Читать книгу Her Sweet Surrender: The First Crush Is the Deepest - Нина Харрингтон - Страница 14

SEVEN

Two hours later Sam had taken down the framed pictures from the walls of two bedrooms, a kitchen and a hallway, covered them in bubble wrap and packed them into plastic crates already stacked two high along the length of Amber’s hall, before starting on the living room.

The barrage of noise, telephone calls and visitors had slowly faded away as the morning went on so that by the time he had unscrewed the last of the huge oil paintings and modern art installations in the living room, he didn’t have to worry about stepping on Amber’s peep toe sandals as she worked around him, or accidentally brushing plaster dust onto some fabulous gown which had been casually thrown over a chair or garment rail.

It took superhuman effort but for most of that time he kept his eyes on the rawl plugs and loose plaster behind the pictures instead of the long, lean limbs of the lovely woman who brushed past him at regular intervals in the hallway, leaving a trail of scented air and a cunning giggle in her wake.

Decluttering? When he’d cleared out his furnished Los Angeles apartment, he had walked out with two suitcases and a laptop bag. The same way he had found it. All of his car magazines and photos were safely scanned and digitised. The rest had been recycled or passed on to his pals. He never had to go through this palaver.

Sam stood back and tilted his head to look at a pair of large oil paintings made up of small shapes inside larger shapes inside larger shapes which was starting to give him a headache.

And some of the picture frames had sticky notes on the front with the letter S written in purple marker pen. Purple, he snorted. What did that mean?

Right. Finish this little collection. Then it was time to go and find the lady and find out.

No need. Here she was, ambling towards him. Head down, a large garment bag over one shoulder and a cellphone pressed against her ear, oblivious to his presence.

From the corner of one eye he watched her flip the phone back into her pocket and pick up several scarves from the top of the piano. Then Amber paused and ran two fingertips along the surface of the keys without pressing them firmly enough to make music.

Only as he watched, her lovely face twisted into a picture of sadness and regret and pain that was almost unbearable for him to see.

He turned around to face her, but it was too late—the moment was lost as Amber suddenly realised that she was being observed. A bright smile wiped away the trauma that had been all there to see only a few seconds earlier, startling him with how quickly she could turn on her performance face, and she lowered the lid on the piano. ‘Plaster dust,’ she whispered. ‘Not a good idea.’

‘Don’t let me put you off playing,’ Sam quipped and gestured towards the piano with his screwdriver. ‘I brought my own earplugs in case you were holding a rehearsal session.’

‘Very funny, but your ears are safe. I am not playing today.’ She took a breath and raised her plaster cast towards him. ‘My wrist is hurting.’

Her chin lifted and she angled her head a little. ‘You can tell your lovely readers that I simply cannot tolerate second best. My standards are just as high as ever.’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Right. It’s just weird that you haven’t even tried to play. It used to be the other way around. I spent a lot of time trying to drag you away from the nearest keyboard.’

Sam looked into her face with a grin but her gaze was firmly fixed on the scarves in her bag.

‘That was a long time ago, Sam. People change.’ And with that she turned away and strolled back to her bedroom. In silence.

As he watched her slim hips sway away from him, every alarm bell in his journalist’s mind started ringing at the same time.

Music used to be the one thing that gave Amber joy. She used to call it her private escape route away from the chaos that was her mother’s life.

Well, it didn’t look like that now.

Something was not right here. And it was not just her wrist that was causing Amber pain.

And, damn it, but he cared more than he should.

* * *

Amber ran her fingers over the few dresses still left in her wardrobe and stifled a self-indulgent sniff. She had loved wearing those evening gowns which were now on their way to a shop specialising in pre-loved designer wear. But she had plenty of photos of the events to remind her what each dress had looked like if she wanted a walk down memory lane.

Which she didn’t.

She had never been sentimental about clothes like some of the other performers. There was no lucky bracelet or a corset dress which was guaranteed to have her grace the cover of the latest celebrity magazine. They were just clothes—beautiful clothes which had made her feel special and beautiful when she had worn them. But clothes just the same.

So why did it feel so weird to know that she would never wear them again?

Amber sniffed again, then mentally scolded herself.

This was pathetic! She was still Amber Sheridan DuBois. She was still the girl with the first class degree in music and the amazing career. The same Amber who had flown so very high in a perfect sky which seemed to go on for ever and ever.

Until she had gone to India and fate had sent her tumbling back down to earth with a bang.

The sound of an electric screwdriver broke through her wallow in self-pity and Amber shivered in her thin top. All in the past. She was over the worst and her wrist would soon be better. She was lucky to have come through the infection more or less intact, and that was worth celebrating.

