Amber's Embrace (9 page)

“I did manage to keep up with you, didn’t I?”

“That you did, lady,” he said, grinning back admiringly.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it back, though. My legs are killing me!” She blushed, shaking her head. “And I thought I was getting back into shape…”

“Turn over.”

“What?”

“Turn over.” Without further ado, he flipped her over onto her stomach on the grass. “This is my specialty!” he reminded her, as his hands began an expert massage of those muscles of her legs that cried out so furiously. His long fingers kneaded every tendon, willing new life back to replace exhaustion.

Amber found herself overcome by a delightful sense of comfort, totally surrendering her limbs to his knowing hands, which moved from ankle to thigh in masterful caresses. When they jumped to commence work on the muscles of her back, she sighed her pleasure. Resistance was out of the question. She was at his mercy, a soft and pliant piece of clay in the hands of the master sculptor. His fingers molded her body, guiding it with such expertise that she prayed he would never stop. Eyes closed, she gloried in the delight he offered, oblivious to a very subtle change until his thumbs traced her spine, allowing his fingertips to skim her sides, from waist to breast and back. Her gasp was of a very different type this time. Her eyes flew open, her mind acutely aware of the nature of the feelings that his hands had aroused. When those same hands clasped her rib cage and gently turned her over, she was imprisoned in a blueness that seared its laser path into her soul. He was so close, so tender, so very, very appealing …

She was the woman, renewed reborn. As he had revived her muscles, so he reawakened her femininity. With awesome speed, the thrust of long-dormant yearnings filled her body, setting it apart from the very reserved woman she’d been for the past four years. This new Amber craved the feel of his lips against hers, and likewise his body. Even as that other Amber tried to resist, the battle was lost.

Her heart pounded in her throat when his hand slowly encircled it, caressing lightly, his thumb tracing the gentle curve of her soft-parted lips. A quiver of excitement coursed through her veins as she waited, waited for him to lower his mouth slowly and nibble lazily at corners of hers. It was a sure route to madness that he led her on, tantalizing her with feather-light touches until she could stand no more. For all the imaginings that he had inspired, the moment was at hand. Overwhelmed by the strength of her own need, she threaded her fingers through the damp hair by his ears, pulling his head down until the kiss was complete. At her signal, he deepened it, parting her lips further with his own, gently caressing them, coaxing the response which had been so long denied yet waited, just below the surface, for expression.

Amber was drawn instantly into the vortex of his passion, returning his kiss with every bit of the feeling he generated in her. His tongue forayed into the depths of her mouth, startling her with its aggression, until her own first sampled, then tasted his in turn, to her utter rapture. When he drew back to look down at her once more, his eyes mirrored her mounting passion.

Amber was drugged into euphoria by the maleness of him. Helplessly, she returned his gaze expectantly, invitingly. Her hands fell to his shoulders, where they lay in appreciation of the firm-corded muscles beneath the molded fabric of his jersey. If she had once possessed restraint, it was now a far memory. For Zachary brought out the woman in her—blind in passion, naked in desire. For the short moment, she indulged herself. It had been so long since she had recognized the physical cravings of her body, that her trembling thrill was akin to that of a virgin, being awakened for the first time.

Zachary’s hands were balanced on the grass on either side of her shoulders, his body slanted over hers in gentle possession. Awareness of the world about dissipated beneath the soul-touch of his gaze. What she felt, at that moment, was too lovely either to analyze or to disturb.

“It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” he asked, his finger running the curve of her cheek, then coming to rest at the pulse point of her neck. With the acceleration of her heartbeat, he had his answer. Her brilliant green gaze held his as she nodded shyly. The facts were there, but he couldn’t understand them. “Why, Amber? You’re a beautiful woman. Why have you held that passion of yours under such a tight lock and key?” His hand slid to her shoulder, then traced a provocative path between her breasts, tormenting yet elusive, before stilling in claim of her midriff.

Threatened by the intensity of his questioning, she lightly scoffed it off. “Would you have me sleeping around, Dr. Wilder?”

The tightening of his jaw indicated his opinion of her humor. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. There’s promiscuity, and then there’s … passion. One is cheap, the other very beautiful.”

