Between the Lines

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Fired now by her sense of injured female pride and a desire to settle a matter that should never have become a problem in the first place, Amber walked to her door and flung it open. Then she stalked boldly across the sitting room and knocked on Gray’s door.

  Several seconds passed before Gray responded to the knock with a deep, rumbled “Come in, Amber.”

  She opened the door and stepped inside. He was standing at the window that overlooked Tucson. He’d removed his shirt and shoes but still wore his slacks. He didn’t turn around as Amber came through the doorway. She found herself captivated by the sleek contours of his broad shoulders and taut waist. It took her a few seconds to find her voice.

  “I think we should talk, Gray.”

  “It’s not necessary. Not tonight.” His voice was soft but there was an unexpected roughness underlying the words. “Things will work out in time, Amber.”

  She took a step forward, but he still didn’t turn around. “I don’t understand. If you don’t want... I mean if you hadn’t intended for us to live together as man and wife, why did you ask me to marry you?”

  He glanced back at her finally, startling her with the deep, brooding quality of his gaze. He seemed momentarily absorbed by the sight of her in the nightgown and robe. Then his eyes lifted to her earnest face. His expression softened. “There’s plenty of time for us, Amber. I’m in no hurry. I’m not going to rush you.”

  “You seemed eager enough to rush me into marriage,” she couldn’t resist pointing out somewhat brusquely.

  “The timing was convenient.”

  “Is that all I’m meant to be to you? Convenient?”

  He frowned and swung around completely, striding toward her. “Amber, honey, what’s wrong?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you.”

  He stopped a foot away from her and tilted her chin upward on the edge of his hand. “We’re friends, remember? Not a couple of hot-blooded young lovers who can’t control themselves. We’ll take this slow and easy. One step at a time.”

  She ignored that, searching his face intently. “Gray, you are interested in women, aren’t you? I mean, you didn’t marry me just to make your business clients think you’re, uh, heterosexual, when you’re not, did you?”

  He stared at her for a startled moment and then something very warm and brilliant flashed in his eyes. Without a word he pulled her into his arms and kissed her in a way he had never kissed her before.

  Amber was so astonished she couldn’t move. There was all the familiar strength and warmth she had come to expect in Gray’s embrace, but it was as if he’d temporarily removed hidden restraints; restraints she hadn’t even guessed existed.

  The strength she had always found comforting suddenly became compelling in an elemental, primitive way. It sent shivers through her. The warmth she had hitherto sensed in him was suddenly the first, licking flame of a fire that promised something far more dangerous than blandly pleasant heat. Unconsciously her mouth opened under his, and she felt the sensual touch of his teeth on her lower lip. Gray fitted his large hands around the soft curves of her buttocks and lifted her against him. She was vividly aware of the taut heaviness of his lower body. His tongue flickered across hers, and Amber inhaled sharply. Then she whispered his name in a soft, pleading way. Gray set her down.

  Amber’s lashes lifted abruptly, her eyes wide and startled as she stepped back and looked up at him.

  “Does that answer your question?” he asked in a calm voice that belied the remnants of heat in his eyes.

  Amber blinked and nodded once. “Yes,” she breathed, “I think it does.”

  He smiled gently. “Then go back to your room and stop worrying. I told you everything will work out in time.”

  “But you want me,” she whispered uncertainly.

  “I can wait.”

  She stared at him, perplexed. “For what? Gray, I’m thirty years old. You don’t have to treat me as if I were a naive teenager.”

  He gave her a crooked, wry grin. “I have a hunch most teenagers are a good deal less naive than you are, Amber.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He sighed. “Honey, I told you I’m willing to wait.”

  “But I’m not asking you to wait. I’m your wife. I married you fully expecting to share your bed.”

  “You still don’t understand, do you?” He stalked slowly back toward the window, his gaze on the distant lights of the city. “When you come to my bed, Amber, I’d like it to be because you genuinely want to be there, not because you’re feeling obliged to do your wifely duty.”