So why did she feel like collapsing onto her bed and sleeping for a week?

She was overtired. That was it. Idiot. The doctors had warned her about overdoing it, then her mother and Heath and now so had Kate and Saskia—and Parvita, who had offered to delay the wedding because she felt so guilty about inviting her friends to perform a concert at the orphanage. She had had no clue that there was a meningitis outbreak sweeping across Kerala.

Of course she had told Parvita not to be so silly—the astrologers had chosen a perfect wedding day and that was precisely what Parvita was going to have. A perfect wedding back in her home village without having to worry about an exhausted concert pianist who should be in Boston resting in glorious solitude at her stepbrother’s town house.

Pity that she had not factored in the mess in her apartment, and surviving a birthday party at Elwood House. And then there was the ex-boyfriend who had suddenly popped into her life again.

Yes. Sam might have something to do with her added stress levels.

Good thing he had no idea how her body was on fire when he was in sight or she would never live it down.

He had no idea that she had tossed and turned most of the night with an aching wrist, wondering would have happened if she had fallen into Sam’s arms that night of her eighteenth birthday. Would they still be together now? Or would their relationship have fizzled out with recriminations and acrimonious insults?

She would never know, but there was one thing she was sure about.

Ever cell in her body was aware that Sam Richards was only a few feet away from her in the next room. His boyish grin was locked into her memory and, whether she liked it or not, her treacherous body refused to behave itself when he was so close. Her hands were shaking, her legs felt as though they belonged to someone else and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was supposed to be resting. Nothing at all.

All she had to do was survive a few more days and Sam would be out of her life.

Amber rolled her stiff and sore shoulders and rearranged her sling.

Shaking her head in dismay, she stretched up to tug at the boxes on the top shelf of her dressing room but they slid right back into the corner and out of her reach.

Grabbing the spare dining room chair Kate had used earlier to find the hat boxes, Amber popped the headphones of her personal stereo in her trouser pocket over her ears, and hummed along to the lively Italian baroque music as she jumped up onto the chair and stretched out on tiptoe to reach the far back corner of the shelf.

She had just caught hold of the handle of her old vanity case and was tugging it closer when something touched the bare skin below her trouser leg.

As she whipped around in shock, her left hand tried to grab the chair, which had started to wobble alarmingly at the sudden movement, throwing her completely off balance. The problem was that her fingers were already tightly latched onto the vanity case and as it swung off the shelf it made contact with the side of Sam’s head as he stepped forwards to grab hold of her around the middle and take the weight of her body against his.

She dropped the case, and it bounced high before settling down intact.

Not that she noticed. Her fingers were too busy clutching onto Sam Richards as she stared into his startled face.

Time seemed to stand still as she started to slide down the front of his hard body, her silky top riding up as she did.

Sam reacted by holding her tighter, hitching her up as though she was weightless, his arms linked together under her bottom, locking her body against his.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, trying to sound casual, as though it was perfectly normal to have a conversation while you were being held up against the dusty T-shirt of the man who had once rocked your world. ‘Good thing I didn’t hit anything important.’

He bit his lower lip, as though he was ready to hit back with some comment and then thought better of it, then one corner of his mouth turned up and he slowly, slowly, started to bend his knees until her feet were on the floor. But all the time his arms were locked behind her back as though he had no intention of letting her go.

Why should he? Amber thought. Sam was having way too much fun.

Strange that his breathing seemed to be even faster than hers, if that was possible, and she could see the blood pulsing in his neck. Hot and fast.

His wide fingers slid up from her hips to her waist, holding her firm, secure, safe but being careful not to crush her plaster cast.

Amber inhaled the warm spicy aroma of some masculine scent that had a lot of Sam in the blend and instantly became aware that she could feel the length of his body pressed against hers from chest to groin.

His breathing became stronger. Louder. And his fingers stretched to span the strip of exposed skin below her top, gently at first and then moving back and forth just a little against her ribcage. Amber felt like closing her eyes but didn’t dare because his gaze had never left her face.

He felt wonderful. He smelt better.

Sam tilted his head and looked at her. Really looked at her. Looked at her with an intensity that sent shivers and tingles from her toes to the ends of each strand of hair.

It had been such a long time since any man had held her like this, with that fire in his eyes.

Bad fire.

Bad tingles.

Bad, bad heart for wanting him to finish what he had started.

It would be so easy to kiss him right now and find out if his kiss was still capable of making her weak at the knees.

