A Perilous Eden (14 page)

“Hi,” he said.

She looked at his apparel. “Hi.”

“Care to come in?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Yes, you are.”

His arm slipped around her, and she found herself inside his cabin, and in his arms. She pressed her lips against his bare chest and tasted the fresh-scrubbed texture there.

She was wonderfully, sweetly perfumed and powdered. He found the zipper of her gown and tugged it down, and the frothy material made a black pool at her feet. And then he stepped away, inhaling sharply, because the vision of her standing there was so erotic. She was wearing skimpy black panties and a matching low-cut lacy bra, garters, stockings and black heels.

He stepped toward her and found himself kneeling, his tongue teasing the bare flesh over the black lace of her panties, his fingers suddenly shaking. He backed her toward the bunk, his mouth fusing with hers, and when she lay down, he slipped her panties down her legs and pulled them away, discarding them heedlessly on the floor. She was even more erotic with the golden color of her flesh and the soft gold triangle at the juncture of her thighs highlighted by the black lace stockings. Her eyes were nearly closed, her thick lashes lying over her cheeks.

He parted her thighs and buried his face between them.

Her fingers tore into his hair, and soft, mewling sounds escaped her as she twisted violently, then began to move subtly against him, rising, falling. She whispered to him, but he knew no mercy as he caressed and teased the bud of her greatest desire. A light touch, a deep touch, a slide, a caress … time was endless; her motion was beautiful. She cried out, and he felt the flood of sweet nectar from her body, then rose high above her, impatiently discarding the towel that had been wrapped around his waist. He met her eyes and kissed her slowly and completely. He rose again and lifted the swell of her breasts from the encompassing black lace of her bra. He closed his mouth around her as he penetrated her body with his own, thrusting deeply, finding himself enclosed tightly, tightly sheathed. And then he began to move, and time and space and night suddenly knew no boundaries.

Eons later he lay silent beside her. They needed to get up; he had to be at dinner, but he couldn't quite bring himself to rise. The scent of her perfume was light on the air, and he didn't want to dispel it, and the feel of her body beside his was so damn good.

“Michael?”

He didn't answer. For a moment he had forgotten that was his name.

“Michael?” She was up on one elbow, her hair tumbling in waves over her face, and she seemed incredibly blond and pure and innocent and beautiful. “Where are you from?”

He closed his fingers around hers. “Around.” He rose, pushing her head to the pillow. “So you're not on the rebound. I can't believe that someone hasn't knocked himself out to be involved with you.” Her eyes were so open and so honest that he hated himself for a minute.

“I was involved. Very involved. I was engaged. Living in Atlanta, working for a magazine there. I … left.”

“Why?”

“There were things I wanted from the relationship that I didn't think I could ever have.” She hesitated and smiled. “I was engaged for a long time. We never managed to set a date for the wedding. I wanted children. Peter thought it was wrong to bring them into this world, that there might have been things wrong with him from the war … he just wasn't ready, I suppose. I don't know. I was there for him for too long.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Then what would happen if he changed his mind?”

“I don't know anymore. I already feel as if I've been gone for a very long time. Now you. Where are you from? I thought New York when you mentioned being friends with an actress. But you don't have a New York accent. Actually, it's not a Midwest twang or a Southern drawl, either. California?”

He caught her hands and kissed her fingers. “Don't ask questions, Amber. I told you, I'm from all over.”

“English isn't your first language, is it?”

The question startled him. No one could question his English. It was perfect.

“Of course it is,” he lied. “Amber, I've warned you. I have nothing real to give, and I won't answer questions.”

Her lashes fell over her eyes. He had hurt her, and he was sorry. He'd started this, and he never should have. He couldn't let her get close; she was bright and intuitive, and it was dangerous to be with her.

It was just that when he was with her, he felt as if he had been healed.

“What
am
I allowed to talk about?” she asked quietly.