“With a very fine line between the two,” she interjected, growing more serious in response. Were the two, indeed, separable? What she felt now, lying on the ground, partly beneath Zachary’s heady maleness, was vivid passion. Yet she barely knew him, if the truth be told. That the physical attraction between them was powerful, breathtaking—she did not doubt. But could she give herself totally to him—and call it passion? Or, given the privacy of a bedroom and the irresponsibility of her summer’s life-style, would that passion be synonymous with promiscuity? She had loved Ron—then had slept with him. Could the physical fulfillment come first? The question, asked in the far recesses of her mind, brought a flicker of doubt to her otherwise soft expression. Suddenly unsure of herself, she squirreled from beneath him, stood up, and retrieved her helmet, her back to him all the while.

The whisper of the wind in the willow overhead blended with the whisper in her ear moments later. “I won’t give up that easily, Amber.” Strong brown arms circled her waist from behind, drawing her back to fit snugly against his body. “We have so much in common, so much to offer each other. You may fight it, but you’d be doomed to failure. Why not face it now? Haven’t you ever felt that something was inevitable?”

Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of his sinewy thighs against hers. Yet reason lurked in the breeze. “Yes,” she murmured softly, “I’ve felt that.” It took little effort to shift around in his arms to face him, much more to look into his eyes. “I felt it that day at the airport, that day I saw you at the Wellesley campus, and again that day in your office. But,” her voice was harsher, rent now with pain, “I also felt it the day Ron and I decided to get married. And look at the heartache
that’s
caused.”

For long moments, he said nothing. Their eyes locked in silent conversation, each reliving the agony of his own past, as though to exorcise it from the present. But it wasn’t as easily done, for the past was with each of them in the form of the child conceived in that past, a child who meant the world to that respective parent. Pulled in many directions at once, Amber’s gaze blurred. As tears trickled down her cheeks, he pulled her to him, cradling her head against his broad chest, rubbing her neck and back soothingly. Once again, his nearness lulled her to forgetfulness. Her nostrils breathed in his scent, her hands reveled in the strength of the rippling muscles of his back, to which she clung. When she finally lifted her face, he kissed the path of her tears with the understanding she had counted on. His ministrations culminated at her lips in a kiss that was gentle and sweet, firm yet patient, and full of promise. Snapping her helmet by her ear once more, he touched her lips a final time, adjusted his own headgear, and mounted his bicycle. She followed suit.

“Ach…” she moaned spontaneously, flipping from grimace to laugh in an instant, appalled at the soreness of her backside when she so nonchalantly resumed the saddle. “I think … you … missed a spot!” She giggled softly. Her blush of embarrassment gave her all the more a look of vulnerability, arousing within him a fierce protectiveness.

His voice was husky, his smile teased her gallantly. “I’ll have a look at it when we get back—they’re apt to arrest us here.” His deep blue eyes scanned the embankment, noting the few other people dotting its expanse. When he turned back to her, his amusement was open. “Think you can make it, old lady?”

With a defiant chuckle, she eagerly nibbled his bait. “If you can, so can I!” After all, he was, according to the résumé she had devoured ravenously at the office, a full ten years older than she. Moments later, she was to have grave doubts as to the wisdom of her eagerness. Bolstered by pride, however, the soreness soon passed into numbness, enabling her to follow on the tail of the white-backed biker before her, feeling much like the greyhound following the rabbit at the racetrack. The invigoration of the ride had cleared out the cobwebs in her mind, enough to relegate her stiffness to the ranks of the unimportant. The good doctor thought differently, and though he made no move to reinforce his skill as a masseur, he delivered his order without hesitancy.

“Why don’t you go in and take a long soak. I’ll pick you up in an hour. Sound all right?” The intimacy of his gaze thrilled her, stiffness and all.

“An hour? Where are we going?” Was this the date she had put off for so long? she asked herself. No, she reasoned good-naturedly, the bike ride had been the date; this was merely a bonus. And, having gotten that “first date” out of the way, she continued in silent but light-headed humor, she would relax and enjoy herself.

Holding the door for him to follow her into the house, she headed for the pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator, pouring two tall ice-filled glasses of the light brown liquid. He accepted his gratefully, draining it with a haste that would make any internist cringe, then answered her. “There’s a good French film playing at the Nickelodeon. We could catch the early show, then drive over to Harvard Square for dinner. There’s always something going on on a Saturday night.”

