His arms wound around her back, molding her to him. He'd memorized every curve, every hollow, every inch of her body last night. Suddenly he had to discover her all over again.
He touched her through her clothing and she through his, but they couldn't get close enough. Their sighs and groans mingled with the sound of water gurgling over rocks in the tabletop fountain. Meadowlarks sang harmony to piano and a lone stringed instrument. It was supposed to be relaxing music. It did cover the quiet, but it sure as hell didn't quiet his sudden burning desire. He needed more. More closeness. More passion. More of everything she had.
He maneuvered her backward until her back was against the wall. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her again, long and deep. All the while, his body pressed into hers. Closer. Closer.
Still not close enough.
She was the one who broke the kiss. She was the one who deftly unbuttoned his shirt. Next, she undid her own. Finally, they were skin to skin, chest to chest, man to woman. A shudder went through him. This still wasn't close enough.
"We can do this standing up," he said, his voice a low growl in his own ears. "Or you can take me to your bed. It's your choice."
She kissed him once more and then she stepped out of his arms and started toward a dark hallway. He followed her into her room, then stood and watched as she turned back the covers. "Is this what you had in mind?" she asked.
Her voice was like the wind after midnight, a deep sigh, a gentle mooning, a slow sweep across his senses. He was reaching for her again when a sound, like a small explosion, tore through the room.
He whirled around without thinking, placing himself between her and the window. He braced himself, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged.
His eyes were just beginning to focus again when it occurred to him that a car had backfired out on the street. This wasn't the streets in L.A. And he wasn't a kid living and fighting and sometimes nearly dying on them.
A bell jangled, and he jumped all over again. When it sounded again, he turned around and swore under his breath.
Amber was looking at the phone on her nightstand. That was what was ringing. Understanding dawned.
"The answering machine will get it," she whispered, pressing a kiss into his shoulder.
Tripp's heart slowed down, then sped up when the answering machine clicked on. "Amber, this is Rand. I need to talk to you. If you're there, pick up, would you?"
She went perfectly still, her indecision palpable. "Rand never calls me. Something must be wrong."
Since Tripp was closer to the phone, he scooped it up and handed it to her. The lingering smile she gave him as she placed the phone to her ear warmed him in ways that made it damned difficult to move.
"Rand, how are you?"
Tripp took a deep breath. Raking a hand through his hair, he walked to a bookcase on the far side of the room.
"Yes, I was in Mississippi. How did you…" She listened for a moment. "In Jackson, yes…but how…" Tripp felt her eyes on him as she murmured, "Mm-hmm. You remember Tripp Calhoun…"
There was another stretch of silence.
"How did you know? Rand, what's going on? You never call me. And what were you doing in Jackson?"
Amber glanced at Tripp. He was buttoning his shirt. She started toward him, then stopped, torn. "Rand, would you hold for a minute?"
She laid the phone down. "Tripp?" The expression on his face made her feel as if she was walking on eggshells. "Are you leaving?" she whispered.
He tucked his shirt in while he answered. "That call sounds important."
His gaze strayed to the skin exposed by her open shirt. She hoped that was a good sign. "You're right." She kept her voice quiet so her brother wouldn't hear. "Rand never calls unless it's important. But that doesn't mean you have to go."
"It's been a long weekend."
What pride she had left, she swallowed. "I thought it was a wonderful weekend. What are you going to do now? About your clinic, I mean?"
"I don't know. I'll figure something out."
Giving him a thorough once-over, she said, "I'd like to see it." She held her breath.
"You would?"
"You could show me yours, and I could show you mine."
Tripp felt sideswiped by her smile. "Are we still talking about work?"
"If you say so."
Her eyes were dark green tonight. He knew for a fact that they could flash with insolence one second, tease the next.
Tripp was a man who lived by a code that was dictated by ethics and gut instinct. Something was bothering the back of his mind. He didn't know what it was. He only knew he wouldn't be able to figure out what it was if he stayed here and finished what they'd started. He had to leave.
First, there was something he had to do.
He reached her in three long strides, grasped her by the shoulders and kissed her, swift and sure. Setting her away from him, he said, "If you stop by the hospital after work tomorrow, I'll give you a guided tour of my clinic."
"All right." She sounded breathless.
A brand-new rush of desire flooded into him. Fighting the impulse to say to hell with whatever was bothering the back of his mind, he nodded once and left her to her telephone call.
Amber took a deep breath. She didn't breathe again until after she heard her front door click shut. Picking up the phone, she said, "Yes, Rand. I'm still here."
An unwelcome tension had settled to her stomach and she realized just how precarious her ties to Tripp were. He wanted her, physically. He'd made that perfectly clear.
She listened to her brother, but all the while a tiny voice in her head insisted that there was more to Tripp's feelings for her than desire. She didn't know why he'd suddenly decided to leave. She wished he hadn't.
She was seeing him again tomorrow night. Hopefully, she would know more then. Who was it who said knowing was half the battle? Unfortunately, it wasn't always the most difficult half. Not when she was dealing with a man as complicated as Tripp.
"What? Of course I'm listening…Yes, I'm fine, really. Rand? Just how difficult did Lucy make things for you early in your relationship?"
Her big brother said something to the effect that it was hell, but most of that was his doing, not Lucy's, then asked about Sophie and River and little Meggie. Amber answered truthfully. "Sophie's fine. They're all fine. But what did you do to secure your relationship with—What? Drake? I haven't talked to him in a while, but I think he's all right…Liza and Jackson, too. We still haven't heard from Emily. And I'm worried."
He interrupted her again.
She flopped down on the bed. "Dad stays away a lot. And Mother, well, you know how she is…"
The fountain gurgled in the next room, and the mood music changed from a mountain meadow to an ocean's whisper. Now that Tripp had gone, it looked as if she was going to have to meditate to relax. First, she wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk with her oldest brother. Instead, it was twenty questions.
Why was it that guys were so willing to ask questions, and so unwilling to answer them?
She sighed. Men.
Eleven
"I'm the one who risked life and limb today, Calhoun. Why are you the one who's pacing?"
Tripp released all his breath before turning around, his back to the window. Coop was sitting in his usual chair, his feet propped on Tripp's desk in the usual way. He was right. Compared to Coop's day, Tripp's had been uneventful. Which only meant that his unease didn't stem from work. But he'd known that.
The small county hospital had been buzzing for hours with talk about the battered wife who'd stumbled into the E.R. only to collapse at Dr. Gavin Cooper's feet. Normally, Coop was pretty unflappable, but this one had gotten to him.
"You okay?" Tripp asked.
For once, Coop's grin wasn't very convincing. "I should be used to having women fall at my feet."
"I heard she filed a police report. She's pressing charges against her husband this time."
Several seconds passed be
fore Coop answered. "He broke two of her ribs, dislocated her shoulder, bloodied her nose and blackened her eye. After that he stopped being nice."
Tripp remained quiet, letting his friend vent.
"She said she should have known it was coming. Hell, she was trying her damnedest to blame herself. He fits the wife-beater MO to a T. Rich or poor, they're all alike. He talked her into quitting her job when the kids started coming. Guys like that need a woman to be completely dependent on them. That way, when his temper blows, the little woman is a sitting duck, with no choice but to take it."
Coop's terminology raised the hair on the back of Tripp's neck. A sitting duck? That phrase was imbedded in the back of his mind. He couldn't place why.
"She has a choice now, Coop."
Gavin Cooper raked his fingers through his hair. "Guess you're right. She and her kids are hidden away at a shelter, safe for now. Maybe after the cops pick up the bastard, they'll stay that way."
"You did a good thing today."
