Читать книгу Cherokee - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 11

A week passed, and Adam still battled his emotions. His work day had ended, but he sat in the conference room at the clinic, checking his watch. Then rechecking it. In twenty minutes, he had an appointment with Sarah. He hadn’t spoken to her since their date, and he’d expected her to reschedule his facial, refer him to another esthetician. But she hadn’t done that.

Of course not. She was too professional to turn away a client, to let personal feelings interfere with her job.

And what exactly were her feelings? he wondered. To him, their kiss had seemed so right, so naturally erotic, especially when she’d made those sexy little sounds. Like a stray kitten, he thought, mewling in satisfaction. Now that damn fantasy wouldn’t go away.

Maybe she didn’t want to be the object of his desire, the woman he lusted after. Adam frowned. Had he really put his hands all over her? Yeah, he had. And even though he longed to do it again, he still owed her an apology. That kiss had been a little too wild, too hungry for public display.

An apology would set things right. They could be friends, couldn’t they? They didn’t have to get romantically involved. He could lay his urges to rest, but he couldn’t let Sarah go. Not completely.

He was too caught in the mystery surrounding her. Why was she hiding from her heritage? What could have possibly happened to turn her away from her roots? Adam needed to know. Being Cherokee was their link, a bond he hoped to strengthen.

He left the clinic and entered the salon. The blond receptionist grinned when she saw him. He returned her smile, but just as he approached the desk, he spotted Sarah coming around the corner.

The blonde spoke up first. “Sarah, your five o’clock is here.”

“Thank you, Tina,” she responded, shifting her gaze to Adam.

He walked toward her, and she slipped her hands in her pockets. She wore a white lab coat over her clothes, but it didn’t make her look clinical. Instead she looked pure—a dark-haired, dark-eyed angel.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she repeated, her voice fighting a strained note. “Go ahead and change, and I’ll meet you in the treatment room.”

“Okay.” He knew the receptionist was watching, and he knew it made Sarah even more uncomfortable than she already was. He should cancel the facial, let her off the hook, but he needed some quiet time with her, to apologize without an audience.

Five minutes later, he entered the treatment room, shirt in hand. He hung it on a nearby hook and waited for Sarah to acknowledge him. She was still setting up, filling disposable containers with creams and lotions.

She turned, and their eyes met. Silence, still and awkward, engulfed the room. Neither spoke. Adam became aware of everything—the pounding of his heart beneath the robe, the hitch in Sarah’s breath, the way her hands shook.

He had no right to put her through this. He had to ease the tension. Walking toward her, he managed a smile, even though his heart picked up speed. Being near her did that to him, he realized. And it wasn’t a comforting thought, trying to calm a woman when he wasn’t particularly stable himself.

Sensuality sizzled between them. Nervous and edgy, maybe. But it was there, a thickness in the air he couldn’t deny. Couldn’t control.

“Let me help,” he said, reaching for one of the disposable containers.

“No, it’s okay, I can…”

Their fingers brushed, an innocent touch that sent shock waves through his unstable heart, his yearning body.

Sarah must have felt it, too. She pulled back, knocking over a nearby jar. It rolled onto the floor, spilling a citrus-scented lotion.

“Damn it.” Her voice shook as badly as her hands. She dashed over to the paper-towel dispenser and tore one in her haste. “I can’t seem to do anything right today.”

Because of me, Adam thought. Because their attraction was so intense.

She knelt on the floor and began soaking up the mess. He lowered himself beside her. “It was my fault,” he said, taking the paper towels away from her. “I startled you.”

“It was an accident.” Avoiding eye contact, she released an audible breath. “I’ll get something to clean up the residue.” She went to a cabinet and returned with a spray cleanser and another wad of paper towels.

They worked side by side, concentrating on the task at hand. They didn’t look at each other, didn’t speak. Instead they gazed at the vinyl floor as if the pattern held great importance.

“I think we should cancel the facial,” he said, when the overwhelming silence became too much to bear.

“I think so, too.” She sat back on her heels. “I’m just not myself today. I almost called in sick.”

Which said it all, he thought. She had been anxiety-ridden about seeing him, enough to make herself ill. His apology was long overdue.

“Sarah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away last week. I shouldn’t have kissed you the way I did. And certainly not in public.”

She twisted a dry paper towel. “I…um…we both got carried away. It wasn’t all your fault.”

“Then why don’t we start over?” He stood and offered her a hand, trying to keep his voice casual, his heartbeat steady.

