Promise Me (19 page)

Swinging the door open, she tossed her bag on the bed, unpinned her hat, and hung it on the bedpost. She leaned forward to examine herself in the mirror of the dressing table. She didn't much care for the image staring back at her. Dark smudges beneath her eyes illustrated her long, restless nights. She tossed and turned throughout the night, tortured by dreams of Sam. She imagined his strong, muscular arms tight around her, his hands caressing her body, and she woke up feverish and out of sorts.

She pinched her cheeks to force some color in them, then glanced back into the room reflected behind her. The view made her freeze. Turning slowly, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Or rather—not seeing.

Sam's room was clearly visible to her. She could see the pitcher and bowl, the small oak dresser, and the large brass bed with a quilt stretched across it. Everything was neat, orderly, and perfectly in her view because there was no longer a door separating the two rooms.

Her good mood dissolved in a cloud of fury. She stalked to the threshold and stood, folding her arms across her bosom, as she examined the details carefully. There were clearly hinges on the door frame, but no wooden expanse or doorknob.

“God damn you to purgatory for a million years, Samuel Calhoun.” She paced into the next room, ignoring the man's privacy. He'd given up that right when he removed the door. Not that there was anything in the room to disturb. A few clothes hung on pegs, a razor and shaving cup stood on the washstand. This wasn't home to Sam, it was just a place to sleep. And a place to torment her, it seemed. She paced back into her own room.

Amanda turned slowly to stare at the open doorway again, and it fueled her anger even more. She was furious with Sam, nearly as furious as she'd been on the night she'd shot him. Their wedding night.

He was robbing her of all privacy. Just who did the man think he was? Did he imagine he could simply lie in there on his bed and enjoy the view of her disrobing every evening? Her nipples puckered against the fabric of her chemise at the thought of standing naked in front of Sam again. She tossed off the arousal. The man was an arrogant mule if he thought she would stand for this outrage. Her temper jabbed at her like a red-hot poker.

She marched out of her room, stomped down the stairs, and slapped her hands firmly on her hips as stood at the reception desk glaring at Robert. He swallowed, tried to avoid looking at her, and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I seem to be missing my door, Robert.” The man frowned.

“Are you missin' the outside door to the hallway, or the inside door, between the rooms?” He didn't seem very worried, either way.

Amanda narrowed her eyes. “I'm missing the interior door, the one that separates my room from Sam's room. I want it replaced immediately.” She pitched her voice as threatening as possible.

Robert shook his head. “Can't be done.”

Amanda thumped her fist on the counter. “I demand you return the door to my room.” She glanced around the lobby. “And where is Harriet? I need to speak with her right away.”

Robert studied the guest register. Apparently he'd never seen it before. His expression was so serious, Amanda wondered if Generals Grant and Lee had signed in together today.

“Harriet had to go to Crooks Corners, and I don't expect her back for a few days.” He gave Amanda a charming smile. “I'm in charge while she's gone.” His chest puffed out a bit.

“Fine,” she said, with as much patience as she could muster, “then please put the door in my room back on the hinges.” She smiled. “I'm sure now that you and Sam have had your little amusement, you can fix my door. While I don't find your boyish prank very funny, I will play along. Ha, ha, the joke is on me.” She pointed a finger at Robert. “Now give me back my door!”

“Sorry, darlin', but you'll have to deal with me to get your door and your privacy back.”

A chill curled up her spine. Turning slowly, she faced Sam. Not the affable, charming Sam, but a cool, stone-faced Sam with hard eyes and an icy voice. He didn't look like he intended to budge one inch on this issue.

Amanda didn't care; she wanted her door back right now. It also occurred to her that she didn't need to spare this man any humiliation. She tossed her head, and a hot flash of anger rushed through her and warmed her cheeks. Her chest felt tight, as though a band were slowly choking the breath from her lungs. She swallowed the huge lump in her throat.

“Is that how you intend to exercise your conjugal rights, Sam, by ripping the door off the hinges so you can force your way into my bed?” Crossing the small space between them, she nearly spit in his eye. She glared up at his imposing form when the toes of their boots touched. He might be cold and angry, but she shook off a shiver rippling down her spine. She wasn't afraid of him. In fact, her body once again betrayed her when she caught the familiar scent of cigars and male musk that identified him.

Robert sputtered behind them, “I gotta get going!”

Light hit Sam's eyes. It was a signal that his cold disdain was turning to a white hot anger. Good. She wanted to manipulate him. It would be good for him to find out how it felt to have someone else seize control of your emotions.

“If I intended to force myself upon you, madam, the deed would already be accomplished.” He leaned down and whispered, “And despite what you think, there are some women in this town who appreciate my attention.”

Amanda's cheeks turned hot and she was composing a scalding response when he raised his hands in surrender.

“Let's not make another scene for the town folk to witness. Would it be possible for us to argue in private for a change? I'll even loan you my weapon so you can shoot me again. But upstairs, if you don't mind.”

She wanted to slap the sneer from his face, but Sam grasped her hand in his vise-like grip.

“Don't,” he warned tersely, his manner formal. “We have to clear some things up between us. I think it's time you stopped acting like a spoiled child and talk to me.”

“How dare you,” she hissed, trying to move her hand toward the side of his face. But he was too quick for her, and held tight to both her hands in one large fist.

Grabbing her elbow with his other hand, he guided her toward the stairs. Amanda tried to resist him, but he ignored her efforts and her temper came to a full boil.

She twisted and fought against him, until he finally released her hands and she whacked him as hard as she could on the shoulder. He barely reacted to her assault. Instead, he leaned down and slipped his arms beneath her, sweeping her into his embrace to carry her up the stairs.

