Amber's Embrace (7 page)

A fluid movement took him from the desk to the window, where he stood for several absorbed moments before turning the slow blue beam of his gaze on her. “The advantages of pooled resources are many and phenomenal. For one thing, the best of facilities will be available to the largest potential population. For another, the most tested theories, the latest techniques will likewise be more widely offered. And finally, and most important, the best minds will have access to one another, forming a medical entity far superior to anything we have today.” When he paused, she steeled herself for another personal foray, the force of his expression bearing directly into her. But his intensity was, this time, of a more global type. “There is an additional benefit, which I hesitate to mention for fear of sounding terribly pompous.” If it was her encouragement he sought, she gave it freely.

“
Nothing
related to this project can possibly be considered pompous,” she chided gently. “It’s a fantastic enterprise; one can only admire it.” Her soft smile spoke with the sincerity he needed.

“There has to be a political benefit from a project such as this. Oh, I don’t mean just for our country, though we will certainly be seen as one of the leaders, particularly when the center itself will be located on American soil. But worldwide—” As he paused for breath, she marveled at the genuine excitement uplifting his features. “There are, today, too few ties uniting countries. We seem to be necessarily in a period of semi-isolationism. The International Center will be one small safeguard against total insulation and utter isolation—do I make sense?” It wasn’t just idle inquiry; the depth of his gaze, blue as the deepest of waters in the seven seas, demanded an answer.

Enraptured by his dedication to the cause and its offshoots, Amber beamed her pleasure. “You certainly do. I tend to be cynical when it comes to beautiful pictures of world peace. But you have taken a very small segment of mankind and offered it something to bind its tie. You definitely have a point.”

“Have you spoken to Scott?” The light in his eyes did not alter as he startled her again. The tumble from the idealistic high rendered her speechless, more so than the touching mention of her son. As she stared at him wide-eyed, it occurred to her that he had remembered the child’s name, which by rights meant nothing to him. It was a lovely gesture, one that gentled her shock.

“Uh, yes,” she stammered softly. “I spoke with him Sunday. He sounded … very happy.” She thought for a moment, then added on wry impulse, “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or angry.” Instantly, guilt surged over her. To have felt this way was bad enough; to express it to another was even worse. What would he think of her now? And, despite all arguments to the contrary, it
did
matter to her. Averting her eyes, she absently rubbed a forefinger across the corner of the recorder in her lap.

Admiring her honesty, he sensed her guilt. “I know what you mean,” he began, softly and smoothly, not at all judgmentally. “It’s very common, I’m told. Elizabeth enjoys seeing her mother and her grandfather—one part of me rebels against that. As the summer wears on, though, the novelty of her visit with them wears off. Then, I eat my heart out at the thought that she is all miserable and weepy, wanting to come home, when the court says that she can’t for another three weeks.”

Amber had never discussed these feelings with anyone. Yet, obviously, Zachary shared them. It was gratifying, as her quiet smile signified. “You’ve heard from Liz?” she asked timidly, unsure as to how much more he might open up.

He moved gracefully to the chair behind his desk, easing himself down before answering with a sigh. “Yes. Monday night. She sounds well.” His dark brows dipped at the memory of that phone conversation and the emptiness he had felt afterward. But there was absolutely nothing he could do to remedy that void, at least where his daughter was concerned. The blue gaze which lifted to Amber’s was suddenly wiped clean. “Do you enjoy your work here?”

Though he hadn’t intended it as such, it was a vivid reminder to her of her purpose. “So far, it’s been very interesting.”

“And the article on Little League?” A spark of amusement lurked both at the corner of his eye and his mouth. That would be quite some article, he sensed strongly, having had a sample of the force of the young woman herself.

She was once again startled—and duly pleased—that he had remembered this other bit of information she had offered at their last meeting. But had that airport breakfast been their last meeting? Once again, she pictured the lone cyclist across the pond from her at Wellesley; once again, she banished the thought determinedly. “It’s coming along—slowly. I purposely avoided it until I got used to Scott’s absence, and now that I have, it’s finally moving.”

The buzzer of his telephone sounded loudly. Without releasing her eyehold, he reached to answer it. “No, Cheryl. Why don’t you take a message. I’ll get back to him in a half hour or so. And, please hold all other calls for now.” The receiver touched its cradle with a thud, reminding Amber that time was, indeed, limited. Reaching into the abyss of her large pocketbook, she withdrew her camera. Then, at Zachary’s surprised expression, she hurried to explain.

“Do you mind? I’d like to take a few pictures while we talk. It saves having to send another photographer around to bother you.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” he drawled softly. “I’m just amazed at the extent of your talents.” His mind had flown to a world of other talents, which the eye on the warm tremor of her lips hinted at. As though squirming beneath his touch, she shifted position in her chair, crossing one shapely leg over the other, glancing at her notes as she automatically cocked the shutter of the camera.

“Now, can you give me more of the details of the proposed center—facilities and equipment you will need?”

Her question was promptly ignored. “How long have you been photographing?” His lean frame lounged back in his seat, his hands joined at the fingertips, thoughtfully, in front of him.

Disconcerted by his gaze, she answered as quickly as she could, intent on returning to her original question. “Since I was a child. Now, about those facilities—”

A dark eyebrow challenged her. “With a Nikon? No child uses a Nikon. Only the serious photographer, if not the professional, spends that kind of money … unless…”—he smirked wickedly—“… you are a very wealthy lady.”

“Of course not,” Amber denied quickly, then sought to explain. “I’ve been working seriously with a camera for the past five years. I was given the Nikon as a … gift.” An anniversary gift … her last … from Ron. Stifling a grimace, she continued. “Photography seemed to make sense—for situations precisely like this. If I can take the pictures myself at the time of an interview, much time is saved. And my free-lance offerings are that much richer with accompanying photographs.”

Zachary studied her closely for a long moment, then baited her. “I would have thought you might have a handsome young photographer at your disposal. You know, the stereotypically virile and ruggedly good-looking type”—humor intermixed with an enigmatic expression as he finished—“who would be more than happy to tag along after you. No?”

“No!” By some miracle, her voice was dispassionate. Sensing his direction she wanted no part of any such discussion.

But the roles seemed suddenly to have been reversed, with Zachary now the interviewer. “Do you dislike men?”

“Of course not! Some of my best friends are men.” The pale green of her eyes flashed sharply. “Is there some reason why I should despair of the bunch just because I was unfortunate enough to land the rotten apple?”

With a gasp, Amber realized the bitterness of her outcry. With a convulsive swallow, she wondered what had ever spurred her to express something that had been tethered for so long. Quickly averting her eyes from those sharply scrutinizing ones, she missed the momentary tensing of his jaw, then its subsequent softening.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he began quietly. “It’s just that you do seem to take a huge load on your own shoulders.”

“I really haven’t any choice, have I?” she answered softly, her statement clearly self-directed. “Things have to be done in the most efficient and productive manner. Therefore”—she sighed, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to his—“I take my own pictures.”

They had come full circle. Amber straightened her shoulders, her poise once more intact. Sensing this, Zachary finally opted to address her original query. “About those facilities we’ve proposed…”

For the next ten minutes, he competently outlined, for benefit of her recorder, the center’s overall needs. The neutrality of the topic barely countered the magnificence of the face in her viewfinder. With all else falling outside the frame, the force of his features constricted her breathing. Click, whir; click, whir. Shot after shot she exposed, hardly hearing his words, intent only on the blue-eyed gaze that was magnified in intensity by the multiple element of her lens. His masculine appeal mesmerized her, as did the pride and dedication he exuded as he discussed this topic on which he was the authority. When she finally lowered the camera, it was because her own circuits were overloaded and desperately in need of a break. This man affected her in very strange ways—ways that no other man had done, since her marriage had ended so disastrously. In the four years from the time the decision to divorce had been reached, the idea of a serious involvement had not tempted her in the least. Yes, she did indeed have her share of male friends and acquaintances scattered here and there, but she had rarely sought little more than an interesting talk or a good laugh. On an occasion or two these relationships had verged upon intimacy, but Amber had always been able to back away. No man had inspired a hint of the deep, overwhelming passion she now felt. Sucking in her breath sharply as she bent to replace the camera in her bag, she wondered what it might be like to be with Zachary, to feel the weight of his arms around her and know the pressure of those strongly male lips against her own. Eyes downcast, she hid from him the sensuous light that flickered beneath their lids, concentrating instead on the tape recorder, until she felt her composure reestablished. With the dying off of his final sentence, she snapped the recorder onto STOP.

“How’d I do?” he beamed, threatening her poise anew as he flipped from impressive to endearing with the blink of an eye. He seemed so boyish at that instant, this man whose hands held such power, whose mind did likewise, and whose position at the hospital served to bind the two together with awesome potency.

“Just fine. And, thank you,” she acknowledged, almost shyly. “You’ve given me a lot to work with. It’ll take me awhile to go through all of this. If I have any further questions, I’ll get back to you.” Struggling to gather her belongings in her arms, she stood awkwardly and turned toward the door. In a breath’s moment, he was by her side, deftly relieving her of the folders and recorder, much as a schoolboy would her books. A subtle thrill jolted through her, accentuated by the hand that settled ever so lightly against her back to ease her through the door, which he had miraculously managed to open.

It seemed a perfect time, had he been so inclined, for him to make mention of seeing her again. Yet, they walked toward the elevator in overwhelming silence, their eyes focused forward. His tanned forefinger pressed the button, and they waited, standing side by side, until the whir of the elevator announced its approach. For a brief moment, Amber became conscious of the racing of her pulse in response to the presence of the well-muscled form beside her. On impulse, she indulged her senses for the fast-fleeting instant. Above the sterile odor of the hospital itself, came the very subtle scent of soap and aftershave, a heady combination to newly awakening senses. When the door of the elevator quietly slid open, she felt the needed relief from this sensory build-up. He returned her things to her carefully, then, in a breathtaking moment for her, drew her closer, until their bodies nearly touched. His lips fanned her hair, his breath carried his soft words privately to her. She held herself in taut expectancy, willing her legs to give her support.

“Don’t ever let me see you biking again without a helmet, Amber. It’s unsafe.”

The firm hand that guided her into the elevator gave her no time to recover from the shock of his words. The elevator door slid shut, breaking the connection, before she had even exhaled the breath she subconsciously held. Mercifully, another of the elevator’s passengers had punched her floor; otherwise, she might have ridden the full circle once over. Dazed, she stepped off and hurried to her office, only there collapsing into a chair and analyzing her reaction to this totally unexpected finale.

First, it was clear that he did know her name, though he had avoided its use throughout the interview. And the fact that she had merely left the name of “Mrs. MacLaine” with the secretary when she had made the original appointment indicated that he had done some research of his own.

Second, it appeared that she had been right. It
had
been Zachary, by his bicycle, on the opposite shore. Even now, the memory of that image—so primitive and earthy, in a beautiful sort of way—sent a tremor of excitement through her. He had recognized her, as of course he would, dressed so much like the hotheaded coach of their very first encounter.

But although these first two facets of her reaction were positive ones, the third was not. Much as she fought it, the overwhelming sentiment which carried her out to her car and back home that afternoon was disappointment. He hadn’t asked to see her again. She had held her breath awaiting his move, but he had failed to make the one she had expected. In his office, he had been every bit as warm and open and interested as he had been that day at the airport—yet he hadn’t offered a repeat of his invitation. What bothered her even more, if that was possible, was that she had
wanted
him to! Having refused dates right and left for the past three years, she had actually wanted this one. It was a new—and dangerous—thought to get used to. Had Zachary asked her out, she would have been helpless to refuse. And the further complication to her life that might have caused was hard to imagine. She had an unhappy marriage behind her, a son and a career before her. What place would involvement with a man as thoroughly appealing as Zachary Wilder have in that scheme? Frightened by the new and unbidden responses his presence had succeeded in evoking, she mused her gratitude that he hadn’t asked her out. It was safer this way—certainly not as wild or carefree, but, then, those days were over and safety, sanity, and structure were what she and Scott needed.