She accepted his hand, but let go the moment she was on her feet. Leaning over, she picked up the soiled paper towels, then tossed them into the wastebasket. “I don’t think we should go out again. I don’t think it would work.”

“I meant as friends.” He tried not to frown. The rejection stung, even if he had been prepared for it. “I know you’re not comfortable dating me. But I think we have a lot in common, and I’d like to be friends.”

She sent him a small smile. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

“Then you’re willing to start over?”

Sarah nodded, although a part of her could still taste his kiss, feel the heat of his body next to hers. Struggling with the image, she sanitized her hands, wringing them together. In spite of their attraction, friendship was best. Dating Adam was out of the question.

Why? she asked herself. Why was she going to deprive herself of his kiss, his touch?

Because it might lead to sex, a step she wasn’t ready to take. How could she become intimate with a man obsessed with finding his Cherokee family when she had left her own behind? And then, of course, there was her virginity. She couldn’t pretend that her moral upbringing didn’t matter. She had made a promise to her mother. And she couldn’t forget that youthful vow.

Don’t give yourself to a man unless he’s special to you, unless you love him.

But how will I know the difference?

You’ll know, sweet Sarah. You’ll know.

She could see herself sitting on the edge of a lace-draped bed, gazing at her mother, her head filled with wonder. It could have been yesterday. Or it could have been a lifetime ago. A dreamy twelve-year-old girl who had just experienced her first menstrual cycle.

I’ll wait for the right man, Mom. I promise.

She blinked, looked at Adam and noticed how stunning he was—the planes and angles of his face, the broad shoulders, slim hips. And his smile, that warm, genuine smile.

Yes, he was handsome, but she wouldn’t fool herself into believing he was the right man.

“Sarah?

“Yes?”

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” He held up a hand as if to fend off an expected protest. “A friendship dinner at my house. Just a casual meal.” He flashed that devastating smile. “What do you say?”

“You’re offering to cook for me?”

“Well, sort of.” His grin turned a little sheepish. “I’ll probably just throw some sandwiches together. Maybe a salad.”

Sarah laughed. “How can a guy who eats health food not know how to cook?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He lives on veggie burgers. The frozen kind you pop in the microwave.” He smiled at her again. “So, will you come over tomorrow night? Suffer through one of my bland meals?”

“Yes,” she said, charmed by his honesty. Besides, she thought, curiosity had gotten the best of her. She couldn’t help but wonder where he lived.

He lived in a guest house in Sherman Oaks, not too far from Sarah’s apartment. She smoothed her blouse, then knocked on the door. She had actually stressed about what to wear, then decided on jeans and a plain blue top. Everything she owned was simple, she supposed. Everything but the red satin dress.

Adam opened the door and stunned her senses. Classic rock played on the stereo, and his jeans were faded, the knees fraying just a little. She heard a loud “meow” and watched a black cat brush her leg as it darted past.

“Hey, Sarah. Come on in. Don’t worry about Darrin,” he added, apparently referring to the cat, “he’s allowed to go out.”

Sarah entered the house and took in her surroundings—hardwood floors, heavy oak furniture and tall, leafy plants in every corner.

The clean, masculine decor suited him. As always, Adam wore his long hair secured in a ponytail.

Handing him a small packet, she said, “It’s fresh honey. For your tea. I didn’t know what else to bring.”

“Thanks. I guess you’re not going to let me forget about that teapot, are you?”

“What?” She blinked and realized he was teasing her. “You’re an herbalist. You’re supposed to brew your own tea.”

She gave a start when something moved. Another cat, she told herself foolishly as a furry being pounced onto the back of the sofa. This one was white with big curious eyes.

“How many cats to do you have?” she inquired, petting the friendly creature.

“There’s usually five or six around here. Most of them are strays, so the number changes. Some just visit and others have decided to stay. Cameo is a permanent resident. She’s expecting a litter soon.” He nodded to the sturdy feline. “She showed up at my door pregnant. There wasn’t much I could do.”

But spoil her, Sarah supposed. Cameo looked pampered and well loved.

“Dinner won’t be long,” Adam said. “I was in the middle of fixing the salad, and the spaghetti is almost done.”

“Spaghetti? I thought we were having sandwiches.”

He shrugged. “I figured boiling some water and opening a jar of sauce wouldn’t be too hard.”

She laughed. “Can I help with anything?”

“Sure. The table still needs to be set.”