Coop uncrossed his ankles and lowered his feet tiredly to the floor. Running a hand through his hair, he scowled. "Look at me. My brow's furrowed, my teeth are clenched, my jaw set. Fred just accused me of taking lessons from you."
"Be thankful he didn't accuse you of taking lessons from Proctor."
The ploy worked. Coop grinned for about a second. "I'm due at the clinic in ten minutes. Guess I'd better get out of here."
"I can take your shift at the clinic tonight."
"Nah. I'd rather keep busy. When I'm finished there, I think I'll call a leggy blonde, brunette or redhead. A good roll between the sheets would go a long way in relieving my stress."
A soft knock sounded at the door. Both men looked up, and there was Amber, a vision in cream and gold, her eyes wide, her smile tentative.
"Just what the doctor ordered," Coop said.
She eyed both men dubiously. "May I come in?"
Tripp said, "Enter at your own risk."
When Amber smiled, Tripp felt a tightening in his throat and a chugging in his chest. He was either having a heart attack or there was something worse wrong with him.
He took a deep breath and caught a whiff of the same exotic, flowery perfume she'd been wearing Saturday night. Forget Coop's mention of a leggy brunette or redhead. Tripp wanted another night of lovemaking with a certain blonde. But whatever had been bothering him last night was still bothering him today. He'd lost count of how many times a distant, out-of-focus memory had swirled into his brain. Every time he came close to bringing it in clearly, the memory of Amber, in the throes of a strong passion, heated his thoughts and turned his attention elsewhere.
It was happening now. Oh, no it wasn't. He gave himself a mental shake and forced his thoughts into a semblance of order. He saw Coop rise slowly to his feet.
Eyeing his scrubs, Amber said to Coop, "Nice outfit."
"If you ask real nice, I'll take 'em off. If you ask real nice, I'll take anything you want off."
"I don't know how women refuse such a sincere offer," she said on a smile. Then the grin faltered. "Is that blood on your shoe?"
He glanced down. "Don't worry, it isn't mine."
Amber stared deep into Coop's eyes. She knew his type. A player, and handsome in his own right, he had blue eyes, a grain of goodness and a lazy, seductive grin that had left a trail of broken hearts in its wake.
Her heart was taken, therefore, she was immune. "Bad day?"
"Forget about today. Why don't you ditch the Lone Ranger there and run away with me?"
She laughed in spite of herself. "Is that what they call him? The Lone Ranger? I hadn't heard that. But I have heard people call you the Don Juan of County General. Why do I get the feeling you aren't proposing marriage?"
"Hell, if a marriage proposal would do it, I could arrange one."
She nudged Coop with her shoulder and said drolly, "Do you always hit on your friend's dates?"
Amber wasn't at all comfortable with the surprise on Coop's face. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were still—I thought—" He scowled. "Look, I'm having an off day. There's a lot of that going around here."
Certain he was referring to Tripp, Amber gave him her full attention. There were lines beside his dark eyes and shadows underneath them. His slacks were wrinkled and hung slightly below his waist. She wondered if he'd eaten or slept. His white shirt needed ironing; his tie was loosened. This smoldering, appealing man could curl her toes and spark her temper. He was closing himself off from her an inch at a time.
Why?
Tamping down a dull ache of foreboding, she asked Tripp, "Ready to show me your clinic?"
He nodded. Again, Amber wondered what he was thinking.
"I'm heading that way, too," Coop said.
They started down the corridor, three astride, Amber in the middle. If Coop hadn't asked a dozen questions about the wedding, the silence would have been palpable.
When they reached the elevator, Amber looked at Tripp. "Have you heard from Montgomery?"
"He called this morning."
"And?" It was like pulling teeth. The elevator started down, and Amber held on to her stomach.
"He thinks the reason he didn't see me at the reception was because things got chaotic after the downpour. He said he spoke with Gentry and Harris, who passed on my decision to remain at County General. He thanked me for attending the wedding and wished me well. The man doesn't have a clue he's being completely manipulated."
