Golden Vows (10 page)

Amanda mentally braced herself. “Such as?”

“The grandfather clock, for one. I know it was a wedding gift from my parents, but you picked it out. And then there’s the landscape we bought in the Bahamas. You always were especially fond of that painting.”

“Those things go with the house, Dane. You should keep them.”

“I’m thinking of selling the house.”

“Oh.” Her heart flinched at the idea and a sliver of resentment pricked her calm veneer, but she maintained control of her voice. “I guess that is the sensible thing to do.”

He merely smiled, his attention on slowing the Mercedes at an intersection. “Then,” he continued smoothly as if he hadn’t just blithely dismissed all the thought, effort, and fun they’d had in planning that house, “there’s also a problem about the custody of our suit of armor. I know Martha thought it a wonderful addition to the front hall, but I’m not sure a potential buyer would agree. Do you think she could be blackmailed into taking the thing back?”

Amanda laughed despite the knot that pressed painfully against her throat. “Martha wouldn’t take it on a bet. Maybe the museum?”

“Or the city dump. It isn’t exactly a museum piece, you know.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” She hated the image of the suit of armor lying rusted on a pile of garbage. It had never really fit in with the decor of the house, but it was an interesting conversation piece. Still, she had no place for the armor and if Dane sold the house, what could she do?

Amanda felt a pang of guilt, as if she had betrayed a friend, and her stomach muscles contracted with another, more intense feeling of resentment.

She didn’t want to talk about the dismantling of their home. Dane knew how stupidly sentimental she could be. Why didn’t he just do whatever he wanted with the house and its contents? That was what she’d intended for him to do. She’d even informed her attorney that whatever Dane decided was fine with her, hoping the message would be transmitted through legal channels. Obviously, it had gone astray.

Amanda turned her head and caught him watching her closely, but in an instant the serious look vanished from his eyes. He laughed softly. A laugh she remembered well, and yet, it didn’t sound quite as she remembered.

“It really wasn’t very nice of you, Amanda, to leave the marlin with me. You know how it hurt my pride when you caught the damned fish after I invested two days and a small fortune on deep-sea fishing.”

She had accused him of pouting for days, but actually he had been proud of her catch and insisted on having it mounted. Amanda hadn’t thought of that day in a very long time and the memory now was bittersweet fuel for her irritation. Damn! Why had he forgotten that list? She could have viewed a written inventory of their possessions dispassionately, without remembering all the circumstances that made each possession special to her.

“You can keep the fish,” she stated briskly. “And the painting and the clock and the armor. I have no place for them. I—I have all that I need, Dane. Whatever you decide is fine. Fine.” She felt him watching her again, but refused to acknowledge his curious look.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to get rid of something and then have you asking about it later. That’s the reason for the inventory, so that there’s no question about any of it.”

“I know the reason,” she snapped, the tension building inside her. “I promise that I won’t question your integrity, now or later on. My attorney explained the settlement to me. It seems fair, more than fair, so please, do whatever you want with the house and the things in it. I don’t need to know what you do with them.”

There was a moment’s pause and then he said quietly, “But I want you to know.”

Her control slipped and she faced him angrily. “I don’t care. Do you hear me? I don’t want to
know.
I don’t need to know. And I don’t care!”

On a ragged breath she reined in her unleashed emotions and felt them fade as rapidly as they had come. Her gaze slipped from beneath her downcast lashes to gauge his reaction. Oddly, he didn’t appear surprised. His lips curved, not in a smile, but in a satisfied line.

“Almost home,” he announced as they drove past the sweeping driveway of Martha’s house and turned onto the road that led to the cottage. “Martha says you’ve done wonders with the place. Of course, she thinks you’re a natural wonder no matter what you do.” Within a few minutes Dane had parked the Mercedes and shifted to slide his arm along the back of the seat. “Well, are you going to invite me in?”

Amanda tensed, but whether it was because of his question or because of his large hand that lay so very close to her shoulder, she wasn’t sure. She eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you want to see the wonders I’ve done with the place for yourself?”