His roomy kitchen displayed a garden window filled with potted herbs. The appliances were white, the butcher-block table just big enough for two. She hung her purse on the back of a chair and inhaled the cooking aroma. Apparently he’d added fresh oregano to the store-bought sauce.

“Dinner smells wonderful.”

“I’m figuring it out.” He smiled. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Milk? Juice?”

His beverage selection pleased her and so did the fact that she didn’t see a bottle of wine breathing on the counter. She avoided alcohol, even with dinner. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

The CD on the stereo shifted from classic rock to vintage country, and she realized his taste in music was as diverse as her own. Stray cats and eclectic songs. She couldn’t help but like him.

He pointed out the appropriate cabinets and drawers, and she set the table, feeling surprisingly relaxed. His plates and bowls were heavy stoneware, his silverware stamped with a geometric pattern. She turned and spotted the dragon sitting on a cluttered oak shelf. Its jeweled eyes glowed back at her.

Adam removed the pasta from the stove and dumped it into a large serving bowl.

And then he winked, jarring her composure with a perfect white smile. She had to tell her woman’s heart to behave. It flipped in her chest, forcing her to catch her breath. He was just too handsome for his own good.

“Dinner’s ready, sweet Sarah.”

Sweet Sarah. Stunned, she stared at him, her jittery heart flooding with emotion. Her mother used to call her that.

“Lemon?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you want lemon?” He poured her a glass of carbonated water, held it up.

“Yes, thank you.” She told herself it was coincidence. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t know about her nickname, didn’t know that it made her ache for childhood dreams and fairy-tale wishes. The beauty her father had destroyed.

They sat across from each other, a ceiling fan turning slowly overhead.

Refusing to focus on her jumbled emotions, Sarah started a conversation. “Didn’t you just move into this house about a month ago?”

Adam nodded. “About the same time I started working at the clinic. Regardless, I’m due for a vacation. I haven’t had any time off in years.”

“So did they agree to give you some time off even though you’re new?”

“Yeah. A couple of weeks in August.”

“I was thinking about taking a vacation this summer, too. Sleep in and be lazy. Sometimes it feels good to do nothing.” She placed her napkin on her lap. “So what made you decide to switch jobs anyway?”

“The new facility has more to offer. There’s a yoga studio and a natural pharmacy in the building. There’s also a masseuse and a variety of practitioners.” He poured dressing on his salad, then glanced up. “I would love to open a wellness center someday. Of course, there are some things I would do differently.”

Sarah understood. She often thought of opening her own skin-care salon. She tasted the spaghetti, alternating bites between her salad.

“Adam, why is it so important for you to find your biological mother? Why would you want to replace your parents with the woman who gave you up?”

“I never said I was trying to replace them. But damn it, I don’t understand why they didn’t tell me that I was adopted.”

So he was hurt, she thought. And confused. “Maybe they were protecting you.”

He made a face. “From what? Come on, Sarah. I had the right to know.”

She sighed. “I hate to say this, but there’s a good chance that your biological mother won’t want to see you. She might feel as though you’re interfering in her life.”

He lifted his water, took a sip. “Then that’s a chance I’ll have to take. Besides, I think most women give up their babies because they’re unable to care for them, not because they don’t want them.”

“It was a closed adoption.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. My mom could have been forced to give me up. She could have been too young or too poor. Or it could have been one of those tragic-type love stories. It’s obvious my father was white. Maybe the difference in their cultures kept them apart.” He reached for a breadstick, dipped it into a bowl of marinara sauce. “I’m not going to quit searching. After I find my mom, I’m going to look for my dad. I want to know both of them.”

Sarah shook her head. Did he have foolish notions about reuniting his parents? Bringing lost lovers back together?

“You’re still skeptical,” he said.

She shrugged. “It’s my nature, I suppose.”

“But you would probably do the same thing if you were in my situation. Uncovering the circumstances of my birth will fill a void in my life. I’m part Cherokee, Sarah. I belong to a nation of people I know nothing about.”

“Maybe your biological mother didn’t want you to be raised by an Indian family.”

“That’s possible, I suppose. But if that’s the way she felt, then I need to know why. Don’t you think I have a right to know about my culture, learn everything I can?” He paused, pointed to the plants crowding the window sill. “I’ve devoted most of my adult life to alternative medicine, but that didn’t come from the way I was raised. My adoptive mom grew herbs for cooking purposes, but I took it a step further. I studied about their healing properties on my own. Isn’t it possible that’s the Cherokee in me?” He met her gaze, his voice taking on a wistful tone. “Maybe there was a medicine man in my family.”

