea how to defend herself against him, or even if she really wanted to.

She took another long drink and found herself staring down at the bottom of the glass. When she set it down, Pierce refilled it.

Remember Jeff.

Yes, she remembered Jeff, and in remembering knew she wanted to walk away from this—whatever “this” was turning out to be—before any damaging entanglements resulted. Amanda wished that there were a way to place all her emotions and hormones into a bottle and push a stopper into it.

Instead, here they were, fizzing, suddenly begging to be set free.

Pierce laughed softly at her comment. “I bet you also thought I only went to places like the Sin Pit.”

She flushed, then shrugged. After all, it was the image he projected. “It does fit.”

He leaned back, enjoying the way the candlelight played across her face. “To be a good investigative reporter, you have to be part chameleon. You have to be able to fit in everywhere, into every situation, and not call attention to yourself.”

Her head was spinning a bit. She shook it slightly. For a moment, she set down her glass. “I can’t see you not calling attention to yourself.”

His wide, sensual grin made her pulse quicken. Or was that the third glass of champagne? “Why, Amanda Foster, is that a compliment?”

He was gorgeous and they both knew it. He didn’t need her to tell him that.

Amanda lowered her eyes to her plate. It might be her imagination, but she felt that when she looked at him, he could read her thoughts.

“Just an observation; don’t let it go to your head.” Like the champagne was going to hers. She began to eat again. “The lobster’s very good.”

He’d hardly been aware of eating his portion. Amanda seemed to be displacing everything tonight. “They have it flown in fresh every day.”

Pierce had ordered for both of them without letting her look at the menu. She had assumed that it was a male thing and had let him have this small round. It cost nothing. The same, she knew, couldn’t be said about the dinner.