He lowered his gaze to her general butterfly area. “That butterfly brings back great memories.”
He was smoke, fire, and unresolved dreams. Always had been. She needed a firewall. Breaking eye contact, she rooted through the items thrown pell-mell into her Gucci purse. A purse with that brand name deserved better, but her purse was the one part of her life she’d never managed to organize.
“Hey, I’m glad you and your rose are still together. Personally, I don’t remember it.” She didn’t look up as she continued to root.
All right, so she also had problems stuffing memories of Con and his tattoo into a neat compartment, but at least while she was in New York she didn’t have to face him in the flesh. In the flesh? Nope, wouldn’t go there. Ah, her sunglasses. She pulled them from the rubble and put them on. There. No windows to the soul showing. Now she could safely present her cool and in-control face.
He shook his head and offered her a fake frown. “Ouch. That hurt, sweet-heat. All these years I imagined you lusting after my tattoo.”
“I don’t lust, Con. Not now, not ever.” Well, maybe the not ever part wasn’t the absolute truth, but Amanda felt the moment called for sweeping statements of denial. “And don’t call me sweet-heat. I’m not that person anymore, haven’t been for ten years.” She wasn’t thrilled with being Mandy or wicked woman again either, but she’d choose her battles.
He nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. Reaching back to the ladder, he picked up a cloth and wiped a few spots of paint from his hands.
Amanda forced away thoughts of what wonders those strong hands could work. “Let’s get back to the castle. I think—”
“Whoa.” He held up his hand to stop her. “I want to discuss this not remembering the black rose thing. Your relation to my tattoo was a cornerstone of my youthful fantasies.”
His smile returned warmer, more intimate. Reminding her of exactly where she’d been and what they’d been doing when she’d seen the tattoo for the first and only time.
Okay, time to take a stand. “I’m here for only one thing, to decorate this castle. I don’t want to talk about your tattoo or your fantasies.”
“Or your part in them?” He shoved the paint cloth into the back pocket of his jeans as he moved closer to her. “Amazing what we choose not to remember about another person’s body.”
What do you remember about my body? No, not a safe question. She was safer sticking to his body. Amanda had always appreciated fine artwork, in any form. And Con’s black rose was a great visual. Not the biggest or the best to be seen on the Body-Maguire, but still great.
Amanda sighed. He wasn’t going to leave the rose alone. The best she could do was to steer the discussion away from the personal. “Why a rose? Men don’t usually tattoo flowers on their bodies. Guess it threatens their masculinity.” He could’ve covered his body with flowers and never put a dent in his virility. It oozed from his pores.
He moved even closer, invading her personal space. “I never told you the story behind the rose, did I? But then we weren’t into lengthy explanations that night, were we, Mandy?” Reaching out, he calmly removed her sunglasses. His gaze moved leisurely over her body and then lifted to lock with her eyes. “If I concentrate, I can still feel the slide of your tongue as you traced the rose.” He lowered his gaze, his lashes hiding his expression. “Lots of heat and tactile sensations. A man doesn’t forget that kind of experience.” He handed the sunglasses to her.
Amanda sucked in her breath. Whoa, losing control of the conversation here. What should she say . . . ?
He laughed. Low, husky, and with the sensual warmth that had always been part of Conleth Maguire. “Relax. We won’t share any more tongue memories. I just wanted to see if you could still blush, or if New York had taken all of Galveston out of you. The blush is still there, but the big city sure changed a lot of other things.” He reached out and slid his fingers through her hair.
Her blond hair. She loved her hair. And she hated how effortlessly he could bring the heat to her face. But then, he’d always been able to bring heat to any part of her body he chose.
“Too bad if you don’t like it.” She visualized the blush fading from her face leaving her cooly elegant and impervious to anything Conleth Maguire might do or say. Amanda hadn’t come home to be haunted by a ghost-of-lover-past.
He widened his eyes, a weak attempt to look innocent. Con didn’t do innocent well. “Did I say I didn’t like your hair? I love your hair.”
Ha! He hated her hair. Con lied with eyes wide open. Always had, and she didn’t think ten years had changed him. “Are you going to tell me why you chose this rose tattoo that I definitely don’t remember?” Once he got the rose explanation out of his system, she’d try to segue into talking about the job.
He nodded and motioned her into the shade of the castle’s wall. “Roisin Dubh means dark rose in Irish. Legend says that it was a Druid symbol. The Council of the Roisin Dubh wore the black rose on their robes.”
She nodded as she leaned one shoulder against the castle wall and blessed the small relief the shade gave her. “Got it. A bunch of Druids took the rose as their symbol. I never realized you were into mystic stuff.” Where was the attorney? She needed to extricate herself from this conversation before it dove deeper into the personal.
“There’re lots of things you never realized, sweetheart.” Beneath the seemingly sensual suggestion, anger lurked. “Too bad you didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”
He’d thrown down the gauntlet. This was not what she’d planned for her first day on
