Amber's Embrace, page 6
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.
* * *
“Amber! You look great!” The round-bellied man rose from his seat, offering both hands to her as she approached the table.
“It’s good to see you, David.” Indulgently, she offered a lightly tanned cheek for his kiss, then slid into the chair which the tuxedo-garbed maitre d’ held for her. Smiling all the while, David Brigham gave a subconscious tug at the well-tailored jacket of his suit as he reclaimed the seat opposite hers.
“You’re looking wonderful, Amber! Much better than the last time I saw you. We were all very concerned! And—I’m glad you finally agreed to let me take you out somewhere,” he chided, lowering his bushy gray eyebrows in mild reproach. “It’s not good to be that much of a hermit, you know.”
Her eye skirted the room—taking in the elegant white linen and fine china setting on the tables, the unobtrusively diligent scurry of waiter, wine steward, and busboy alike, the aura of class and quiet dignity exuded by the other diners—before coming to rest on the ruddy-faced gentleman on whose ample lap she remembered sitting as a child. “Hmmm,” she teased, “if I’d known you were offering Locke-Ober’s, I would have taken you up on it sooner. This is a special treat—surpassed, of course, only by your company.” Her eyes softened as she smiled, and her long fingers clasped the rounder ones of her host in a warm squeeze.
“Anything for Meg and Albert’s little girl,” he teased her affectionately, then shook his head in amazement. “You really were a wild bundle of spirit as a child. My friends had their hands full with you, my dear! But it seems that Father Time was the only one who could tame you after all. You’ve grown into a very mature and beautiful young woman, Amber.”
Amber’s blush preceded her playful growl. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend.” Then, she sobered. “But I’m certainly not a little girl anymore—and I’ve got a very grown-up nine-year-old son to prove it.”
One of the delightful things about David Brigham, from Amber’s viewpoint, was that he knew just about everything about her and Scott. As an old family friend, a college crony of her father’s, he had handled Amber’s divorce when she moved to Boston. As a prominent divorce attorney in the area, he also knew of the emotional stress faced by many a divorcée. She could relax and be herself with him, knowing that he would understand her well.
“You just don’t age, though, Amber—regardless of what you may claim.” His clear brown eyes enveloped the woman before him, admiring her anew. Dressed in a simple lime-hued sheath, her hair clasped above either ear by an enameled comb and flowing down over her shoulders, her face practically bare of makeup but beautiful and healthy, she was the very image of youth. He sighed good-naturedly. “To look at you, I’d say you’re all of twenty-two. Now how did a twenty-two-year-old swing a nine-year-old son?”
Amber’s face lit up with her grin. “You always were good for my ego, David Brigham, but I can see right through you. You know as well as I do that I’ll be twenty-nine on my next birthday.”
A dismissing wave heralded his words. “Well, no matter. You still look fabulous. Your parents will be glad to hear it—I have to call them tomorrow. You know, they’d really like to see more of you.”
She did know. And, to a certain extent, the feeling was mutual. Yet there was the realm of memories, still too fresh, which lurked about every corner back home. She lowered her eyes defensively. “I do miss them. It’s just so much more … comfortable … here. You know, I have my own life … no past…”
Mindful of the facts, he made no argument. “Are you seeing anyone special right now?”
Startled, her gaze flew to his face. For an instant, she hesitated. The whirl of emotions fogged an issue which, such a short time ago, would have been clear-cut. “No,” she finally responded, willing the image of the dark and enigmatic doctor from mind.
“Look, Amber,” David began, leaning across the table in earnestness, “maybe it’s none of my business, but you really should go out more. You don’t want to become an ornery bachelor like me, do you?”
A silken cascade slithered about her shoulders as she slowly shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t! That pitiful bachelor bit doesn’t fool me for a minute. Any number of women would have been pleased to have been your wife. It’s you—you’ve chosen the freer course. If you’re ornery, you would have been even more so had you married.”
“I’ll never know, now, will I?” He eyed her speculatively. “But you—you’re young, with a whole life ahead of you. I’ve never been much of a matchmaker”—he honed in on his original point—“but I happen to know a terrific guy you might enjoy…”
With more determination than she had felt earlier, she pressed her lips together as she shook her head. “Thanks, David, but I’m not interested right now.”
He cocked his head skeptically. “Not interested in enjoying yourself? It’s been three years—how long are you going to wait?”
“I have friends,” she offered in self-defense. “They provide me with whatever enjoyment I need. This, tonight; is enjoyment. And I do, believe it or not, enjoy being alone at times.” It was the safest way sometimes, she mused.
“Amber,” his voice lowered, “you’ve got the whole summer to be free of all responsibility. Why not take advantage of it?”
