Amber's Embrace (17 page)

“Dear Scottie,” she wrote, conjuring up the image of her son as he would read this letter. She missed him … and now she missed another. Why did love bear such pain?

When the doorbell rang, it was a welcome diversion from the rehashing of this last thought. Barefooted, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, with her blond tresses barretted behind each ear to form two plaits of hair, she opened the door.

“Is your mother in, little girl?” His voice was velvet-smooth and melodious, filled with a humor that by rights should not have been there, considering he was supposed to have just been stood up. The gleam in his eye told of his following of her thoughts, yet it made no detour in its run of her body, taking in her outfit with an insolence that sparked Amber to life.

“Sorry,” she barked curtly, “she’s out.” The door slammed shut again with a resonance that disturbed even Amber, who knew it was coming. Infuriated that he should show up here, in such good spirits no less, she stormed to the television, turned up the volume to drown out the knocking or ringing that she knew would follow, and crumpled back down in her chair, strangely drained. How could she survive if the mere sight of this man took so much out of her? He was so beautiful in such a very masculine way. Even with her quick glance just now, she had seen how spectacular he looked, wearing khaki-colored slacks, a raisin-hued shirt with a contrasting beige collar and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his vision fresh, clean, and manly …

Defeatedly, her head dropped onto her arms. What was she to do? How could she handle this type of persistence, this devastating charm? When she would have spit at him, he smiled, melting her resolve instantly. When she had wanted to see him, she didn’t. Now, when she didn’t, he insisted on showing up at her door. How had this summer become so very complicated?

The hand on her neck startled her. “Hey, relax! You’re tense all over.”

Green eyes uplifted to meet his blue ones. “How did you get in?”

His eyes flickered with a blend of amusement and accusation. “You left the back door unlocked.”

So she had, she rued. But was she sorry? Really? The warmth of his hand had remained on the taut muscles of her neck, and she had to admit that his touch felt good, despite all the anger she felt toward him. How could one man have this kind of power over a woman? When the hand began to massage gently the muscles of her shoulders, she tried to pull away, but could not. “Just sit here and relax for a minute. Then you can go up and dress the part of the mature woman for an evening on the town.”

The blond head which had fallen back onto her arms bobbed up once more. “But I’m not going anywhere—”

“Shhh, just relax.”

The strength of his hands was potent medicine, soothing over all of the familiar lines and curves, conveying its order to relax and enjoy. Her back molded to his touch, its softness seeping beneath the skin and into her bloodstream, finding its way surely and inevitably to her brain, there producing a state of benumbed pleasure. He was like a drug, giving her a feeling of euphoria time and again. The expertise of his fingers kneaded her arms and shoulders and back to a state of delight, while she sat leaning over the arm of the chair with her head resting on her forearms.

He knew precisely what he was doing, touching her just to the point of distraction, then retreating. When she would have rolled over, he held her firm, his hands withdrawing in silent threat that she would only get as much as he chose to offer. And his renewed touch drove all possibility of anger at his domination from her mind. His hands were gentle, soothing, and understanding …

“So you really were going to stand me up?” he growled in her ear, his breath fanning her cheek.

“Yes.” Her whisper was more from the dazed state he’d put her in than from any fear of his retaliation.

The pressure on her back increased. “And are you still?”

“Yes.” Still a whisper, yet, to her ear, more of a whimper, filled with regret, but utterly necessary.

Abruptly, the soothing circular motion on her shoulders halted. “Why, Amber?” His palms felt her shrug an instant before he removed his hands completely and stepped back to the sofa, which would be out of her line of vision unless she chose to look at him. “Why?” he repeated, more harshly this time, demanding an answer.

The seconds ticked away on the watch by Amber’s ear as she maintained her silence, slowly coming down from the state of relaxation to which he had brought her moments before. When the blond head finally shifted and her lime-eyed gaze slanted toward him, his rigid pose warned her that he would get his answer. “I’m sorry,” she began with soft sarcasm, “but I don’t make command performances.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about—‘command performances’?”

“Your note—you never once
asked
if I’d like to join you tonight.”

