Amber's Embrace (14 page)

“Tell me more, friend,” he coaxed the attorney through his broad smile. “Was she a spitfire then too?”

To Amber’s consternation, her old friend seemed as willing to join in the game. “Spitfire, tomboy, mischief-maker … but ever the tease.” Offered so innocently, his words were agony to her.

“David,” she burst out softly, trying to feign the indignance which indeed she felt, “you’re giving away all my secrets. That was a long time ago.” Total anger at her friend would not come; his warmly indulgent expression precluded it. But he had no way of knowing how disturbing this talk was to her—in front of Zachary Wilder.

It was the rich baritone that suddenly was all too close to her ear. “So she’s finally found her tongue again. Perhaps a little goading here and there is all it takes,” he teased, exchanging a wicked grin with his male accomplice.

Amber envisioned the game, now, with the two men throwing a ball back and forth, delighted at her inability to catch it. Competitive by nature, however, she recognized when she was outmatched. Drawing the corners of her lips down in disgust, she propped her slender fingers on her hips and adopted that very role of the spitfire. “All right, you two. If all you care to do is to tease me, I can find more interesting companionship elsewhere.” Then, pasting a most polite expression on her still-flushed face, she said, “If you’ll excuse me…” With an equally polite nod of her head, she turned and gracefully moved to the opposite side of the room, willing her legs to carry her steadily, despite their infuriating shakiness.

Finding herself at the bar, she quickly ordered a gin and tonic, inhaling deeply to calm herself as the bartender mixed her drink. Cool glass in hand, she headed for the nearest group of people, none of whom she had yet met, and, with a forwardness inspired by sheer desperation, she boldly introduced herself and joined the conversation. Outwardly, it was more easily accomplished than she had expected, for the talk of the group—which included several lawyers and their wives, or dates, or acquaintances of that same evening, she wasn’t sure which—was of the economy, particularly the state of the tax situation in Massachusetts, which involved her directly as well. Inwardly, it was another matter. For her thoughts lingered at that other side of the room, where she had left David and Zachary, wondering what they had said to one another when she had left, wondering why Zachary hadn’t followed her, wondering why he had let her go in the first place. Then, she caught herself up short, appalled by the train of her thoughts.

She had come here to meet new people, to “cure” herself of Zachary Wilder, just as she had tried to do on that abominable date with the wild-handed cardiologist not so long ago. And, to think, that the very man David had had in mind for her was Zachary—the thread of coincidence threatened to strangle her. All roads seemed to lead back to him. Was it fate? Conspiracy? Destiny? Even as she made pretense of interest in the discussion at hand, her eye darted surreptitiously, and with as much nonchalance as possible, around the room in search of the tall dark doctor. When his handsome head came into view, it was bent in discussion with a beautiful woman, a tall and slender black-haired vision. There was no denying, this time, that the knot in her stomach was formed by jealousy. Angered, she threw herself even more actively into her present company, trying desperately to immerse herself into their conversation, succeeding dismally, and hating herself for it. When the stockbroker, with whom she had been speaking earlier, appeared at her elbow, she welcomed the change.

His suggestion that they walk out onto the terrace seemed a wise one, removing her as it would from the confines of this room where Zachary’s presence haunted her. Bearing her eyes straight ahead, tossing an occasional smile to her escort as they made their way around various clusters of people toward the sliding glass doors, now open, she saw no sign of that dark head. Yet, as soon as she relaxed into a cushioned patio chair, with the stockbroker right beside her, she knew why. There, not fifteen feet from where they sat, was Zachary, charming a couple, man and woman, with some story. At least, she breathed a sigh of relief, the couple were together—that was more palatable. But as she turned to face her own companion, the same gorgeous raven-haired beauty smoothly glided over the flagstone to take her place at Zachary’s side—and Amber’s composure was threatened anew. All too often she had wondered about conspiracy; now she did again. Why, or what, was it that persisted in dangling this magnificent man before her? And why, oh why, did he disturb her so? After all, it was
she
who had refused his offer of a date for this evening. She could have been out with him, alone—her heart lurched at the thought. No, she reasoned feebly, this was the much safer way. Determinedly, she focused her attention on the stockbroker, who, by comparison, suddenly threatened to bore her to tears.

