A Perilous Eden Read online

  It didn’t matter. A small sound escaped her lips, and he pulled away from her, dropping her hem, staring at her wide, dilated eyes.

  “For the love of God, stay away from me,” he warned her, and she knew he was going to turn and walk away again.

  “No!” She practically shrieked the word. He paused, startled, and Amber rushed past him, turning only once to say, “For the love of God, you stay away from me!”

  She ran inside. The brilliance of the light nearly blinded her at first, but she hurried to the stairs, found her deck and raced for her stateroom. Once inside, she slammed the door, leaned against it and breathed deeply.

  It was going to be a wretched, wretched night.

  Myra had no interest in waking up early to seek out a quiet and deserted beach. Amber didn’t mind going alone—it was a good opportunity to reflect on what she was going to do with her life.

  She dressed silently in an ebony French-cut two-piece with a high waist and string ties. Over it she wore a huge T-shirt. In sneakers and a straw hat and sunglasses, with a bag holding lotion, a bottle of mineral water and towels, she was ready. She was one of the first on deck at seven-thirty. The launches wouldn’t be ready for another few minutes, but coffee was being served at the buffet, and she took a cup with her to the rail and looked toward the island. It was beautiful, all overgrown, with no buildings, no cement, nothing except for the foliage and nearly snow-white sand that seemed to stretch forever.

  “Morning, Amber.”

  She spun around. Senator Daldrin was already up. In swim trunks, he seemed in very good shape for a man of his age. Not an ounce of extra flesh fell over his waistband.

  “Good morning, Senator.”

  “You weren’t planning on going off alone, now, were you?”

  “I’m just heading out to the island.” The deck wasn’t empty any longer. A few other members of his party were milling around. And if the senator was up, Amber was sure that her nemesis was around, too.

  He was. She saw him sitting at a table. He was wearing swim trunks and an open shirt, his eyes hidden beneath the dark lenses of his glasses. He lifted his hand, acknowledging her.

  Damn.

  She looked at Daldrin. “Senator, I’m almost thirty.”

  “Are you? Doesn’t seem like so many years could have passed. I’ve known you since you were a little thing, you know.”

  “But I’m not little anymore. I swim like a fish, and I would really like some privacy today. Please understand.”

  “Oh, I understand.” He smiled and walked away from her. A moment later he paused by the table where Michael Adams was nursing his coffee. The senator said something, and the other man nodded.

  Irritated, Amber turned away. Within moments the launches were ready. It would have been churlish to avoid Senator Daldrin to such an extent that she refused to ride in his launch, so she willingly went along with the party, sitting on the seat right in front of him.

  The motor hummed to life, and a young Hispanic crewman steered the small craft toward the island, shouting above the roar of the motor. “Last boat goes back at eight this evening, sí, people? You be careful, you have fun, but you be careful, and make it back to the ship, eh? We’ll have beer and soda and rumrunners here on the beach, and you’re not going to be driving, so you can have a good time. Just don’t get lost!”

  Someone chuckled, and there was a rush of conversation. Amber was startled when she realized that she was sitting behind Michael Adams, and that another man was whispering to him.

  “It’s not tonight, I tell you. When the time is right, I will know.”

  “You’re certain.”

  “I am certain.”

  Amber leaned forward, anxious to hear more of the conversation, but they had both fallen silent.

  The launch made its way through the shallow waters, spray rising up around them, to the shore. The crewmen jumped out, dragging the launch up on the sand. Amber was quick to leap out unassisted, but before she had taken two steps, Senator Daldrin was beside her.

  “Amber, come on, spend some time with us.”

  She opened her mouth to explain that she just wanted to be alone for a while when she received unexpected assistance from Michael Adams. “Senator, nothing could possibly go wrong today. I’m sure Miss Larkspur will be all right.”

  Ian Daldrin threw up his hands. “Bless you then, and have a great day.”

