seemed attached to it in the past. I mean, it was a gimmick to bring guests to the inn. But he seems to be obsessed with it now.” Sarah paused. “Or maybe it’s you he’s obsessed with and not the bed.” She cupped her chin in her hand and smiled at Amelia. “This really will be fun to watch.”
Amelia sighed softly. “So I suppose I don’t need to ask whose side you’re on?”
“Oh, I’m rooting for you,” Sarah said. She came out from behind the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could wrap up one of those pies of yours. And I could use a couple of pillows and some sheets for the bed. And some comfortable clothes to wear. I didn’t intend to spend more than a night here.”
“I’ll put together a little survival kit,” Sarah said. “Why don’t you go pack your things and I’ll have them ready when you come down?”
Amelia trudged up the stairs and headed to her room at the end of the hall. When she’d left Boston, she’d expected to be less than a day. She’d expected to show her letter from Abigail Farnsworth, pick up the bed and haul it back to the city. But now that simple task had turned monumentally complex and all because of Sam Blackstone.
She unlocked her room and stepped inside. Crossing to the bed, she flopped facedown across the handmade quilt.
Maybe she ought to just give up and go home. The thought of spending a few more days with Sam was beginning to frighten her. He already had such a powerful effect on her emotions—and on her body.
Never in her life had a man held that kind of power over her. Though she tried to stop thinking about him, tried to keep her body from reacting to his touch, it was no use. And when they weren’t together, Amelia had to stop herself from getting caught up in some silly fantasy. And the fantasies were only becoming more vivid as time progressed.
At first she’d imagined him kissing and touching her, and that wild, exhilarating feeling when he pulled her into his arms. But now she’d moved on to naked bodies and soft beds, whispered urges and orgasms that seemed to last forever.
Amelia rolled onto her back and pulled the pillow over her head. Her professional reputation was on the line here. She’d come to Millhaven for one thing: to get the Washington bed that she’d been promised. And suddenly that goal had become twisted up in this game with an impossibly handsome and sexy man.
Every instinct she possessed told her to give up and go home to Boston. She could make the exhibit work without the bed. Grabbing the pillow, she tossed it across the room. It hit a small tea table that sat beneath the window and something clattered to the floor.
Amelia crawled off the bed and retrieved the silver tankard that had held a small bunch of flowers and some water. The tankard looked old; clearly a rip-off of a Revere design and burnished by a believable patina. She flipped it over, searching for the maker’s mark. Her gaze came to rest on a familiar set of letters: P REVERE.
Revere silver had been reproduced many times over the years and was often marked with the original hallmark. It was impossible to tell if the tankard was a true Revere.
The weight felt right for silver and the patina looked authentic. What were the chances that the Blackstone family owned some original Revere silver?
“Pretty good,” Amelia murmured. She took a couple quick photos of the tankard and the hallmark with her phone and sent them to Lincoln Farraday, the museum’s expert in silver and porcelain. She placed the tankard back on the table and headed for the door.
When she walked downstairs, Sarah was waiting for her, a large wicker basket dangling from her arm and two down pillows resting on a nearby chair. “I put some brownies and cookies in there, too,” she said. “And a couple of menus from the restaurants in town that deliver. And a box of condoms.” She smiled apologetically. “It pays to be prepared.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Amelia said.
“Has he kissed you yet?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know my brother. There haven’t been many women in his life, but when he finds someone he likes, nothing gets in his way.”
“And you don’t know me,” Amelia said. “I’m pretty determined myself.”
“Did you see the tankard full of flowers in your room? He picked those flowers for you,” Sarah said.
“And where did he get the tankard?”
“We have whole cabinets full of old silver. I stopped trying to keep it polished years ago. We use glass vases instead.”
Amelia walked to the front door and Sarah held it open for her, the pillows clutched in her arms. “If I survive the night, I’d like to see the silver collection.”
Sarah shrugged and waved Amelia out the door.
As she hurried to her truck, a shiver skittered through her as she thought about sleeping in the same bed with Sam.
Then she remembered her words to Sarah. She didn’t have to sleep with him. She didn’t even have to let him into the building. This was a battle of wills and he had no idea how stubborn she could be.
SAM PULLED HIS truck up in front of Benny’s Antiques and Auction Gallery and shut off the engine. Several minor crises at the inn had kept him from returning until the evening. The sun had set an hour before and the lights inside revealed the bed and its lone occupant.
Amelia sat in the center of the bed, books and papers spread out around her. She’d made a comfortable spot for herself with bedside tables and lamps, most likely provided by Benny. She wore glasses with dark rims that stood out against her pale skin. Her hair was pulled back, revealing the full beauty of her profile.
Sam watched as a pair of pedestrians strolled by the window, then backtracked to peer at Amelia. After a few seconds Amelia noticed them and gave them a little wave before they moved on. He chuckled softly. She was a beautiful but very stubborn woman—a difficult combination and one that fascinated him more and more with every moment he spent with her.
He grabbed the pizza box and six-pack of beer from the passenger seat, then hopped out of the pickup. When he reached Benny’s door, he found it locked, so he walked to the window and rapped on the glass. She glanced up and their eyes locked for a long moment. A groan slipped from his throat and his pulse quickened.
Sam pointed to the door and Amelia shook her head, turning her attention back to the book. Undeterred, he rapped on the glass again, this time holding up the pizza and beer. She shook her head again. Sam had no intention of letting her win this battle.
He set the pizza and beer on the sidewalk, shrugged out of his jacket and slowly began to unbutton his shirt. He was nearly finished by the time she looked up. Amelia scrambled off the bed and hurried to the window.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, her words muffled through the glass.
“Let me in,” he said. “I brought dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, shaking her head.
“It’s cold out here,” he said, rubbing his chest.
“Put your jacket on.”
“Let me in.”
Sam saw the indecision in her gaze. Finally she mouthed a curse and headed to the front door. He grabbed his jacket and the dinner and reached the entrance just as the lock clicked open.
Sam slipped inside and followed her into the makeshift bedroom. The bed had been made with bedding he recognized from the inn. One of the Blackstone’s picnic baskets sat at the foot of the bed, along with her overnight bag. Confirming his suspicions that Sarah was a traitor, Amelia was wearing a sweater that looked like one of his sister’s thrift-shop finds.