A Perilous Eden (11 page)

They were close. They weren't touching, but they were close. She felt the curious ice and fire of his eyes upon her as if he was touching her.

He smiled slowly. Ruefully. “That's good,” he said softly. “Because I
do
want to go to bed with
you
, and it would be a mistake. A horrible mistake.”

He walked past her and into the dining room. Amber stood still for several seconds, shocked by his admission.

Then she wanted to scream. She was tired of him delivering his curt, crude and commanding statements—then walking on and leaving her standing.

She swung around again, determined to maintain her composure. She entered the dining room, and a maître d' was quickly at her side. She asked for Senator Daldrin's table and was quickly escorted to it.

The table was full, except for her place, which was beside Adams. The men all stood for her arrival. Adams pulled out her chair politely while the others greeted her.

She thanked him equally politely and sat. She felt the whisper of his breath against her cheek as he pushed in her chair.

“Amber, it's good to see you,” Ian Daldrin said as he buttered a roll. She looked across the table at him. The senator was smiling, but she felt that his words were a lie. He wasn't glad to see her, not at all. What was going on here?

“Thank you, Senator.”

“Does your father know you're here?”

She gritted her teeth in silence and swallowed hard before answering. “I'm not sure if he does or doesn't. It depends on whether or not he got my letter.” There was wine on the table. Michael Adams was filling her glass.

“I see,” the senator said. What did he see?

“We didn't intend to come at all!” Josie was explaining. She smiled adoringly at Jim. “We were all set to spend two full weeks on land when Jim appeared, and the offer seemed just too good to be true.”

“Great, Jim, really great,” Daldrin mumbled.

“I didn't think I could get away at first,” Jim said.

“Well, we're all here now,” Ian Daldrin said, picking up his menu. “Oh, Amber, you have met this young man beside you, I take it?”

“We met in Washington, at a party,” Amber said.

“Did you? Well, good. Let's take a look at this menu, shall we? Swordfish, grouper, dolphin, lobster tails, lamb chops, steaks. We've got quite a choice here, eh?”

It wasn't long before the dinner conversation turned to politics and quickly became lively. Then it started becoming heated and too lively.

Finally Ian Daldrin cleared his throat and tossed his napkin on the table. “Well, enough of this!” he announced cheerfully to all of them. “I'm on vacation.” He came around to Amber, pulled out her chair. “Would you care to dance with an old friend? I can't take the disco. Too old for that, I'm afraid. But I hear they have a nice dance band in the Neptune Lounge.”

He might not want her aboard for his own strange reasons, and he was one of her father's oldest friends, but since she was there he was going to treat her politely. She smiled up at him. “Certainly.”

He escorted her along several hallways, down a flight of stairs and into the lounge. There was a good dance band there, and in the senator's arms she whirled around to a number of songs. He mentioned that their first port of call would be a private island in the Bahamas, that only the
Alexandria
had privileges there, and that motor launches would take them to the barren beaches, if they so desired.

“Sounds like heaven,” Amber assured him.

“You want to be alone?”

“With endless stretches of white beach and warm water? Yes!”

“Well, don't go off alone. Anywhere.”

“Why?”

“Because it might not be safe. Really, Amber. Don't go off alone.”

Alone? Amber thought. All she wanted was to avoid Michael Adams. She would wake up bright and early, don her suit and gather her gear, then take off in the first launch. If Myra or Josie wanted to come along, fine, but she wasn't going to have her vacation ruined by that irritating man.

“I'll be careful,” she promised.

He led her off the floor. The others were grouped around two tables. Michael Adams was smoking a cigarette, talking politely with Josie, but Amber felt that he had been watching her and the senator too closely.

“Michael, I'm winded,” Ian said. “Take over for an old man, will you?”

Amber wanted to crawl beneath the table. She felt the color flood her cheeks. “Actually, I think I'll call it a day, Senator—”

“I'd be delighted, Miss Larkspur.”

