A Memorable Man

Slowly, reluctantly, Adam dragged his gaze up along the alluring lines of her body and settled on her face. She appeared to be wearing a minimum of makeup: perhaps a light, translucent base, a brush of color on her cheeks; a darkening swish of mascara on her lashes; a clear, true red applied to her luscious lips.

Gliding his tongue over his own lips, Adam forced his glance away from temptation, past her straight nose, the glowing skin of her cheeks, the alert and bright interest in her curious green eyes, to the top of her head and...

And her hair... Oh, Lord, her hair. Sunny’s wavy mane of gold-streaked brown hair tumbled onto her shoulders and halfway down her elegantly straight spine.

In truth, the sight of her took his breath away. Adam’s fingers twitched with the desire to spear into the alluring brown mass; his mind reeled with an image of those gold-streaked strands spread out on a pillow...his pillow.

But first things first, he advised himself, crossing the lobby to her. Dinner, then...

“Hello,” he said, attempting to corral his bedbent thoughts as he came to a halt beside her. “Were you early or am I late?”

“Oh...hi.” Sunny flashed a nerve-crunching smile at him. “Since it is now precisely six, you are not late. So I guess I was a few moments early. No big deal.”

“Even so, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Adam replied, appalled by the slight catch in his voice, the rapid beat of his heart, the quivery sensation inside him...all direct effects of her disarming smile.

Boy, he mused, inwardly shaken by his response, mentally and physically. He had heard about dynamite smiles, had even witnessed a few, but this woman’s smile went way beyond dynamite; megaton came closer to the mark.

“Still hungry?” he asked politely, quashing a different hunger expanding inside.

“Starved.” Though her tone was somber, her eyes, those amazingly expressive green eyes, conveyed her understanding of and amusement at his unstated appetite.

Batten down the hatches, Mabel, there’s a rocka-butzer storm gathering on the horizon.

The sudden recollection of one of Adam’s late father’s favorite expressions in times of trouble had a settling effect on his equilibrium, easing the strain from his voice, allowing him to return her perceptive smile.

“In that case, I suppose I’d better feed you.” Taking her by the hand, Adam steered her to the restaurant.

“My hero,” Sunny murmured, batting her eyelashes—her long, dark eyelashes—at him. Then, as she moved around the bust, she drew her fingers along the chiseled jawline of Patrick Henry. “It’s a good likeness,” she said, slanting a teasing look at him. “The fiery radical would be pleased.”

Adam laughed at her whimsy, but composed himself enough to give his name to the pleasantfaced hostess standing in the restaurant entrance, checking names against the leather-bound reservation list in her hands.

“Ah, yes, good evening, Mr. Grainger.” She offered a smile and an ushering movement of her hand. “Right this way. Your table is ready.”

“Have you eaten here before?” Sunny asked, after they were seated and proffered menus, when the hostess had departed.

Adam shook his head. “No. I didn’t get in until early this afternoon. I had lunch on the plane.” He grinned. “Unlike some, I find nothing wrong with the in-flight food. In truth, I thoroughly enjoy it.”

“So do I.” She grinned back at him. “Does that make us peasants or merely plebeian?”

“Or, just maybe, it makes us too honest to affect a pseudosophistication,” he suggested.

“Yes,” she agreed, giving him the chills with the soft look she swept over him. “You always were...honest, I mean, almost to a fault.”

Not again, Adam thought, smothering a groan. Not yet another not-too-veiled reference to them having met, known each other before.

Still, he couldn’t deny the spark of interest her remark generated.

Studying her, and more than a little impressed by her clear-eyed and direct regard in return, Adam decided that perhaps it was time he probed the depths of her assumed previous knowledge of him, his personality.

“We’ve only just met,” he said. “How could you possibly know that I’ve always been honest.”

Her eyes darkened, as if with an inner amused knowing. A gently mocking smile kissed her lips, making his mouth ache with desire to do likewise.

“I’ve known almost forever.”

“Indeed?” The skeptical arch of one eyebrow underscored his tone of voice.

“Yes.” Though quiet, her tone was absolute.

“But, how?” he persisted. “How could...”

