Seduced by Metsy Hingle Page A

the sight of two society matrons preening before one of the local newscasters.
    â€œAmanda? Amanda Bennett, is that you?”
    Amanda turned her head and spotted the elegant gray-haired woman approaching. She came to her feet. “Mrs. Winthrop, it’s so good to see you again.”
    The woman pulled a pained expression. “I thought I asked you to call me Martha. Mrs. Winthrop sounds so old.” Smiling, she took Amanda’s hand into hers and squeezed it. “Besides, your mother and I were practically like sisters in college and I simply won’t hear of Elinore’s little girl calling me Mrs. Winthrop. Understood?”
    â€œUnderstood.”
    â€œNow tell me, how are you, dear? It’s been months since I’ve seen you.”
    â€œI’m fine, thanks.”
    Releasing her hand, Martha took a step back and surveyed Amanda. “Well, I must say you certainly look wonderful. New Orleans must agree with you.”
    â€œIt does,” Amanda admitted, smiling. She couldn’t help but wonder how much credit Michael Grayson deserved for her present happiness. “I love the city, the people. I feel like...like I belong here.”
    Martha laughed. “I’m not sure your mother would be pleased to hear you say that. The last time I spoke with her, she and your father were missing you a great deal.”
    â€œI miss them, too,” Amanda said, feeling a slight twinge of guilt. Her parents hadn’t been at all happy about her divorce and had liked the idea of her moving so far away even less. But Boston held too many reminders, too many remnants of dreams that had shattered. “I’m hoping they’ll come visit me during the Christmas holidays.”
    Martha raised one perfectly arched brow. “Sounds like you really are here to stay.”
    â€œI am,” Amanda said, and realized it was true. New Orleans had been a temporary sanctuary for her after her divorce, but somewhere along the way it had become home.
    â€œWell, then, we’ll both have to twist your mother’s arm a bit and get her to come down for a visit. I haven’t seen her in years. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
    â€œI’m sure Mother would love it.”
    â€œHere’s your wine, Aunt Martha.” Amanda looked over at the tall man with dark blond hair who came to stand beside Martha. In his mid-thirties, Amanda guessed, noting the strong resemblance between them. His white dinner jacket set off his deep golden tan beautifully. Years of habit, born from studying and assessing potential campaign donors in Boston’s political circle, had Amanda guessing at the designer and the price.
    â€œThank you, dear.” Martha took the glass of white wine from him. “Bradley, I don’t believe you’ve met Amanda Bennett. She’s the daughter of my friend Elinore, the school friend from Boston that I told you about.” She turned toward Amanda. “Amanda, my nephew, Bradley Winthrop.”
    Bradley took her hand in his. He smiled at her; his eyes, a striking shade of green, crinkled at the corners. “Hello,” he said warmly.
    â€œHow do you do?”
    â€œNow that I’ve met you, much much better,” he said.
    He was handsome, Amanda admitted, and obviously a charmer. She withdrew her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Winthrop.”
    â€œBradley,” he corrected with another smile. “May I call you Amanda?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œWill you be visiting New Orleans long? I’d love to show you around the city.”
    â€œActually, I’m not a visitor. I live here.”
    â€œAmanda moved here last fall,” Martha informed him. “Don’t you remember my mentioning it to you?”
    â€œYou mean this gorgeous creature has been living in the same city with me and I’m just now meeting her?”
    Amanda couldn’t help but laugh at the crushed expression on his face. Yes, Bradley