He was up, and seconds later they were on the floor. His hands were on her, and she was wondering how he could make such an incredibly intimate thing out of dancing. He had taken her quickly into his arms at the senator's suggestion, but now that they were out on the floor, he seemed angry again. Her fingers brushed his lapel, and after several long seconds of silence she looked into his eyes.

“Damn you,” he told her, a ragged edge to his voice, the words deep and fierce. “Damn you!”

She moistened her lips, frightened by his tone. “I don't know what you're so mad at.”

“You know exactly what I'm mad at.”

“Don't dance with me, then. Don't touch me. Don't come near me.”

“We're with the same party. You're hard to avoid.”

“So are you.”

“I told you to take care.”

“Yes, yes, you've given me fair warning. And I'm just fine. I have no intention of throwing myself at your feet.”

“Don't you?”

The question was harsh. And then he was leading her off the floor, but he wasn't taking her to the table, he was leading her out of the lounge and onto the deck, where the darkness descended upon them despite the ship's lights, where the wind whipped at them and they were alone. Where she found herself pressed against the ship's railing, his arms around her. He was kissing her again, kissing her as savagely as he had that first time. She wanted desperately to deny him, but she couldn't. She met the passion of his kiss, her arms tightening around him, her fingers feeling the ripple of hard muscle beneath his jacket and clothing. Then she touched his face, his hair. And his hand moved over her, cupping her breast, sliding along her midriff to her hip, his fingers teasing the stockinged flesh of her thighs as they slipped with no question or apology beneath her hem. They could make love right there, she thought wildly. It could be his intention to press her ever closer to the rail and thrust up her skirt and end the friction then and there, and in mounting horror she wondered if she hated him for it or desired him all the more.

It didn't matter. A small sound escaped her lips, and he pulled away from her, dropping her hem, staring at her wide, dilated eyes.

“For the love of God, stay away from me,” he warned her, and she knew he was going to turn and walk away again.

“No!” She practically shrieked the word. He paused, startled, and Amber rushed past him, turning only once to say, “For the love of God,
you
stay away from
me
!”

She ran inside. The brilliance of the light nearly blinded her at first, but she hurried to the stairs, found her deck and raced for her stateroom. Once inside, she slammed the door, leaned against it and breathed deeply.

It was going to be a wretched, wretched night.

Myra had no interest in waking up early to seek out a quiet and deserted beach. Amber didn't mind going alone—it was a good opportunity to reflect on what she was going to do with her life.

She dressed silently in an ebony French-cut two-piece with a high waist and string ties. Over it she wore a huge T-shirt. In sneakers and a straw hat and sunglasses, with a bag holding lotion, a bottle of mineral water and towels, she was ready. She was one of the first on deck at seven-thirty. The launches wouldn't be ready for another few minutes, but coffee was being served at the buffet, and she took a cup with her to the rail and looked toward the island. It was beautiful, all overgrown, with no buildings, no cement, nothing except for the foliage and nearly snow-white sand that seemed to stretch forever.

“Morning, Amber.”

She spun around. Senator Daldrin was already up. In swim trunks, he seemed in very good shape for a man of his age. Not an ounce of extra flesh fell over his waistband.

“Good morning, Senator.”

“You weren't planning on going off alone, now, were you?”

“I'm just heading out to the island.” The deck wasn't empty any longer. A few other members of his party were milling around. And if the senator was up, Amber was sure that her nemesis was around, too.

He was. She saw him sitting at a table. He was wearing swim trunks and an open shirt, his eyes hidden beneath the dark lenses of his glasses. He lifted his hand, acknowledging her.

Damn.

She looked at Daldrin. “Senator, I'm almost thirty.”

“Are you? Doesn't seem like so many years could have passed. I've known you since you were a little thing, you know.”

“But I'm not little anymore. I swim like a fish, and I would really like some privacy today. Please understand.”

