Amber's Embrace (8 page)

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“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.

It was noontime, yet she wasn’t hungry. A good long cry gave her little relief from the strange tension that nagged at her insides. A lukewarm shower was, likewise, a mere stopgap measure. When her front doorbell rang, she answered it indifferently.

The sight of Zachary Wilder on her doorstep was a shot of adrenaline whose effect was instant and internal. Dark, compelling, and dressed for biking, his warm smile greeted her, then quickly cooled as he studied her pallor. There were no “Hi, how are yous?” or “Are you all rights?” Rather, he unceremoniously took her arm and drew her outside.

“You’re coming with me,” he growled softly. “Where’s your bicycle?” Amber’s senses reeled at his sudden appearance, precluding resistance. Pointing toward the garage, she stood as he raised the garage door, searched the darkness for her cycle, walked it out to her, then retrieved his own. “Here.” He held a helmet, which dangled from his handlebars, out to her, then had second thoughts and fastened it securely on her head himself.

Through it all, Amber was aware only of her gratitude that he gave her no choice. It was so much easier this way; he seemed to have taken the responsibility of her well-being onto his shoulders. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she gladly yielded the burden.

Few words were spoken, other than the perfunctory “All set?” when they started off. Zachary led the way, setting a pace which, though slower than his usual, would purposely be a challenging one for Amber. Charged with nervous energy, she kept up the pace respectably. In and out of the streets of Dover they moved, dodging the occasional Saturday afternoon traffic, seeking out less-traveled roads for that reason. In the heat, her jersey grew damp. Sweat mingled with the loose strands of hair by her face, then trickled down her neck. The need to release tension drove her on, firing her legs into continual motion. Periodically, Zachary looked over his shoulder at her, smiled a smile of encouragement, then pedaled on. With gradual fatigue came the relaxation she sought. They had been pushing hard for thirty minutes when he slowed, then stopped at the side of the road, below which the river dammed and fell amid luxuriant summer growth. Graceful willows canopied the rich green-carpeted embankment. In the shade, they rested their bikes, then themselves, stretching out on the ground not far from one another.

“That was great!” she exclaimed, breathing heavily from the exertion.

His voice came from very near her ear, only slightly winded and very soothing. “I didn’t work you too hard, did I?” Having rolled over onto his side from his back, he was propped up on an elbow, studying her flushed face, noting with satisfaction how completely the tension had disappeared.

She opened one lime-tinted eye to gaze up at him. Beneath his gaze, breathing became difficult once more. For a brief instant, she felt herself to be, above all else, a woman, passionate and eager to know more of the handsome man so close by her side. He was that cyclist, primitive and earthy, with his own hair damp and beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Her finger itched to touch its moisture; clenching her fist, she restrained herself. By dint of sheer willpower, her smile was bright and mischievous.