Sarah sighed. She respected the healer in Adam, but he was caught up in the Indian mystique, glorifying it in a way that would only lead to disappointment. She knew firsthand that the old ways were lost. Her father was living proof of the Cherokee lifestyle today—false promises and alcoholism. There wasn’t a medicine man on earth who could take away the pain William Cloud had caused.

When the opportunity arose, Sarah changed the topic of conversation. She didn’t want to talk about being Cherokee, didn’t want to think about it or relive it in her mind.

After dinner, Adam and Sarah sat on the patio, the sky sprinkled with stars, the summer air cooled by a soft, intermittent breeze. Adam admired his companion, thinking how beautiful she looked—her hair a long, luxurious curtain, her eyes as dark and mysterious as the night. No wonder she had come to the City of Angels. She was one of them, he thought. A lost angel.

Something was wrong in her life, and he wanted to fix it, make her pain go away.

“Do you eat sweets anymore?” she asked.

Adam quirked an eyebrow. Her question seemed out of the blue, but everything about Sarah Cloud was unpredictable. “No. At least I haven’t in a long time.”

“Me, neither. But don’t you ever want to cheat?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Every once in a while I get a craving.”

“Me, too. Chocolate eclairs are my favorite. I love the custard filling.”

She made a hungry little moaning sound, and Adam pictured her mouth sinking into the rich, creamy pastry. Damn it. Now he wanted to touch her, slide his arms around her waist, ease his body next to hers, slip his tongue…

He studied her lips, the full, alluring shape. Kissing wasn’t an option. He had agreed to friendship. No romantic entanglement.

Then why couldn’t he convince his hormones of that?

He sipped his tea, hoping the honey-flavored brew would ease his craving, give his mouth something to do. The taste of her, the fevered flavor of their forbidden kiss, still lingered in his mind.

“Do you want to cheat next time?” he asked.

Her voice turned soft. “Are we talking about dessert?”

“Yes,” he responded. “We won’t be so guilty if we do it together.”

She looked at him from across the table, and like magnets drawn to metal, their gazes locked and held. Sarah pushed her hair off her shoulder, and Adam gripped the handle on his cup. They could move, make unimportant gestures, but they couldn’t take their eyes off each other. Couldn’t stop staring.

Suddenly the world around them ceased, sounds and scents fading. She felt it, too, he thought. The sexual pull. The heat that wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t talking about chocolate eclairs.

“I don’t think cheating is a good idea,” she said, breaking their unnerving stare.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice huskier than usual. “We have more discipline than that.”

She folded her hands on her lap. “Of course we do.”

They sat quietly then, and Adam noticed the world had returned. The breeze blew a little stronger, stirring scents from his garden. He turned toward the plants and studied the small crop, needing to focus on something other than the attraction he had vowed to ignore.

“I read that when traditional Cherokees gather wild herbs, they ask a plant for its permission to be gathered, then leave a small gift of thanks,” he said, thinking it was a beautiful practice. He wondered how it would feel to leave a shining bead on the ground in place of a plant.

“Was that in one of your text books?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I subscribe to a Cherokee newspaper. I get it online, in digest form, and they post cultural tidbits in every issue. Unfortunately my education didn’t include Native American practices, at least not to any degree.”

“The elders pass along things like that.”

“I don’t know any elders,” he said, watching her tight expression, the one that came over her face whenever he mentioned their heritage. “You’re the only Cherokee I know.”

“I can’t help you, Adam. I don’t follow the old ways anymore.”

He scooted his chair forward. “Why not?” he pressed, hoping to uncover her mystery, unveil the true woman, the soul behind the quiet, exotic beauty.

She didn’t respond. Instead she reached for her tea and held the mug, drawing comfort, it seemed, from the warmth.

He saw sadness in her eyes, the loneliness reflected in his own. They were meant to be part of each other’s lives, he thought. He wouldn’t let this lost angel fly away.

“I don’t think being Cherokee is anything to be proud of,” she said finally.

He didn’t know how to react, so he waited for her to continue. She did, after she tasted her tea.

“When I was young my mother filled my head with all of those romantic notions about the old ways. I was taught to believe in the unity of family and have pride in my heritage.” She met Adam’s gaze, her voice distant. “Cherokee men were supposed to be warriors—their role to remain strong and provide for their wife and children.”