"You're not going to tell him?"
Tripp shook his head. "I wouldn't know how. And even if I did, I'm not sure he would believe me. It could get ugly, and I've learned to choose my battles."
"Any idea what you're going to do now to fund the clinic?"
The doors slid open and three sets of feet shuffled out. Halfway through the nearly empty lobby, Coop said, "The hospital is hosting a fund-raiser. 'Course, that's like putting a Band-Aid on an amputation."
Amber was the first to reach the fresh outdoors. Behind her, Tripp said, "Your imagery could use a little work today, Cooper."
"At least I didn't say bloody stump."
Amber's laughter floated up, rich and clear. If any one of them had walked in the other direction, they would have noticed a movement between two vans. If they'd been closer, they might have gotten a whiff of engine grease and sweat and cheap whiskey. Perhaps that would have explained why the hair on the back of Tripp's neck suddenly prickled. It wouldn't have explained the reason for Amber's unease.
Hers was all tied up with Tripp. He hadn't so much as touched her. He'd barely looked at her. Any second now she was going to work up the courage to ask where Coop had gotten the impression that she and Tripp were no longer seeing each other. What did Coop think—that they were just friends? As far as Amber was concerned, they weren't just anything.
She got in Tripp's car; Cooper unlocked his. Nobody paid much attention when a rusty van with a broken taillight pulled out of the parking lot and headed west.
Amber's thoughts were elsewhere. Although she could have asked a dozen questions, she remained quiet during the drive. Tripp put on his sunglasses. She lowered the visor, watching the houses go by.
The Mill Creek Medical Clinic was located on the outskirts of town, six or seven blocks from the hospital. She already knew Tripp had paid the city a dollar for an abandoned building that had once housed workers in the logging industry around the turn of the last century. Evidently, the building had been in total disrepair, with boarded-up windows and bats living in the attic and skunks under the rotting porches. She'd gotten a lot of her information from nurses and orderlies at the hospital. Someone—she thought it was Fred—had told her that the clinic was staffed almost completely with volunteers. Nurse Proctor of all people had said that Tripp had cleaned out his savings account to purchase the medical equipment, and he spent most of his wages keeping it running.
Tripp slowed down, pulling into a gravel parking lot in front of the building. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it
wasn't the vastness of the house on the hill. She suspended her worries and exclaimed, "It's lovely!"
Amber's simple praise touched Tripp in ways he hadn't expected. Staring out her window, he tried to see it from her perspective. He wouldn't call it lovely, or even majestic. The building couldn't hold a candle to the meticulously restored, ornate Victorian houses lining many of the streets of Ukiah, but as far as he was concerned, his clinic served a more important purpose.
It was sprawling, but well-built and rock solid. He'd patched the roof himself, replaced glass in broken windows, shored up the porches, sanded floors and given the entire building a coat of paint, inside and out.
"No wonder you saw its potential, Tripp. There must be ten rooms on the first floor."
"Eleven."
Her smile was artful and serene. It was as if she approved. It occurred to him that he wanted her approval. A man didn't worry about someone's approval unless he valued that person's opinion. He valued Amber's. He valued her.
It made him as nervous as a schoolboy. But Tripp Calhoun had never been a nervous schoolboy. He'd been rebellious, yes, not to mention a stubborn, arrogant, belligerent, egotistical, troublemaker. But never nervous.
He wanted…
What? Someone to talk to? Sleep with? More?
Whoa. All he was going to do was show her the clinic. The clinic was his top priority, and had to remain that way.
There were only a handful of cars in the gravel lot. Strangely, a rusty van with a broken taillight was blocking both reserved parking spaces. He pulled into an empty spot nearby and was cutting the engine when the van's door opened and a man he'd never seen before got out.
Every nerve in Tripp's body went on red alert. "Amber, stay in the car."
"What? Why?"
"Just do as I say. And lock the doors." He eased his door open and got out.
The Trophy Wife Page 16