But not today.
He stared out at the water and reminded himself that he was in love with a dead woman, that he had nothing to give to Amber Larkspur, that he’d had no right to touch her, and he sure as hell had no right to touch her again.
His feet started moving anyway. She wasn’t a kid, and he’d been honest with her. And she’d been honest in return. Whatever the chemistry was, it had touched her, too. She had wanted him. And anything that had felt so right and so fulfilling just couldn’t be completely wrong.
His feet touched the water.
Within moments he was up to his waist, and then he was swimming toward her. She was floating on her back, but she sensed when he came near, and she stood, the waterline just above her breasts, the waves barely covering the large, dusky-rose nipples. He stood apart from her for a long moment, and her eyes searched his; then she smiled slowly. “We’re not doing a very good job of staying away from one another,” she said.
“No,” he replied. Her hair, sleek and wet, was drawn away from her face, and the clean lines of her throat and shoulders and breasts were achingly evident. His voice softened, and he was surprised at the tremor in it, the touch of tenderness. “You said you wanted me. Me, as an individual man. And not because of convenience, but because when we met, certain … feelings arose.”
“I didn’t say all that, but yes,” she whispered. “It’s what I meant.”
“Come here.” He spoke commandingly, his tone harsh, and he thought she would ignore him.
But she didn’t.
She moved through the water, coming so close that her breasts brushed his chest and he could feel the softness of her. He pulled her into his arms and held her, his mouth covering hers, and he tasted the salt and the sea and the sweetness that was uniquely this woman. He kissed her more deeply and felt her tremble, felt the rise of his passion against her belly. He planted his feet hard in the sand and drew her more tightly to him as he raised his lips from hers at last and looked into her eyes.
They were wide and luminous, reflecting the waves and the elusive colors of the water. He dipped his head again and kissed her throat, and his tongue traced a watery trail to her collarbone. He felt the trembling of her body again and cupped her breast, feeling the hardness of the nipple. “I do want you,” he whispered to her.
She seemed to melt against him. “Here?” she whispered.
His eyes met hers again. “Here. Yes. Right here. Now, in the water.” He teased his fingers along her thigh, stroking her intimately with his thumb, creating a bold rhythm. And he whispered against her ear, “Now, Amber. Here, now.”
She moistened her lips with her tongue, and he lifted her and told her to wrap her legs around him, then guided her down onto him and held her tight. His hands slid low over the roundness of her buttocks, and he lifted her against him again and again, bringing her down hard, letting the rhythm, the pace, increase until she felt as hot as the sun despite the coolness of the water. Her breasts stroked his chest with every movement, adding to the need within him. It rose and rose, hot and sweet, and everything within him tensed and constricted, and then a cry burst from him, and his seed spilled into her. She, too, cried out, but softly, her arms wrapped around him, her head burrowing against his shoulder.
He held her that way for endless moments, until the water felt cool again.
Then she lifted her head, and her eyes met his. “We should get dressed. This isn’t really a private beach.”
He nodded and slowly released her, even though he didn’t want to. She swam with clean strokes to the beach. He waited, watching as she picked up the pieces of her black bathing suit and slipped into them. She stared down the beach for a moment, then retrieved his trunks and came to the water’s edge. There was nothing hurried about her movements, nothing of regret or shame.
“The senator is walking our way,” she said quietly and tossed out his trunks.
Daldrin. Adam wondered what the man would have thought if he had decided on his jaunt a few minutes earlier.
He stepped into his trunks and walked out of the water. “Hey, there you two are!” Ian Daldrin called out. There was a note of relief in his voice, as if they had been gone a long time. Had they? Adam wondered.
“Senator,” Amber drawled, “you must have known that I’d be all right. After all, you sent Mr. Adams to keep an eye on me, I’m certain.”
“Well, maybe I did,” Ian admitted.
“And as you can see, we’re just fine,” she went on.
“Yes, yes, but you should come back. They’re serving lunch, a barbecue in the sand. The calypso band is playing. And they make a damn good rumrunner.” He offered Amber his arm. She took it without looking at Adam.
But Daldrin did look back, and there was puzzlement in his eyes as he studied the younger man.
Adam followed them in silence. He couldn’t see why Daldrin was confused. It all seemed pretty obvious to him.
They ate hamburgers and hot dogs and sipped rumrunners on the shore.
Amber was amazed that she found it so easy to sit beside Senator Daldrin on her towel, to chat and to sip her drink as if her life hadn’t just changed monumentally. She should be pondering her sins, she thought, and she wasn’t.