“Of course. You didn’t really think I’d take Martha’s word for it, did you?” He grinned as he loosened the knot of his tie. “What kind of wonders can you do with a little ice, some water, and a teabag?”

“Iced tea?”

“Now that’s a clever idea, Amanda. Let’s try it.”

She tried to frown away his good humor, but found herself smiling an invitation instead. “All right. Come on.”

His fingers made an airy brush stroke against her hair and along the curve of her cheek. “You always did know just how to entice me into accepting your invitations, didn’t you?”

“It was never really very difficult,” she said, responding naturally to his teasing. “You always were ... easy.”

Dark gold brows lifted as a slow smile tugged at his mouth—and at her heart. “Only for you, Amanda. Only for you.”

Her breath suspended, she stared into his eyes for the space of a heartbeat. He made a slight movement toward her and, fearful that he might touch her again in that casual, yet familiar way, Amanda’s hand found the handle and opened the door. “Let’s go,” she said as she stepped from the car. “You’ll be my first guest since the decorating was finished.”

She waited for him to join her before she walked up the porch steps and unlocked the front door. It was difficult to control the impulse to chatter aimlessly, but she knew he would recognize her nervousness if she did. Inside, Amanda directed him to wander about the house at will while she made some tea. She wanted to follow at his heels, watching his face for signs of approval. Ever since she’d finished the redecorating, she’d wished he could see the house, had wanted to know his opinion, hear him say he liked what she’d done. So why had she denied herself the satisfaction?

Because she was as tense as a string quartet. That was why. In the kitchen Amanda filled the kettle and set the water on to boil, wondering all the while what Dane was thinking—about the house, about her job, about her. Seeing him at the center had been almost like a scene from an old movie. Unexpected and yet something within her had known that one day she would turn around and see him there. She had felt—how had she felt?

Surprised?

Yes. Curious?

A little. Nervous?

Definitely. Glad?

More than she wanted to admit.

But none of those reactions were particularly revealing. Old habits didn’t die overnight and emotions were often nothing more than a conditioned response. Still, she knew that wasn’t what bothered her.

Amanda stared for a long time at the beads of sweat forming on the kettle before she allowed the answer to form in her thoughts. It was the awareness. The tight play of her breathing, the erratic cadence of her pulse, the ever-present alert to his movements. The awareness. It vibrated through her each time he was near. She hadn’t experienced that kind of physical reaction in a very long time. It was unsettling to feel it now. Now, when there was nothing left but memories.

“Very nice, Amanda.” Dane entered the kitchen, startling her from her contemplation and bringing her full attention to him. His gaze evaluated the changes she’d made in the room before focusing on her. “I hardly recognized the cottage beneath the fresh touch of your talent. It isn’t your usual style, but I like it. It’s soft and relaxing and ...” He hesitated, searching for the word. “Waiting.”

Immediately, Amanda turned back to the now whistling kettle and busied her hands with making tea. He had so quickly summed up her own feelings about the redecorating of the cottage.

Waiting.
Would it ever come to an end?

Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it on the back of a chair before he moved to lean against the counter beside her. “You know, I think you need the four-poster in the bedroom upstairs. It would look perfect here.”

The four-poster? The bed she’d shared with him? How could he even suggest it? “No. I don’t think so. It’s just too big. I doubt it would even fit through the door.”

“Hmmm.” He watched silently while she set the tea aside to brew, then he laughed suddenly. A quiet, reminiscent laugh. “I’ll never forget the look on your face the first time you saw that bed or the way you insisted you’d never lay a finger on it, much less sleep there.” A throaty chuckle drifted into the air between them. “I guess it was a little indecent before we stripped the paint and refinished it.”

“Indecent?” She pushed a wayward tendril of hair from her face. “You know good and well the pictures painted on that bed were positively obscene. I don’t know how you ever convinced me it was a priceless antique awaiting my transforming touch.”

“I believe I told you a story about the princess who kissed a frog.”

Amanda laughed with the recollection. “That wasn’t the only fairy tale you concocted. Wasn’t there a line about exorcising ghosts and starting new traditions?”

