Seduced (7 page)

“Going to dinner,” he said. He pushed open the wrought-iron gate.

Amanda stepped into the garden entrance and the sweet, familiar scent of jasmine greeted her, bringing a smile to her lips. Even in the dying light of day, she could make out the interlacing of brick walks, the gnarled branches of the huge trees. She'd covered every inch of these gardens on her visits to the park's Carousel Pavilion. Twisted shapes and shadows from the trees played in the thickening darkness; but instead of fear she felt only the comfort of old friends. Still, she protested, “Michael, I don't think we should be here. We'll get in trouble.”

He chuckled. “What makes you think that?”

“Because the park's closed,” she pointed out the obvious. She had visited the place often enough to know it wasn't open to the public after five and that they were trespassing.

“To the rest of the city, maybe. But not to us. I told you, we're having dinner here.”

“I don't remember there being any restaurants here.”

“That's because there aren't any.” They moved down the tree-laden walkway lit only by the last of the fading sun and an occasional safety light. They stopped in front of the entrance to Story Land, the children's amusement area, now silent except for the faint rustle of leaves and the scurrying of squirrels in the huge oaks.

“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “There's something I want you to see.”

The sun had completed its descent, casting shadows and a soft pink hue across the amusement rides. Strange, Amanda thought, to be here under the cloak of darkness without the laughter and squeals of children, without the noise and music.

Michael stopped. “This is what I wanted you to see,” he said gently, pointing to the Carousel Pavilion.

The warmth of his breath tickled her ear, causing her pulse to race. Taking a steadying breath, Amanda took in the sight of the large white structure poised majestically against the dark canvas of night. Soft golden light spilled from the doors and stained-glass windows that encircled the house, delineating its three-tiered copper roof and twelve-sided shape. Although she'd been here dozens of times, never had she seen the Pavilion at night. “It's beautiful,” she said, but found the word inadequate to describe the picture before her.

He gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “Summer told me how much you liked this place.”

Liked? She loved the Carousel Pavilion...had from the first moment she'd seen it. It had always seemed such a magical place, a place where one could almost believe dreams and fairy tales really did come true.

“I thought you might enjoy seeing it at night.”

Amanda swallowed, moved by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”

After a moment Michael said, “I don't know about you, but I'm starved. Come on.” He reached for her hand. “Let's go eat.”

“But where?”

“Inside,” he said, urging her toward the Pavilion.

She allowed him to lead her up the familiar wooden steps, across the wide deck with its mahoghany-trimmed handrails and through the pane-glass doors. Once inside, she stopped and stared, enchanted all over again.

Wreathed in lights, the carousel turned slowly on its axis like a glittering, twirling gem. Painted horses, their manes windswept, their bodies captured in flight, were anchored to brass poles. Twin horses looked back from the sparkling beveled mirrors as they slowly glided up and down the rods to the sweet reedy sound of the calliope. Amanda's gaze rested on the dove gray stallion. Raised on its haunches, its silver mane lifted in the air as though caught in a gust of wind, he'd been her favorite from the first time she'd seen him.

“Magnificent, isn't it? The artists who did the restoration did a terrific job.”

“Yes, they did.”

“Why don't we eat dinner and then we can take a closer look.”

Amanda shifted her attention from the carousel to the direction Michael indicated. A blue-and-white checked cloth lay spread on the floor with coordinating napkins, wineglasses and dinnerware for two. A large wicker hamper sat nearby.

“Remember I asked you to go with me on a picnic last Sunday?”

Amanda nodded, recalling how tempted she had been to accept his offer.

“Since you weren't able to get away then,” he said, leading her to the makeshift table, “I thought we could have our picnic now.”

Amanda dropped to her knees and tucked her feet beneath her, grateful for the fullness of her skirt.

Shaking out a linen napkin, Michael draped it across her lap then sat down next to her. “I wasn't sure what you liked, so I ordered some of my favorites. I hope you're hungry.” He opened the lid on the basket and began emptying its contents. “Let's see, we've got fried chicken, potato salad...” Peeling off the top of another square bin, he peered inside. “Deviled eggs, stuffed mushrooms...”

Bemused, Amanda sat back and studied the strong lines of his face, the tiny laugh creases at the corners of his eyes. Strange, she thought as he continued to empty the hamper. She hadn't envisioned Michael as a man inclined toward romantic gestures. Yet, that's exactly what this had been. And to have picked the Carousel Pavilion of all places.

“There's supposed to be a bottle of wine in here someplace.” He dug in the basket. “Ah. Here it is.” Unwrapping the bottle, he uncorked it expertly and filled their glasses.