Adam broke off with the arrival of a waiter at the table. He concealed his impatience until they had given their drink and dinner orders and the man had left them.

“How?” he repeated the moment they were alone again. “How could you know anything about me?”

“Oh, Andrew...”

“Adam,” he interjected, his voice taut and impatient. “My name is Adam.”

“Of course.” She winced. “I’m sorry.” The expression in her eyes revealed the depth of her contrition. “I...I’m having some difficulty keeping the two separated.”

Adam was struck by a blast of feeling, too close to jealously to be acceptable. Dammit, he thought, he barely knew the woman. How could he be jealous?

“We are so alike, this Andrew and I?” he asked, in a harsh tone made almost cruel by his inner struggle of denial.

“Yes.” A gentle smile curved her lips. “But please try to understand, you are alike because you are one, the same being, the same soul.”

Oh, hell. A New Age basket case.

Adam wasn’t into New Age. He was too busy staying on the cutting edge of his current age.

Disappointment bruised his mind. Sunny had caught Adam’s interest from his first sight of her. She was not only lovely but fascinating, exciting, different. Too different.

“You’re having trouble dealing with this.” Her voice was soft, her tone sympathetic.

Staring at her, at the concerned expression dimming the glow in her fantastic eyes, Adam was only vaguely aware of the waiter silently placing their drinks in front of them, then moving away again.

“Have a sip of your wine. It might help a little,” she suggested.

Distracted, Adam picked up the stemmed goblet, took a generous swallow of the dark red wine, then frowned. Why had he ordered it? Other than for toasting purposes on holidays, birthday gatherings, weddings and such, he didn’t drink wine, preferring light beer, or when in need of fortification and something stronger, bourbon or scotch, neat.

He transferred his frown to Sunny. “Did I order this—what is it, anyway? Burgundy?” It was a pure guess.

“Yes.” The glow flared to life again in her eyes. “And yes, you did order it.”

“Odd.”

“Not to me,” she said, her smile nostalgic. “It was always your wine of preference...even with a fish or fowl course.”

Adam felt his facial muscles tighten and his stomach clench. “Don’t start that always business again. I’m not buying into it.”

“You will...eventually.” Once more, her smile and the glow in her eyes faded. “At least, I pray you will.”

This was getting heavy, Adam told himself. And he was getting edgy.

“Look, Sunny,” he began, determined to stay calm and reasonable. “I’m not sure...” he broke off as the waiter put in another appearance at the table, this time to deliver their soup course.

After smiling and thanking the waiter, Sunny glanced down at the creamy potato-leek soup the man had set before her, then back up at Adam.

“Could we postpone further discussion until after we’ve eaten?” she asked. “I truly am very hungry.”

It wasn’t easy, but drawing a deep breath, Adam managed to temper his impatience. Besides, he was hungry, too, and the soup did look inviting.

“Okay.” He watched her take a sample taste of her soup; his breath got stuck in his throat as her lips closed around the bowl of the spoon. “Good?” he asked, despairing of the dry catch in his voice.

“Mmm,” Sunny nodded, dipping the spoon into the creamy broth once again. “Heavenly.”

“You’re right,” he murmured, after his first sip. “Absolutely heavenly.”

Though she smiled, she made no response.

Adam concluded that when the hungry Sunny involved herself with eating, her involvement was complete. He couldn’t help but wonder if she became as deeply involved while in the process of assuaging a different, more earthy appetite.

The soup was consumed in silence. While polishing off his soup, Adam was consumed by erotic images of Sunny, feasting on the sustenance of his mouth.

“Oh, that was wonderful,” she said when the last drop had been scooped from the bowl. She grinned. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have had to order the salmon. I could have made a meal of a large bowl of the soup.”

I could make a meal of you.

The smile that tugged at Adam’s lips was more in response to his thought than Sunny’s impish grin.

“We could change your...” he began, then shook his head on sight of the waiter approaching the table, a large tray balanced on one palm and held aloft at shoulder level. “No, we couldn’t,” he went on, lowering his voice as the waiter came to a stop. “You’ll have to settle for the fish.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She shrugged. “I like fish...as you should know.”

Adam scowled at her and at the taunting remark and undertones of her voice.