Amber nodded her delight. “
Oui, monsieur! Comme je sais bien!
”

“Ohhhh, no.” His eyes narrowed in mock anger. “Are you one of those who don’t have to watch the subtitles? If so, forget it—I refuse to see a foreign film with a linguist! I tried that once; she spent the entire flick telling me everything
else
that was being said, that the subtitles left out.”

An enchanted ripple of laughter erupted through her smile. “Heavens, no! You’ve just heard my full vocabulary. I’ve forgotten everything else! But, actually,” she teased, growing more excited as she spoke, “you don’t have to read the subtitles in those French works to get the gist of the film. It’s all in the tone.” Hers had lowered to mime the seductive quality to which she referred, drawing out the last words deliciously.

Zachary’s appreciative grin flashed reward enough for her attempt at drama. With a devilish wink of the eye, he was off, leaving her alone to ponder, despite her clamoring muscles, her growing state of relaxation. There was a naturalness about him—about them, together—which she could not deny, a rightness that was pure instinct. Perhaps it was simply wishful thinking—but she fully intended to indulge in the fantasy, for the evening, at least!

An hour later, he entered her living room through the front door she always left unlocked. It was a questionable habit, though one that was particularly practical with a child going in and out all day. His frown suggested that he thought she might be more careful, now that she was alone.

“Amber?… Amber?” he called, walking to the bottom of the stairway.

Her voice came muted from a distant bedroom. “I’ll be right down, Zachary. Would you believe … I fell asleep in the tub, You wore me out!” Having finished applying a light coat of makeup, she pulled the thick blond mane off her neck and twisted it for pinning.

“Leave it down. It looks pretty that way.” The mirror’s reflection showed Zachary standing directly behind her. Stunned by his sudden appearance in her bedroom, she looked down quickly.

“You should have waited downstairs. What if I wasn’t dressed?”

“So much the better.” His head dipped to give his lips access to the back of her still-exposed neck, then he took a step back, allowing her to let her hair fall. Disturbed viscerally by his presence, her hand shook as she brushed the long blond tresses into a semblance of order, then stood for his inspection. She got more than she expected, his eyes lingering hungrily on the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, both outlined softly by the lightweight sundress she wore.

“Perfect!” he complimented her, his lips twitching up at her momentary shyness, then thinning as quickly. “I should have stayed here, though. Do you have any idea what could happen if you fall asleep in the bath?”

Amber smiled meekly. “The water was shallow.”

“If the water was shallow, how could it have helped those sore muscles? And besides”—his sternness melted as quickly as it had materialized—“I might have been able to scrub your back.”

Trying her best to downplay the blatant sensuality of his words, she turned to fetch a small white shoulder bag to blend with the dress. “I really do feel much better now,” she murmured quietly, vibrantly aware of his tall form close behind.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, he disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a more satisfied gleam in his eye. “Have you got your key?” She stared in puzzlement, as he proceeded to turn the lock of the front door also, making his point clear. Amber was not about to argue.

“It’s right over there,” she gestured to the hall table. “Would you like to hold it for me, to make sure I don’t lose it?” Her sweetness was edged by the quiver of lips which threatened to erupt into laughter.

Deep blue eyes pierced her instantly. “Don’t get smart with me, Amber.” His warning was in all seriousness, its force as unfathomable to her as its cause.

“I was only kidding,” she whispered lightly, relieved to see the gradual softening of his face. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

The air-cooled interior of the silver BMW was a welcome respite from the summer’s heat. As they sped toward Boston, Amber dared to study the man in the driver’s seat. Wearing crisp white ducks and a navy shirt, rolled to the elbow and unbuttoned to a rakish point below the throat, his appearance stirred her senses with maddening force. He was cleanly shaven, his hair neatly combed. The forearms that extended to the steering wheel were tanned and finely matted with the same vibrant dark hair that lined the open vee of his shirt. The intimate confines of the car seemed under his total command, as was the rest of the world he touched. By the time they reached the theater, she welcomed the relief of a larger, more open, less suggestive space.