Undressed by the Rebel. Alison Roberts
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raspy his own voice sounded.
Amanda nodded, seeming to understand his dilemma and their situation clearly. “Yes, we should.”
They tossed the remains of their picnic into the hamper. Nick got to his feet and gazed across the open field, annoyed to realize that the old Whitney farm would never be the same again.
Not after kissing Amanda.
“What did you dream last night?”
Amanda glanced to her left and saw Nick’s Aunt Winnifred take the seat beside her in the music room of the Hastings home. While the wedding party was at the rehearsal, Constance had named Winnifred hostess for the evening. Amanda and the other ten houseguests had just finished supper and were now gathering in the music room for the evening’s entertainment Constance had arranged.
“Well?” Winnifred asked, leaning a little closer.
Around them, voices blended pleasantly and skirts rustled as everyone settled into chairs.
“Let me think,” Amanda said, stalling. Last night she’d dreamed of Nick, but she didn’t intend to tell Winnifred.
It wasn’t the first time she had experienced a dream in which Nick played a starring role. Over the years, the vision of him often crept into her slumbers. And much to Amanda’s distress, the dream was always the same.
Her, in a crowded room, when Nick walked in. He crossed the room, speaking to everyone—but her. She reached out to him as he drew near. Yet he always stayed an arm’s length away. She could never quite touch him. Never get him to look at her. Never get him to speak to her.
Amanda had often wondered what the dream meant, wondered why it continued to periodically invade her sleep. But she certainly couldn’t ask Winnifred to interpret it for her.
“How did you become interested in dreams?” she asked instead.
“It’s quite fascinating,” Winnifred declared, snapping her fan open. “Dreaming is universal. It’s common among people of all lands, all cultures. Dreams are a sign of prophecy, a prediction of the future or a message of some sort. The Bible shows the significance of dreams. Some of the greatest thinkers believed in the power of dreams. One merely has to understand the signs and interpret them correctly to unravel their secrets.”
“And you’ve studied this extensively?” Amanda asked.
“Oh, no, of course not,” Winnifred said. “I interpret by instinct. Though my natural, logical thought process. It’s a gift. Now, tell me what you dreamed last night.”
Amanda decided to indulge the woman. It seemed harmless enough. She thought quickly, recalling a past dream that she hoped would satisfy Winnifred. “All right,” she said, “here’s what I dreamed.”
Winnifred’s features pulled together in tight concentration as she settled back in her chair, listening.
“I dreamed I was standing at the train station,” Amanda said, “waiting for a train.”
Winnifred’s lips pressed together. “Was it raining?”
“No.”
“Were small animals with you?”
“No.”
“Were you wearing purple?”
Amanda drew back slightly, eyeing her. “No.”
“Hmm…” Winnifred’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together so tightly they nearly disappeared. A moment dragged by while she stared straight ahead, tapping her fan against her palm. “Aha!” she cried.
Amanda jumped.
“I know what your dream means,” Winnifred announced. “It indicates your dislike for certain kinds of food.”
Amanda frowned. “It does?”
“Certainly.”
“Doesn’t it mean that I’m anxious to go somewhere? Or, perhaps, looking forward to the arrival of someone or something new in my life?”
“Oh, no, no,” Winnifred said, waving away the idea.
“But the train, and the train station…?”
“Foods,” Winnifred assured her.
“Well, all right…if you’re sure.”
“Of course I’m sure. I told you, I’ve been blessed with a gift.” Winnifred gave a brisk nod, then levered herself out of the chair and walked away.
She circulated through the room, chatting with the other guests, then gave a brief introduction as a pianist popular in the city made her entrance. Winnifred resumed her seat beside Amanda, and the performance began.
Amanda clasped her hands in her lap, determined to focus her thoughts on the young woman seated at the piano. A full minute passed before she realized her mind had drifted.
To Nick.
To their kiss.
So much for her vow to keep her distance from him. Not only had she jumped at the chance to spend the day with him, she’d allowed him to kiss her.
Not that she could have stopped him.
Not that she wanted to stop him.
Determinedly, Amanda recalled ten years ago, when Nick had treated her so shabbily. When he’d broken her heart. Why hadn’t that incident made her hate him?
Through the years, whenever the Hastings and Van Patton families had gotten together, the conversation always included news of Nick. His mother talked about how well he ran the family business, what a good man he’d become.
And from all Amanda had seen since her arrival in Los Angeles, his mother had been right. Nick was a good, decent man. Maybe if he weren’t, Amanda could find an excuse to dislike him. If he had a major fault, she could point to it and tell herself that no, she shouldn’t involve herself with him, and here was the reason why. But so far she’d found nothing. No reason not to still care about him.
What did it mean? That she herself suffered from some horrific personality flaw that wouldn’t allow her to forget him?
The song ended and polite applause rippled through the room. Amanda forced her attention to the pianist and clapped her hands, smiling her appreciation, nodding in agreement when Winnifred cast a glance her way. The pianist took her seat again and resumed playing. Amanda slipped into her own thoughts once more.
Today. Alone with Nick. Just the two of them rambling through town, then into the countryside. She’d told him things she seldom shared with anyone. He’d explained his Whitney project, as if he couldn’t wait to tell her about it.
And then he’d kissed her.
Amanda sighed deeply, remembering the taste, the feel of his lips. In the decade since he’d last kissed her, Nick Hastings had gotten better at it. Though their exchange this afternoon was little more than a brushing of lips, Amanda sensed a command, a passion that had caused her stomach to tingle—still, hours later.
Applause again interrupted Amanda’s thoughts, and she realized the song had ended. Quickly she joined in, glancing around, hoping no one had noticed her lack of attentiveness.
Voices drifted in as the applause died. Amanda turned to see the wedding party enter the room.
Nick. Tall, sturdy, handsome Nick Hastings.
Amanda’s heart thumped into her throat and hung there. Her stomach fluttered. She didn’t need Winnifred to interpret these signs. Amanda already knew what they meant.
The dream she’d had so often in the past that she wouldn’t allow herself to share with Winnifred popped into her mind. Now, at this moment, the dream became a reality.
Amanda in a crowded room. Nick entering. Would he ignore her, hold himself aloof, just out of her reach, as he always