Amanda took a sip. “Hmm. Very nice,” she said, enjoying the fine, dry Chablis.

Smiling, Michael handed her a plate. “If you think the wine's good, wait until you taste the chicken. It's terrific.”

He was right, Amanda decided twenty minutes later. The chicken had been terrific, as had been the rest of the meal, the wine, and especially Michael's company.

Relaxed, she allowed him to refill her glass. Holding it up to the light, she smiled as the carousel's reflection bounced off her glass.

“You should see your face right now. You look like a kid in a toy store.”

“When I come here, I feel like one,” she said, tipping her head back and laughing.

“If I could, I'd buy this place for you just to see you smile like that every day.”

Something in the deep, husky tone of his voice touched her like a caress, sending tingles of awareness skipping down her spine. Amanda cut a glance to where he lay stretched out on his side, propped up on one elbow sipping his wine. Lifting her gaze to meet his, her heartbeat quickened at the heated look in his blue eyes.

Disturbed by her own response, Amanda looked away. Setting down her glass, she pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her. “Tell me about your sister,” she said, deliberately changing the subject.

“My sister?” he asked, as though perplexed.

“Yes. What was she like?”

Michael paused a moment. “She was very kind, very gentle. And naive. She trusted people too easily.”

Amanda caught the edge in his voice, the hard look in his eyes.

“Summer's a lot like Sara, except I think maybe she's stronger emotionally. At least, I hope so.” He stared down into his wine, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

There was a sadness, a loneliness about him that tore at Amanda, made her long to offer comfort. “Don't worry, Michael. Summer's a bright little girl and a lot stronger than you think. Most children are. You'd be surprised at how resilient kids can be.”

“You're probably right.” Taking a long drink of his wine, Michael studied the perfect oval of her face, her creamy skin warmed by the glow of soft lights. He moved his gaze to the curve of her lips, bare except for the shimmer of wine.

“It's getting late,” she said, the wary look back in her eyes. She sat up and started to repack the hamper. “We probably should be going.”

Michael grabbed her wrist; her pulse scrambled beneath his thumb. “Not yet,” he said. Easing his hold on her wrist, he slid his palm against hers. “Don't you want to ride the carousel?”

Her gaze shifted to the painted horses, sliding up and down as they turned in a slow circle.

Catching the look of yearning in her eyes, Michael seized the moment. “Come on.” Quickly, he came to his feet and pulled her up beside him. “Show me which horse is your favorite. Summer told me you had one.”

“But—”

“No buts, Amanda. Not tonight.” Threading his fingers through hers, he urged her toward the carousel. He jumped onto the platform and pulled her up beside him. For a moment he just stood there, acutely aware of her body, soft and warm against him.

He heard the slight catch in her breath before she stepped back and pulled her hand free. “My favorite one's over there,” she said. Turning, she weaved her way through the moving horses.

Slowly, Michael followed, watching as Amanda turned from one to another of the painted horses as though reacquainting herself with old friends. She stopped beside a gray-colored steed. The horse's head was held high, his legs thrust forward. A jewel-encrusted saddle adorned his back. Amanda ran her fingers lovingly along his silver mane.

For a moment Michael envied the wooden horse. He wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Amanda's affection. “What do you call him?”

Her fingers stilled. She glanced up, her gaze tangling with his.

“Summer said you had named him. But even if she hadn't, I would've guessed as much. He's obviously very special to you.”

“I call him Sultan,” she said softly.

“Sultan,” Michael repeated. He looked from Amanda's cautious face to the painted horse. “Why Sultan?”

The corners of her mouth curved slightly. “Because he's surrounded by females.”

Michael glanced to the right and then to the left, noting the horses on either side were smaller, their saddles painted in shades of pale pink and yellow with floral patterns woven in the grain. “You know, I think you're right.”

She gazed wistfully at the wooden stallion for another moment, then turned to Michael. “It's getting late. We really should be going.”

But he didn't want to go—not yet. “Aren't you going to ride Sultan?”

Amanda looked at the large horse, moving up and down on the brass pole, then down at her skirt. “I'm not exactly dressed for riding.”

Michael ran his gaze down her trim figure, noting the way the thin white blouse skimmed her breasts and nipped in at the waist of her full skirt. “Sure you are.” Stepping forward, he encircled her waist with his hands and when the horse edged down the pole, he lifted her onto the saddle. “If ever a woman looked like she belonged on an English side saddle, it's you.”

She did look like she belonged on a side saddle, Michael decided. Stepping back, he leaned against a stationary chariot and studied her. She reminded him of a princess, he thought, noting her straight back, the proud tilt of her chin. Yet, atop the flying horse with her hair loose, her lips bare, she seemed somehow more gentle, more vulnerable than she had before.

