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Never in her entire life had she experienced a kiss like the one she’d just shared with Brandon.
That kiss had stolen the very breath from her depleted body.
That kiss had created vivid images in her mind of clothes being torn away so that there was no barrier between her and Brandon.
That kiss had been the prelude to slow, exquisite lovemaking with Brandon that would have been ecstasy in its purest form.
That kiss never should have taken place.
“The nerve of that arrogant man,” she said, narrowing her gaze. “How dare he just march across the room and kiss me senseless? Just who in the blue blazes does he think he is?”
In the next instant she sighed, her shoulders slumping as fatigue swept over her.
She could rant and rave from here to Sunday, she thought dismally, but it wouldn’t erase the fact that she had been a very willing partner in that kiss. She’d savored every sensuous, heart-stopping second of it, and had not wanted it to end.
She had never behaved so recklessly, so... so wantonly.
“I’m not myself,” she said, pressing one hand to her forehead.
She didn’t care how angry her theories had made Brandon. They were sound and true. Her state of exhaustion was causing her to act and react out of character.
She would dismiss from her mind what had taken place in that room with Brandon. When she saw him again in the hotel, she’d be pleasant but cool, nod a greeting, and keep moving. She would not engage in further conversation with Mr. Hamilton, and she certainly would never be alone with him again.
The rest she desperately needed would restore her to normal, she told herself. The two-week sentence she was facing in this freezing cold little town would pass quickly, then she’d get into her ridiculous red sports car and whiz back down the mountain to Phoenix, where she belonged.
With a decisive nod, Andrea retrieved her suitcase, opened it and removed dry clothing. When she entered the bathroom, she gasped as she saw her reflection in the mirror above the sink.
“Oh, good night,” she said with a burst of laughter.
She looked like a drenched kitten. Her hair was sticking up in places and was plastered to her head in others. The circles beneath her eyes were darker than ever, making her appear ghostly. Her suit and blouse were wrinkled and soggy.
“Why on earth,” she said, leaning closer to the mirror, “would a man like Brandon Hamilton want to kiss you?”
Andrea straightened and then frowned, aware of a funny chill tiptoeing around her heart.
Brandon hadn’t wanted to kiss her, she thought. He would have kissed anyone who had insulted his masculine ego the way she had. The kiss had been a product of his anger, not his desire for her.
That made sense.
Then why, if that was so all-fired reasonable, was she registering feelings of disappointment and rejection ?
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, unbuttoning her suit jacket. “And I don’t care. Just forget it.”
Please, Andrea, she thought, dropping the sodden jacket to the floor, just forget it. For your own good.
Three
When Brandon left Andrea’s room, he glanced longingly at his apartment door at the end of the hallway, then shook his head and went to the elevator. He hesitated, his finger poised at the button.
He’d walk down the five flights of stairs, he decided, in lieu of taking some much-needed private time in his apartment. It wouldn’t be fair to Jennifer to leave her stranded at the front desk when she had things to tend to in the dining room.
Brandon started down the wide, carpeted stairway, each step thudding in an angry cadence directed at himself.
He should be shot at dawn, he mentally fumed. Strung up by the thumbs. Tarred and feathered. Run out of town on a rail.
Where was his brain? His sense of right and wrong? He was the proprietor of a hotel, who had blatantly kissed one of the guests without her permission. Cripe, he was probably staring at a lawsuit that would wipe him out financially. One kiss and he would now be rendered a moneyless derelict, living on the streets of Prescott.
Brandon stopped on the landing of the third floor and dragged both hands down his face.
Andrea Cunningham had pushed his macho buttons, and he’d behaved like a Neanderthal. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, her dismissal of the fiery attraction between them had ignited his fury. He’d become blindly determined to prove her ridiculous theory wrong.
So, he’d kissed her.
With a shake of his head, Brandon resumed his plodding trek down the stairs.
That kiss, he mused, had been sensational. Desire, hot and heavy and coiling, had exploded within him like a rocket. He’d been consumed by it, and had come very close to losing total control.
Brandon narrowed his eyes.
That reaction, by damn, had been mutual. Andrea had returned the kiss in heated abandon.
What did that mean? Why hadn’t she shoved him away, smacked him right across the face, then hollered the roof down?
Hell, he didn’t know what had gone on in Andrea’s mind when he’d kissed her, nor what she might be thinking now that she was alone. Women were so complicated, he wouldn’t live long enough to understand any of them.
The question at hand was... now what?
What should he do, say, how should he act, the next time he saw Andrea?
Maybe he should just wait and see, take his cue from her. That seemed like a very good idea, since he was messing up royally when left to his own devices.
“You’re such an idiot, Hamilton,” he muttered as he reached the lobby.
Jennifer smiled at Brandon when he returned to the registration desk.
“Did you get Andrea all taken care of?” she said.
