No way. Discussing this with Dawn wasn’t even an option. Neither was discussing it with Marta. How could a daughter tell her mother she’d even considered a proposal like that?
Amanda drank some more tea.
She could call one of her sisters for help, but there wasn’t much sense in that, either. Carin would just tell her, in that irritatingly proper tone of voice, that if a deal sounded too good to be true, it probably was. As for Samantha…she couldn’t begin to imagine what Sam would say unless it was something outrageously facetious, maybe that the deal sounded like lots of fun if it weren’t for all the bother involved.
“Fun,” Amanda muttered, and drained the last sugary drops from the mug.
Okay, then. She’d just have to do the deed without consulting anybody but herself. Phone Nick, tell him she was sorry but she’d changed her mind. Not that she was afraid she’d lose their bet, but…
Amanda scowled. Why did she keep telling herself that? Certainly she wouldn’t lose it.
Someday she’d tell her sisters the story. They’d laugh and laugh; the whole thing would be one big joke.
“He was a sheikh,” she’d say, “and he said, ‘Come wiz me to zee Casbah.”
Except he hadn’t. If only he had. If he’d played the scene as if he’d stolen it from a bad movie, with a smoldering look and a twirl of his mustache…
She groaned and closed her eyes.
The truth was, Nick was gorgeous and sexy. He could have any woman he wanted, but he wanted her.
She had to admit it was thrilling. Maybe that was the reason she’d lost all perspective. Maybe it was why she’d let him fast-talk her into agreeing to a bet on her own morality.
Was that the doorbell? Amanda sat up straight. Who’d be at her door at this hour? This building had awful security, but still, did burglars really ring the bell and announce themselves?
The bell rang again. She rose to her feet and hurried to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Nick.”
Nick? Her heart thumped. She opened the peephole, peered out. It was Nick, and he didn’t look happy.
“Nick.” Her mouth felt as dry as cotton. “Nick, you should have called first. I—”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You didn’t want to wake me? What did you think leaning on my doorbell at—at what, six in the morning, would do?”
“It’s seven-thirty, and if you want to have a discussion about the propriety of phoning first, I’d prefer having it in your apartment. Open the door, please, Amanda.”
Open the door. Admit Nick into this tiny space. Into her space, where he’d seem twice as tall, twice as big, twice as commanding.
“Amanda.” There was no “please” this time. She jumped as his fist thudded against the door. “Open up!”
She heard a lock click, a door creak open. Oh, God. Her neighbors were preparing themselves for a bit of street theater. New Yorkers might live on the same floor in an apartment building, collect their mail at lobby boxes ranged side by side and never so much as make eye contact, but she suspected none of them would pass up a little drama going on right in the hall.
Amanda rose on the balls of her bare feet, put her eye to the peephole and looked at Nick. “People are listening,” she whispered.
“And watching,” he said coldly. “Perhaps you’d like to sell tickets.”
She stepped back, slipped the lock, the chain and the night bolt. The door swung open and he stepped inside.
“An excellent decision,” he said, and shut the door behind him.
“What are you doing here, Nick?”
What was he doing there? Just for a second, he couldn’t quite remember. Amanda was standing before him, barefooted. She was wearing a loose T-shirt and nothing else. Nothing he could see anyway. Her hair was tousled, her face was scrubbed and shiny, and he couldn’t imagine anything more urgent than finding out if she tasted as sweet and fresh as she looked.
But that wasn’t why he’d come here, Nick reminded himself, and folded his arms. “I want to talk,” he said.
“Good.” She lifted her chin. “That’s—that’s really good. Because I—I…” She stopped, the words catching in her throat, and stared at him.
“What’s the matter?”
“You’re not wearing a tux.”
“No.” His smile was all teeth. “No, actually, I’ve been known to get through an entire day without feeling the need to put on a pair of pants with satin stripes down the legs.”
“I didn’t mean—it’s just that you look—you remind me—”
“Of the night we first met.” She was right, he thought, and gave her a long, measuring look, except she was older now, and the soft curves outlined beneath the cotton shirt were more lush. “Instant replay,” he said, and flashed a smile that upped the temperature in the room another ten degrees.
Amanda stepped back. “I’m not dressed,” she said, and blushed when she realized how stupid she sounded. “For company. If you’ll just wait—”
“I’ve been awake half the night. I’ll be damned if I’ll wait any longer.”
“Look, Nick, I want to talk, too. About that bet. Just let me put on some clothes.”
“You’re already wearing clothes.” His voice turned husky as he took a step toward her. “What else would you call what you have on?”
Provocative, he thought, silently answering his own question, although how a T-shirt could be provocative was beyond him to comprehend. He liked his women in silk. In lace. In things that flowed and shimmered.
“Nick?”
“Yes.” Somehow, he was standing a breath away from her. Somehow, his hands were on her hips. Somehow, he was bunching the cotton fabric in his hands, lifting it, sliding it up her skin and revealing the smallest pair of white cotton panties he’d ever seen.
“Nick.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Her head was tilted back; her eyes were huge, luminous and locked with his. “Nick, the bet is—”
He bent his head, brushed his mouth over hers. She gave a delicate moan, and he cupped her breasts, felt the delicate weight and silken texture of them in his palms. He feathered his thumbs over the crests and Amanda moaned again, trembled ag
ainst him and lifted herself to his hungry embrace.
He kissed her over and over, offered her the intimacy of his tongue, groaned when she touched it with her own, then sucked it into the heat of her mouth. He backed her against the wall; she gave a cry of protest as he took his lips from hers to peel off her shirt, then his.
Oh, the feel of her satin skin against his, when he took her back into his arms. The softness of her breasts against the hardness of his chest. He trembled, felt the air driven from his lungs.
“Amanda,” he whispered, and she sighed and kissed him, breathed a soft “yes” against his lips as he lifted her off her feet and into his arms—
A buzz sounded from his pocket.
“Nick?”
His pocket buzzed again.
“Nick.” Amanda tore her mouth from his. “Something’s buzzing.”
He lifted his head, his breathing harsh. She was right. His cell phone was making sounds like an angry wasp. He mouthed an oath, let her down to her feet, kept an arm firmly around her as he dug the phone from his jeans.
“What?” he snarled.
“Sire.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Abdul. This had better be important.”
“It is, my lord. There is a fax from your father. I thought you would wish to know of it.”
The color was high in Amanda’s cheeks. He could read her eyes, see her growing embarrassment. She looked up at him, shook her head and tried to step away. Nick bent quickly and kissed her, his mouth soft against hers until, at last, she kissed him back.
“Lord Rashid? There is a fax—”
“I already saw it, Abdul. Goodbye.”
“Excellency, it is a second fax and arrived only moments ago. Your father asks if you would fly to this place called Texas—”
“He asked me that in the first fax. Dammit, Abdul—”
“He asks if you would fly there today. The stallion he sent arrived much sooner than expected, and the animal has been hurt in transit.”
Nick uttered a violent oath. The only place he wanted to be right now was in Amanda’s bedroom, but he knew the importance of duty and obligation. Would the woman in his arms be as understanding?