She gave him a soft, easy smile. “Did you know the tails on these horses are all made of real horse hair?” She caught a handful and let it fall through her fingers.

“You don't say,” Michael returned, enjoying the sound of her voice, the way her eyes glistened like sherry.

“It's true. And this carousel is one of the last of its kind in the country.”

Amanda explained the history of the carousel, how with time and the ever-changing economy, most had been neglected and eventually dismantled and sold to collectors. But Michael barely heard any of it. He was more intrigued by the way her mouth moved as she spoke, the way her small pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“I hate to think that maybe someday they might all be gone. Can you imagine a world without the magic of the carousel?”

“No, I can't,” Michael said, looking at the woman before him.

The calliope ground out the final notes of its tune and the carousel came to a halt. The laughter faded from her eyes. “It's getting late. I really do need to be going.”

Amanda shifted, bracing herself on the saddle as she started to dismount. Instinctively, Michael reached for her. Her eyes grew wide and he heard her draw in her breath as he captured her around the waist. Slowly, gently, he eased her to the floor.

Unable to resist, Michael dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. Her mouth was soft and warm beneath his own. He tasted the trace of wine, the laughter that lingered on her lips.

And the sweet promise of passion as she pressed her mouth to his.

Pulse racing, Michael lifted his head and looked into her eyes glazed with awareness, at her lips moist and inviting. He couldn't think about plans, about custody suits. Right now all he could concentrate on was feeding his need for more of her warmth, more of her softness.

She slipped her arms around his neck, drawing him to her. And when he would have taken her mouth again, she offered it to him, parting her lips.

The tip of her tongue touched his and Michael's control broke. Giving in to the passion and need he'd kept in check for weeks, he took all that she offered.

And found he still wanted more.

M
ichael kissed Amanda once more, then set her away from him while he still could. Turning, he braced one arm against the wall of Amanda's doorway and drew a deep, gulping breath as he fought the ache in his lower body.

Stopping with just a kiss at her front door had been every bit as hard as it had been to hold himself to only kisses at the Carousel Pavilion.

On second thought, maybe it was harder, he decided. A soft breeze whispered through the night carrying the clean scent of freshly cut grass. Lifting his head, he looked out across the lawn.

All during dinner he'd found it impossible to think about the custody suit, Martha Winthrop, or his reasons for seeking out Amanda in the first place. And now it was even worse. Now all he could think of was how much he wanted to lie with her on the earth's carpet, beneath the shadow of the magnolia tree, its branches heavy with fragrant blooms, with only the soft light of the moon touching her skin. His body hardened once more and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the erotic images.

“Michael?”

Taking another deep breath, Michael gave himself a mental shake before turning to face Amanda. Bathed in the glow of the porch light, her skin resembled cream satin, her pale hair expensive silk. He smoothed a strand away from her cheek and her dark eyes grew even darker.

“Would you like to come in for coffee?” she asked, her voice husky.

“If I come in, I'll want more than coffee and I don't think you're quite ready for that.” He paused. “Or am I wrong?”

She hesitated a moment, her eyes searching his. “No,” she whispered before dropping her gaze.

“It's okay,” he said, tipping up her chin. A strange tenderness spread through him, easing the ache inside him. He didn't want her to be embarrassed, didn't want to see the light go out of her eyes.

He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, all pink and swollen from his kisses.

She trembled and closed her eyes at his touch.

“I want us to both be sure.” Michael heard himself saying the words and wondered if he were ten kinds of a fool. How could she be so responsive and yet so totally unaware of her own passion? But suddenly, seducing her, carrying through on his plan, was no longer enough. He wanted Amanda to want him—as much as he wanted her.

“I guess I'll say good-night.” Amanda stepped back. “I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you.”

Reluctant to say goodbye, he said, “There's a big charity affair tomorrow night. The Zoo To-Do. It's a benefit thing for the zoo. Everybody who's anybody in New Orleans turns out for it. Would you like to go?” In truth, he hadn't planned to attend. He usually avoided the star-studded event that attracted so many of the city's blue bloods. He had simply bought the tickets to support the fund-raiser.

“I'd like that,” she said softly.

“Great. I'll pick you up at seven.” Michael smiled, feeling some of the tension leave him. After giving her a quick kiss, he headed down the walk.

Once inside, Amanda leaned against the door and hugged her arms around herself. She smiled, feeling as though she'd been dreaming. The entire evening had been wonderful, magical—the romantic picnic, the unexpected visit to the Carousel Pavilion, being in Michael's arms.