He lifted a hand in rueful concession. “I had to think of some way to get you into that bed.”

“It would have been much simpler to get another bed,” she observed dryly.

“Yes, well, I may be easy, Amanda, but I’m never simple. Besides, that line worked like a charm—once.” His gaze fell slowly, almost reluctantly to her mouth and her heart began an uneven pounding. “I wonder,” he whispered to the curve of her lips. “I wonder what would happen if I tried that line now.”

“Nothing.” She lifted her chin to emphasize her point in case he should doubt her. “I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore.”

His eyes found hers and locked her into their dark intensity. “What
do
you believe in, Amanda? Do you believe we shared something special? Do you believe our marriage was good?”

“Yes. Once upon a time.” She wanted to escape his questioning gaze, but he held her by a bond of memory and she couldn’t look away. “I—Dane, I’m sorry.” Such a meaningless phrase, she thought. An apology without purpose. Pointless, yet somehow necessary. A way of reaching out to him and the past they had shared.

But he didn’t understand. She saw it in his face, in the subtle straightening of his shoulders, long before she heard it in his deep sigh. “Don’t apologize, Amanda. I shouldn’t have....” He broke the visual contact and stared moodily at the wall. “We’re halfway to a divorce decree and I can’t stop remembering. I should have forgotten by now, but little things keep reminding me.”

A sadly inadequate smile was the only response she could make, but she understood. Oh, yes, she understood.

“Do you know what I thought of the other day?” He leaned back and braced an elbow on the counter-top, a deceptively relaxed pose because she could sense the tension in him. “Do you remember the Sunday we drove into Baltimore and window shopped? It was only a week or so after you had gotten out of the hospital after the tests.”

Amanda drew back, not wanting to remember, but unable to stop the images that flooded her mind.

“It was snowing just a little and we walked for a long time. I was afraid you would get too tired, but you laughed at me for worrying. We talked a lot that day. I can’t remember about what, but I know we talked. And then you started to cry. All of a sudden. And I didn’t know what to do, so I put my arms around you and held you. Right in the middle of downtown Baltimore.” His voice lowered to a strained whisper. “Do you remember that, Amanda?”

Remember?

Oh, God, of course she remembered.

Dane had been so tender. And she hadn’t been able to explain her tears. She hadn’t been able to do anything except cry. But he had held her tight against him, comforting, protecting, until the noise around her, and in her, had faded to the steady sound of his heartbeat and the soft feel of snow-flakes on her cheek.

Remember?
It had been the single most perfect moment in her life.

“Yes,” she breathed out the admission, “Yes, I remember.”

Abruptly, Amanda spun away from the memory and jerked open a cabinet door, relieved to see that it was actually the right one. She set two glasses on the counter and tried to think what she should do next.

Ice.

She should put ice into the glasses and then tea. Her hand went automatically to the teapot.

“Maybe,” he said pensively, “I remember that day so clearly because it’s the last time I ever saw you cry.”

Stillness closed over her like the snow on that long-ago day and she turned to him, intending to dispel the mood with a word. But she met his gaze and the awareness caught her. It whirled from her thoughts to Dane and she saw it flicker and then kindle to flame in his eyes.

With the swift ferocity of a summer storm Amanda was swept into a tempest of memories of all the times she had lain in his arms, burning with his touch, with her own desire and with the fierce need to love him. All those memories and their accompanying emotions streaked through her and left her weak. She trembled, helpless to stop her hand from reaching to touch his face.

His skin felt roughly soft beneath her palm and soothed her confused thoughts with its familiarity. When he moved ever so slowly to press his lips against the hollow of her wrist, it seemed natural to step closer to his warmth.

And he was warm. As his arms slipped around her, she nestled into his embrace and the warm memories she found there.

She had almost forgotten how nice it felt to be held and touched by him. Just by closing her eyes she could summon the image of his body, stripped of all but her admiring gaze and caressing hands. She had delighted in touching him, had reveled with the delicious vanity of knowing he responded to her, and only to her. He was her soul mate, her lover, belonging to her in the same intimate, irrevocable way she belonged to him.