  She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried off. Others were already scurrying along the sand, trying to find their own little nook or cranny of privacy along the stretch of beach. If she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t find a place.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was still walking. Others had already chosen their little plots of paradise, and she had to keep going and going to find her own patch of pristine beach. It didn’t matter; she felt a curious rush of energy that morning, despite the lack of sleep she’d experienced lately. She didn’t mind walking at all. What she really wanted to do was run and run and run, until the tension was gone, and the energy, too, and all the ragged confusion of emotion.

  In another ten minutes she paused. She was far beyond the other bathers from the ship, but the walk had been well worth it. She had come upon a cove with high dunes and rock formations on either side, with scattered foliage and pines eking out a desperate existence to give the exquisite little beach in between just the right amount of sun and shade. Nothing marred the sand, not a soda bottle nor a gum wrapper; there wasn’t a single sign of human habitation. There was just the beach, the sun, the sky and the water, turquoise as she had never seen turquoise before.

  Right away she dropped her beach bag and took off her hat, sneakers, T-shirt and glasses, then raced for the water. It was beautiful, even exquisite! The day was hot, but the water was still cool from the night, and it seemed to awaken and refresh and cleanse her. She dove deep, then surfaced and struck out hard with a crawl before turning toward shore with the backstroke. She swam as she had walked, with determination and explosive energy, and then at last she went to the shallows and rose and started walking toward the beach again.

  She stopped, staring toward the sand. She wasn’t alone in her Eden anymore, that much was for sure. Michael Adams had found her. He was shirtless and barefoot now, and it was the first time she had seen his shoulders and chest. He looked just as she had imagined he would. He was in better shape than a man who simply went to a gym. His belly was taut and trim and rippled with muscle. He was lean all over, but still taut muscles bulged in his arms, his shoulders, his tawny-dusted, coppery chest. There were scars on him, too, several that she could see. A long one across his right shoulder. Another along his side.

  She stared at him for a moment, then started walking again, angrily. She realized that he was soaking wet when she strode past him, but this was a beach and he was supposed to be wet, so she didn’t think anything of it. She reach down for her bag, pulled out her towel, then turned in fury. “‘Stay away from me, Miss Larkspur!’” she mimicked. “I’m trying very hard to do just that! What the hell are you doing on my beach!”

  “It isn’t exactly your beach.”

  “I walked long and hard to find it, and I think I made it clear that I wanted to be alone.”

  “I wanted you to be alone, too, Miss Larkspur, but I’m afraid your friend the senator had other ideas.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be guarding him?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t think so much.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t take your work quite so seriously—and leave me alone!” Amber spread out her towel and reached for her sunglasses, trying not to allow him to see just how shaken she was. It had been a mistake, she realized. She shouldn’t have tried to escape. She should have stayed with the others, with people. It was dangerous to be alone with him.

  Definitely dangerous.

  “Why, you damn brat!” He was dripping on her. Standing over her and dripping on her. “You scared me half to death, staying under that long! I dove like c
razy, sure you were drowning, and then you came waltzing back in with a mouthful of wisecracks!”

  She sat up, stripping off her glasses, staring at him furiously. “No one asked you to come!”

  “Even good swimmers drown!”

  “But I wanted to be alone.”

  “You have no sense, but there are people who still care about you. My God, I feel like—”

  He broke off. Amber stumbled quickly to her feet, facing him. “You feel like what? Go on, tell me, spit it out. Don’t hesitate. Really.”

  “All right, I won’t hesitate!” he shouted, reaching for her. She had no idea what his intention was, and she didn’t want to find out. With a screech, she turned to run.

  There was no one to hear her on her private beach, in her protected cove, her Eden. Her bare feet hit the white sand, sending it flying. The foliage dipped and swayed, scattering the sunbeams as she ran.

  And as she fell.

  His arm swept around her bare midriff, and his weight bore them down into the sand, where he loomed over her, his hands on her shoulders, his legs straddling her. And he was yelling again, telling her that she was a fool, her father’s spoiled little darling, and that if she had any sense at all, she would learn to be more careful.

  She slammed her fist against his chest. “I’ve managed very nicely for nearly thirty years, thank you very much. Now get off me, you gorilla!”