  Flustered, Amber felt an awkward warmth infuse her cheeks. She was glad Gray was looking out into the night instead of at her. Quickly she regained her self-control. She cleared her throat and said staunchly, “Gray, I think I would like to share your bed. It seems the perfectly natural thing to do under the circumstances. I don’t mind doing my duty. Honestly I don’t.”

  He swung around at that, his face a mask of cold, male anger that took her completely by surprise. She had never seen Gray lose his temper. She’d never seen him behave in any other way except in a calm, placid, thoroughly safe manner.

  “Go back to your room, Amber. I told you we’ll take this slowly and I meant it.” There might have been anger in his eyes, but his voice was still perfectly calm and controlled.

  An unexpected fury swept through Amber. It surprised her, arising as it did out of nowhere and taking her by storm. “Damn you, Gray, I don’t know what you think you’re waiting for! I married you because I thought we understood each other. I assumed we thought alike on the subject of sex. I expected to share a mature adult relationship with you. You knew I wasn’t some kind of hot-blooded, passion-starved sex kitten. If you thought I’d turn into one after you married me, you made a colossal mistake!”

  “Did I?” But his anger was already fading. Unfortunately for Amber’s mood, however, Gray’s temper was giving way to a masculine amusement that further infuriated her.

  “Yes, damn it, you did!” She lifted her head proudly and marched out of the room. The door slammed loudly behind her. When she took her fingers from the doorknob, she discovered she was shaking. Stifling a sob, she fled into the safety of her own bedroom and locked the door.

  Gray stood alone in the middle of his bedroom and contemplated the recently slammed door. For a moment his face was expressionless and then a slow smile curved his mouth. His hot-blooded, passion-starved sex kitten had just discovered her own claws. With any luck it wouldn’t be long before she discovered the hot blood and the passion she’d also been hiding from herself.

  In the meantime he was going to be spending some long, uncomfortable nights in an empty bed. Swearing softly, Gray padded barefoot across the room to the decanter of sherry that had been left on an end table by an attentive member of the hotel staff. Sherry wasn’t his favorite nightcap, but he couldn’t be choosy tonight. He poured himself an ounce and walked back to the window with the glass in his hand. He switched off the lamp and stood staring broodingly out into the darkness.

  Twitchell was right. The desert could be a lonely place.

  * * *

  Amber awoke the next morning with her temper firmly under control. She was still rather appalled that she had reacted so strongly to the situation in which she found herself, but in the bright morning sunlight she found plenty of excuses for her odd burst of emotion. She’d been under a certain amount of stress after all. Any wedding was a stressful event. And she’d apparently been under a misapprehension, too. She’d assumed Gray had intended the relationship between himself and his new bride to be a reasonably normal one.

  She dressed in jeans and a pastel shirt and walked out into the sitting room of the suite to discover that Gray had already left for his business meeting. There was a note on the table in his large, scrawling handwriting that said he would meet h
er for lunch in the hotel lobby. He suggested she go swimming after breakfast.

  There was, naturally, no mention of the small scene in his bedroom the previous evening. Amber wrinkled her nose as she crumpled the note and tossed it in the small, discreet trash container.

  Her main reaction to last night’s unfortunate confrontation was one of embarrassment. It wasn’t like her to lose her temper. It also wasn’t like Gray to lose his. They had both been under an unusual amount of tension, Amber decided, and neither had quite realized it.

  She would devote herself today to restoring the easy harmony that had characterized their relationship for nearly three months. Amber had a hunch that Gray would do the same.

  They really were much alike in many ways, she thought complacently as she went downstairs to have breakfast in the cheerful hotel coffee shop. The unpleasant scene last night would be ignored by both of them in the light of a new day. Neither would refer to it again and matters between them would resume their normal, comfortable tenor. They would both pretend nothing had happened, Amber thought with a sense of relief.