He rested on one elbow and smoothed the hair away from her face with an easy smile. “Paris. In the springtime, summer, winter or fall. The way the Capitol building looks at sunset, so white and glorious against the magenta sky.”

“So you do like D.C.?”

“I love it.”

“And Virginia?”

“I love it, too. The mountains and the valleys. There really is no place more beautiful on this earth. Yes, wait, maybe there is.”

“And where is that?”

“That beach yesterday. That beach where I held you. Where we first made love.” Yes, he had made love to her. And he hadn't really made love in a long, long time.

Forgive me, Sonia, he thought. But he knew that she would have forgiven him long ago. He was the one who could not forgive, and it was he who could not give himself absolution.

Maybe, once he had waged war on the Death Squad, he could find peace.

“Oh!” she murmured suddenly, glancing at the dial of her gold watch. “We're late. Dinner started ten minutes ago.” She rose and searched for the black lace panties. Adam found them and rose, moving toward her. She reached for them and slipped into them, then had trouble with the hooks on her bra.

“Let me help you,” Adam said, but when he touched her, his fingers were suddenly trembling, and he knew it would be a mistake, that he would want to start everything all over again. “Never mind—I don't think that would be such a wonderful idea,” he murmured. She smiled. He kissed her lips and turned away, drawing a dress shirt from his closet.

In minutes they were ready, checking out one another's appearances like guilty schoolchildren. Adam escorted Amber down the hallway and the stairs, but when they got near the dining room, he hesitated. “Do you want to go in alone?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

He shook his head. “You do know that your father wouldn't want you seeing me?”

“Yes, I know. I wish you would tell me why.”

“I can't.”

She studied him gravely for a moment. “All right. I believe you. And no, I do not want to go in alone.”

He grinned and took her arm.

When they reached the table, the men rose. Amber apologized for being late but gave no excuse. She needed none. Myra commented that it was a cruise, a vacation, and that they shouldn't be on a strict timetable. Senator Daldrin smiled, too, but he was studying them both, and Amber thought he looked worried.

The group spent some time in the casino that night. Ian loved to play blackjack, but he gambled on a low and careful scale, too much the politician to allow the opposition any opportunity to attack his life-style.

Michael Adams was a somewhat careless gambler, Amber thought. He played blackjack and roulette, and no emotion ever showed on his features, and he seemed to do well enough, winning more often than he lost.

While he was still engaged in a game, Amber slipped out on deck. She liked her spot in the shadows where she could stare at the water.

A few minutes later she realized that Senator Daldrin was outside again, too, staring at the darkness.

She looked around to see if she could see Michael. She couldn't, yet she sensed that he was near.

She heard movement and edged behind the lifeboat, into the shadows. Michael had suddenly appeared beside Ian Daldrin. She didn't think he had seen her, though. “Sir.”

“Anything new?”

“No, not yet.”

She was eavesdropping, she knew, but she stayed in the shadows anyway.

“What are you doing with Amber Larkspur?”

She couldn't see his brow arch, but she could feel it. He would be staring at Daldrin, not rudely, but with a cold gaze that suggested the question was none of his business.

“Sir, may I remind you that you insisted I look after her?”

“Yes, I did. But I didn't suggest …”

“What?”

“I don't know. You tell me.”

“I'll tell you, sir. With all due respect, it's none of your business. It's between Amber and me.”

Daldrin didn't speak for several long seconds. “She means a lot to me, and everything to Ted. I wouldn't want to see her hurt.”

“I don't want to see anyone hurt.”

“None of us does.”

Amber started to shift her position and cracked her head against the lifeboat. Both men swung around. She walked toward them, wondering whether to let them know that she had heard them. She shouldn't have been eavesdropping. Neither of them really had a right to dictate her life. She smiled. She wasn't going to let them know. “Hello. It's beautiful out here, isn't it?”

“Yes, very beautiful,” Ian Daldrin said.

“More people should enjoy the view. It seems to me that we're the only ones who are ever out here at night.”