By midevening, when a light buffet was served in David’s spacious dining room, Amber had had enough of the entire party. Yet, courtesy and pride kept her smiling and pretending fascination with the various other people whom David graciously presented to her. That her host made no quiet mention of her reaction to Zachary puzzled her, though this, she knew, was neither the time nor the place for such reckoning. Zachary did not approach her, and was kept busy himself with a never-ending stream of company. She could not keep her eyes from periodically seeking him out, yet not once did she find his eyes on her. Hurt, confused, and disappointed, particularly in light of the intimacy they had shared, she struggled to steel herself. It was her specialty, wasn’t it? she asked herself.

“Ah, Amber, there you are.” It was David, approaching from behind, who drew her attention to a young man, blond-haired and tanned, dressed more casually than the others in a lightweight blazer, plaid shirt, and jeans, and very good-looking. “This is Andrew Pasco. He is a photographer, free-lance. You two should have a lot in common.”

In the instant, Amber was inspired. So there
was
a way to get into the game after all! A photographer, young, rakishly handsome, and just the one to take her mind from that more mature dark figure! “I’m very pleased to meet you, Andrew.” She smiled warmly, extending her hand to be grasped by his firm one.

“The pleasure’s mine, Amber.” The gray of his eyes echoed the greeting, encouraging her in her scheme. “You have very good taste in women, David.” He turned back to their host for a minute, before the latter excused himself and moved on, leaving Amber to her wiles, which she proceeded to exercise with daring skill. She conversed animatedly with the young man as they both munched on the gastronomical offerings, then moved back to a corner of the living room to continue talking. He was both friendly and interesting, possessing a spontaneity which had been tethered in many of the others she had met that evening. For a few minutes, she actually did manage to push thoughts of Zachary from mind, being caught up happily in her own game. Andrew was a delightful conversationalist, and they did, indeed, have much in common, discussing both photography and journalism for the better part of the next hour. If she had come to the party to meet people—and potential dating material—her purpose was accomplished in Andrew. Yet, when it appeared that he would ask her out, she hesitated instinctively—but only for a moment, for the sight, out of the corner of her eye, of Zachary staring at her over the head of his lovely companion, reminded her of her intent. When Andrew proposed an evening of theater at the Loeb, she promptly accepted, mentally chalking off that next Saturday night more as necessity than desire.

“Can I give you a lift home?” the blond-haired photographer asked softly, invitingly, when the guests began to take their leave.

Fortunately, Amber had a ready excuse. “Oh, I’ve got my own car here, Andrew. But thank you. And I will see you next Saturday?”

“You bet, pretty lady,” he confirmed the date with a wink, walking with her to find and thank David for his hospitality, then seeing her safely to her car. It was, all in all, a pleasant ending to an evening that could have been totally disastrous. Yet, once alone and covering the roads back toward Dover, the torment of rationalization swallowed her up.

You’ve done the right thing,
she told herself over and over and over again, fighting to overcome the uneasy feeling that raged as the reality of the situation became clear. But was it right—to use this very nice fellow for her own purposes? For she
was
using him, to dull the impact of Zachary Wilder on her senses. Yes, Andrew was charming and their date would, no doubt, be enjoyable, yet she felt none of the instant attraction for him that Zachary inspired. With relief, she acknowledged that her reference was not solely toward the world of passion the dark doctor had awakened. Andrew Pasco was as good-looking, in his way, yet his grasp of her hand as he led her from room to room, his touch on her back as he opened her car door for her, unleashed none of the fire that the other man had. There was, indeed, though, more to the comparison than mere physical desire. Andrew, interesting as was his career, lacked the maturity, the stability, the overall sense of commitment that Zachary mastered.

