A Perilous Eden

by Heather Graham

  “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “You’re not intruding,” he said quickly. It was a lie. But he didn’t say more, nor did he move. He just stood there.

  As her eyes became more accustomed to the light, she could see his face, could see the way he was looking at her. “I think I am intruding,” she said very softly. “I think you wish I would disappear into the air. Isn’t that true?”

  He was silent for a long moment before speaking. “Yes,” he said then.

  She had started to turn away, but he caught her arm and swung her around. She came up flush with his body. His arm held her, and his eyes seared into her.

  “And no,” he added softly.

  She felt the warmth and the crush of his body, and the response she had forbidden herself came to life within her, fast fire lapping through her. She stared at his mouth and thought that it was a hard mouth, yet she wanted to know what it would feel like if he kissed her.

  “Yes,” he said again very softly. “And … no.”

  Then his lips touched hers. There was nothing soft about his kiss, nothing gentle. It was everything that she had imagined it might be: volatile and passionate and demanding, even shocking. His mouth closed over hers, his tongue demanding entrance, then stroking the inside of her mouth with an intimacy that suggested much more. She placed her hands against his chest, meaning to protest, but then there was no protest. He kissed her hard, and he kissed her long, probing, discovering with his tongue, touching her ever deeper, until she felt that her body had become a wall of flame. His fingers moved into her hair, tilting her head to meet his demand, then his hand moved over her body, pulling her closer. His fingers closed over her breast, and despite the silk of her gown and the lace of her bra, she felt the caress with such clarity that she was afraid she would fall. A whimper escaped her as his lips traveled to her throat, to the lobe of her ear, to her forehead, then back to her throat. She found herself held tightly in his arms as he sat, bringing her down with him. When she opened her eyes, she was sitting across his lap, his ragged breath touching her cheeks, his eyes on her with wary anger.

  Embarrassed suddenly for all that she had allowed him to do, she tried to pull away, but he held her tight. Beneath the fabric of the tuxedo he was made of steel. She couldn’t begin to budge his arms. He held her tightly, and he did not smile; he just stared into her eyes. “You need to go home, Miss Larkspur.”

  “Then let me up,” she said. Her lips were damp and swollen, and she was still shaking. He was the angry one; he was the one acting as if something was wrong. And yet his arms were still around her.

  He swore suddenly. “Don’t you understand? No, I guess you don’t.” He laughed, a dry, bitter sound. She thought that he would let her up then, but he didn’t. Instead he kissed her again. But this time he was gentle. His lips covered hers and moved with a tender and persuasive touch. His knuckles brushed her chin and grazed over her breast, and there was longing in the touch. Something that made her ache to know more. That made her long to shed her clothing there in the grass and give herself to him.

  But his lips left hers, and he released her, setting her carefully on the bench. “My God, but I could want you …” he whispered softly. Then he kissed her hand. “Goodbye, Amber Larkspur.”

  He turned and left the arbor. She gasped for breath, drawing shaky fingers to her lips, and tried to stand, but she couldn’t.

  She struggled for composure, smoothing her hair and wondering about him. She tried to stop wanting him, telling herself that it was despicable to want a man that way, a man she barely knew, could never know. A dangerous man, or so her father had told her. It was ridiculous. She was supposed to be slowly mending a broken heart; she was supposed to be hurting for Peter, for the life she had left behind.

  And she would, she promised herself. She would mourn Peter once again. Just as soon as she could get home and shower and not have to breathe in the haunting scent of Michael Adams, the scent that lingered on her flesh, her gown.

  She was Ted Larkspur’s daughter, she reminded herself. She stood, squared her shoulders and brought a smile to her trembling lips. Tim had asked her to go sailing as soon as she came back. She was going to do it. And until then, she would be damned if she was going to let memories of the mysterious Mr. Adams mar her thoughts or her future.

  Twenty minutes later Adam waited on the front lawn. Senator Daldrin appeared first, then Ted Larkspur, then Jim Reeves, the intelligence liaison. Each man held a drink, and they stood in the center of a pool of light, far from the house, far from the surrounding foliage. They smiled and sipped their drinks as they stood.

