Amber Affairs

by Patricia Rice

  Emerging from behind the bar carrying his glass, Josh approached her with grim intent. “I’ll hold you until you tell me, until you let me hold you without hesitating or quivering again. I’ve missed you for over a decade. You hacked out my heart. I want to know why.”

  Tears misted her eyes. “I was tired of being used and manipulated. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Dell was a voyeur who liked little boys. You were sixteen and definitely not a boy. What happened?” He set aside his glass and tugged her into his arms again.

  She shuddered. She tried not to, but it was automatic. “I barely weighed a hundred pounds. I was practically anorexic. I looked like a kid.” The old shame lived too close to the surface. She wanted to shove away, to run again.

  He hugged her tighter. “Your bones weigh more than a hundred pounds,” he said angrily. “You were nearly a skeleton when I left. That’s why I left. I wanted enough money to buy out your contract and get you out of there. I was afraid they’d kill you.”

  “So was I,” she whispered. “If I couldn’t fit into a costume, they’d give me water pills. Crystal showed me this gorgeous gown I wanted with all my heart and soul, then told me I’d have to take diet pills to fit into it. Dell. . .”

  Josh’s embrace softened, and he kissed her hair. “Dell had pills for everything,” he said. “I spit them at him, and he gave up. I was eighteen. My contract was up. Everyone knew he was looking for my replacement.”

  She nodded against his broad shoulder. “I know. Some of the kids were desperate to take your role. If Dell told them to stand on the roof and crow, they would, sure fame and fortune followed. I get that. But I was trapped. I wasn’t old enough to escape. I thought if I could make it two more years, I’d be out of the contract, I’d have money for New York, and everything would be all right.”

  He ran his hand up and down her back. “So, what happened?”

  Fighting an emotional and physical battle at being held, she pushed back, unable to say the words she’d never said. “I don’t want to blame the kid. Dell told him it was an audition, that I was acting, that he had to show he could perform as well as I did. You know the power he had over us.”

  Josh muttered curses. She thought she felt a hot tear fall on her head, but she couldn’t look him in the face. They’d been lovers before he left. They’d made promises, even knowing in that crazy business, they’d be impossible to keep. But she’d loved him with all her adolescent heart. And she’d waited for him—until she couldn’t any longer.

  “Let me guess,” he said, his voice rough. “They told you the drinks were a prop. They tasted like soda, and you never got enough sugar, so you drank them. And you had utterly no head for alcohol or drugs.”

  Amber sighed and closed her eyes, finally accepting Josh’s embrace. He understood. He’d always understood, even when she didn’t. Her dreams had been pretty fantasies. Not his. He’d always filled his imaginary worlds with monsters.

  “I was conscious enough to fight,” she whispered. “That made it even worse. Dell got excited, which excited the kid. It hurt. Then I passed out. When I woke up, I was in one of Dell’s bedrooms and Crystal was happily planning my career because she had Dell over a barrel. I think she knew what he’d planned and probably arranged to arrive before I woke so she could threaten and blackmail him.”

  Josh’s face was definitely wet when he lifted her and carried her to the couch. He lifted her, as if she were some frail sylph. And he set her down on his lap as if she were no more than a feather. Weeping harder, she turned her head into his shoulder and refused to meet his eyes. She’d had years of counseling, but the shame and guilt still haunted her. “I should have done more. I should have stopped him then. But I thought it was just about me. That if I escaped. . .”

  He rocked her like a baby. “It was just about you,” he said angrily. “You were sixteen with no allies and you did exactly what you should have—you escaped and survived. Had you done anything else, they would have crushed you flat. Tell me you know I will never hurt you,” he demanded. “Tell me you trust me. Give me that much, Amber.”

  Stifling sobs, she nodded. She couldn’t yell and be angry at his selfish view, when she’d been shamefully selfish by running away. This was Josh, and he understood. They’d been so close, that he took her violation personally. She’d known he would. And so she’d tried to save him from her anguish. And she should tell him that, too, but he knew. He had to know. They didn’t need those words.

  She hadn’t told him about the next years, when she’d drowned her shame in self-indulgence—self-harm her counselor had called it. Her brain had eventually caught up with her emotions, but she would never be the same again, in more ways than one.

  She didn’t want to cry anymore, but tears leaked down her face. She’d been terrified of men for too long. Even though she trusted the men she’d come to know in Hillvale, she’d never let them touch her. It felt strange to smell Josh’s masculine odors, feel his big arms holding her, but the fear had melted away with her tears and his familiarity. She clung to the good memories.

  He fell silent while they both fought to restore their adult selves. “We’re no longer helpless kids,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “We can stop him now.”

  He made her feel as if it was possible to finally fight back. It wasn’t.

  She shook her head. “I’m terrified for Zeke. You said you’d set Willa on Dell—is there any chance he may have killed her?”

  “Do sexual perverts kill? Sure, sometimes.” Still on overload from Amber’s tale and ready to commit murder himself, Josh forced his temper into abatement.

  He couldn’t and wouldn’t imagine how his sensitive, mischief-loving Ginger had suffered through that trauma alone. He’d plot throttling Dell and her mother later. Right now, the strong woman called Amber didn’t need him losing his cool.

  He tried to work his memory of Dell into Willa’s murder scenario, as he had been all afternoon. He’d even jotted notes for a script, but something just didn’t fit. “But think about it. Dell’s a cowardly voyeur. He’s what, in his sixties now? Willa could take him out with a punch. If he’s accused of fraud or perversion, he’s far more likely to empty his coffers into a foreign bank account and settle on the Riviera than kill Willa.”