Shifting impatiently in his chair, Zachary eyed her darkly. “Oh, come off it, Amber. Haven’t we gotten beyond the formal invitation bit?” They certainly had in the physical sense, she knew, but there were other factors to be considered here. Fully recovered now from her temporary sensual flight, Amber sat up to face him.

“Perhaps you take too much for granted,” she accused him, clutching her knees with either hand. When he said nothing, but continued to stare at her incredulously, she averted her own eyes awkwardly. The silence threatened to deafen her with its ponderous weight, yet she refused to break it. He would have to defend himself.

“Okay, let’s have it,” he spoke out, his voice steady, held in taut control. “What is it that’s
really
bothering you? I know you well enough by now to know that you don’t stand on ceremony. In fact, it’s been just the opposite. Some of the best times we’ve had together have been totally spontaneous. Do you disagree?”

She could not, and shook her head reluctantly.

“Then, what’s bugging you?” His head swiveled around toward the television, and he angrily reached over to slam the OFF button. “It doesn’t look to me like you had anything better to do tonight. Why the put-down?”

There was so much she wanted to say, so much she would have blurted out had she not reminded herself of her own vulnerability. Instead, she faced him squarely, willing her voice to impassivity. “Why did you ask me to that meeting the other night?”

If surprised at her line of questioning, he revealed nothing. Leaning back in his chair as though prepared for a long, perchance boring interchange, his outward calm matched hers. They were two civilized adults, facing each other quietly, soberly, each with a bomb ready to explode inside.

“I thought you’d be interested in coming.”

“Why?”

“The people were interesting, the subject matter relevant to your work.”

“Was that the only reason you invited me?” Her courage came from some mysterious source within. She did not pause to question it.

“No. I wanted you to see my home.” His gaze bore into her relentlessly, taunting her to look away. But she refused.

“I could have done that anytime. You could have simply brought me by there after a bike ride, if you had wanted,” she reasoned, not quite sure herself of exactly where she was headed.

He nodded, lifting one hand to stroke the shadowed line of his jaw. “I could have, but this seemed more sensible.”

“Sensible?” The line of her forehead creased in puzzlement. “Exactly what
did
you have in mind?”

The sudden exasperation which brought him to his feet took her by surprise, threatening her composure. “Look, Amber, what do you want me to say? I wanted you at that meeting. I wanted you in my home. I wanted to see you. Alone … more than anything. But it’s very trying that way. Alone in a house with you, like this, I have one thing on my mind.” His eyes shot toward the stairs in ample explanation of what that one thing was.

But Amber’s thoughts were on that chestnut-haired lady doctor, the one to whom she had so docilely yielded at the conclusion of that evening. “Is that why you made sure your lady friends were at that meeting … and that one stayed long afterward?” she spat out, regretting her infantile tone instantly, but unable to take it back.

Tanned fingers cocked against the leanness of his hips, he stared at her for a long moment. Gradually, a knowing smile slid across the length of his firm lips. “You were jealous!” he said triumphantly, drawing out each word for emphasis.

With a speed that had matched his moments earlier, Amber sprung up to face him. “I don’t like being made a fool of, Zachary. And I felt like a grand one, intruding on your little after-business rendezvous. She is very attractive and must be stimulating in more ways than simply the medical. But how insensitive could you have been?” Her voice had risen in pitch until it was a near shriek, its venom directed at the gender of man, in general, and Zachary, in particular. He was no different from Ron, she concluded in torment.

“
You,
Amber, are
nobody’s
fool.” He was suddenly sober, all delight in her obvious jealousy having vanished. “If your feelings were hurt, then I do apologize. Beyond that,” his gaze hardened imperceptibly, icy-blue orbs now chilling her in turn, “I owe you no explanations. As
you
once so aptly pointed out about yourself, I’m not used to answering to anyone, either. It’s been a long time…” His mockery held an undercurrent of truth that stung her to the core. And it was to worsen. “Besides which, Amber,” his teeth gritted against one another, “you have no right to act possessive—after your own behavior at David’s party.”