“Don't spoil a good thing,” Daldrin said with a wink. “Would you like a nightcap, Amber? Michael?”

“Yes, I think that would be nice,” she said after a moment's thought.

He led her inside, and they decided on the Star Lounge, high atop the ship. Michael Adams walked behind them up the stairs. They had to go out on deck again to take the last flight of stairs to the small lounge.

Daldrin was preceding Amber on the steps. She paused suddenly, aware that Michael was no longer with them. He was on the deck. One of the crewmen had stopped him.

Amber started down the steps. “Tomorrow night.” She heard the words as if they were the tail end of a sentence. The dark man speaking with Michael had a heavy accent, but she didn't know what type of accent it was. The crewmen came from many nations.

“Definitely?” Michael said, his voice sharp and tense.

The man replied in a foreign language that Michael seemed to understand easily. He answered the man in kind, then turned.

He stopped, his foot on the first stair when he saw Amber. He stared at her, displeased and furious, though it seemed that he was trying to mask his emotions. “What are you doing there?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Oh. Well, then, let's go on up, shall we?”

“Yes, I'm sure the senator's waiting for us.”

When they reached the top of the stairs, Michael suddenly spun Amber around. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing.”

“You're lying.”

She tossed back her hair. “All right, I'm lying. What's tomorrow night?”

“A poker game. And you're not invited. And neither is anyone else in our party, do you understand?”

His fingers were wound tightly around her arm. “Michael, you're hurting me. I'm not going to tell anyone about your absurd little poker party. Let go. You'd think I was walking around with a national secret.”

His fingers loosened. “I'm sorry. I just don't want anyone to know.”

“Isn't that rather petty?”

“Amber, I don't want anyone to know.”

Why had she ever thought she had found warmth in him? His eyes were ice, pure ice. His touch was as cold and brutal as steel.

She moved away from him. He was a dangerous lover. And yet she had chosen him, and she knew that she wasn't going to stay away. For the moment, though, she turned her back on him and swung open the door to the lounge.

Senator Daldrin had commandeered a table with a beautiful view of the night. In the distance they could see the lights from another cruise ship. “What kept you two?” Daldrin asked pleasantly.

“Oh, a cabin steward stopped me, sir. I'd lost a cufflink, he found it.”

Amber glanced at Michael. He had spoken the lie easily, staring straight into Daldrin's eyes.

“Good. It's always nice when they know something we don't.”

“Yes. That's a good steward. He knows what he's doing.”

The senator signaled a waitress, and they ordered, a cognac for Daldrin, a white crème de menthe for Amber, a neat Scotch for Michael.

Daldrin leaned against the table, looking out at the night. “The moon will still be nearly full tomorrow night.”

“Yes,” Michael Adams replied. “The moon will still be full.”

The senator nodded slightly. Something had passed between the two of them that had caused the senator to shudder slightly. For the life of her, Amber couldn't figure out what it was.

Their drinks arrived. The senator lifted his glass. “To beautiful ocean cruises, to freedom and the night, and to the moon, when it's full!”

Amber and Michael lifted their glasses. The senator looked morose, but Michael Adams betrayed no emotion, then or later, when he walked her to her cabin. Outside the door he took her hands. “Good night, Amber.”

“Good night.”

Then he muttered a soft oath and kissed the back of her hands, then her palms, before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her in the way that left her weak and breathless and wanting more of him every time.

Then he pulled away, touched her cheek gently and walked off down the hallway.

Montego Bay

June 15

Amber didn't see Michael Adams or the senator in the morning. She took off with Josie and Jim to wander around the quaint and busy streets of Montego Bay, and then to take a tour of Rose Hall, the beautiful old plantation where the White Witch had ruled in decadent splendor, beating and murdering her slaves while carrying on various affairs. The place was glorious, their guide lively and fun, and Amber enjoyed the morning, except that she kept wondering about Michael, where he might be and what he might be doing. There was no commitment between them, she reminded herself. None at all.