  “Adam spoke with Ali Abdul. He’s being tested with your kidnapping, Ian.”

  Ian Daldrin didn’t blink an eye. He smiled and lifted his Scotch to Adam. “Well, then,” he said very softly, “am I to be taken to the island?”

  “Yes. I don’t know exactly when, though. And it’s my responsibility to see that you’re available to be easily whisked away.”

  Daldrin nodded.

  “We’re gambling, Senator. You know that,” Ted advised Ian.

  “If I’m on Abdul’s list, my life is already a gamble,” Ian said, offering Adam a dry smile. “Son, if this is going to happen, I’m glad you’re on our team.”

  “Thank you, Senator. I hope I’m worthy of your confidence.”

  “You’ll be with me?” Ian asked him.

  “All the way, sir.”

  “Then that’s that. Jim, any advice?”

  “Yes, lie low. Don’t fight. Don’t protest. Roll with the punches—”

  “Now, Jim, I may not be as young as I used to be, but I’d hate to think that I couldn’t hold my own—”

  “There will be plenty of time for that, sir, I hope,” Adam said. “I have the feeling that getting you and me in is going to be fairly easy. Getting everyone out is the trick, and I may need to depend on you then.”

  “Yes, that’s true, isn’t it.”

  “When’s it going to happen?”

  “On the cruise.”

  Ian Daldrin frowned. “I have friends sailing with me on that ship.”

  “I’m sorry, Senator. I don’t have any guarantees,” Adam said. “But you should be safe enough. Abdul doesn’t want trouble. He wants you off, clean and neat. Not a speck of bloodshed. You see, he wants to be far away before the coast guard or the military can be notified. I’ll know that night, and I’ll see to it that you’re able to excuse yourself from the others and get to the proper deck. No one other than you should be hurt or involved in any way.”

  Ian Daldrin exhaled slowly and rocked back on his heels. Then he swallowed the tail end of his Scotch. “Well then, my friends, cheers. God willing, I’ll be back with you soon.”

  “God willing,” Larkspur muttered.

  Daldrin lifted his empty glass and called out a loud good night. Reeves nodded curtly to Larkspur and Adam, then followed the senator to the house.

  Larkspur didn’t look at Adam. He stared across the expanse of grass. “Everything is go, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Larkspur nodded. “Take care of yourself, Tchartoff.”

  “Thank you. I intend to.”

  “Don’t communicate with us from the ship. They’ll have someone watching you. Don’t take any chances, or we could lose everyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And don’t—”

  “Sir,” Adam interrupted, his voice soft but very firm. “I know my business.”

  “Yes, well, I guess you do. Good luck, then.” Ted Larkspur started to move away, then paused and turned back. “Tchartoff?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “Please, stay away from my daughter.” Adam stared at him blankly. Ted cleared his throat. “She’s just an innocent bystander. I don’t want any innocent bystanders hurt.”

  An ice-cold shield fell over Adam’s eyes. “I don’t plan on seeing your daughter, Larkspur. I never did.” It
was his turn to move. He started across the lawn, leaving Ted standing there.

  “Wait!” Ted said. Adam looked around carefully, one brow arched as he approached Ted.

  “What is it?”

  “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “What wrong idea?” Adam offered Ted a dry grin. “I don’t blame you for not liking—”

  “No, it’s not a matter of not liking you. I think you’re a first-rate human being, maybe better than you realize yourself. It’s just that my daughter is very much alive, Tchartoff. She is life, and her very heart is warmth. And you’re …”

  “Not really alive, and cold as ice,” Adam supplied quietly for Larkspur. “Really, sir, I understand. Excuse me, I have a plane to catch tomorrow. I want to get some sleep.”

  “Wait!” Larkspur insisted one more time.

  Adam hesitated. Larkspur gripped his hand and shook it hard. “Come back alive, son. Please God, come back alive.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Adam retrieved his hand, smiled grimly at Larkspur and started across the lawn.

