life were so completely bound to another's that it was impossible to survive without him. Inconvenient, she decided. Uncomfortable and unwise. She could only be grateful that she hadn't inherited that dangerous kind of passion. Feeling smug about her own unbattered heart, she settled down to work.
"Amanda?"
She was halfway through the August reservations and held up a hand. "Minute," she murmured, and totaled her calculations to that point. "What is it, Karen? Wow." She pushed her glasses back up her nose and studied the luxurious spray of roses in the desk clerk's arms. "What did you do, win a beauty pageant?"
"They're not mine." Karen buried her face in them. "Don't I wish. They just came in, for you."
"Me?"
"You're still Amanda Calhoun," Karen pointed out as she offered the florist's card. "Though if you want to trade places until these three dozen long-stemmed beauties fade, I'm game."
"Three dozen?"
"I counted." Grinning, Karen laid them on the desk. "Three dozen and one,"
she added, nodded toward the single rose that stood beside them.
Sloan, Amanda thought, and felt her heart give a quick, catchy sigh. How was she supposed to get a handle on a man who did sweet, unexpected things every time she thought she'd made up her mind about him? How could he have known about her secret weakness for red roses? She hadn't even thanked him for the first one.
"Aren't you going to read the card?" Karen demanded. "If I have to go back to the desk without knowing who sent them, I'll be distracted and my work will suffer. The evil Albert Stenerson'U fire me, and it'll be your fault."
"I already know who they're from," she began, unaware of the softness in her eyes. "It was really so sweet of him to - oh." Baffled, she studied the name on the card. Not Sloan, she realized, with a cutting edge of disappointment that surprised her. They weren't from Sloan.
"Well? Do you want me to beg?"
Still puzzled, Amanda handed the card over.
"With my appreciation. William Livingston. Whew." Karen tossed back her long, dark hair. "What did you have to do to deserve this kind of gratitude?"
"I got him a fax machine."
"You got him a fax machine," Karen repeated, handing the card back to Amanda. "Last Sunday I cooked a pot roast with all the trimmings and all I got was a bottle of cheap wine."
Amanda continued to frown and tapped the card on the edge of her desk. "I guess I'd better thank him."
"I guess you'd better." Karen picked up one of the roses and sniffed. "Unless you'd rather delegate. I'd be glad to go up and express your appreciation to Mr. Eyes-To-Die-For Livingston."
"Thanks, but I'll handle it." She picked up the phone, then sent Karen an arched look. "Scram."
"Spoilsport." Laughing, she went out, discreetly shutting the door at her back as Amanda dialed the extension for the Island Suite.
"Livingston."
"Mr. Livingston, this is Amanda Calhoun."
"Ah, the efficient Miss Calhoun." There was a laugh in his voice, a pleasant and flattering one. "What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful. It was very thoughtful of you."
"Just a small way of showing you that I appreciate your help, and the quick work."
"That's my job. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance during your stay."
"As a matter of fact, there is something you could help me with."
"Of course." Automatically she picked up a pen and prepared to write. "I'd like you to have dinner with me."
"Excuse me?"
"I'd like to take you to dinner. Eating alone is unappetizing."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Livingston, it's against hotel policy for the staff to socialize with the guests. It's kind of you to ask."
"Kindness has nothing to do with it. Can I ask if you'd consider it if hotel policy could be...bent?"
There was no chance of that, Amanda thought. Not with Stenerson. "I'd be happy to consider it," she said tactfully. "Unfortunately, as long as you're a guest at the Bay Watch - -"
"Yes, yes. I'll get back to you shortly."
Amanda blinked at the dead receiver, shrugged, then replaced it to get back to work. Ten minutes later, Stenerson was opening her door.
"Miss Calhoun, Mr. Livingston would like to have dinner with you." His mouth primed up even more than usual. "You're free to go. Naturally, I'll expect you to conduct yourself in a manner that will reflect properly on the hotel."
"But - "
"Don't make a habit of it."
"I - " But he was already shutting the door. Amanda