Free Seduced by Metsy Hingle Page B

flowers, she crossed the room and flipped on the stereo, filling the room with the sounds of Brahms. She would not go out with him again, she vowed as she dropped down onto the couch. Michael Grayson was going to have to take no for an answer.
    Satisfied by her decision, Amanda tried to relax. She stretched out on the soft cushions. Hugging one of the pillows to her chest, she promised herself she wouldn’t think about him anymore. But as her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep, it was Michael who filled her thoughts.
    When she opened her eyes again, it was to the sound of Michael’s voice calling her name, to the feel of his fingers touching her cheek.
    Amanda sat up with a start, wondering if she were still dreaming.
    â€œWelcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”
    â€œMichael,” she managed, her heartbeat quickening at the sight of him sitting in the chair next to her. She clutched the pillow to her. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œWatching you sleep.”
    Quickly Amanda glanced around the room to assure herself she was indeed at home. She was. But Michael was here, too. She sat up straighter. “How did you get in here? The doors were locked.”
    â€œAny ten-year-old with a hairpin could have opened your front door. When you didn’t answer, I went to the window. I saw you on the couch. You were tossing and turning so much I was worried you might be ill, so I let myself in.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “For some reason, you’ve never struck me as a woman who napped during the day.”
    She wasn’t, but obviously the week of restless nights brought on by Michael’s pursuit of her, had taken its toll.
    â€œOf course, one look at your face and I realized you were only dreaming. Then you settled down and looked so peaceful, I hated to wake you.”
    His voice sounded almost tender, Amanda thought as she returned the pillow she’d been clutching to the couch.
    â€œBut I knew if I let you sleep any longer, we’d be late.”
    â€œLate?” Amanda blinked. “Late for what?”
    â€œFor dinner,” he said matter-of-factly. “Didn’t you get my note? I sent one with the flowers.”
    Fighting back the guilty flush that climbed her cheeks, Amanda’s eyes darted to the torn note lying on the table.
    â€œI see that you did.” He frowned. His gaze moved from the torn note back to her. “Evidently you weren’t planning to go.”
    Amanda stood and smoothed the folds of her khaki-colored skirt. She looked into his eyes, disturbed by the emotion she saw in their blue depths. “No, I wasn’t.”
    Standing, Michael moved over to the table and picked up the discarded note. The white oxford shirt stretched across his stiff back, the muscles bunched and tensed in his neck and shoulders. He crumpled the invitation in his fist, then dropped it beside the vase. His anger was palatable; yet when he turned, his face was inscrutable.
    â€œI’ll make you a deal, Amanda. Have dinner with me tonight and when the evening’s over, if you still insist you don’t want to see me again, that you feel nothing for me, then I promise to walk out of your life and never bother you again.”
    He crossed over to her and looked into her eyes. “One evening is all I’m asking, then you call the shots. What have you got to lose?”
    Plenty, Amanda thought fifteen minutes later as Michael led her down the path of oak trees into City Park. The branches of the ancient oaks, draped in Spanish moss, swayed slightly in the evening breeze. “Michael, what are we doing here?” Her voice was a loud whisper in the silence.
    â€œGoing 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