She squeezed her eyes shut remembering the thrill of his kisses, the feel of his body pressed so intimately next to hers. A warm ache spread through her, rekindling desires she'd buried so deeply during her marriage, desires that had remained dormant—until Michael.

Remember what happened the last time,
a voice inside her warned.

And suddenly the old doubts began to resurface. Opening her eyes, Amanda walked into the living room, trying to escape the painful memories of Adam's confession, his futile apologies.

Her gaze was immediately drawn to the flowers—Michael's flowers. As she started to withdraw one dark red rose from the arrangement, she pricked her finger on a thorn.

Muttering an oath at the sharp stab of pain, she brought the tip of her finger to her mouth and sucked. Carefully she removed the rose with her other hand and sank to the couch.

She sniffed the flower's sweetness, then drew the velvety petals across her cheek and thought about Michael. He
wasn't
like Adam, she told herself. It was
her
he was interested in, not her suitability as a mother for his niece. He'd given her no reason to believe otherwise. And yet...

Amanda sighed, disgusted with herself for being unable to squelch the seeds of doubt. Maybe Gracie was right. It was time she let go of the past...time she learned to trust again. Not every man was like Adam. She had no reason to believe that Michael would lie to her, use her as Adam had done.

Still, all through the night and the next day that voice inside her persisted, some instinct had her wondering if she weren't making another mistake.

By the time seven o'clock arrived the following evening, Amanda was as nervous as a schoolgirl going to her first high school prom.

But when she opened her front door, the attack of nerves was forgotten as her eyes feasted on Michael. He'd caught her eye when he'd been wearing a sport coat and slacks. He'd made her pulse beat faster when he'd been dressed in jeans and an oxford cloth shirt. But the sight of him standing in her doorway in a formal black tux, his white shirt set off by onyx button covers and matching cuff links, made her head spin.

“Hi.” He smiled that sexy little grin and Amanda's mouth went dry.

“Hello,” she managed to get out.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes caressing her as he spoke.

“Thanks. You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“According to Summer, I look like the groom on the top of a wedding cake.”

“Must be the tie.” Amanda smiled, relaxing under his good humor. She picked up her evening bag.

“I should have known you females would stick together.” He extended his arm. “All set?”

“Yes.”

By the time they reached the Audubon Zoo, Amanda wasn't sure she'd said one intelligible thing during the entire fifteen-minute drive.

“I think we go in over there.” Michael pointed to a large group of people milling around the entrance gate.

Amanda allowed him to guide her through the din of elegantly dressed guests, far too conscious of his hand at her back. Once inside, the crowd thinned somewhat and Michael shifted his hand to her waist.

“I see what you mean about this being ‘the' place to be seen,” Amanda said, spotting a number of the city's politicians and social figures. “Isn't that the governor over there?”

“Probably. Everybody wants to be sure their name makes it in the society column.”

“What about you?” Amanda asked, slanting him a glance.

“I believe in supporting the Zoo and the animal shelters, that's why I buy tickets to this thing every year. But I couldn't care less whether my name gets in the newspaper or not.”

“Then why did you come? Why not just give the tickets away?”

“I usually do,” Michael informed her.

“But not this time?”

“No. Not this time.” Michael stopped and looked into her eyes. “I wanted to be with you and I thought if I asked you to a charitable benefit, it would be harder for you to say no.”

It had been difficult to say no to him, but it had had nothing to do with the benefit, Amanda admitted.

“Hello, Michael. How are you?” A handsome couple with silvering hair and matching warm smiles stopped beside them.

“Dr. Duncan, Mrs. Duncan. Good to see you,” Michael said.

After introductions were made, she and Michael continued to move among the guests, pausing periodically while Michael exchanged greetings and introduced her to his friends and acquaintances.

Michael proved a fun and knowledgeable escort. “And the brunette over there, the one poured into that red beaded thing...” He pointed to a striking woman with long black hair and a magnificent figure shown off to perfection in a fitted evening dress. “She owns a nightclub on Bourbon Street.”

And her club must be doing well, Amanda thought, noting the size of the diamonds sparkling at the woman's ears and neck. Amanda glanced around, surprised at the haute couture designs many of the women were wearing. “I don't think I've seen this much glitter since I went to one of the Mardi Gras balls.”

“People in New Orleans like nothing better than dressing up for a party.”

Amanda laughed as they turned the corner of the walkway. “And to think I was worried I would be overdressed.”

Michael paused and focused his full attention on Amanda. Slowly, he moved his gaze over her indigo-colored silk dress, making her acutely aware of the deep slit up the back and the peeks of bare skin the opening afforded.

