Amy waited, in shock.
"You've got to reassure Harry somehow, before he comes up with some excuse to go back to Australia and stay there. I'm counting on you, Amy."
There was an urgency in Tyler's tone that troubled Amy, but she had her hands full just trying to cope with seeing him. She blinked, that was all, just blinked, and when she looked again her husband's ghost was gone.
Relaxing in the bathtub was out of the question, of course. In fact, Amy wasn't sure she shouldn't call 911 and have herself trundled off to the pot-holder-weaving department of the nearest hospital.
She jumped up, grabbed her robe and wrapped it around herself without taking the time to dry off. The thing to do was call Harry and beg off from their dinner date. She could claim illness, since there seemed to be every possibility she was losing her mind!
The trouble was, Amy still didn't have Harry's number, nor did she know where he was staying.
But the Ryans might. Surely Harry had contacted Tyler's parents, since he'd lived in their home as an exchange student for six months, back in high school...
Amy was about to dive for the telephone when her eyes fell on the spray of white lilacs lying on her pillow. Their lovely scent seemed to fill the room.
The blossoms were Tyler's special signature. In the old days, before the great and all-encompassing grief that had practically swallowed Amy's very soul, he'd often cut a bouquet in the back yard and presented them to her in just this way.
Her eyes stung. "Oh, Tyler," she whispered.
Since she knew she'd obsess if she stayed home, Amy went ahead with the preparations for her dinner date. She applied makeup, put on the shimmery dress and did her hair up in a loose bun at the back of her head. A few tendrils of sun-streaked blond hair were left to dangle against her cheeks and neck.
She was in the den, pacing, when the doorbell rang.
Opening the door, Amy found Harry waiting on the step. He was wearing a tux, just as Charlotte had predicted, and he looked like an advertisement for some exclusive European wristwatch. In one hand he carried a delicate bouquet of exotic pink-and-white blossoms.
His blue eyes darkened slightly as he looked at Amy, then he smiled and held out the flowers, along with a long white envelope.
"You must surely be the most beautiful woman in the whole of the western hemisphere," he said, his voice a low, rumbling caress that struck sparks in some very tender parts of Amy's anatomy.
"Come in," Amy said, sounding a lot more composed than she felt, stepping back to admit him. She admired the velvety pastel lilies for a moment, then turned the envelope over, as if its back might reveal its contents.
"Your dividend on Tyler's investment in the opal mines," Harry explained, his voice a bit gruff. He cleared his throat, but it didn't seem to help much. "Obviously I forgot to give it to you yesterday."
Amy hesitated.
"Open it," Harry prompted, closing the door.
She tore off the end of the envelope and supped the check out. As financially secure as Amy was, the amount still came as a pleasant shock. It was enough to buy a decent house outright.
"Tyler must have made a very large investment," she mused.
"Actually, he put up the accumulated birthday money from his grandmother," Harry explained.
Amy went into the den and put the check between the pages of her personal journal. Harry stood with his back to her, in front of the stone fireplace, looking at the row of pictures on the mantel.
When he turned to face Amy, the thought flew into her mind that she could probably achieve some distance between them by telling Harry she'd seen Tyler on three different occasions. Odd that she was more frightened of this living, breathing man than of a dead one.
"Shall we?" he said, offering his arm.
Amy couldn't bring herself to mention her hallucinations. "Just let me put these lilies in water," she said hastily, turning to hurry into the kitchen for a shallow bowl.
Floating in that fiery crystal, the flowers were so beautiful that they made Amy's throat swell.
There was a white limousine, complete with driver, waiting at the curb. Harry helped Amy into the backseat, which was upholstered in suede of a smoky blue, and climbed in beside her.
"I forgot to thank you for the dividend check," Amy said, feeling awkward and shy again. She couldn't help remembering the kiss she and Harry had shared the day before; just the thought of it made her go all warm and achy inside.