  It had been a long day. He was in desperate need of solace, but Amber needed support more. She’d hidden that horror story for fourteen years—recalling the memory had to scald bitterly. He was ready to go up in flames just listening. He had to keep reminding himself that beating the pulp out of Dell wouldn’t help.

  At least she wasn’t flinching from him. The memory of the glory they’d once shared had soured him on anything less. He’d given up having a normal relationship and settled for Willa. And now he had Amber in his arms. . . and knew he could never have her.

  “Do you hate me?” he whispered wearily.

  “Yeah, a little,” she admitted. She pushed away and slid out of his arms, leaving him alone and aching. “But not any more than I hate myself. I ate myself into this state, you know. Once I had freedom, I ate every food I’d ever been denied. I had midnight ice cream orgies. I crashed just like an alcoholic and ended up in the hospital. My starved state screwed up my metabolism so bad, I couldn’t eat like a normal person, and I still tried. My counselor said it was a form of suicide. Eventually, I grew up and went back to a nutritional diet, but I refuse to starve myself. I survived, sort of. I will no longer collapse and die if I have a hamburger, but I gain weight if I just look at carbs.”

  “You look healthy,” he insisted. “And any normal person would have done the exact same thing you did—eat everything you were denied. Teens are supposed to eat crap.”

  She poured her wine down the sink. “Only if their metabolism is normal—mine never was and probably never will be after what it’s been through. I’ve learned to live with that. I know I need to exercise more, but I spent too many years resenting exercise, so I’ve resisted. And now I can’t. The knee I
damaged in one of our stupid stunts can’t heal with all this extra weight I’m carrying. Swimming is about all I can do, and swimming pools are out of my budget.”

  Letting her ramble on, Josh rubbed his whiskers and watched her float around the room like a butterfly. She’d always been pretty and lively and possessed a hip-swaying grace that had held his adolescent attention. The limp didn’t seem to be bothering her tonight. Sure, she wasn’t skinny, but she wasn’t meant to be, no more than he was meant to be tall.

  “How the hell do I make you see yourself?” he asked in exasperation. “You’re still looking through your mother’s eyes. And maybe Dell’s. Maybe I should take you through a gallery of Italian art. Anorexia is not pretty. I loved you anyway, but your bones scared me to death. I love your new curves. And yes, exercise will firm up your muscles and that’s attractive too. But mostly, because healthy is sexy. And right now, you’re not healthy enough emotionally and maybe even mentally to go for the gym rat look.”

  She gave a deprecating laugh. “Don’t say that in public. I need to be healthy for Zeke’s sake. And if there’s any chance that the court will give him back to Crystal, I need to sell everything I own and head for Siberia. I don’t think I can afford the Riviera.”

  Her reminder returned him to the real world with a crash. The blood drained from his prick and returned to his brain, enabling him to stand again. “Dell is going down. That’s a promise. Without him, Crystal will lose interest in a kid who will be nothing more than a growing expense.”

  “You have your hands full already,” she reminded him. “You should probably go back to LA and deal with the news rags without me, play the grieving lover, turn up the sympathy factor. That might get you the sponsorship you need for your film. You can dedicate it to Willa, tell the press she’d put her heart into it. You know the routine.”

  He waved away the knowledge that she was right. “I just can’t get into that BS. I’ll leave Ernest to play it. Let me stay here tonight. I need a facsimile of normal. Do you have any idea how often I dreamed of us spending the night together when I was a kid?”

  Amber was one of those women who were beautiful even after she’d been crying. Without a speck of cosmetics, her lashes glittered, her eyes sparkled, and her color heightened at his request.

  “I didn’t exactly come prepared for a sleep-over,” she said pragmatically, bringing him down to earth. “I’d rather go home, except Zeke needs his sleep.”

  With a grin, Josh began unbuttoning. “You can wear my shirt.”

  Fifteen

  A persistent ringing roused Amber from an erotic dream of hard flesh, steamy waters, and a tropical jungle. She automatically reached for her bedside stand to stop the clamor, then realized nothing was where it should be. Raising one sleepy eyelid, she couldn’t even see if there was a phone in that vast expanse.

  That’s when a slight snore made her want to dive under the covers.

  Except Josh was under those covers.

  And he wasn’t wearing anything except underwear. Lots of hard male flesh. . . Next to her flab.

  Tugging his shirt over her bottom, she slid her fat thighs over the side as quietly as she could. What time was it? Would the phone wake Zeke?

  She grabbed the receiver from the far side of the stand. It was cordless, so she carried it to the bathroom. Having no idea who would be calling or if they wanted her or Josh, she cautiously answered with a Hello, keeping her voice low.

  “Amber?” Samantha’s voice sounded concerned. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, what’s happening?” She lived with a sense of alarm these days. She rummaged around for her clothes. “How did you find me?”

  “I called Josh’s room first and woke poor Ernest. Your front door looks as if it’s been jimmied. Walker didn’t want to go in without your permission. Thank goodness you’re somewhere safe!”

  Safe. She was sleeping—emphasis on sleeping—with a Hollywood director, and Hillvale considered that safe. Amber rolled her eyes and found a brush in her purse while she processed Sam’s announcement.

  “Jimmied? You mean someone broke into my house?” Fear escalated over lust and embarrassment. Putting the phone on speaker, she hastily shimmied into the underwear she’d stored in her bag.

  “That’s what it looks like. I’ll come over and get you. