“Fine. Let’s deal with this now and get it out of the way. We went out during my senior year. We planned to go to New York together. You’d go to art school, and I’d learn interior design. We had sex for the first time a week before I graduated. The next day you told me you’d changed your mind. You were staying in Galveston and going to work for your father. No other explanation. Did I miss anything?” She offered him a careless shrug that said it was a non-event to her now. “So what’s a girl to think?” She’d thought a lot. Maybe after making love with her, he’d lost interest. Had he found someone else? The list went on and on. The bottom line? He hadn’t cared.
It amazed Con that at five feet, four inches, Mandy could stand so tall. Those wide blue eyes might say vulnerable, but they were dead wrong. They were a holdover from the girl she’d been when she left Galveston. The woman who faced him now would give as good as she got. He liked that. Con wondered what she’d do if he reached down and ruffled that smooth short hair. Probably haul off and sock him.
But hair-ruffling could wait. He needed to give her the explanation he hadn’t given her ten years ago. If they had to work together, he didn’t want the past getting in the way.
“I didn’t have the money to go to New York with you.” He winced. Even after all the years, it hurt to admit the truth.
“What?”
He’d shocked her. Good. Con didn’t know why, but he enjoyed taking her out of her comfort zone, her perception of the world according to Amanda Harcourt. “Dad had said he’d help with my tuition. When he found out I wanted to go to New York, he took back his offer. Said I didn’t have to go all the way to New York to learn how to scribble pictures.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her eyes darkened. With hurt, anger? He wasn’t sure.
“What would you have done if I’d told you?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“I could’ve lent you the money. My parents . . .” She trailed off. “That’s why you didn’t tell me.”
Con nodded. She knew too well the eighteen-year-old he’d been. But she didn’t know the man he’d become. “I always had too much pride.” He smiled “Still do. Back then, I thought your anger was preferable to your pity.”
“Would you still do the same thing today?” She sounded casual, but Con sensed his answer was a little more important than she wanted it to be.
“Probably.” He paused to give her time to think about it. “I’d tell a different lie this time around, though.”
She nodded as though it all made perfect sense. “Thanks for telling me. I was just a kid back then, and with hormone levels spiking, I spent a whole week either crying or thinking up painful ways to end your life.”
A week. And then she’d gone on with her life. But he’d gone on with his life, too. They were even. Then why did he still feel that unreasonable stab of anger when he thought about her ten years in New York?
“I’m glad we got that out of the way. Gee, I’m probably late for my meeting.” Her expression said she hoped he’d disappear in a puff of smoke.
He wouldn’t make it that easy for her. “I didn’t finish telling you about the family Druids. Dad’s always been obsessed with his Irish roots. There’s no real proof, but he’s convinced our family has a few Druid connections.” Con could feel her need to escape him, but a part of him that stubbornly resisted maturity wanted to see her squirm. He’d make her wait out his explanation. “Back then, I thought it was pretty cool that I might be related to an ancient society with a dark and mysterious reputation.”
Con thought she’d offer him a polite smile. Instead, she gripped her bottom lip between small white teeth and studied him. His primitive part in charge of sexual awareness growled its pleasure. And when she released that lip . . . just the sight of the full damp sheen of it upped the growl to a roar. His reactions were right on schedule. If he remembered the spectacular event they’d shared on a moonlit Galveston beach correctly, and he thought he did, every breath Amanda Harcourt took had been a turn-on to his testosterone-driven younger self. The scary part was that she was having the same effect now on his older experienced self.
“You never needed any Druid relatives, Con. Every girl at Ball High not only thought you were dark and mysterious, but the hottest hottie of them all.” She firmed her lips, a sure indication of a serious pronouncement, and proof positive that her lips were sexy in whatever shape she chose to bend them. “But that’s past history. We’re two different people now. Once I’ve made a final decision on the colors, I’ll consult with you about your painting schedule for the interior of the castle. We’ll consult about the castle, nothing else.”
Strange. Why hire a New York designer when Houston had plenty of great ones? He nodded. “Sure. And wicked woman, maybe you consult in New York, but down here in Galveston we talk.” Why was he so steamed? She’d walked away from here ten years ago and never looked back. Amanda Harcourt didn’t matter anymore. Other than mutual lust, they’d never had anything in common.
“Can we lose the wicked woman?” Her semi-smile said she was a little conflicted about him and searching for