“In a manner of speaking,” he said gruffly.
Jennifer frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Would you have some soup and a sandwich sent up to Andrea in about an hour?”
“Yes, but—” Jennifer glanced at her watch “—it’s getting late. Don’t you think Andrea will be ready for a full dinner?”
“Good thought.”
“Why don’t you call her and ask if she’d like dinner sent up, or if she plans to come down to the dining room? For all we know, she might wish to leave the hotel for her meal. Yes, you’d best phone her, Brandon.”
“No,” he said quickly.
“Why not?”
“Because...because that’s not efficient time management, Jennifer. I’d have to track you down if Andrea told me she’d like to eat in her room. Therefore, you call her.”
“Well, all right.” Jennifer paused. “Andrea’s quite pretty, don’t you think? Even not being at her best, she’s attractive. She has lovely eyes.”
“Mmm,” he said, straightening some brochures that didn’t need straightening.
“I hope she doesn’t get lonely spending the holidays in a hotel. No family. No friends here. That sounds like a rather bleak Christmas.”
“It’s none of our business, Jennifer. Don’t you have something to do in the dining room?”
“Maybe we should invite Andrea to the staff Christmas party.” Jennifer went on as though Brandon hadn’t spoken. “That might brighten things up a bit for her.”
“Don’t be silly. We can’t start doing something like that. What if other guests hear that Andrea was included in the staff party? No, absolutely not. Staff is staff. Guests are guests.”
Except that he’d kissed the socks off the guest under discussion, Brandon thought. Hell.
“All right, Mr. Scrooge,” Jennifer said. “Maybe the aunties will take Andrea under their wing so she won’t be quite so lonely.”
“I’m sure they will. They’re aware of the fact that Andrea doesn’t have any family.”
“No family at all? No one?”
Brandon shrugged. “Apparently not.”
“That’s sad, it really is. I wonder why an attractive woman like Andrea isn’t married?”
“I’d say she’s married to her work, because Ben said she was suffering from exhaustion.”
“Oh, I see,” Jennifer said, nodding. “She needs to learn how to stop and smell the flowers.”
“Jennifer, do you realize you have me standing here gossiping about one of our guests? I don’t do things like this. Go away.”
Jennifer laughed. “Yes, boss. Whatever you say, boss. Your wish is my command.”
“I should hope so.”
“You never did say if you agree with me that Andrea is pretty.”
“Goodbye, Ms. Mackane,” Brandon said, frowning at her. “Go earn your keep.”
‘“Bye,” she said, wiggling the fingers of one hand at him.
“Women,” Brandon mumbled as Jennifer disappeared from view.
The next two hours flew by as Brandon was approached time and again by guests with questions needing to be answered.
He supplied brochures listing the holiday activities taking place in Prescott, arranged for the mailing of Christmas gifts that had been purchased in town, helped several couples decipher maps for destinations of outings planned for the next day, and answered the telephone, telling three frantic, local hostesses that Hamilton House had no vacancies.
No vacancies, Brandon mentally repeated as he replaced the telephone receiver. That was due to the arrival of the woman who had taken occupancy of the last available room in the hotel.
Andrea.
Jennifer had appeared briefly an hour before to announce that Andrea had requested that a salad, small steak and a pot of tea be delivered to her room. Jennifer had looked at him intently, as though expecting a major reaction regarding Andrea’s choices for dinner. He’d simply shrugged, causing Jennifer to glare at him and stomp away.
What had Jennifer wanted him to say about Andrea’s meal, for Pete’s sake? Food was food.
Now that he really thought about it, however, Andrea hadn’t ordered very much to eat, which was probably the point Jennifer had been attempting to make. Andrea should have added a potato, vegetables and dessert to her dinner. She was physically exhausted, and should be consuming more food to bolster her energy.
When he’d held Andrea in his arms after she fainted, he’d been aware, very aware, of how delicate she was, how fragile. She needed someone to look after her, to take care of her.
Brandon shook his head and frowned.
Yeah, right, he thought dryly. Andrea was a big-city executive, who was dedicated to her career to the exclusion of everything else, including her own health and welfare.
She didn’t want, nor seemed to need, anyone intruding on her focused life.
He’d lived that type of existence for more years than he cared to admit. When he’d suddenly suffered from chest pains, his doctor had told him that he was a lucky man. His body had warned him of a potential heart attack waiting in the wings even though he was only thirty-five years old. Brandon decided then to make some adjustments in his life-style.
So, he’d walked away from the world of highpressure, corporate law in New York City, taken courses in hotel management, and returned to Prescott, to his roots, to take possession of Hamilton House and begin the restorations that were needed so badly.
The charming old building had been in the Hamilton family since the day it was built at the turn of the century. When his great-grandfather had died, the series of leases had begun, the hotel falling into good hands at times and into inefficient care at others.
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