Amber tapped on Hunter's forehead when he didn't reply.
“I missed your reply, neat freak.”
She could tell that Hunter wanted to say something sarcastic, but he simply nodded his head.
“Yes, mistress.”
“Fine. Now, without using your hands, remove my panties.”
“Yes, mistress!”
Amber gasped as Hunter moved his head between her knees. Very slowly, he raised his head so that his lips maintained contact with her skin. He didn't stop until his mouth was level with her hips. Using his teeth, he tugged the silky material down her legs until she could step out of the panties.
This time, Hunter didn't hesitate. He flung her panties behind him.
Amber sank to her knees.
“Now take off my shirt,” she said breathlessly.
She raised her hands over her head to make it easier for him.
Starting with her knees, Hunter grazed his fingertips against her skin until he reached the bottom of her shirt. Then he quickly pulled her shirt up and over her head. He tossed the material to the side. His mesmerizing eyes were steamy.
“Shall I remove your bra, mistress?”
Amber breathed in Hunter's scent – a combination of musk and soap. She leaned over and kissed him.
“Yes,” she said at last, trying to resist immediately pressing her body against him.
Hunter quickly freed her from the bra, but she didn't pay attention to where he disposed of it. She pressed against his chest, appreciating the roughness of his jeans on her bare legs. But the need to feel all of him against her became too much.
“Finish undressing,” she said, groaning.
Hunter stood just long enough drop his jeans and briefs. Then he knelt in front of her again.
“Lights,” she mumbled. “Turn off the lights.”
Hunter quickly complied and then returned to his original position.
The fire sent their shadows dancing on the walls.
“Look me in the eyes and make love to me, control freak,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.
Amber stared into his hypnotic green-jeweled eyes, letting the dancing flames and his rhythmic rocking sweep her into oblivion.
Chapter 8
Hunter insisted on taking a break from his internship the next afternoon so that he could accompany her to the office.
“After this, I can drop you off every day,” he said, waving away her concerns that it lengthened his commute.
“Why would you want to deny me every minute I can be with you?”
“I have a feeling it has more to do with your control freak issues,” Amber said, knowing she wasn't going to win this battle.
And she couldn't really argue with spending more time with him. Especially since he would be returning to ridiculous working hours. Hunter had explained that it would be worth the long weekday hours to have the weekends off. She couldn't argue with that logic. It wasn't ideal, but at least she was here with Hunter instead of pining away alone in the United States.
Amber had dressed in her nicest black jeans, her new boots, and a soft gray sweater. She had asked Hunter for his opinion, worried about looking too casual.
“Nice choice,” he said. “I'm glad we got you the boots. Polishes up the jeans.”
He stared for a moment at her arms. Perplexed, she followed his gaze. Oh! She finally realized that he was searching for the bracelet.
“Still here,” she said wryly, pulling it down closer to her wrist. “I never take it off."
Hunter had the grace to blush. As though to apologize, he bent to kiss her.
Amber thought that Hunter was simply going to drop her off at the office building entrance. However, he insisted on following her upstairs and introducing her to the receptionist.
Amber thought the young woman stared a little too long at Hunter. In retaliation, Amber leaned against him protectively. She didn't want any confusion about their relationship.
“Jealous much?” Hunter murmured as he led her through the corridors to his mother's office.
Amber ignored him.
“Sweetie! I didn't know you were escorting Amber here!” Mrs. Webb gave her son a warm hug.
“I can't stay,” Hunter said. Then he quickly switched to French.
Amber had a suspicion he was talking about her. Of course, she couldn't be certain and didn't want to seem paranoid.
“Of course, Hunter. Don't worry about it,” Mrs. Webb said. Then she shooed him from the room.
Hunter sent Amber an air kiss and quickly left.
“Now, Amber, let me show you where you'll be working. Then we'll get the tiresome paperwork out of the way. I have so many thoughts to share with you and can't wait to hear your opinions.”
Mrs. Webb showed Amber to a large room set up with several small cubicles.
“I'm afraid it isn't fancy, but we've gotten you a new laptop. Oh, and all of our staff are supplied with cell phones." She reached into a drawer and pulled one out.
"Just try to keep it with you at all times. The essential contact numbers have already been entered for you.”
Oh. Well, that solved Amber's cell phone problem. Her own cheap phone wouldn't work internationally.
“It's great!” Amber said, admiring the office space. “I love the natural light coming in from the windows. And the view of the city is fabulous.”
Mrs. Webb smiled. “Thanks for being so understanding. Hunter told me that you were a simple girl after my own heart.”
Amber glowed, pleased that Hunter had talked her up to his mom. An hour later, all the employment paperwork completed, she was jotting down notes as she spoke with Mrs. Webb.
The Foundation, she quickly learned, was in its infant stage. Mrs. Webb had not been exaggerating when she said that she needed concrete ideas. The two spent a few hours brainstorming how best to develop and run an art program for disadvantaged girls. How old would the students be? Would they apply via a lottery system or was it more fair to look for developing talent in less affluent schools? Should they concentrate on the younger pupils or try to attract high school students who might be able to work toward college scholarships?