Her tapered fingers fiddled idly with the stem of her water glass. “I am. I’m working, being lazy, following my own unstructured schedule.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” His more substantial hand covered hers in stress of his point. “You’re not being fair to yourself, Amber. Looking back on it, you never really did have that carefree period most kids have. You and Ron were high-school sweethearts, you got married and had a child so early—hell, you’ve never really been involved with anyone but Ron. And the divorce has been final now for a long time. What are you waiting for?”
It was a tough question. The frown which settled over her features conveyed that much to her companion. He had hit the raw nerve. Long moments of thought passed in silence, as she tried to pinpoint the answer for herself, let alone him. “I’m not sure,” she finally said, then made a stab at the crux of her feelings. “Maybe I’m just not ready for involvement yet. My life has finally begun to stabilize. I’m happy with it. Scott is. I don’t want any complications just yet.” The rationalization was for her own benefit; the real motivator was Zachary Wilder. This fear of involvement was the main reason it was better not to date him, given the irresistible physical draw she felt toward him.
“Involvements? Complications?” David’s sharp retort brought her daydreams to an abrupt halt. “Why must there be either? All I’m talking about is companionship, fun, enjoyment, intellectual stimulation, if you will. There doesn’t have to be any deeper involvement.” He studied her closely, puzzled by her hesitancy.
“Okay, okay,” she said with a grimace. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t imagine why a woman with my age and looks doesn’t have an incredibly active social life—right?” She threw him a pleading glance in accompaniment to the sing-song tone that suggested she’d heard it all before. “You can’t understand why, given the number of available men around and the mores of ‘young people’ today, I don’t just go out and have fun.” She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft and faraway that he nearly missed her words. “I’m just not sure that’s possible … for me…”
Her brows knit as she thought once again of Zachary Wilder. Could she see him once, maybe twice, and then not again? Perhaps, she mused; but she had the uncanny conviction that a relationship with him would affect her very deeply. Whether she was ready to cope with that possibility, she just wasn’t sure.
Sensing that he had lost his dinner companion to a deeper personal dilemma than she was ready to discuss with him, David shifted the topic of conversation to safer ground. “I’ll be seeing your parents at the Newport races. Why don’t you join us?”
The wine steward presented him with the bottle of Chablis he’d chosen, then proceeded to open it. The two at the table waited until they were once more alone, now nursing their drinks. “I don’t know, David. It’s difficult, sometimes. Mother and Dad try so hard. They would have me fixed up for the weekend with every eligible bachelor from Bar Harbor to Washington. Their intentions are good, but…”
“Jack and Stewart will be there,” he coaxed her with a lure she had to struggle to deny. Seven years her junior, the twins were her only siblings. Not only did they adore her, but they had managed to adopt Scott as their very own. But Scott was on the West Coast with his father …
“Naw,” she wrinkled up her nose with feigned nonchalance, “if they’re along, our parents will be kept busy keeping an eye on them. And anyway, the only thing Jack and Stewart see in me is Scott,” she joked, tongue-in-cheek.
David’s pointed gaze made his argument, complemented only by a wry “I’ll bet,” before he changed the subject in defeat. Amber grinned at her victory. She had no intention of letting her parents fill her time with unbidden courtship. Perhaps she was, despite the maturity that the years had brought, as headstrong as ever. She would make her own decisions. A momentary vision of Zachary Wilder filled her imagination, until she wished it away with a sip of wine and a taste of the lobster bisque, hot, superbly blended, and newly presented before her.
Once the matter was set aside, Amber relaxed and did enjoy herself. Her filet mignon was cooked to a perfect medium-rare, and, with the addition of lyonnaise potatoes and a salad of hearts of palm, she was suitably stuffed by the time it came to coffee. With delight, she watched David savor a piece of fresh peach pie à la mode, chatting comfortably all the while about one topic or another. It was only when they stood to leave that he broached that other subject a final time. “Now, remember, Amber,” he said, offering her his arm as they walked outside toward where she had parked her car, “if you change your mind, let me know. This client of mind—a wonderful fellow—would be able to show you a very nice time. He knows all the ins and outs of Boston, and could well use your companionship as much as you could use his. Just for fun, mind you…”
Amber kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thanks so much for a lovely dinner, David. And … I will remember…”
As she left the inner core of Boston and headed for her suburban retreat, his words rang repeatedly in her ears. Just for fun—perhaps he was right. Perhaps she did deserve to do something just for fun. She had had to grow up so quickly. Was she being selfish, now, to wonder about those more frivolous things she had missed? Having been repressed for so long, these thoughts were all new to her. New, and exciting, and, yes, frightening …
CHAPTER FOUR
Later, she was to wonder exactly how it had happened. At the time, she was tired, having been up late into the night pondering her discussion with David Brigham. She was hot, her car’s air conditioner having chosen the warmest Saturday of the year, with numerous morning errands to be done, to go on the blink. And she was lonely, having just received a long and detailed letter from Scott about all of the “super” things he was doing.