Harry gave an elegant shrug. "It's rightfully yours," he said. Then he reached out and lightly entwined his finger in one of the wisps of hair bobbing against Amy's cheek. "Such a bewitching creature," he added, as if musing to himself rather than speaking to her. "If a being as lovely and magical as you can exist, then surely there must be unicorns somewhere in this world as well."
Amy felt dizzy. "That's some line," she said, after a few moments of being totally inarticulate.
He smiled. "Oh, it's not a line," he assured her suavely. "I meant every word."
Amy believed him, although she knew she should have had her head examined for it. Next, he'd be telling her that no other woman had ever understood him the way she did, and asking her to come to his hotel room to view his etchings.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. The gesture was quick, over in a second, but Harry followed it with his eyes, and it seemed that time stopped for a little while. That she and Harry were alone in the universe.
For all of the thrumming attraction she'd felt ever since she'd met this man, their second kiss startled her completely.
Harry tasted her lips expertly, as though they were flavored with the finest wine, sending little shocks reverberating throughout her system. He might have been kissing her much more intimately, given the responses the contact wrought in her, and when his hand cupped her breast, she gave a whispered moan and tilted her head back.
He sampled her neck, the tender hollows beneath her ear, the pulse point at the base of her throat.
Harry apparently remembered the driver, even if Amy, to her vast chagrin, did not. He drew back from licr, smiled in a way that made her heart and throat collide at breakneck speed, and caressed her cheek with the side of his thumb.
He didn't have to say he wanted to make love to Amy; his eyes told her clearly enough.
Minutes later, when the limousine was purring at a downtown curb, the driver came back to open the door. Amy was grateful for the cool breeze that met her as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.
She was also enormously relieved, because the restaurant was not the Stardust Ballroom, as Tyler had predicted. That made things a little less spooky.
The place was shadowy and elegant, with candles flickering in the centers of the tables, and the atmosphere was intimate. Amy hoped the dimness would hide her bright eyes and glowing cheeks—it wouldn't do for Harry to guess how thoroughly he'd aroused her.
Amy had seafood salad and Harry had a steak, and they both drank a dry, velvety wine. When the meal was over, they danced.
For all that there were other couples around, the experience was another alarmingly intimate one for Amy. The way Harry held her close was in no way inappropriate, but the scent and substance of him excited her in a way nothing in her life had prepared her for. Her breasts and thighs were cushioned against the granite lines of his frame, and Amy's body was responding as though she were naked beneath him, in a private place.
He had guessed what was happening, evidently, for a half smile curved his lips. He gave no quarter.
His lips moved, warm, against her temple. "There's no going back now, love," he warned in a ragged whisper. "It's going to happen—tonight, tomorrow, next week."
Amy knew Harry was right, but as much as she wanted him, the idea of such total surrender terrified her.
He traced her mouth with the tip of one index finger. "So beautiful," he said.
"C-could we sit down, please?"
Harry led her back to their table and seated her with as much g
race as if she'd been a princess.
She couldn't meet his eyes, and her cheeks felt as hot as the tip of the candle's flame. After all, she'd practically come apart in the man's arms, and all because of the way he'd been holding her.
Harry reached out to curve his finger under her chin. "We have time, Amy," he reminded her.
Amy was relieved when he didn't ask her to dance again, though. She wasn't sure how much intimate contact she could take without making an absolute fool of herself.
They had Irish coffee and then left the restaurant.
"I think I have a headache coming on," Amy lied, once they were settled in the limousine again. Inside, she was still quivering from the tempestuous desire he'd awakened in her.
Harry grinned. "We can't just go off and leave the driver, now can we?" he teased.
Amy glanced nervously toward the front. There was no sign of the chauffeur. "Maybe I could just take a cab..."
But Harry shook his head before she'd even finished the suggestion. "When I take a lady out," he said in his rich accent, "I always take her home again. Come here, Amy."