“Oh, I understand.” He smiled and walked away from her. A moment later he paused by the table where Michael Adams was nursing his coffee. The senator said something, and the other man nodded.

Irritated, Amber turned away. Within moments the launches were ready. It would have been churlish to avoid Senator Daldrin to such an extent that she refused to ride in his launch, so she willingly went along with the party, sitting on the seat right in front of him.

The motor hummed to life, and a young Hispanic crewman steered the small craft toward the island, shouting above the roar of the motor. “Last boat goes back at eight this evening,
sí
, people? You be careful, you have fun, but you be careful, and make it back to the ship, eh? We'll have beer and soda and rumrunners here on the beach, and you're not going to be driving, so you can have a good time. Just don't get lost!”

Someone chuckled, and there was a rush of conversation. Amber was startled when she realized that she was sitting behind Michael Adams, and that another man was whispering to him.

“It's not tonight, I tell you. When the time is right, I will know.”

“You're certain.”

“I am certain.”

Amber leaned forward, anxious to hear more of the conversation, but they had both fallen silent.

The launch made its way through the shallow waters, spray rising up around them, to the shore. The crewmen jumped out, dragging the launch up on the sand. Amber was quick to leap out unassisted, but before she had taken two steps, Senator Daldrin was beside her.

“Amber, come on, spend some time with us.”

She opened her mouth to explain that she just wanted to be alone for a while when she received unexpected assistance from Michael Adams. “Senator, nothing could possibly go wrong today. I'm sure Miss Larkspur will be all right.”

Ian Daldrin threw up his hands. “Bless you then, and have a great day.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried off. Others were already scurrying along the sand, trying to find their own little nook or cranny of privacy along the stretch of beach. If she didn't hurry, she wouldn't find a place.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still walking. Others had already chosen their little plots of paradise, and she had to keep going and going to find her own patch of pristine beach. It didn't matter; she felt a curious rush of energy that morning, despite the lack of sleep she'd experienced lately. She didn't mind walking at all. What she really wanted to do was run and run and run, until the tension was gone, and the energy, too, and all the ragged confusion of emotion.

In another ten minutes she paused. She was far beyond the other bathers from the ship, but the walk had been well worth it. She had come upon a cove with high dunes and rock formations on either side, with scattered foliage and pines eking out a desperate existence to give the exquisite little beach in between just the right amount of sun and shade. Nothing marred the sand, not a soda bottle nor a gum wrapper; there wasn't a single sign of human habitation. There was just the beach, the sun, the sky and the water, turquoise as she had never seen turquoise before.

Right away she dropped her beach bag and took off her hat, sneakers, T-shirt and glasses, then raced for the water. It was beautiful, even exquisite! The day was hot, but the water was still cool from the night, and it seemed to awaken and refresh and cleanse her. She dove deep, then surfaced and struck out hard with a crawl before turning toward shore with the backstroke. She swam as she had walked, with determination and explosive energy, and then at last she went to the shallows and rose and started walking toward the beach again.

She stopped, staring toward the sand. She wasn't alone in her Eden anymore, that much was for sure. Michael Adams had found her. He was shirtless and barefoot now, and it was the first time she had seen his shoulders and chest. He looked just as she had imagined he would. He was in better shape than a man who simply went to a gym. His belly was taut and trim and rippled with muscle. He was lean all over, but still taut muscles bulged in his arms, his shoulders, his tawny-dusted, coppery chest. There were scars on him, too, several that she could see. A long one across his right shoulder. Another along his side.

She stared at him for a moment, then started walking again, angrily. She realized that he was soaking wet when she strode past him, but this was a beach and he was supposed to be wet, so she didn't think anything of it. She reach down for her bag, pulled out her towel, then turned in fury. “‘Stay away from me, Miss Larkspur!'” she mimicked. “I'm trying very hard to do just that! What the hell are you doing on my beach!”

“It isn't exactly your beach.”

“I walked long and hard to find it, and I think I made it clear that I wanted to be alone.”