  “Amber, you don’t—”

  He broke off. He was staring at her. His hands fell suddenly from her shoulders, and his fingers entwined with hers. They both looked at the soft white of her slender hand and the darker, rugged bronze of his, and then he slowly lowered their hands to the sand together. And as he did so, he lowered his face to hers. She knew that he was going to kiss her again, and she found herself bracing for the violence.

  But there was none. Today, when his lips touched hers, it seemed as if they had no more force than a breath. Flickers of warmth, of wetness, touched her as he teased the rim of her lips with the tip of his tongue. Then he moaned and wrapped her in his arms, and suddenly they were rolling into the sand. When he kissed her again, it was the deep, never-ending kiss she had come to know, the fusion of life and soul, the touch of fire that entered through her lips but coiled in her belly. He held her face and kissed her more slowly, more deeply. And then he just held her there in the sand, and his groan touched her ear. “This isn’t right.”

  It wasn’t right, and she knew it. She had touched something forbidden, but she knew that she couldn’t walk away. She moved against him, her fingers brushing through his damp hair, moving over his nape. The back of his hand brushed her cheek, her eyes met his, and they both knew that there was no denial within them. He lowered his hand to her breast, peeling away the black bandanna bra to bare her fullness to his touch. His palm grazed over her, rotating around her nipple, and eliciting a sharp sound from her. But she didn’t look away from him, and he spoke again, angry with her, with himself.

  “Don’t you understand? I have nothing to give you. Nothing at all.” But his hand shook when he touched her.

  She had no reply for him, only a soft cry that escaped her as she arched against his touch, and perhaps that was the reply he needed, for his lips sought hers, sliding down against her skin, tasting the sea salt on her body. His tongue teased over her throat; then his mouth closed over her breast, sucking the nipple deep within, his tongue swirling slowly, provocatively around it.

  He had found the strings of her suit, and she was freed from the black top, leaving his hands and the wet stroking of his tongue to move over her with no restraint. The sun was hot, the sand gritty, and they were both covered with the salt sheen of the ocean, but none of that seemed to matter as he made love to her.

  Passion entered his touch. It was not that the tenderness left it; it was that something fierce and desperate entered again. He was no hesitant lover; having chosen his course, he touched her where he would, his fingers slipping beneath her bikini bottoms, peeling them away. And as he peeled the damp fabric away from her, his lips followed the nakedness of her flesh, tasting her belly, and below, his hair brushing her flesh, his breath touching her, on fire with the day. He shifted her weight, stripping the bottoms from her completely, and she thought that he would be swift then, too hungry to wait. And yet he was not.

  She opened her eyes and discovered he was staring at her. But when her eyes met his with wonder, he rose quickly and shed his bathing trunks. The breath left her as he came down to her again, and she surveyed the man, her heart pulsing, her body trembling. Bending over her, he found her lips. He stroked her throat with his tongue, then moved leisurely downward over her body again, just touching her breasts with the same damp stroke, his hand playing along her hip as he did so. Finally his fingers moved between her thighs, touching her lightly at first, then touching her more deeply. His kiss fell against her abdomen, her thighs, and then he watched for a long moment before his head fell lower against her, before she felt a slow, intimate stroking that invaded every cell in her being and ignited a desire hotter than the blaze of the sun. A cry tore from her, and then she was in his arms, looking into his eyes again, and she felt the tip of his desire throbbing at the threshold of her own. He pulled her close, stroking her hair, and he whispered that she should wrap her legs around him, and when she did, he thrust into her.

  She heard the ocean, the sound of the waves, the cry of a bird high overhead. But she wondered whether the cry might not be her own, for she felt nothing then but the power of the man, entering her, stroking again and again, shattering everything she had thought she knew of life, taking her with a passion that was both violent and tender, and with a wanting that was as never-ending as the darkness of the sea at night. Her fingers dug into muscle and sinew, and she bit his shoulder, feeling the sensations grow, feeling his shuddering power deep within her, harder, faster, nearly unbearable. And then she once more felt the sun, the sand, the breeze that caressed her. She cried out again as a climax burst through her, and he moved again, so deep inside her that she thought they were one. Suddenly he fell down beside her, the wind rushing around them, the sand gritty and soft beneath them.