  Sleep was the last thing he was going to get that night.

  He lay awake and smoked. He stared at the ceiling in his hotel room, and he kept hearing Ted Larkspur’s words. “She is life, and her very heart is warmth.”

  And he was dead. Well, he had felt like death on occasion. Often. Until tonight.

  Until he had held her. He’d never meant to kiss her; he’d never meant to touch her. But he had. She was different. She looked different; she behaved differently; she tasted different.…

  He rolled over with a soft groan, crushing out his cigarette, then turned and stared at the ceiling again. He would like to be on a beach with her. A long, empty stretch of beach. And she’d be dressed almost like she was tonight. She’d be barefoot and wearing some kind of silk dress that he could slip over her shoulders before letting it drift away into the darkness. He’d take time to look at her, he swore it, then he’d take her down onto the sand, and that sexy lion’s mane of hair would spill all around them and entangle them both, and her naked flesh would be supple and hot against his.…

  He sat up, rubbing his temple, lighting another cigarette. When he closed his eyes tightly, the images disappeared, and he brought back a picture of his wife, laughing, and he heard again the echoes of his own laughter.

  “I loved you so much!” he whispered aloud. “I loved you so damn much.”

  Love was dead, and Larkspur was right. He was dead, too.

  He threw off the sheet and padded across the room to the dresser, where he poured himself another Scotch. He drank it fast, grateful for the fire that burned in his gullet. In the flicker of moonlight his bare chest and shoulders glistened in the dresser mirror. He was hot. Despite the blast of the air conditioner, he was slick with perspiration.

  One more Scotch. He crawled into bed, where the pain curled in on him again, and he winced hard and willed himself to sleep.

  Not a mile away, Amber was faring little better. At two o’clock she gave up, rose and turned on the lights, then started packing. At two-thirty she made herself a cup of herbal tea, and when that failed to make her sleepy, she fixed herself a large coffee liqueur with ice.

  She packed everything she could think of, then sat on her bed to watch a late movie on cable. But her fingers rose to her lips, and she remembered the taste and feel and excitement of the man who had touched her so intensely, so fiercely.…

  And so quickly.

  She threw her pillow across the room with a vengeance, then glanced at the telephone stand by her bedside. Her heart took a funny little leap. Connie, her father’s secretary and housekeeper, had left a message by the phone that she hadn’t seen before.

  Peter called. Will try again tomorrow, or please try to reach him.

  Peter …

  Peter. Yes, five years of her life, the man she had been engaged to, the man she had wanted to marry.

  She exhaled. Peter, yes, Peter …

  Peter had never, ever kissed her like that.

  Never.

  Palm Beach, Florida

  June 5

  By nine o’clock, Amber, Myra and Josie had checked into a room at their hotel. Myra was busy inspecting the courtesy bar and exclaiming over the number of candy bars in it. “My favorite!” she yelped cheerfully. Josie walked out of the bathroom with the complimentary containers of shampoo and conditioner and smiled at Amber. “Aren’t these darling?”

  “Darling,” Amber agreed. She pulled back the curtains and looked at the pool. It was night, but the poolside was busy. “I wonder how late it’s open,” she mused.

  Myra, who had already consumed a candy bar, was looking in the guest services book. “All night,” she supplied cheerfully. “Shall we take a swim?”

  “Sure,” Amber decided.

  Within ten minutes they were testing the water. It was just right—cool—and the night was warm, and being in the water was delicious. After a while Myra and Josie opted for the whirlpool, but Amber didn’t want anything to do with heat, so she stretched out on a chaise and looked at the sky. By next week, there would be a full moon.

  Myra plopped down beside her. “Did you see that guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “The one with the platinum hair and the bulging biceps.”

  “Myra, biceps are not everything.”

  “Well, these were pretty close.”

  Josie, carefully balancing a trio of piña coladas that looked like yellow-tinged ice-cream shakes, sank down, too. Amber quickly sat up, nabbing a piña colada before it could land on her lap. “You need a tall blonde with biceps,” Josie announced.

