Page 20 of Finding Amanda

"Tell you what," Alan said. "You're obviously uncomfortable. Why don't you email it to me?"

"You really want to know my secrets?"

"After meeting your, um"—he lifted his eyebrows—"friend this afternoon, I have to admit, I'm intrigued. I assume he's in the book?"

"Oh, yeah." Had a starring role, in fact. "I can send you a proposal and the first fifty pages, or the first three chapters or?—"

"Amanda."

She stared at the pepper shaker. "Yes?"

He pulled her hand into his. "I want you to send me the whole manuscript. Yes, send your proposal, too, of course, and I'll consider it. But . . ." He grimaced and let his voice trail off.

"But what?"

He dropped her hand. "Never mind."

They finished their meal. The conversation slipped into a comfortable rhythm as they discussed their favorite authors. Alan insisted on paying the check, though he let Amanda pay for the sandwich she'd ordered to take back to her roommate. He carried the take-out sack and held the door open for her.

The rain had stopped, and they walked slowly to the hotel, skirting the foot traffic and puddles on the sidewalk. The Manhattan air, usually so full of exhaust, smelled fresh and clean. It was warmer than it had been earlier, so Amanda slid off her coat and draped it over her arm, letting the warmth of the evening seep through her clothes and into her skin. Cars splashed by on the road beside them, the sound mingling with snippets of conversations from other pedestrians and the occasional music that came from the shops they passed. People filled the sidewalks, anxious to enjoy a few dry moments before the next round of showers.

They stopped at the corner and waited for the light to turn. Amanda peeked into the window of a gourmet grocery store and studied the labels.

When the light turned, Alan gently pressed his hand on the small of her back. "Shall we?"

She shivered with his touch and pushed down a fresh twinge of guilt. "Sure."

Back in the hotel, they stepped onto the elevator, and Alanpressed the button for her floor. “Are you going to send me your proposal?"

"I guess so."

"And the manuscript?"

"I'll send the first three chapters, and if you like them, I'll send the rest."

"Okay." The elevator stopped at her floor, and he stepped out behind her.

"You don't have to walk me to my room."

"Your friend might be lurking around somewhere, so I think I'd better."

For a moment, she'd forgotten about Gabriel. Now, the memory of their reunion assaulted her. She squared her shoulders and led the way down the long hallway. When she reached her door, she stopped to face Alan. "Thanks for dinner. That was much more fun than room service."

"Anytime." He handed her the take-out sack and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

His touch tingled.

Alan half-smiled. "I shouldn't say this. I know you're married, and I don't want you to think I'm being too forward. But honestly, I can't wait to read your memoir, and not because it's something I could acquire for Martindale. I want to read it because I'm curious." He shook his head. "No, that's not completely true. I'm interested . . . in you."

Heat hit her face like she'd just opened an oven door. She lowered her gaze.

"I shouldn't have said that," Alan said. "I'm sorry. Obviously, you're not ready."

Her head snapped back up. "No. You surprised me, that's all."

"So is this separation temporary, or . . . ?"

Amanda chewed the inside of her lip. Was her separationtemporary? When she'd first asked Mark to move out, it wasn't supposed to be permanent. But now, she couldn't imagine asking him to move back in, living with the tension, the judgment. Mark'sI-love-youswere too late. Where had those words been when she'd so craved his acceptance? Where had they been when she'd bared her soul to him, only to have him stomp out the door, slamming it behind him? No, nothing he could say now would convince her of his love.

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