She was overwhelmingly conscious of Harry's aftershave, the softness of the suede seats, the gentle command in his dark blue eyes. She tried to think of Tyler and, to her utter frustration, found that she couldn't remember what he'd looked like. Although she would have testified in a court of law that she hadn't moved, Amy suddenly found herself in Harry's arms again.
He kissed her, that was all, and yet Amy felt herself melting like warm wax. For the first time ever, she actually wanted a man other than Tyler, and her emotions were as tangled as a string of garage-sale Christmas tree lights.
The tinted windows of the limousine provided a high degree of privacy; the fact that the driver could return at any moment lent the situation a sense of breathless urgency.
She heard the electric locks on the limousine's doors click into place, and that made her eyes go wide.
He did nothing more than kiss and hold her, and yet Amy felt like some succulent dessert. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, and Amy was helpless to stop the tide of fate. She was abashed to realize that, if Harry suggested heading straight for his hotel room, she would have agreed.
Suddenly, though, the locks clicked again, and Harry was sitting a respectable distance from her, looking as unruffled as if he'd just stepped from his barber's chair.
Amy, on the contrary, was in a state of blissful shock.
The driver got back into the car, and Amy heard Harry give him a familiar address—her own. The only emotion that exceeded her relief was her disappointment.
On the porch, Harry bent forward to kiss her lightly on the tip of her nose. "You were too delectable to resist," he told her. "I'll try to mind my manners a little better next time."
Amy's senses were still rioting, and she rocked slightly on her heels, so that Harry clasped her elbows to steady her. "You could come in and have coffee," she said, and then she bit her lip. She'd had virtually no experience at being a vamp, since she'd never been with another man besides Tyler.
His smile was sexy enough to be lethal, though there was an element of sadness in it, too. "If I came in tonight, Amy," he said, "I'm afraid I would want much more than coffee. And neither of us is ready."
With that, Harry kissed her on the forehead—it was n purely innocuous contact that left Amy feeling hollow—and walked away.
She had the presence of mind to turn the lock and put the chain on the door after he was gone, but just barely. She gave a little hiccuping sob when Rumpel appeared and wrapped her sleek, silky body around her ankles.
"Reowww," she said companionably.
In need of comfort, Amy scooped the small animal into her arms and hurried up the stairs.
All the while she was taking off her dress and washing her face and putting on cotton pajamas, Amy cried. She had turned some kind of emotional corner, and she knew there would be no going back.
Tyler's mother awakened her with a phone call at ten-thirty the next morning.
"Hello, Amy," Louise Ryan said warmly. "I'm calling to ask a very big favor."
Amy was only half-awake, and rummy from a night of alternate crying and soul-searching. "A favor?"
"John and I are leaving for Kansas, the first of next week.. .his side of the family is having a big reunion. We hadn't planned on going, but at the last minute we decided to live a little. And, well, we'd like to take Oliver and Ashley along on the trip, if you don't mind."
The breathless hope in her mother-in-law's voice brought a tender smile to Amy's mouth.
"Of course they can go, Louise," she said, marveling even as the words left her mouth.
The next few minutes were taken up with the making of plans; John and Louise planned to drive back to the midwest in their motor home, and they wanted to pick the kids up early Monday morning.
"Oliver tells me you've been seeing Harry Griffith," Louise said, when everything had been decided.
Just remembering last night's interlude in the limousine made color flow into Amy's cheeks, but she managed to make her voice sound normal. "I'm not seeing him, actually," she hedged. You are, though, challenged a voice in her mind. And admit it, you 'd like to do a lot more than that.
"Harry is a wonderful young man," Louise said brightly.
"Yes," Amy agreed, keeping her tone strictly noncommittal. Despite the fact that she'd behaved like a teenager in the backseat of a Chevy the night before, she had a lot of reservations where Harry Griffith was concerned.