  Neither spoke for the longest time. And then Amber felt like a fool, or worse, and she sat up, embarrassedly trying to cover herself while she looked for the pieces of her bathing suit. And then he reached out and touched her.

  “What are you doing now?” he asked impatiently, and when her eyes gave her answer, he shook his head and touched her chin. “You’re beautiful,” he said almost harshly. “Please don’t act like that.”

  She wasn’t sure whether she was angry or hurt. It didn’t matter. She stood stark naked and made no attempt to hide herself—it was too late; the horse had certainly already run out of the barn—and then she snatched up her bathing suit. She started toward the water, but he followed her, swinging her around to face him. “So now you’re going to be upset. Damn it, don’t! You’re beautiful, you’re warm, you’re wonderful. Too wonderful. Too … innocent.”

  “Are you through?” she asked him.

  “Amber, I’m sorry. I told you I had nothing to give—”

  “What makes you think you have anything I want?”

  She saw his jaw tighten. “I see. Maybe you did need a little fling. Maybe you were out looking for an affair, and the man, the caring, the warmth, didn’t matter.”

  She stopped, and the anger and everything else drained away from her. “I didn’t want an affair,” she said softly. “I just wanted you.”

  Then she raced for the water, anxious to dive into it, to feel it around her, refreshing and cleansing her.

  6

  Adam watched her run into the water, watched the sway of her hips. Her movements fascinated him, brought new life to him. And he watched the straightness of her spine, the square set of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin. He swore softly beneath his breath and felt a tightening within him, and he wanted to give himself a solid kick, except that that wouldn’t
do any good, either.

  She wasn’t anything like Sonia. Sonia had been small, compact, lushly curved, with dark eyes and rippling dark hair. Amber Larkspur was tall and slender, a woman who seemed to flow beneath his touch. She was blond, and her eyes were the color of the sea, sometimes blue and sometimes green, and sometimes startling shades in between. And he never, never should have touched her, and he’d damn well known it, but he’d touched her anyway. Now things were churning inside, because it seemed like some kind of betrayal, as if he had forgotten Sonia, as if he had forgotten love. And that seemed stupid, too, because there had been other women. There just hadn’t been another woman like Amber. He hadn’t wanted anyone the way he had wanted her.…

  And it had never felt so good to have a woman. He’d known how she would be, so giving, so fluid, so alive and intense in her lovemaking. Long before he had touched her, he had known that she would feel like silk, that she would move with the undulating beauty of the waves. And he had thought that she was a beautiful woman the first time he had seen her, but it hadn’t been her beauty that had drawn him; beauty was not so rare a quality. He had liked her smile when the rambunctious kids had plowed into her, and he had liked the sound of her laughter; it had seemed to touch some fragile nerve within him. Most of all he had liked the way her eyes met his, always challenging. No matter what he said to her, she listened and replied with a startling honesty; she couldn’t be cowed, and neither did she seem to play games. She had moved far out into the water now, and he thought he knew what she was trying to do, to let the salt and sea and the coolness slide over her, and wash away the startling heat that had burst between them. But her bikini still lay on the shore, and he could see glimpses of her bare flesh beneath the turquoise waters, and no sense of his own betrayal regarding either Sonia or the life that he lived could still the excitement that grew within him again. It was wrong, terribly wrong. In a matter of days he would be gone, out of her life. He would slip away with the kidnappers and Daldrin, and he would be out of her life completely. He wouldn’t come back, because he wasn’t the right man to come back; he lived with violence, and he expected to die with violence. Once it would have mattered; once he had wanted more, much more. But that had been before Sonia died. He lived a dangerous lie each day now, for it seemed he was constantly discovering more of Ali Abdul’s men aboard the Alexandria, men who watched him because he hadn’t fully earned their trust. He wouldn’t know until the last moment when the higher echelon of the Death Squad would be coming for Daldrin, and the waiting was tense and hard. But the moment would come. It would come soon.