His eyes darkened and for a second Amanda was unable to breathe. Her skin burned as though brushed by a flame. Her nipples puckered beneath the silk and Amanda could almost feel Michael's touch.

“Believe me. There's not a thing wrong with the way you look.”

“Thank you,” Amanda managed, unable to look away. Her heart continued its wild race.

“Mike Grayson. Son of a gun, I thought that was you. I was just saying to Ellen...”

Michael turned at the sound of the man's voice and Amanda's body went limp as the moment was broken.

Twenty minutes and a half dozen introductions later, Amanda's heart rate had returned to normal. As they continued along the tree-lined pathway, she relaxed. Enjoying the sight of the tiny white lights scattered amid the majestic oaks, she recalled the previous night and the way the lights of the carousel had sparkled in the moonlight.

They stopped at the large fish pond and Amanda admired the beautiful teal-colored cockatoo perched on its trainer's shoulder.

“You're supposed to be impressed by the bird, not the handler,” Michael whispered in her ear.

“Any reason I can't be impressed by both?” His warm breath fanned her neck, sending a delicious shudder down her spine. Amanda cut a glance up at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes.”

She lifted one brow.

He caught her fingers, brought them to his lips and kissed their tips. “Tonight the only man I want you to be impressed by is me.”

The deep, husky sound of his voice, the hungry look in his eyes, sent a burst of pleasure through her. “You don't have to worry. I'm impressed.” In fact, she was more than impressed. She was well on her way to falling in love with him.

Unnerved by the realization and the effect his nearness was having on her, Amanda turned away. She looked toward another path in search of diversion from Michael, from her feelings for him. Taking a deep breath, she caught the tantalizing scent of simmering spices. She sniffed again. “Hmm. What's that wonderful smell?”

Michael smiled. “Why don't we find out?”

He led her to another clearing filled with more than a dozen tables draped in pristine white cloths, each sporting large warming trays and serving dishes piled high with food. Cardboard tents with the names of some of the city's finest eating establishments rested on each tabletop. “Most of the better restaurants donate one of their specialty dishes for tonight's affair.” He looked at her and asked, “Hungry?”

Her mouth watered as the delicious aromas reminded her just how long it had been since she'd eaten. “Yes. I am,” Amanda replied.

“Anything special you'd like to try?” Michael took her past one row of tables.

“I don't know.” She laughed. Each dish looked better than the last. “Everything! It all smells wonderful.”

Michael laughed, too. “It is.” He walked over to one of the steaming dishes. “If you're feeling adventuresome, I recommend the crawfish
étouffé.
”

Amanda studied the tomato-colored sauce with chunks of crawfish being served over a bed of fluffy white rice. “I'm not sure I'm ready for that much adventure.”

“I knew that conservative Bostonian was going to show up sooner or later.” He grinned, effectively quelling any possible sting from his words before guiding her to another table. “How about the fettuccine Alfredo? It should be a safe bet.”

Conservative. Safe. Funny, she didn't feel any of those things when she was with Michael. In fact, she felt anything but safe and conservative.

“Amanda? Do you want to try the fettuccine?” Michael asked, his gaze questioning.

Just then the waiter at the next station lifted the lid on a large pot of steaming gumbo. Amanda caught a whiff of the unique blend of onions, sweet peppers, celery, tomatoes and garlic simmering in a thick sauce with shrimp and okra. The cayenne pepper tickled her nose, but she couldn't resist. “I think I'll try the gumbo instead.”

“It's hot,” Michael warned.

“I think I can handle it.”

“I take back what I said about you being conservative.” He raised two fingers for the waiter.

By the time Amanda had eaten the last morsel of rice in her bowl, she'd also finished two full glasses of ice water. “I can't believe how thirsty I am.” She licked the last few drops from her lips and set the cup on the small table she and Michael were sharing.

Michael chuckled. “It's all that cayenne in the gumbo. You're not used to it. Wait here, I'll get you a refill.” Taking her glass, he headed toward one of the two bars set up in the clearing.

Feeling more relaxed and happier than she had in a long time, Amanda shifted her gaze to the chattering guests. She smiled at the sight of two society matrons preening before one of the local newscasters.

“Amanda? Amanda Bennett, is that you?”

Amanda turned her head and spotted the elegant gray-haired woman approaching. She came to her feet. “Mrs. Winthrop, it's so good to see you again.”

The woman pulled a pained expression. “I thought I asked you to call me Martha. Mrs. Winthrop sounds so old.” Smiling, she took Amanda's hand into hers and squeezed it. “Besides, your mother and I were practically like sisters in college and I simply won't hear of Elinore's little girl calling me Mrs. Winthrop. Understood?”