Of course, with the waiter there, he could not retaliate or even question her assertion, not without sounding like a reject from a New Age publishing house.

“Mmm, it all looks and smells delicious.” Sunny gave the waiter a decidedly sunny smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, returning her smile full wattage, while sparing a mere glance at Adam. “Ma’am, sir, enjoy your dinner.” Giving a half bow from the waist, he withdrew from the table.

“Nice young man, isn’t he?” she asked, brightly.

“Charming,” he said, darkly.

Her lips twitched; her eyes teased. “I do love the sound of that gentle Virginia drawl.”

Adam grunted and slanted a pointed look at her plate. “I thought you were starving?”

“That was before the soup,” she said, pleasantly. “Now I’m merely hungry.”

“Then eat.” Adam was chagrined by the snarling sound of his voice, and even more so by the startling rush of emotions that had caused it.

That old green-eyed monster again?

First that gut-wrenching twinge because he thought Sunny’s reference to an Andrew was to an actual, living, breathing man, and now because of a pleasant, soft-spoken—incidentally good looking—young waiter?

Adam rejected the very idea; or at least he tried to reject it. Problem was, it wouldn’t stay rejected. His mind persisted in examining the phenomenon.

Could he actually be jealous of the smile, the brief attention she had bestowed upon the seemingly ubiquitous waiter? he mused uncomfortably.

Ridiculous. He barely knew the woman—and he wasn’t too sure about her mental stability. The very idea of him being jealous was ludicrous in the extreme.

So why, then, was he feeling as if he wanted to break things, starting with the Virginia drawlvoiced waiter?

“Have you lost your appetite?”

Sunny’s question intruded upon his unappealing ruminations. For the salmon in dill sauce, yes, he answered in silent frustration. But for her, dammit, no.

Noting with some surprise that she had made inroads into her meal, Adam avoided responding by posing a query of his own. “Is it good?”

“Excellent.” She smiled; his pulses raced. “But why not try it for yourself?”

He did. She was right. It was excellent. But Adam was no longer hungry. Not for food. Nevertheless, he continued to eat, growing more restless by the minute.

When at last they had finished and the charming waiter had served their coffee and removed their plates and himself, Adam determined to have answers.

“Okay, you said you’d explain after dinner.” He arched his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

Sunny gnawed on her lip and glanced around at the laughing, chatting diners crowding the room. “Not here,” she murmured. “I’d prefer somewhere more private.”

“Like one of the seating areas in the lobby?”

“Or, better yet... Perhaps, your room?”

Three

Sunny’s prosaically delivered suggestion had an electrifying effect on Adam.

Did she realize the connotations he could... was attaching to her proposal? he reflected, staring at her expectant expression in surprised disbelief. Or, he further mused, had she tossed out a deliberate proposition?

The concept didn’t seem to fit what Adam had thus far garnered about her character—but on the other hand, what he actually knew about Miss Sunshine Dase was in fact sorely lacking in evidence.

“Of course, if you prefer one of the seating areas...” she said, shrugging when his silence lengthened.

“Not at all,” Adam was quick to assure her, taking a deep swallow of his coffee in hopes of relieving the sudden dryness in his throat. “You just caught me off guard,” he admitted, draining the cup before continuing, “I...er, you’re not afraid or even uncertain of being alone with me?”

“Not at all,” Sunny mimicked, softening her gentle mockery with a confident smile. “I have never, would never, will never be afraid or uncertain of being alone with you.”

“Why not?” he asked at once, his voice harsh with demand. “What assurance do you have?”

“Because I know you...so well.” Her voice held a note of wistfulness, her eyes, those deep green windows to her soul, were shadowed with regret. “I know you would sacrifice yourself before you would deliberately hurt me.”

Oh, God. What had he gotten into here? Adam asked himself, feeling torn between conflicting, yet equal desires. While part of him, the down-toearth, logical part, urged him to retreat, another part, the captivated, fascinated part, demanded he forge ahead, explore the possibilities.

The inner conflict must have been written plain as day in his expression; it became obvious that Sunny had no difficulty reading him like an open book.