Bad Amber for wanting him, when that was the worst thing that could happen to either of them.

Her back stiffened and she lifted her chin slightly.

‘You can put me down now if you like,’ she said in a jokey voice which sounded so false and flat. Her words seem to echo around the narrow dressing room until they found their target.

‘And what if I don’t like?’ Sam replied and leant closer to breathe into her neck while his fingers moved in slow circles at her waist.

Suddenly Amber wished that she had installed air conditioning in the apartment because the air was starting to heat up far too quickly in this small space. And so close to her bed...

Amber lifted her hand from Sam’s shoulder and reached behind and gently slid her fingers around his wrist and released him.

And, just like that, the connection was broken, leaving her feeling dizzier than she wanted to admit.

Without his support, her legs felt so wobbly that she had to swivel around and sit down on the chair—anything but the bed. That would be far too dangerous with this man around and she would hate to give him ideas.

His brow creased and Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest as he stared at her, his legs wide, his shoulders back and squared, his gaze locked onto her face. As he stared his eyes narrowed as though they were concerned about something. And her foolish girly heart gave a little leap at the idea that he might still care about her.

‘Hey, Bambi. I thought we had a deal. It’s time you kept to your side of the bargain.’

‘Will you please stop calling me Bambi? Yes, I know you came up with the name in the first place, but Amber will do fine. And what do you mean? My side?’

‘Okay, then. Amber, I brought my own work uniform...’ Sam waved a hand down his clothing.

‘But you promised me refreshments. So far all I have seen are a small plate of girly mini cupcakes and one mug of weak Earl Grey tea.’

He winced and shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘That. Is not refreshments as I understand them. What’s more, I have just raided your refrigerator and there is nothing more than a couple of low fat yoghurts and some supermarket ready meals.’

He stood back and ogled her, then reached out and pinched her arm.

She wriggled away. ‘Hey. Ouch. What was that for?’

‘Too skinny and too pale and wobbly. By far. That decides it. We, young lady, are going out to get some food. What is your fancy? Mexican? Pub food? Take your pick.’

Amber looked around the bedroom in horror at the debris.

‘I can’t leave now. The flat is a mess and it will take me ages to tidy it up.’

‘But the girls have gone for the day...right?’

‘Well, yes. I don’t have any more appointments.’

‘Good. Because it is two o’clock in the afternoon and neither of us have eaten since breakfast. Right?’

Amber sighed and checked her wristwatch, and then her shoulders sagged. ‘I am flagging a bit. I suppose it would make sense to eat some late lunch...and what are you doing?’

‘Looking for your coat. And which one of these is your handbag? Come on, girl. The sun is still shining and there is nothing fit to eat in this apartment. What do you say? We get some lunch and I volunteer to carry your shopping home from the supermarket on the way back. You can’t get a better offer than that.’

‘Can’t I?’

Amber leant backwards and pulled out her mobile phone from her trouser pocket and was about to sling her cashmere wrap over one shoulder when Sam stepped behind her and wrapped it around her shoulders, gently pressing the collar into her neck, his fingertips touching her, and she blinked in delight then cursed herself for being so needy.

‘Actually, I might have a better idea, but I need to make a phone call. This restaurant can get extremely busy around lunchtime.’

Sam groaned. ‘I might have known. How many awards does it have? Because I have to tell you—I am not in the mood for mini tasting portions served on teaspoons made out of toast.’

She sniffed dismissively. ‘Several. But wait and see. You might just like it. And the table has the most amazing view over London.’

* * *

‘I don’t believe that you ordered home delivery,’ Sam exclaimed and put down his screwdriver as Amber sauntered into the kitchen swinging a large brown paper bag. ‘Don’t tell me that the famous Amber DuBois has suddenly got cold feet about being seen out in public. Or were you worried that I would make you pay the bill?’

Amber sniffed dismissively in reply. ‘Well, someone has a very high opinion of themselves.’ Then she sighed in exasperation and gestured with her head towards the cabinets. ‘Only now I am out of hands. Would you mind bringing the plates and cutlery? Have a rummage in that drawer. Yep. That’s it.’

‘You are avoiding my question,’ Sam said as he followed Amber out onto the sunlit terrace and spread the picnic kit out onto the table, where Amber was already pulling out foil containers. ‘Why not go out to some fabulous restaurant so the waiters can fawn all over you?’

She looked up at him and gave a half smile. ‘Two reasons. First, I want some peace and quiet to enjoy my meal, and the restaurant this food came from is always crushed jam-tight. And secondly—’ she paused and looked out towards the skyline ‘—I have only used this apartment on flying visits these past few years and never stayed long enough to enjoy the view.’ She nodded towards the railing. ‘Feel free. This is your city, after all. And I know how much you love London.’