  She was absolutely right. Gray met her for lunch, his gaze welcoming and warm. Amber joined him with a smile as he took her hand and guided her into the dining room.

  “How did the meeting with the bookkeeping staff go this morning?” she asked pleasantly after they had given their orders to the waitress.

  “Smooth as silk.”

  Amber’s eyebrows lifted. “Do I sense a hidden meaning there?”

  Gray buttered a slice of French bread. “You do. Things went almost too well this morning. The records are in excellent shape. Very clear, very healthy looking. They’re in such good shape, in fact, that I’ve decided to take the afternoon off and play golf. Care to join me?”

  She grinned. “I’m a lousy player.”

  “So am I. But it seems a shame not to take advantage of all the amenities, doesn’t it?”

  “You’ve got something up your sleeve, Gray. What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you on the eleventh green.”

  “Aha. Mystery upon mystery. What’s so special about the eleventh green?”

  He bit off a large chunk of the French bread with his strong teeth and chewed reflectively. “I think I’d rather talk about it on the course.”

  “Afraid the dining room is bugged?” Amber teased.

  “You know me. I don’t take chances.”

  “Yes,” Amber agreed, feeling content. “I know you.” She was sure she did. Last night’s confrontation had been an aberration on both their parts.

  They rented two sets of golf clubs later that afternoon and set out to play the sophisticated, challenging course. The lush grass of the fairways and putting greens created an inviting contrast to the desert foothills that cradled the golf course.

  “It’s like an oasis in the middle of the desert, isn’t it?” Amber said as she prepared to tee off on the first hole. It had been quite a while since she had last played, and she knew her swing was going to be painfully rusty.

  Gray stayed silent until she had hit the ball. The drive wasn’t very long, but at least it had been fairly straight down the center of the fairway. Amber was grateful for small favors. She stepped back and inserted her club into the bag on the back of the motorized golf cart she and Gray were using.

  “Not bad,” Gray observed kindly.

  “I hope you’re as bad as you say you are,” Amber told him. “If you’re not, you’re going to get awfully bored waiting for me on each fairway.”

  “Wait and see,” he told her dryly.

  Amber smiled as she watched him swing the club with smooth, easy power. It didn’t surprise her at all when the small white ball sailed straight down the fairway in a long, gliding arc that took it far past her own shot.

  “I knew it,” she said as she climbed into the cart beside him. “You’re very good at this. When you start getting impatient with my shots, remember it was your suggestion we play golf.”

  “I’ll remember. And don’t worry about me getting impatient. I happen to detest golf.”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “Then why are we playing?”

  “Because I want to take a close look at the eleventh green.”

  “Too bad we have to play ten more holes of golf before we get to the eleventh green,” Amber murmured.

  “Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of any other way of taking a look at it without arousing suspicion.”

  “Going to tell me what’s going on now that we’re safely away from the hotel?” Amber waited expectantly. Gray was usually quite forthcoming about his business affairs. He treated her as an equal and had always seemed to welcome her input.

  “According to the records I looked at this morning, management spent a lot of money restoring the eleventh green and most of the fairway after it was washed out by a flash flood last winter,” Gray said slowly as he steered the small, shaded cart along the narrow path.

  “So?”

  “A lot of money, Amber. I happened to talk to one of the groundskeepers this morning. He casually mentioned that flash floods in the foothills had been anticipated when the hotel was built. The golf course was well protected by certain construction techniques that are supposed to channel water around it. Still, nature is unpredictable. Accidents can happen.”

  “The plot thickens. Tell me what you suspect, Gray.”

  “That same groundskeeper was working here last winter. He remembers when the flood occurred and what damage was done to the hotel grounds.” Gray stopped the cart on the path near the point where Amber’s ball had landed. “He said the golf course had come through several storms unscathed.”