“You can always change your mind,” she offered, keeping her expression devoid of whatever she might be feeling.

“No.” The instant decision made and voiced, Adam placed his napkin on the table. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Sunny didn’t respond verbally; she made her intent clear by mirroring his act of discarding her napkin.

After signing the check and tipping the waiter, Adam escorted Sunny from the restaurant and directly to the elevators.

In a silence fraught with questions, doubts and a building desire he could not deny, Adam stood beside her during the brief ascent to his floor and walked beside her along the hallway to his suite.

Tension crawled along his nervous system as he pulled shut the door behind them, enclosing them in privacy. A wry smile touched his lips at the thought that at least the bed wasn’t the first thing they saw on entering the sitting room.

“Very nice,” she murmured, glancing around the room before raising teasing eyes to his. “Do you always take a suite of rooms when you travel?”

“No.” Adam shook his head. “I usually don’t spend enough time in the room to care, either way. I took this suite simply because it was all that was available.” He flicked a hand to indicate the cozy grouping of settee and two chairs. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“In a moment,” she said, tossing her cape over the back of a chair as she crossed to the wide window, framed by the open drapes. “The pool area looks rather desolate,” she observed, turning her head to smile at him. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, wondering how much time she would waste on small-talk inanities before getting around to meaningful explanations. “But, then, despite the mild weather, it is December, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She turned her back on the window, as if dismissing the scene beyond the pane. “Less than two weeks to go until Christmas.”

“Hmm.” Adam nodded; one subject closed. “May I get you a drink? There’s a good selection in the mini bar.”

Sunny started to shake her head no, then appeared to change her mind. “Yes, why not. I have a lot to tell you. It’ll keep my throat moist. I’ll have the white wine...” She paused to smile. “You may have the red.”

So, she wasn’t planning to procrastinate, he thought, going to the small drinks cabinet while Sunny settled into one corner of the settee. Breaking the seal, he unlocked the cabinet, removed two small bottles, then emptied the contents into the stemmed glasses set on a tray atop the cabinet.

After handing one of the glasses to her, he settled into the other corner of the settee.

The way Sunny sat, knees together, legs turned into the settee, gave him a tantalizing view of her shapely calves and trim ankles, revealed by the gap in her side-slit skirt. The sight both excited and amused Adam. Here he was, unbelievably turned on by the everyday look of a woman’s legs below the knee. Incredible.

“Your health,” he murmured. Suddenly very thirsty, he raised the glass to her before bringing it to his lips to sample the dark red liquid.

“And yours,” she said, following his example.

Adam was barely aware of her response; he was too distracted by the sudden realization of having chosen the wine, a cabernet this time, instead of his normally preferred can of light beer.

Weird. And yet...

The astounding thing was, he found himself savoring the rich, full-bodied flavor of the wine.

Weird, indeed. But then, weird seemed par for the course ever since his first encounter with Sunny, when she had appeared to recognize him and called him Andrew.

Sunny took a sip of her wine, then glided the tip of her tongue over her upper lip.

A deliberate, seductive maneuver? Adam wondered. A flickering coil of heat in the foundation of his manhood gave ample evidence that if it was a deliberate ploy, it had definitely succeeded. He was experiencing the discomfort to prove it.

“Before I begin,” she began, “I would like you to answer a question for me.”

What game was she playing, anyway? Adam took another swallow of his wine to conceal his cynical smile.

Nevertheless, cynicism or not, he decided to play along with her—for the moment.

“Ask anything you like,” he invited expansively. “I have nothing to hide.”

If Sunny noticed the emphasis he’d placed on the “I,” she chose to ignore it.

“From your mention of friends having recommended restaurants to you and your reaction to the wagon on the street earlier, I presume that this is your first visit to the restored area of Colonial Williamsburg.” She raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “Am I correct?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Why?”

“And...” She smiled. “You’re obviously alone.”

“Yes.” His frown deepened. “Why?”

“That’s what I’m getting at.”

“Excuse me?” Adam made a production of exhaling. “I’m afraid I missed something. You want to back that up and run it by me again?”

“You are here alone.”

Impatience scraped against Adam’s nerves. “I thought I had made that clear.” His voice and the muscles in his jaw were tight. “Yes, I am alone.”