Sam took the hint and walked the few steps over to the railing. And exhaled slowly at the awe-inspiring scene spread out in all directions in front of him. The stress of the past few days melted away as he took in the stunning view over the Thames and along both sides of the river for miles in each direction. His eyes picked out the locations which were so familiar they were like old friends. Friends like Amber had once been.

‘You always were the clever one. This is a pretty good view, I’ll give you that. And yes, London is my city, and it always has been. And what is that amazing smell?’

He turned back towards Amber and instantly his senses were filled with the most amazing aromas which instantly made his mouth water.

‘Are those Indian dishes? You used to hate spicy food.’

‘That was before I tasted real southern Indian food like this. Home-cooked traditional recipes from Kerala. The restaurant doesn’t usually do take out but I know the owner’s cousin. Willing to risk it?’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Sam replied and flung himself into the seat. ‘I loved living in Los Angeles, but you cannot get real Indian food unless you cook it yourself. Pass it over and tell me what you ordered.’

‘Vegetable curry, chickpea masala, coconut rice and a thick lamb curry for you. And just this once we are allowed to eat it using a fork and plates instead of fingers and a banana leaf. Go ahead and tuck in. I ordered plenty. What do you think?’

Sam held up a fork and dived into the nearest dish, speared some lamb and wrapped his lips around it.

Flavour and texture exploded on his tongue and he moaned in pleasure and delight before smiling and grabbing each dish in turn and loading up his plate with something of everything.

‘This is seriously good. But now I’m curious. How do you know the owner of a Keralan restaurant in London? That doesn’t seem to fit with a career musician.’

Amber swallowed down a mouthful of vegetables and rice and gave a tiny shrug before taking a sip of water.

‘The orchestra I tour with has an amazing cellist who has become one of my best friends in the business. Parvita is one of those totally natural talents who has been winning awards all over the place—but it was only when I got to know her that I found out just how remarkable she really is.’

Amber topped up her plate as she spoke, but there was just enough of a slight quiver in her voice to make Sam look at her as he chewed. ‘Parvita was left at an orphanage for girls when she was only a toddler. Her widowed mother was too poor to feed another daughter. She needed her boys to work their farm in Kerala and knew that the orphanage could give a little girl an education and a chance to improve her life.’

Amber chuckled. ‘I don’t think that Parvita’s family were expecting her to win scholarships to international music schools and then build a career as a concert cellist. But she did it, against all of the odds.’

Amber raised her water glass. ‘And along the way my friend introduced me to real home-cooked food from Kerala. The chef who runs this restaurant is one of her cousins and is totally passionate about fresh ingredients and cooking with love. I think it shows.’

Sam lifted his fork in tribute. ‘This is probably the best Indian food that I have ever eaten. Although it does make me wonder. Aren’t you going to miss your friend Parvita? Now that you have decided to retire?’

Amber closed her lips around the fork and twirled it back and forth for a second before replying. ‘Not at all. She is still my friend so I will make the effort to keep in touch. She even invited me to her wedding next week and sent me a fabulous hot pink sari to wear.’

‘Now that is something I would like to see. Just tell me which fabulous and exclusive London venue is having the privilege of hosting this happy event and I’ll be right there with my camera.’

‘Oh, she isn’t coming to London. The wedding party is in Kerala. I’ve already sent my apologies—’ Amber shrugged ‘—but the newlyweds will be passing through London in a few weeks, and we can catch up then.’

‘So you are not going to the wedding after all?’

She shook her head as she chewed and pointed to her plaster.

‘That’s interesting.’ Sam nodded. ‘If one of my friends was getting married I wouldn’t let a simple thing like that stop me from going. Unless, of course, there is more to it than that. Hmm?’

Then he leant back and crossed his cutlery on his plate and shook his head from side to side.

‘Well, well. Why do I get the feeling that some things have not changed that much after all? Let me guess. Your mother ordered you not to go, didn’t she? Or was Heath Sheridan worried that his little stepsister is going to get sunburnt if she goes to India? How is your stepbrother doing these days? Still trying to interfere in your life? Um. I take that glaring scowl as a yes.’

He sniggered off her rebuke, and dived back into his food. ‘You surprise me, Amber. You’re twenty-eight years old, with a brilliant career, an international reputation and the kudos to match, and you still cannot get out from under their thumb, can you? Well, shame on you, Amber DuBois. I thought you were better than that.’