“Put me down!” She tried to squirm, but his arms wrapped her tight as leather cinches, holding her firmly.

“I seem to recall that on another occasion when I did this, you didn't protest whatsoever.”

The shock of that memory silenced her. She recalled the fierce, passionate embrace in the kitchen and the eager coupling in her room that followed. Fire rushed through her limbs, making her blood boil. His hand cupped her bottom and she squirmed at the pressure of his touch, liquid heat pouring through her like lava to moisten the center of her womanhood.

Pausing in front of his door, Sam set her on her feet while he maintained a firm hold on her arm to prevent her from escaping. He opened the door and pushed her into the room. With one quick movement, he entered behind her, then tapped a booted heel against the door to slam it shut.

He tossed his hat on the bed and drew one hand through his hair.

“I know you're angry with me, Amanda, but this silent treatment has got to stop. We are married. Whether you like it or not. And there are issues that need to be sorted out.” He paced across the room and pointed to the empty doorway.

“I took the door off the hinges so you would be forced to talk to me. I won't let you shut it in my face and ignore me any longer.”

Amanda tossed her head and turned away from him. “I think you're wrong about that. Even if I can't keep a door between us, I can still refuse to speak to you.”

His strong fingers gripped her shoulder firmly, and he forced her to turn toward him. His handsome face was a blaze of fury. He leaned forward, and the scent of tobacco and whiskey warned her to tread carefully.

“I can make you forget you're even mad at me, if I choose to.”

Amanda laughed up at him. “You're so arrogant, so sure of yourself aren't you, Sam? Perhaps I'm now the one woman on God's green earth who is immune to your charms.”

A flicker shot through his amber eyes—wild and a little bit frightening—reminding her of his stallion and the way the horse could keep the world at bay with his haughty attitude.

“Don't tempt me to prove that's a lie, Amanda.”

She moved closer, the heat of their bodies now entwining, wrapping them both in a snare of anger and desire. “Is it a lie, Sam? Are you
that
sure of yourself?”

With one swift movement he pulled her closer and the warmth of his mouth found hers. She wanted to resist, attempted to pull away, but the dark, sultry taste of good Irish whiskey and pure male animal lust hypnotized her. The heat of his body turned her bones to liquid. He traced along the edge of her lips with his tongue, and in eager anticipation, she opened her mouth. She couldn't struggle; she wouldn't wrench herself from his arms, even though a small inner voice whispered a warning. The sweet agony of this kiss was too powerful, too intoxicating. She surrendered to the exciting, sensual magnetism. With a whimper, she wrapped her arms around his neck, eager to extend the moment.

When he finally lifted his lips from hers, he trailed them down to the soft crevice behind her ear. He gently licked along the length of her neck to the hollow of her throat. Throwing back her head, she invited him to explore further. She thrust her breasts forward, her body melting into his.

“Tell me you want me, Amanda. Say the words, or I'll stop right now. I promised I would never touch you again unless you gave me permission.” His voice was husky with need. “Say it darlin', and let me make love to you.”

His words jolted Amanda from her trance. She pushed hard against him and stepped back. She was ashamed of the way her body had just betrayed her. She wanted him to make love to her, desperately. It was a wild hunger, insatiable, uncontrolled, and destined to devour her if she didn't learn to govern it.

Backing away, she shook her head and waves of hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She didn't remember losing her hairpins. She'd been too caught up in the sensuality of the moment with Sam.

“No. I won't make that same mistake again, Sam. I won't let passion override my good judgment or common sense.”

He took a ragged breath, letting one finger gently slide down her cheek. “God damn your good judgment and common sense, woman.”

Amanda tried to smooth her disheveled appearance and cool her tender nerves. When he was this close, it took all of her self-control to keep from flinging herself back into his arms and begging for more kisses. It alarmed her that he had this kind of effect upon her. She took several steps away from him.

“You said you wanted to talk, remember?” She considered sitting on the bed, then thought of how vulnerable that might make her. She'd be defenseless against another caress, more kisses, and surely that would lead to a long, enchanting night of lovemaking. She took several more steps in the opposite direction, ending up at the now open doorway between their rooms.

“I want my door back. If talking to you will achieve that, then let's get on with it.” She took a deep breath and made her voice as cool and composed as possible.

She glanced into her own room. Compared to Sam's neat and tidy abode, hers appeared to have been hit by a cyclone. She briefly wondered what he thought, then she pushed the concern away. Sam's opinion was no longer important. Lately, she'd become used to doing things her own way, and she'd made a momentous decision. She would never again change who she was to suit a man.

Sam paced the length of the room, glancing at her uneasily before he cleared his throat.

“Would you at least let me get you a chair?”

She nodded, and he placed a straight-backed maple chair in the doorway. It was neutral territory, a space for negotiations between warring factions. She smoothed her skirts and tilted her head up, signaling her willingness to give him her undivided attention.

The dark shadows reflected in his eyes nearly took her breath away.

“When I tried to apologize to you the other night, I made an even bigger mess of things. I want you to know how very sorry I am about this forced marriage. I know the priest was trying to do the right thing, to salvage your reputation.” He paced to the window and straightened his shoulders. “I can imagine how much you must hate me right now, and I don't blame you a bit, Amanda.”

He moved to the bed, sat down, and placed his elbows on his knees, letting his hands drop between his legs. Warmth crept up Amanda's face as she recalled the image of his powerful naked body sprawled across that same bed.

“I wouldn't say I hate you, Sam.” She licked her lips and avoided meeting his eyes. “I'm just very angry about the way things have turned out between us. I believe I made it very clear to you that I never considered myself to be an exemplary wife.” She twirled a lock of her hair self-consciously. “I'm afraid you're learning that lesson the hard way.”