Suddenly, she understood. “So,
that
was it, tit for tat? Your lady doctor for my handsome photographer? He really got to you, didn’t he?” Though she knew enough not to laugh at him, there was a strange satisfaction in the knowledge of his own jealousy.

When long fingers seized her shoulders fiercely, all satisfaction vanished, to be replaced by amazement. The force of his words and their strangled tone added to her bemusement. “My ‘lady doctor’ has a name—Ginny Warner. I’m sure I introduced you to her when you first arrived at the house; if you care to make accusations about her, do it by name. And yes, that young photographer did get to me. You need someone mature, Amber, someone who has been through similar life experiences as yours.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Does he know you are a divorcée?” His piercing, close scrutiny drew forth her head shake. “Does he know you have a nine-year-old son?” Again, she shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Fellows like that usually stay away from women like you.” He hesitated, analyzing her silence, coming to a tentative conclusion. “When are you going out with him?”

“Tomorrow night.” She had almost forgotten about the date. In fact, there was little enthusiasm in its anticipation. Andrew Pasco was a poor substitute for Zachary Wilder.

The latter swore angrily, shaking her by the shoulders until her head reeled. “Damn it, Amber, when are you going to realize what is best for you? You have your life so beautifully in order except where it comes to men—and you’re making a grand mess of that!”

Breathless and infuriated, Amber acted on impulse, a slender hand shooting up and across the dark-skinned cheek above her. “How dare you!” she screamed, frustrated and angry and acutely aware of the truth of his words.

“Yes, I
do
dare,” he barked back, the livid red mark of her hand only slowly beginning to fade on his cheek, “because something tells me, deep inside, that you’re worth it. I’ll shake you and yell at you as much as I want, until I feel that you are beginning to act sensibly.” His eyes blazed with a vehemence she had never seen before, yet she could only relate it to his desire for domination.

“You are an arrogant bastard!” she seethed, being held up now solely by his grip. “What makes you think you know what I want in life? How can you decide what is sensible and what is not? It doesn’t seem to me that you’ve been any more successful with women than I’ve been with men!”

The last hurt him, denting his strength momentarily. When he came back, however, there was renewed fire in his touch. “At least,” his voice lowered to a determined drawl, “I intend to do something about that.”

“Oh?” she fumed, a spitfire to the core. “And what might that be?”

His expression had softened subtly and the set of his mouth became less pinched. “I’ve been handling you all wrong, Amber. You need a strong man, one who can force you to make decisions, rather than one who gives you all the time in the world to make them. In the end”—his hands circled the ball of her shoulders to ease what he might have bruised in his anger moments before—“the decisions will be yours. But I won’t wait forever.” The further lowering of his voice to a husky timbre elaborated on his desire. “I want you and I intend to have you. Whether it is tonight, tomorrow, or next week is irrelevant. But I’m telling you now: I have no intention of leaving you alone.”

Amber’s throat tightened, choking off words for the moment. As always in this man’s presence, she found herself floundering pathetically. His fierceness excited her as it angered her; his determination likewise. He
wanted
her—was that all, a physical need to be satisfied? And would she then be left, as she had been by Ron, when he chose to move on to more delectable pickings? Rebellion flared at the thought.

“You seem to assume that I ‘want’ you as desperately as you ‘want’ me,” she began, her voice gaining strength with each word. “Well, you’re wrong! I won’t be manhandled and pushed around, just to suit your needs. And, I never said I wanted a man to begin with, let alone a strong or a weak one. I never asked for this,” she cried, arguing to herself as much as to him. “I never wanted anything but a nice quiet summer filled with work and fresh air and relaxation. As for the last, it’s been impossible, thanks to you!” Pausing to catch her breath, she also caught the smile that toyed with his lips, further irritating her. “And just what is so funny?”

He gazed down at her with a warmth that wiped out the anger his face had held moments earlier. “You look so … great, all hot and bothered like that…”

“I’m not hot and bothered!” A hapless bid to escape his grasp was thwarted by its tightening. His hands slid to her back to draw her even closer. “Let me go, Zachary,” she warned, in a low and controlled voice.