Nor was she anywhere near Michael Adams. He had chosen a position in the sun behind them. He wore his dark glasses, and she couldn’t see his eyes, so she couldn’t even begin to attempt to fathom his thoughts.
But he was watching her, she knew. He was watching her, and he was watching Senator Daldrin. Sometimes he contributed to the conversation. He seemed to know Switzerland and Austria well, and his knowledge of British history was impressive. When he spoke, Amber felt a rush go through her, as if a cold river was washing over her. She had made love with a man she knew nothing about.
They watched the sunset from the shore, and it was beautiful. There was nothing to see as far as the eye could roam except for the ship and the sky and the horizon and the island, and it was all very beautiful, if just a bit forlorn.
Amber knew that she would never, ever forget the island.
They got back to the ship with just enough time to shower and change and go to dinner, but Amber didn’t want to go to dinner. Instead she showered and donned a nightgown and curled up in bed, where she stared at the shadowed ceiling and wondered about everything she had done. Just thinking about him made her grow warm, made her breath come too quickly, and she could hear the hard pounding of her heart, and feel it in her breast. She should be ashamed of herself.
But she wasn’t ashamed in the least. Whoever and whatever Michael Adams was, she just couldn’t be ashamed. All the tempest between them had been leading straight to this, and it had been wonderful. She hoped that he didn’t think she had stayed away from dinner because she was ashamed. She had stayed away, she realized, because she hadn’t been alone all day, because she hadn’t had a chance to savor and enjoy and relive the moments they had shared.
She couldn’t sleep. After a while she rose and quickly donned a casual knit dress. She didn’t bother with shoes, but left her cabin and walked on the deck. She had found a little island of privacy, she realized. An area where the lifeboats created deep shadows.
The night seemed like a black pit, like a void. All was silent except for the lapping of the waves against the ship and the muted sounds of the band coming from the lounge.
The moon suddenly came from behind a cloud. A full moon. It cast a soft glow over the water. I should be worrying about the rest of my life, she thought. And she thought, too, that she should be worrying about Peter. She had been there for him for so long. That had been the mistake. It wasn’t a lack of caring; they had both cared, cared deeply. But she had been there to pick him up from his depressions when he should have been doing it himself, and maybe now he would learn to stand on his own and fulfill his potential.
Had she really wanted him to come after her, not so long ago? Yes, she probably had. The dream of marriage and children and Brownie meetings
and Little League had been so strong. And now she didn’t know what she wanted.
She knew she didn’t really love Peter, not the way she’d thought she had. Not when she could be touched so deeply and so completely by a stranger. Not when she could revel in the intimacies they had shared. Not when she longed to share them again.
She heard a noise and turned. Farther down the deck she could see a man in a white suit. It was Daldrin. He had just lit a cigarette and was looking at the sea. Apparently he needed to be alone, too. To see the endless water and the darkness of the night.
She moved quietly into the shadows. Everyone needed a few moments alone, and there was nothing so alone as this.
But that wasn’t quite true. She happened to glance toward the bow of the ship, where a set of stairs led up to the pool deck.
They weren’t alone at all. Michael Adams was there, as silent as the night, watching either her or Daldrin.
He didn’t back away or pretend not to see her. He spoke softly, but his voice carried down to her. “Good night, Amber.”
She stared at him and called back, “Good night.”
The breeze moved over her shoulders, and she shivered. He was still watching her as she stepped into the hallway and hurried to her cabin.
Nassau
June 14
Myra was decked out in something like a white tennis outfit with a huge straw hat perched atop her head and a massive white bag. “I intend to shop until I drop!” she informed Amber. “Are you coming?”
“Mmm, for a while,” Amber agreed. “But I’m not as good a shopper as you are. I’ll probably drop out after lunch and come back to the ship. Is that all right?”
“Of course, whatever you want. This is a vacation, remember?”
They could disembark right on shore as soon as the ship was cleared. The two women walked to the poolside, where a buffet was being served. Myra decided to prepare herself a plate. “All-out shopping can require strength, you know,” she told Amber, who nodded and took a cup of coffee. They found an empty table and sat down. Myra munched on a strip of bacon, eyeing Amber. “Who are you looking for?” she asked.
“What?”
“Who are you looking for?”
“No one.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course. I was just watching everyone. People are so interesting.”
“Oh, sure. People in general. I thought you might be looking for the intriguing Mr. Adams.”
“No. Why should I be?”
“Because I think he was looking for you last night, at dinner. Not that he’s obvious. Those eyes of his are so cold, yet I always get the feeling he’s the kind of guy who burns hotter than fire. He’s so wonderfully intense. So sexy. And I could have sworn you had noticed.”
“He’s interesting,” Amber admitted. “Senator Daldrin must feel safe with him around.”
