And why do you care?
You don’t.
She followed him outside onto a limestone-tile patio. Her breath clouded the cold night air. Outdoor lighting illuminated a lap pool that had to be at least fifty feet long. In the shadows beyond the subtle glow she caught hints of lawn and in the distance a low stone wall like the one out front. Evergreen trees mingled with the bare-limbed deciduous variety—one of which had a huge branch perfect for a rope swing. Alex’s home would be the perfect place to raise children.
Children. She’d never thought about having them. And couldn’t now. Her life was a mess. Until she had that straightened out, she couldn’t think about adding complications. But she suddenly wondered if she was missing out.
Of course not. What do you know about good parenting? Nada.
She hugged her coat tighter around her to ward off the frosty air. “You said bring a swimsuit, but it’s too cold to swim.”
“I have a hot tub if you want to brave it later.” He pointed toward a sheltered corner of the patio. “But my parents have an indoor pool. Tomorrow we can swim with Zack, and you can try to get a feel for what kind of party he’d like.”
He led her back inside and up the stairs to a vaultedceiling bedroom decorated in black, white and grey. A king-size bed with a raw-silk pewter bedspread and a massive, carved cherry headboard took up only a quarter of the large room. A gas fireplace with a cozy sitting area had been centered on the wall opposite the bed, and French doors led to a Juliet balcony overlooking the pool and large backyard. She suspected the view from the windows would be beautiful and green in summer.
The room reminded her of Alex. Luxurious, but no frills, no clutter.
Her gaze returned to the bed she’d be sharing with him. It didn’t bother her that she’d be just one of many to pass through it.
It didn’t.
Yes, it did. And that made no sense. She had no claim on him. And didn’t want one.
“Is this where you entertain your women?” She wanted the catty words back the instant she said them. Why had she said them? She wasn’t usually the type to blurt out her thoughts.
“I don’t bring women here. I go to their place. You might have noticed the express-train commute and climbing into a cold car at the depot isn’t exactly romantic.” Alex left his Mercedes at the station every day before heading for Manhattan.
She smiled. “I can see how a forty-minute ride on the express train could kill the mood.”
He stroked a fingertip along her jaw, sending ripples of arousal through her. “Has it killed the mood?”
Not even close. She would much rather stay here, strip down and make love with him in front of a roaring fire than eat with his family. Family dinners, in her opinion, were rarely comfortable affairs. But that wouldn’t help her get Affairs by Amanda on a firmer financial foundation.
“Ahem. What time are your parents expecting us?”
“Soon. I’ll save the tour of the third-floor gym, sauna and steam shower and the basement for later. As much as I’d prefer to keep you here—” he dipped his head to indicate the bed “—we need to go.”
She appreciated his restraint because apparently she’d lost hers—and her perspective right along with it. This weekend was all about business. And that meant meeting his well-connected parents was high on her to-do list.
Like it or not.
If Alex’s home had been impressive, Amanda found his parents’ French Chateau-styled waterfront mansion in Old Greenwich downright intimidating even in the dark. Well-placed landscape uplighting illuminated the sheer scale of the place.
Her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a witch’s bubbling cauldron of some hot brew. Why was she nervous about meeting his parents? They were merely prospective clients, not prospective in-laws, and she’d grown up in affluent circles.
It was because of the job, the connections and the possibility of tapping into Greenwich society’s deep pockets for future events. The results of this meeting could make Affairs by Amanda financially secure.
But she’d interviewed for jobs with society’s movers and shakers before, and those hadn’t made her this nervous. And thanks to her family and her Vassar education, she knew many über-wealthy people. But still, the unexplainable butterflies tormented her.
The front door of the house opened and a tall, lanky, dark-haired teen came out. Despite the frosty temperature he wasn’t wearing a coat over his short-sleeved Giants T-shirt. Unsmiling, he strolled toward the car as they climbed out.
“He looks just like you,” she told Alex, when he joined her at the end of the long walkway.
Alex’s eyes narrowed and his face seemed to tense. Why?
“I take it that’s your brother?”
“That’s Zack.”
She noted and disregarded the odd note in Alex’s voice. Bringing a woman home to meet the folks implied things they didn’t want implied. Was he as uncomfortable about this as she? “He’s cute. As I imagine you were at seventeen. I’m sure you were a lady-killer in training.”
He shot her an odd look but said nothing, since Zack had reached them. Alex held out his upraised hand, grasped palms with his brother in a boys-from-the-hood kind of handshake and then the males slapped each other’s back in an almost-hug. Zack, obviously playing it cool, didn’t crack a smile, but his excitement over seeing Alex sparkled in eyes the same brown shot with gold as Alex’s.
“Amanda, this is Zack. Zack, my friend Amanda Crawford.”
She shot Alex a quick questioning glance. What was that about? The emphasis he’d put on the word friend implied they were more than friendly, and she didn’t want to give his family the wrong impression. Sure, they were lovers at the moment, but that would soon change. This was merely business with benefits.
Amanda offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Zack.”
The teen surveyed her from head to toe. Did she detect a tinge of resentment in his eyes? He briefly shook hands. “You, too.”
Zack turned his attention back to Alex. “The ’rents are waiting inside.”
Alex placed a hand in the small of her back and guided her up the walk and into the house. The foyer was as opulent as the outside of the house had led her to expect. The decor emitted an old-money feel with an intricately patterned hardwood floor, classic antique furniture, luxurious Persian carpets and artwork by Albert Bierstadt and Frederic Church on the soaring wainscoted walls.
Her stomach twisted tighter with each echoing step as she and Alex followed Zack’s loping stride into a paneled den. A man and woman rose with welcoming smiles on their faces from the sofas that flanked the brick fireplace. It was easy to see that Alex and Zack had inherited their mother’s coloring and patrician bone structure. The blueeyed blond man was the exact opposite coloring-wise of the woman by his side.
“Mom,