A large part of Amber's independent work would be to contact various school districts and universities in the United States. Mrs. Webb was very thorough in her research. She wanted to know what was already being done in this particular field so that she didn't duplicate existing efforts.
Amber suggested aiming the resources at girls taking at least one art course in junior high school in disadvantaged school districts. She explained that many of these girls couldn't afford art supplies beyond pencil and paper. By the time the meeting was over, Amber was excited to be on board. She felt as though she was truly contributing.
Once the regular meeting was over, Mrs. Webb escorted Amber through the office to introduce her to the rest of the staff.
“You'll just be working for me,” she explained. “But I'm sure that everyone will be helpful if you ever need anything.”
A major surprise was meeting Kayla's father. Of course, Amber had known that he worked for the company in some capacity. She had not realized that he had recently been transferred to the Paris office. That explained Kayla's presence here.
However, Mr. Ross was not the type of individual that Amber expected. He was a short, nervous man with a pallid complexion. A swath of oily hair was combed over in a sad attempt at concealing a large, glistening bald spot. His suit was worn and his shoes needed a good polishing. The poor man looked sick and unkempt.
“Mr. Ross is not much of a conversationalist,” Mrs. Webb whispered as they moved down the corridor. “We just transferred him here from the States to head the accounting department. I'm afraid he seems to be having a hard time adjusting.”
Finally, the two women circled back to Mrs. Webb's office.
“Hunter told me that he's working late tonight,” the elegant woman said. “Please say that you'll have dinner with Mr. Webb and me.”
/> “I don't want to be a burden,” Amber murmured, wondering if that was what Hunter was setting up before he left.
“Nonsense, dear! If we can't see Hunter, at least we can share your wonderful company,” Mrs. Webb said warmly.
“We're having dinner at home this evening. I've got a simple stew in the crock pot as we speak. Nothing fancy, but we would love to share it with you.”
“In that case, count me in,” Amber said. “What time should I join you?”
“Why don't you come home with me now? These days I mostly come in just to work with the Foundation.”
Mrs. Webb linked her arm in Amber's. “Let's just grab your coat. I'll have the car meet us downstairs."
As they continued through the corridor, Amber saw Kayla's dad sneaking a glance in her direction. What was it with that family?
Amber had avoided checking her e-mail the last week or so. But now she wondered if there would be further postcard style pictures from Kayla. Perhaps she should check later tonight. There was definitely something weird going on. Kayla had insinuated that her dad was a big shot in the company. That was obviously a lie. The implied friendship between the two families was also false. So why put on such a big charade?
All thoughts of Kayla disappeared, though, as Amber slid into the private car with Mrs. Webb. She was offered a drink but only accepted a bottle of water. As Amber chatted with Hunter's mom, the car made its way through packed streets before eventually cruising down a quiet, tree-line avenue of beautiful buildings. As the driver pulled up to the curb, Mrs. Webb explained that they owned one of the apartment buildings.
They had kept the bottom unit for themselves and rented out the other floors. Although the Webbs were clearly wealthy, the personal touches in the home made Amber feel welcome. The walls were covered in paintings. As Mrs. Webb excused herself to check on the stew, Amber wandered around and studied them.
She wasn't surprised to see several art pieces by Hunter. She was startled, though, to discover several more by Mrs. Webb. Had Hunter mentioned that his mother was also an artist? She couldn't remember. She was studying one of the paintings when Mrs. Webb returned with two glasses of wine.
“I know you're not a big drinker, dear. But please pretend to sip so I don't feel embarrassed to have a glass.”
Amber giggled. “Just don't give me more than one or I'll be tipsy by dinner.”
“I see you've found some of my attempts at painting,” Mrs. Webb said. “I wasn't very good, but Mr. Webb insisted that we put them up. I think it reminds him of our early dating days.”
Amber smiled. “I didn't realize that you painted at all. I don't think that Hunter ever mentioned it.”
“Oh, that was a part of my life before he came along,” Mrs. Webb said. “I was one of those aimless students who can't decide what they want to do in life. I flitted from major to major.”
“This one is rather good,” Amber said. “It radiates a happy feeling.”
Mrs. Webb smiled. “My instructor liked that particular one as well. Perhaps it's because I had just fallen in love.”
“And then you stopped painting?” Amber asked. “For good?”
Mrs. Webb shrugged. “Oh, I played around with drawings when Hunter was younger because I wanted to expose him to art at a young age. But I ended up getting a degree in Literature when I graduated."
“Hunter mentioned that you had him a bit late in life?”
Mrs. Webb patted the sofa next to her.
“Please have a seat, dear. And, yes, it seems almost miraculous that we had him at all. I was already in my mid thirties when we married. It took us a couple of years before he was conceived.”
She laughed. “Perhaps that was why he grew up so serious minded. All of our friends had much older children. It wasn't until we moved to the United States that he started hanging around children his own age more regularly.”
Amber took a large sip of wine, not sure she should even be asking her next question.
“Has Hunter ever had any negative experience that might make him more protective than the average guy?”
Mrs. Webb smiled wryly. “Beyond you being kidnapped at gun point?”