“Why?”

When had their roles switched? Adam asked himself, striving to hang on to control. When had Sunny become the interrogator and he the interrogatee?

“Why am I alone?” His voice had a grating edge.

“Why are you here... alone.” Sunny gave a quick impatient shake of her head. “Why did you come here alone?”

Good question, Adam conceded. Too bad he didn’t have a good answer. He pondered a response for a moment, then with a mental shrug, decided to go with the unvarnished truth, odd as it might sound.

“Believe it or not, I’m here, at this family time of year, because of a whim.”

“A whim,” she repeated, her wry tone giving evidence of disbelief. “Of course.”

“A whim,” he repeated, adamantly.

“You have no family?”

“Yes, I have family,” he answered. “Two brothers and a sister, all younger and all unmarried...” He paused a beat before adding, “As I am.”

“No wife or significant other?”

“No wife or significant other,” he echoed, grimacing at the current term for girlfriend or lover. He hesitated, almost afraid to ask the next logical question, yet aware he had to know the answer. “Do you have family somewhere, your parents, siblings...a husband?”

“Parents, yes, and a brother and sister, both older, both married, with one child apiece, all living in northern California.”

“No husband?” He arched his brows. “Or significant other in your life?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Her eyebrows rose in reflection of his.

Adam felt caught in a trap of his own devising. He didn’t want to answer, resisted the self exposure of explaining his reluctance to commit to any one woman. And yet, he wanted to hear her reasons for remaining single.

Sunny waited in calm patience for him to respond, as if she somehow knew the inner struggle he was waging. To Adam’s way of thinking, her apparent knowing was more than unnerving, it was damn creepy.

She raised her glass and sipped at the wine, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

Adam smiled, conceding victory to her in the silent war of wills. “I have just never found a woman with whom I wanted to share either my life or my space,” he said, hoping the explanation was enough to satisfy her. He should have known better, even after such a short acquaintance.

“Found?” Sunny pounced on the word. “Found presupposes that you’ve been looking.”

“Not actively,” he hedged. “Have you?” he shot back. “Been looking, I mean?”

“Actively,” she admitted. “For you.”

Adam heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Why do I have this feeling I’ve landed in the middle of a particularly weird episode of ‘The Twilight Zone’?” he asked, as much of himself as of her.

She laughed. “Scary, huh?”

“More like dumb,” he retaliated.

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “Nevertheless, for certain reasons we are both unattached.”

Adam slowly expelled another heartfelt sight. “So, you’re basically alone here.”

“Yes. My choice.” She smiled. “And you are here, now, in reaction to a whim.”

Adam suddenly felt funny—funny odd, not funny ha-ha. He didn’t like the feeling, and so felt compelled to explain, which wasn’t easy since he wasn’t accustomed to explaining his motives or actions to anyone and since he wasn’t certain he himself understood the whim, or impulse, or whatever.

“A couple of weeks ago, I turned on the TV to catch the news,” he began, hoping to discern some sense of it for himself while explaining to her. “As a rule, I watch little television, but, since I head up the family owned business, I do like to stay abreast of what’s going on in the business world.”

“You’re the CEO?”

“Yes—” he smiled “—which only means I ride herd over the other members of my family.” Then he laughed aloud. “We’re a diverse and farflung bunch, one running a casino in Deadwood, one managing a ranch in Montana, the youngest doing her fashion thing in San Francisco. And then there are other interests, oil, computer software,” he went on, wondering why in the hell he was babbling away to her, when he was usually closedmouth. And yet, his smile wry, he continued on, just the same.

“It’s a tough job but somebody has to do it. Since I’m the eldest of the lot, I inherited the job of holding the corporate strings and keeping them from tangling.”

“And I suspect you do it very well,” she murmured.

He shrugged. “There have been no complaints... so far.” Frowning at his sudden propensity to shoot his mouth off, Adam brought himself back to the point of discussion. “At any rate, I was in front of the TV. During a break, a commercial came on extolling the attractions of Colonial Williamsburg at Christmastime.” He gave a half laugh, half snort. “I wasn’t even paying attention... and yet...”