“He ought to feel safe, because this ship is crawling with security.”
“Is it?”
“You know it is. Very likely Daldrin will be president in another eight years. He’s one of the most important men in the senate. In a sea of big fish, the man is a whale. You know that.”
“I knew there was security,” Amber murmured. She remembered the man talking to Michael Adams in the launch the other day. Was he security, too? Who knew? And who knew just exactly what Michael’s position was?
Myra daintily cleaned her lips with her napkin and pulled out her compact to check her appearance, then smiled. “Shall we shop?”
“Sure.”
Amber still hadn’t seen Michael when they had disembarked and walked a good distance down Market Street. She bought her father an interesting carved head, then bought his housekeeper and herself some perfume. Myra had been serious about shopping until she dropped—her bag was already full with straw objects and T-shirts and all manner of souvenirs, including a clay pipe with a growling bear on it. “My husband will love it!” she proclaimed, defending her purchase.
“I didn’t say a word,” Amber told her.
At twelve they were about to stop for lunch when a pair of mopeds came up close behind them. They spun around. To Amber’s amazement she saw Senator Daldrin on one of them, smiling like a little kid.
Michael Adams was behind him. Down the street was another group riding the little cycles. More security, she thought.
“How about lunch?” Daldrin inquired. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No, and we’re just about famished!” Myra said. “What did you have in mind?”
“A little place up the road a piece. I came here with my wife, Katherine, a few years ago.”
His wife had died less than two years earlier, and Amber knew that he still missed her deeply. Maybe it was important for him to go to the restaurant in her memory. She lifted her eyes past the senator. Michael’s glasses were covering his eyes, but she felt warmth sweep over her anyway.
“How are we getting there?” Myra asked.
“Crawl on,” Daldrin invited her.
“With you?” Myra asked incredulously.
“Yes. I know how to drive this thing quite well, thank you very much. Amber, get on with Michael. It will only take a few minutes.”
It took more than a few minutes to get Myra on the moped with Ian and all her shopping bags. Amber sat behind Michael, her arms around his waist.
It was a nice place to be. She liked it.
When the moped took off, the wind whipped her hair around her face, so she buried it against his back.
“You all right?” he called to her.
“Perfect!” she returned. Yes, she was perfect. She breathed in his scent and felt little tremors invade her. The ride was too short. Within minutes she was getting off the moped, and she wasn’t touching him anymore.
The place was a shack. “Best turtle soup in the world,” Daldrin assured her. He led Myra up the steps. Amber felt Michael’s hand on her back, and she followed Myra.
Inside, they sat together on a bench. Amber ordered a seafood stew and promised to taste the senator’s turtle soup. Everyone ordered Bahamian beer and sat back to enjoy the soft, lazy atmosphere in the room.
They talked about food around the world, then they talked about places, then the conversation drifted toward the theater. Amber could feel Michael’s thigh against her own. She sipped her beer and watched his hands. She liked his hands so much. They were large hands, lean, powerful. Looking at them, she remembered how they had felt on her skin.
She swallowed hard and stared at Myra, who had asked her a question she hadn’t heard.
“Pardon?”
“I said, have you seen Yellow Roses?”
She flushed. “No, I, uh, what is it?”
“An off-off-Broadway show. It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. And Michael has seen it, too.”
She gazed at Michael. “I, uh, yes, I’ve seen it. I have a friend in the cast,” he said.
“How wonderful.” Myra launched into a long tribute to the show. Amber watched Michael and thought that he seemed uncomfortable—a different characteristic for him. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe she was paying too much attention to his hands, or to the heat of his thigh.
When they had finished lunch, Daldrin and Michael drove them to the ship, then went to return the mopeds. Amber changed into a bathing suit and walked to the pool.
Late that afternoon, Michael finally appeared, but he didn’t come near her. He lay across the pool from her, his dark glasses in place. He didn’t seem to move much, except when he took a lazy dip in the pool, but she knew that no matter how at ease he seemed, he was always watching Daldrin.
And she thought he was watching her, too.
At sunset, he disappeared. Amber, annoyed at her disappointment, forced herself to stay out longer. Then she hurried to her stateroom and took a long shower, washed her hair and tried to pamper herself in every way imaginable. With fresh red polish on her fingernails and toenails, she dressed in an elegant black cocktail gown and started
out of her cabin, certain that she would find someone she knew in the lounge.
She had barely reached the end of the quiet hallway when she heard a rushing sound behind her. She spun around, alarmed. A cabin door had opened.
Michael Adams was there in the hall, a large white ship’s towel wrapped around his waist.
“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.
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