Amber's Embrace, page 12
Slowly and now gently, his large hands raised to frame her face, his thumbs caressing the moist outline of her lips. This was the lure she could not resist; perhaps he knew that. This tenderness, this understanding, this gentle persuasion was her undoing. With a low moan, a culmination of the evening’s frustration, she parted her lips against his thumbs, kissing them lightly and instinctively. This was what she craved, she cried silently, as her fingers glided up the length of his shirt-sleeve to his shoulders. When he lowered his head a second time, she held nothing back, robbed of all resistance by the intoxication of his manliness. Her mouth opened into his, tasting his tongue and tracing his teeth with her own. The sparks of passion ignited further when his hands dropped to touch her, exploring the curves of her body through her robe, lingering at every hill and hollow. A gasp quivered from the back of his throat when he realized that she wore nothing beneath the robe. Fiercely, he hugged her to him, as though trying to absorb her body into his despite all barriers.
Amber felt an erotic heat pour through her, frustrated as he was by those very barriers. The soft words of love at her ear were intermingled with nips and tugs of his teeth on her lobe, driving her further to distraction. She needed more, and she sought it. The urge to touch him was too intense to deny. When she levered herself back to touch his neck, to let the manly hair on his chest curl beneath her fingers, he had the outlet he needed. His hand released the belt of her robe, his fingers slid beneath its lapels.
For a breathless minute, she froze. Her hands clutched the fabric protectively about her, as her rounded eyes caught his. “Zach … I … I don’t know…”
The silence was more potent than any words he might have spoken. He held her gaze, hypnotizing her with the force of his all-encompassing virility. Slowly, slowly, sanity receded, and her hands drifted away. The white terry fabric slid down her body to lie in a half-circle at her feet.
Naked now before him, she caught her breath and would have reflexively tried to cover herself had not his hands held her arms from her sides. But embarrassment faded to pleasure, then pride, as his eyes roamed her feminine form, caressing her breasts, her flat belly, then lower, feasting on the sight of her, from head to toe for the first, divine time.
He said nothing, yet her knees trembled at his visual seduction. Slowly, he let his hands wander, savoring the softness of her skin, then curving behind her back and beneath her bottom to lift her off her feet and cross the few feet to the sofa, where he lay her down then sat beside her. “You’re very beautiful and warm, my Amber,” he murmured thickly, his fingers foraying into every secret spot until she writhed with pleasure and desire.
The throbbing within her grew by the minute, as her blood ran a passionate race through her veins. She was a pagan goddess being worshipped by her god, himself a magnificent creature to behold. All reason vanished. The only thought was that she wanted to feel him, too, to adore him, to know his hard man’s body against hers. Trembling hands released the buttons of his shirt, tugged at his loosened tie, then stilled as he finished the job himself, discarding the clothing carelessly on the floor. His chest was warm and sinewed, broad, but lean and strong. Flames soared within her when he stretched out beside her on the sofa, touching her, teasing her, tormenting her to forgetfulness. Her own hands searched further, discovering newer spots to relish, finally creeping lower to move up and down his muscled thigh, timidly at first, but with the dire need to touch him. He was bold and full and strong, moaning as she caressed him, muttering a soft oath, at last, before hastily reaching for the buckle of his belt.
As she watched him lower the zipper of his pants, Amber knew that she wanted Zachary more than she’d ever wanted any other man. She wanted him to make love to her, to possess her completely. More than that, she wanted to say the words that surged from within, the words that she never thought she’d ever say again to a man. As she lay, naked before him, waiting for his own nakedness to bring her his personal ecstasy, she knew that she wanted to hear those same words from him. But it was not to be.
A shrill buzzer sounded from the direction of the chair on which he had tossed his jacket when he’d first entered. All action stopped, though his eyes did not leave the loveliness of her body as he let reality intrude, slowly but repeatedly, on their lovemaking.
“Damn it!” he swore beneath his breath, rezipping his pants and going to retrieve the buzzer. “It’s the hospital. They’d only buzz me if it was an emergency. I’ll have to call in.” His voice was hoarse, his arousal as painfully obvious as Amber’s own. The hand that crossed his dampened forehead was impatient, as were the steps which took him out to the kitchen to use the phone.
Alone, Amber’s trembling increased, fed by shock, desire, and, worse, shame. Yes, she wanted to say those words, but did she dare? Did she love Zachary? Driven by desire, she would have willingly given herself to him, had not he once more—albeit spurred by outside forces—called a halt to it. Shakily, she retrieved her robe and drew it around her, tying the belt with fierce finality. Then, sinking down once more upon the sofa, she hung her head and, to her chagrin, buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Confusion overwhelmed her; she had been senseless once more in Zachary’s arms. What was she to do?
“There’s an emergen—Amber?” She hadn’t heard him return, so immersed was she in her own emotional upheaval. “What is it, honey?” he asked, coming down to a squat before her, his hands on her knees. “Don’t cry, please, Amber.” But sobs continued to rack her body until he took her in his arms and held her tightly. “What is it? Please tell me? I’d have been back—”
“I—I’m so ashamed,” she croaked between sobs. “I never should have done that…”
“Shhh,” he crooned softly, holding her, hugging her, burying her wet face against the textured chest that moments before she had caressed with abandon. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, honey. Please believe that. You’re a woman with a woman’s body and a great deal of passion to give. You can’t imagine how much I want you.” But that wasn’t what Amber wanted to hear. When he held her back a moment later, she felt a stabbing pain sear through her. “There’s been a bad accident. The emergency room is loaded with victims—a bus ran off the Expressway and fell twenty feet. They need every doctor they can get their hands on. I’ll have to go.” His eyes held hers with lingering passion mixed with regret, but her own pain raged on. “I’ll probably be there for the night. Can I see you tomorrow?”
“No, Zachary.” She heard the voice of reason which had been driven to oblivion by his masterful persuasion earlier. “I need time … to think…”
For long moments, he searched her face for a sign of her thoughts. Then, with a ragged sigh and a hand combed roughly through his hair, he stood. “I’m having a meeting at my house on Tuesday night of a group of local doctors regarding the International Center. Why don’t you come?” The blue of his eyes had a pleading note that the evenness of his voice disguised. “I could use a hostess.”
Perhaps you could use a wife, a small voice inside her cried, then stifled itself reproachfully. The issue was a sore one for her. Having been such a dismal failure of a wife for one man in one respect, who was she to suggest anything to another, let alone to herself? “I don’t know,” she finally murmured, her words mirroring the far larger dilemma which, at the moment, precluded any rational decision. Her eye followed his deft movement as Zachary bent to retrieve his shirt, then put it on, the ripple of arm and chest muscles mesmerizing her anew. The low sound of his voice startled her back to the present.
“You’d find it interesting, and you might be able to pick up a few points for your brochures and the larger report the department is doing.” His deep blue eyes studied her as he awaited a response, his jaw tensed and unusually angular, his hands independently buttoning his shirt and stuffing its tails into his pants. Beneath the closeness of his gaze, Amber felt herself a sad sight, hair snarled still from her shower, eyes now tear-ravaged, face devoid of color or makeup. Averting her eyes, she struggled to gain control over her emotions and the situation, resorting to the crisp wit which had worked for her in the past.
“Do I get time-and-a-half for overtime?”
Her attempt at humor fell flat. Burdened both by his own frustration and anticipation of the night ahead, Zachary was in no mood for her witticism. His face was inscrutable as he grabbed his tie and jacket and headed for the door. “The meeting is set for eight. Try to make it.” No further word was spoken, either of demand or encouragement. Amber’s fine-tuned ear heard the front door close firmly, the rapid charge of footsteps down the walk to the drive, the smooth purr of the BMW engine into life, then the fading hum of its departure. Strangely cold and empty, she headed for bed.
The night was dark, its barrenness intensifying her feelings of confusion and desolation as she lay in bed, unable to sleep. There were no light images on the walls or ceilings to soften the pictures her mind drew both of past and present. Of only one thing was she certain—that Zachary Wilder meant far more to her than she was ready to admit, much as she had wanted to earlier that evening. The extent of her abandonment, then, shocked her afresh. Indeed, with neither promise of love nor future, her traitorous body would have drawn his into it gladly. Now, with the cooling of the ardor that had engulfed her, she was horrified at what she might have done. She had only given herself to one man before, and he had been her husband. Zachary was not her husband, and could hardly be in love with her, having been burned once at the altar. That he wanted her physically was clear. Now, he wanted her to “hostess” a meeting with him. Exactly what did that mean in terms of their relationship?
Her wandering mind conjured images of the tanned chest on which she had lain her head, the firm shoulder muscles over which her fingertips had played, the proof of manhood which her hand had discovered at every swell and plane of his body. The familiar trembling began once more, an echo of the stirring in her loins that spoke as much of her own needs as his that had been more visible. In the instant, Amber knew it was inevitable; one day they would make love, as Zachary had promised that last Saturday night. For her, she knew, it would be a magnificent happening. But for him? Would she be able to satisfy him, as she had evidently been unable to do for Ron? It was a nagging insecurity that her ex-husband had bequeathed her, yet, in Zachary’s arms, she forgot it totally. He had the power to make her believe in herself and in him. Did she love him? Did she love him? Did she love him?
As many times as the question was asked, its answer remained elusive. In the end, Amber abandoned it, concentrating on the more urgent issue of whether or not to attend his meeting on Tuesday night. He was right—it would be a good thing to sit in on, considering the line of her own work. But what would it lead to? Whereas when she had first met him, Zachary had seemed so smooth and even-tempered, in their last few encounters he had shown a proclivity toward temper that had startled her. Deep within her was a desire to please him, a need to please him, a kind of giving of her own. Did her presence counteract that desire? Would she be better to avoid him completely?
A bittersweet laugh filtered from her throat into the still of the night, a harsh sound in contrast to the soft drops of rain that had begun a slow-tempo dance on the roof above her head. To avoid Zachary Wilder would be next to impossible. All fates seemed to throw them together, regardless of their own wishes. And as for her wish? Her heart could not possibly avoid him, as long as he was present and caring and so much in command of the feminine instinct which craved fulfillment.
* * *
That feminine instinct was not to find fulfillment at the home of Zachary Wilder on Tuesday night. As one part of her had known from the moment he had mentioned the meeting, she did attend it. The house was a ten-minute drive from her own, in an even more rural area of Dover, deeply forested, with large fields interspersed occasionally from one private drive to another. The sun had begun to lower for the night, spilling its orange glow through the verdant growth, across the roads, and, finally, over the front of his home, as it burst into view at the end of a long driveway. If her own was one of those nine out of ten old houses, his was not. Fully contemporary, from wood and glass front and sides to multiple skylights overhead, its concession to mankind was minimal, blending gracefully with the natural setting all about it, giving one the feeling, when within, of being, indeed, without.
Zachary was the perfect host, behaving toward her in as charming a manner as he was gracious to the others. Though he introduced her around at the start of the meeting, she received no further attention as one who was an outsider, so to speak. Her hand made note after note as the group of doctors talked. There were twelve of them, including two women whose status immediately put Amber in her place. Her eye fell on these two more often than on the others, with the exception of their leader. What did they think of him … as a man, she wondered? What were his thoughts about their own not inconsiderable feminine traits? Both were attractive and well-spoken, intelligent, and seemingly respected by the others in the group. Was there a special glow in Zachary’s eye when either of them spoke? Had he ever dated either one?
Such questions spilled one after the other through her brain as the meeting continued, then appeared to be winding up. Suddenly, she heard mention of her own name.
“Mrs. MacLaine”—did he emphasize that Mrs. more so than necessary? she wondered idly—“has been working on our PR material. Perhaps you could give us a quick run-down on the progress to date, Amber.” His blue eyes bore a challenge, as though he had been completely aware of her mental aberrations and found some enjoyment in jolting her from them.
Calling on every bit of her poise and composure, Amber rose to the occasion, both literally and figuratively. Determined, in the instant, to make the most of this opportunity both to push Zachary’s cause and to impress him with her ability to do so, she stood and moved slowly—and with a show of confidence that went no further than that lovely surface—to where Zachary had been standing, to where he now sat in a large easy chair. Placing herself just to his right, close enough to identify with him yet far enough for propriety, she spoke, outlining concisely the overall plan of the fund-raising drive, describing the preliminary brochures that had already been sent to the printer, elaborating more fully on the major report on which the bulk of her efforts was centered at this point. She sought eye contact wherever possible, making her delivery crisp and effective. The several questions that came to her were handled with similar ease, justifying the long hours she had spent at home poring over every last bit of material she had regarding the project and the fund-raising drive.
“Very effective, coach.” Zachary approached from behind while she stood talking with one of the other doctors moments later, when coffee and danish had been served in the large dining area at one end of the very open living room. “I’ll have to call on your talents again at my meetings.”
There was definite humor in his voice, though Amber’s mind blotted it out. Excusing herself from the man with whom she had been speaking, she turned to face the tall and commanding host. “You certainly didn’t need a hostess here, that’s for sure. You make a very good cup of coffee.” What she felt inside, she wasn’t sure. There was warmth and sarcasm, jealousy and admiration, attraction and resentment—a whole gamut of conflicts that his presence evoked. Yet, when he smiled, the even whiteness of his teeth so fresh and tempting to the tip of her tongue, she melted.
“I’ve had to learn to do many things myself. But I really did want you to come. Thank you.” He paused, his eye reinforcing that sentiment with a beam that seared into her, wrapping itself around her heart, which beat suddenly faster. “Have you been able to get any information you can use?” His dark head cocked toward the notebook she still held under her arm.
“I think so. I’ll have to read over my notes when I get home. There was a lot that was said—it will take some sorting out.”
Zachary’s nod preceded a silence that was anticipatory of something—then fell flat when one of the woman doctors approached. “Very interesting, Zach!” she congratulated him spiritedly, linking her elbow with his in an all too familiar way. Amber’s critical gaze grouped the two together, matching Zachary’s dark looks with this woman’s lighter, but equally as dignified ones. No, perhaps dignified was only one aspect of it; there was a subtle command in the demeanor of both that instantly classified them survivors in life. Was Amber one? As the two doctors became involved in a more technical discussion—why the need for that elbow link? Amber cried silently—than she could or would follow, she strolled off to find out whether she could indeed resurface from each tiny devastation such as this seemingly innocent one. Heading for the most compelling doctor in the group—a poor second to Zachary, she was quick to acknowledge to herself—she devoted herself to conversation with him, keeping her back to Zachary and his lady doctor until the evening appeared at an end. Whether she had aroused any jealousy in him, though she certainly did not glue herself to this stranger as Zachary’s friend had done to him, she would never know. For the chestnut-haired woman was still at his side, monopolizing him even as he bid good-bye to his colleagues.
With a pang of disgust, Amber prepared to leave. Then, she hesitated and, to her bemusement, proceeded to help herself to another cup of coffee and to settle into the large and comfortable sectional sofa in a most nonchalant way. It was as though some other being controlled her, willing her to fight for what she wanted. Did she want Zachary? One part of her, she knew, did very badly; all she had to do was to look at his lean muscular physique, clad this evening in an open-necked sports shirt and dark navy linen slacks, to relive her cravings. But did she want more? Could she accept the commitment that making love to Zachary would entail? For, in her mind, she could not give of herself without that commitment. Despite the image of the liberated woman, she was strangely traditional. There had to be love. Was there?