Amy swallowed, winding her finger in the telephone cord. She should tell Louise she'd been seeing Tyler, she knew that, but the risk was just too great. She depended on John and Louise Ryan—for all practical intents and purposes, they were the only family she had—and she didn't want them to think she was having a nervous breakdown or something.
"We'll bring the children home later this morning," Louise went on, apparently failing to notice the long lull on Amy's end of the conversation. "And thank you, dear, for letting us take them on the trip with us."
Amy said something ordinary, something she couldn't remember later, added a warm farewell and hung up. After she'd brushed her teeth and washed her face and generally made herself presentable, she went downstairs in shorts and a T-shirt to let Rumpel out.
She was having a much-needed cup of coffee when the doorbell rang, and when she reached the entryway, she found Harry standing on the step. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, and yet he managed to look as elegantly rakish as an old-time riverboat gambler.
"G'day," he said, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb. "Is that offer of coffee still open?"
Amy hadn't prepared herself, mentally or otherwise, for an encounter with Harry, and she was caught off guard. She blushed, nodded, and stepped back.
"You know," Harry said with a grin, "it's perfectly charming, the way you do that."
"Do what?" Amy challenged. For some reason she couldn't have put a name to, she needed to contradict him.
"Color up like a naked virgin when the bathhouse wall has just collapsed," he answered. "Are the children about?"
Amy led the way into the kitchen. "No," she answered, grateful that her response only called for simple words. "They're with the Ryans, making plans for a trip."
Harry turned her when she reached for the cupboard where the mugs were stored, and she was trapped between his hard torso and the counter. He traced her mouth with the tip of one index finger. "Excellent," he said. "That leaves you with no rational excuse for refusing to fly to Australia with me tomorrow."
5
* * *
Amy had every rational reason to refuse Harry's invitation to visit Australia with him. She must have rational reasons, she thought. It was just that she couldn't summon up a single one on such short notice.
Harry smiled his slow, knee-melting smile, only too aware, evidently, of her dilemma, then arched one eyebrow as if prompting her to produce a suitable answer.
"I don't have a visa for Australia," she finally said, flustered.
Harry outlined the edge of her jaw with a fingertip, sending fire racing through her system. "No worries, love," he said, his voice husky and low. "I can take care of that with a single telephone call."
Amy was trapped and she liked it, and the fact incensed her. "I can't just go flying off to another hemisphere with a man I hardly know!" she pointed out irritably.
He was so close, so solid, so warm. So male. "Ah," he said wisely, "but you want to know me quite well, don't you, Amy?"
Coming from any other man, the question would have sounded insufferably arrogant. From Harry, it was the unvarnished, pitiless truth.
"Yes," she confessed weakly, before she could stop herself.
Harry touched his lips to hers, with the lightest brushing motion, and a fiery shiver exploded in the core of her being, flinging rays of sweet heat into all her extremities. In fact, it was a wonder to Amy that her hair didn't crackle.
"Yes," he agreed with a sigh.
They just stood there like that, for an eternity, it seemed to Amy, and then he kissed her forehead.
"I think I'd better go now," he said reluctantly. He laid a finger to her nose. "Pack for a warm climate, love, and bring something for a glamorous occasion."
Amy didn't ask how he'd know when to pick her up. There was something mystical about the whole thing, something preordained. When it was time to leave, Harry would simply be there.
After he was gone, Amy went out into the backyard and stood by the tire swing.
"Tyler!" she demanded in an anxious, self-conscious whisper. "Where are you? I need to talk to you right now!"
There was no answer but for a breeze that ruffled the bushes burgeoning with white lilacs and carried their scent to Amy like a gift.
"This is important!" she pressed, feeling desperate. She knew what was going to happen if she went to Australia with Harry Griffith, and she was terrified. After all, she'd never been intimate with another man, before Tyler or after, and she felt as shy as a virgin.
"What's that, dear?" inquired a pleasant female voice.
Wild About Harry Page 6