  “Would you shush!” Amber asked them. “I had a tall blonde with biceps. If and when I decide I want another one, I’ll ask your advice when I go looking, hmm?”

  Josie shook her head and turned to Myra. “She’s being sarcastic.”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. And you two are happily married ladies. So keep your eyes off the guys with the biceps or I’ll tell your husbands.”

  “Idle threats,” Josie said.

  Myra sighed deeply. “I’m gaining more weight each year. If you don’t get married soon, I’m going to look like hell in a bridesmaid’s gown.”

  Amber groaned loudly. “You guys, I said I’d come so we could have a good time together!”

  “All right, all right!” Josie agreed. Then she leaped to her feet and pointed toward the lagoon. “Oh, look! They have a fireworks display!”

  The three of them were up. They hurried along the path to the lagoon that centered the hotel and its golf course. On the water was a beautiful show of colors and bursting lights.

  She was jostled suddenly. A young couple had backed into her by accident. The woman quickly apologized. Amber smiled and told them it was quite all right. Then she watched the pair as they moved away. The man’s arm was wrapped protectively around the woman’s shoulder. They were enjoying the show, but they were more engrossed with one another than anything else. “Honeymooners, I’ll bet,” she told herself with a smile. And she thought that if she ever came back, she would want to come with someone she really loved. Someone to share the beauty and the fun, yet who loved and needed her more than any of it.

  She found herself thinking not of Peter, but of Michael Adams.

  “Amber?” Josie called to her.

  “I’m here,” Amber called back.

  “How about a drink at the rooftop restaurant?”

  “Sure, fine!”

  They had a drink and watched the sky beyond the glass-domed windows. They got to bed very late, then woke up very early and started with golf in the morning, tennis in the afternoon, and swimming in the early evening.

  Amber could barely stand by the time they made it back to their hotel. She was half-asleep and the last in line as they entered their hallway and neared the room.

  She was startled when Josie let out a wild scream. “What is it? Josie, what—”

  She
thought at first that her friend had been attacked, but it wasn’t anything like that. Josie was in the arms of a tall man, and it took Amber only a second to realize that it was Josie’s husband, Jim Bainbridge.

  “Amber, Myra,” he said, acknowledging the others, then grinned at his wife.

  “What are you doing here?” Josie insisted. “You’re supposed to be in Washington.”

  “I know, I know,” Jim Bainbridge said. “But things are really slow right now, so I thought it would be nice if I went on that cruise Ted Larkspur was talking about. I decided to come and see if I couldn’t collect a bevy of beauties to accompany me. What do you say? We could have another few days here, then fly down to Miami, spend a night and take off the next morning.”

  “I don’t know—” Amber said.

  “Well, I do! A cruise sounds like fun,” Myra said. “And George is in England for at least another three weeks. Come on, Amber. If those two are together, we can share a cabin. Why not?”

  “What do you say?” Jim asked her cheerfully.

  She felt her throat go suddenly dry as she realized that she had seen Michael Adams near Senator Daldrin. Maybe he had been hired as security for the senator.

  “Come on, Amber!”

  Why not? She wanted to go. She wanted to see Michael Adams again, and she had a strange feeling that he would be on the cruise.

  “I …”

  “Come on, Amber!” they all said in unison.

  “All right!” she agreed. “But only if you and Jim go off and get your own room and leave Myra and me to go to sleep right now. My feet are killing me!”

  “I’ve already gotten a room,” Jim assured her. “I was just trying to collect my wife.”

  “Well, collect her and go, huh?” Myra said.

  Thirty minutes later the Bainbridges were gone, and Amber had showered and lain down in her bed, her weary feet up on a pillow, her eyes closed.

  But as exhausted as she was, she didn’t sleep. Little flames of excitement were burning within her. She knew, with certainty, that the man with the ice-blue eyes and searing touch would be on that cruise.

  She was a fool to be going.…