Stability? Commitment? Working double-time, Amber’s mind flew one step further and she gasped aloud, swerving to avoid a fallen branch in the road which her preoccupation had prevented her from seeing earlier. What did she want with stability, with commitment? Exactly what was it she sought? Chagrined, she realized that her comparisons of Zachary with other men had evolved to the point of thought of a husband.
A husband? Marriage?
Hadn’t she been down that road before? Yet, much as she fought the idea, Zachary embodied all of those things that she might have considered ideal in a husband, a life-mate, a lover.

As she turned into the drive and parked her car in front of the garage, the maelstrom of emotion which this man had the knack of creating in her grew to torment her once more. Angrily, she bounded from the car, slammed its door with a loud bang, and stormed into the house, dropping her things in heaps on the sofa, dashing upstairs to throw herself under a cold shower in hopes of regaining some of the good sense on which she had prided herself for the past four years. The attempt was futile; the harsh pelting of the water did nothing to harden her to the emotions she felt, nor did the warmer stream she next resorted to help to ease her tension. It seemed that only one man was capable of doing that, and he had spent the evening entranced by a very attentive woman.

Just barely toweling her body and her dripping hair, she threw on her short terry robe and headed aimlessly back downstairs, knowing that, despite the lateness of the hour, sleep would be elusive. A thunderous banging on the front door startled her before she had even reached the bottom step. The sound of the doorknob rattling back and forth terrified her. Who could be here at this hour and with such obvious impatience? Torn between running to phone the police and peering through the front window to see who the intruder might be, the decision was rendered unnecessary.

“Amber! Open up the damn door!”

His voice was instantly recognizable, even with its unfamiliar anger. Her bare foot hesitated on the bottom step for just a moment as she took a deep breath, then slowly padded to the door.

“Where in the devil were you? I’ve been banging on this door for the past ten minutes!” He seemed a giant, towering furiously over her, his blue eyes dark and accusing. Yet, as she stepped back to allow his entrance, she was neither frightened nor indignant. She had wanted, all evening, to be with him; that she knew, without a doubt.

“I was in the shower.” Her voice was a soft whisper, apologetic in a strange and unnecessary way.

The door slammed behind him. “So I can see!” he bellowed, taking in her damp appearance with one sweeping, knowing, provocative glance. While she knew she should be angry at his presumption that she answer the door at his first knock, there was nothing but a strong sense of satisfaction that surged through her body, the familiar yearnings for this man tingling into life at his very survey of her. Having no retort for him, she merely stood back and watched him stalk into the room, his eye settling on her haphazard pile of clothing before returning to her.

“Are you alone?”

His harsh words stilled those growing flames instantly. Shocked at his insinuation and deeply hurt, she stared at him, her eyes flickering their green shards in rounded pools. Her expression was answer to his question; determinedly, she held her tongue, then thought twice about doing so. Impulsively, she threw back her own barb.

“I’m surprised
you
are! You seemed to have quite an attentive and willing companion at the party.”

For the first time since he’d entered, a light of humor entered his eye, but only briefly, before it was replaced by the same fierceness that seemed now to possess him in entirety. “I don’t know how you ever managed to notice, occupied as
you
were with that young … lad.”

“He happened to have been very interesting,” she said in defense of her new friend, “and since there was no one else as fascinating to talk with…”

“Thank you for the compliment. I’ll remember it.” His glare left no doubt as to his interpretation of her words, yet her own resentment of his avoidance of her prevented her from enlightening him.

“You do that, next time you see your dark-haired friend! And what, might I ask, are you doing here now? Making sure that I have my door locked?” Her reference to his earlier instructions was not lost on him.

“You damned well better leave your door locked, Amber. If you’ve suddenly decided to date men, be prepared for what they want from you. You’re far too alluring for the average man to resist for very long.”

“But you’re not the average man, are you?” she screamed back, driven by her own burgeoning frustration. “You can resist me any time you want. I can feel perfectly safe with you, can’t I?” Immediately, she regretted her words, for he took several strides toward her, the gleam in his eye no longer from anger, but rather born of a more primal intent. What drove her on, she would never know. “I just don’t understand you, Zachary. You ignore me all evening and then barge in here, incensed at something which totally escapes me.”