Amber swallowed. “Uh, yeah. And that was horrible, but he doesn't even want to discuss it.”
Mrs. Webb shook her head. “I'm afraid that's more of a guy thing. At least in my experience.”
She put her hand on Amber's knee. “When we were trying to conceive, I had three miscarriages.”
Amber's hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.”
Mrs. Webb squeezed Amber's hand reassuringly. “It was a long time ago and I've mostly healed from it.”
She took a sip of her wine. “The only reason I brought it up is to say that I think that women and men deal with things so differently. Women seem more adept at grieving properly. But men are . . .”
She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
“My husband was obsessed with pinpointing why each miscarriage happened. He simply wanted to fix things and move on. He didn't want to dwell on the pain."
Amber nodded. “I think that sums up Hunter as well. But he was overly protective even before the kidnapping.”
Mrs. Webb pressed her lips together and studied Amber.
“I think it is up to Hunter to share particular parts of his past with you,” she said. “All I can say is that you are on the right track.”
She held up a warning finger. “But please don't say that I mentioned it to you. He would be devastated that I even hinted about something so private.”
Chapter 9
Amber sat there perplexed. So, there was something in Hunter's past, but she wasn't allowed to talk about it. This was even more frustrating than not knowing anything at all!
Mrs. Webb winked.
“Let me show you some photographs, dear,” she said, getting to her feet. “I'll be back in a moment.”
When she returned, Mrs. Webb was carrying a large box.
“I'm ashamed to say that I've been meaning for years to sort these properly and put them in albums.”
“That would be a good job for Hunter,” Amber said, grinning.
Mrs. Webb laughed. “You're right, dear, but they would be arranged be in his order. I suppose I'm not willing to relinquish that control to him.”
Amber picked a photograph at random and held it up.
“He looks so serious even as a baby!”
Mrs. Webb smiled. “Here's a happier version of him.”
She handed over a photograph in which Hunter was laughing, his entire chubby little body exuding joy. In his arms, he clasped a small puppy.
“Hunter loved that dog with a passion,” she said and then stood abruptly. “Perhaps I should check on the stew once more. And I think that I'll make a small salad to go with it.”
“Can I help?” Amber asked, standing as well.
The change in Mrs. Webb's manner was so abrupt. Almost as though she was trying to tell her something.
“Oh, no. Please sit and enjoy the photographs.”
Amber's head swiveled back to the box. Ah! The answer was here after all. She fingered the picture of Hunter with the puppy. Was that a clue? She set it aside and started to sift through the box.
The photographs were jumbled together in no particular order. High school pictures were mixed in with toddler photographs. An older couple, most likely the grandparents, appeared in many of the images. They apparently lived on a country estate. There were multiple shots of Hunter and the puppy playing on sprawling grounds.
Mrs. Webb returned with a plate of cheese and explained that Mr. Webb would arrive shortly. Amber thanked her and stuffed a bit of cheese in her mouth. But she only found one other photograph that appeared to show a potential calamity with the dog. In one photo, Hunter sat by himself in a toy car, his small hands clasping the steering wheel. His brooding gaze was focused just beyond the camera. Although he wasn't crying, he looked melancholy. It was a strange look for such a young c
hild.
Amber checked the time on her phone. Mr. Webb was due to arrive home any minute and she suddenly felt guilty for not insisting on helping in the kitchen. She carefully placed all the photographs back into the box. Then she followed the delightful aroma of stew into the kitchen.
Mrs. Webb hummed as she tossed a salad in a rustic, wooden bowl. The kitchen, although equipped with every modern convenience, was in the rustic French style. The long, polished, wooden counter held a lifetime of knife marks and scratches. A simple vase on the table held a large bouquet of simple flowers. The effect was warmth plus beauty.
“Can I peek?” Amber asked, pointing to the large crock pot on the counter.
Mrs. Webb smiled and nodded. “I'm going to break down and have an entire bowl if Mr. Webb doesn't arrive soon."
Amber lifted the lid and groaned with pleasure as the wonderful scents hit her nose. The stew bubbled delightfully in the pot. She could see bits of tender beef, carrots, potatoes, beans and corn, all waiting to be tasted.
“I won't tell if you don't,” she said, grinning.
“But I might get suspicious if all I get served is salad,” a voice said behind her.
Amber jumped. She whirled around and saw Mr. Webb entering the kitchen.
“I didn't mean to startle you, my dear,” he said, holding out his arms for a quick, warm hug.
“I'm so pleased that you decided to join us. We were hoping to see more of Hunter with his internship here in Paris.”
He shook his head. “I'm afraid he works too much. Not one of the best traits he gets from me.”
Mr. Webb turned to his wife, giving her a loving embrace and a kiss on the mouth.
“The stew smells amazing, darling. I'm glad I arrived in time to get some.”
Mrs. Webb laughed. “We would have left you a small sample. At least enough to make you hurry home next time.”
Amber was dying to ask about Hunter's pet dog, but she realized that Mrs. Webb had already indulged as much as she was comfortable doing so. And if she was honest with herself, she knew that she wouldn't want anyone prying in her personal life behind her back.
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