  “Uh-oh. I think I’m getting the point.” Amber eyed the vast distance that still remained between her golf ball and the putting green that marked the end of the first hole. She selected an iron and walked out onto the fairway. Her second shot veered raggedly to the left, and she held her breath hoping it wouldn’t land in the rough.

  “You’re safe,” Gray called cheerfully.

  Amber shielded her eyes with her hand, trying to see where the ball had landed. “I can’t even see it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it marked.”

  She climbed back into the cart. “Okay, Sherlock Holmes, tell me the rest of the tale and your deductions.”

  “Quite simple, my dear Watson. I strongly suspect Vic Delaney took advantage of the flooding last year to claim far more damage than actually occurred. He wrote off thousands of dollars as repairs to the eleventh green.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Gray nodded. “Exactly what I said. Hmmm.”

  “Still, that doesn’t mean much other than the fact that Delaney isn’t above cheating on his taxes or his insurance claims. It doesn’t imply the hotel itself is in financial difficulties,” Amber pointed out logically.

  “No, but finding that sort of thing right at the start of an investigation makes me curious.”

  “I know.” Amber had seen him at work before. Gray’s particular brand of curiosity and the tenacious way he went about satisfying it was what made him such a valuable and expensive consultant to people like Symington. “Well, we’ll just have to keep slogging along until we get to the eleventh hole.”

  “Correction. We’ll have to keep slogging along until we finish all eighteen. It would be a little obvious if we turned around at the eleventh green and headed back to the pro shop, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’m going to be exhausted,” Amber warned. “It’s getting very warm out here.”

  “Puts me in mind of another Twitchell poem,” Gray mused. “‘Ambush Under a Scorching Sun.’”

  “I remember that one,” Amber said brightly. “It was another one in which Twitchell made a lot of references to hot lead and burning iron. You know, until Ms Abercrombie wrote that letter to you, I hadn’t realized just ho
w much of Twitchell’s work teems with veiled sexual innuendoes.”

  “You didn’t realize it because his poems aren’t teeming with veiled sexual innuendoes,” Gray stated firmly. “And in my letter to Ms Abercrombie I shall spell that out for her in great detail. I shall spell it out in even greater detail in my next article for Poets of the Southwest.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear from the world’s only other Twitchell scholar,” Amber said with grave amusement.

  “I am not the world’s only other Twitchell expert,” Gray retorted grandly. “I am the world’s only Twitchell expert.”

  “Ms Abercrombie might take issue with you.”

  “Ms Abercrombie is a fake and a fraud and I intend to prove it.”

  “After you prove to yourself that the eleventh green wasn’t recently repaired to the tune of several thousand dollars?” Amber suggested.

  “Exactly. Everything in good time. Justice shall prevail, just as it always does in Twitchell’s ballads.”

  The eleventh green looked like all the other greens to Amber’s admittedly inexperienced eye. Gray walked around it and spent some time in the rough grass beyond the smooth, velvety green. He wasn’t searching for a lost ball, Amber knew. She finally putted her way into the cup after three embarrassing tries and then held the flag for Gray, who sank his ball in one negligent putt.

  “I sure am glad you don’t love golf,” she muttered as she replaced the flag.

  “It’s a stupid, boring game.” He tossed his putter into the golf bag and got behind the wheel of the cart.

  “If you find it stupid and boring, how did you find time to get so good at it?”

  “I’m not really good at it. I learned to play well enough not to embarrass myself in front of clients. That’s all. A lot of them play golf, unfortunately.”

  Amber eyed him skeptically. She had a hunch he hadn’t had much trouble becoming proficient at the sport. With his natural strength and smooth, masculine grace, he probably hadn’t ever had much trouble with anything that required coordination and power.

  That thought brought back memories of the previous night when she had lain awake for quite some time wondering what it would have been like to lie in Gray’s arms. Sternly Amber pushed the disturbing images aside. Things were back to normal between herself and Gray. She was determined to keep them that way.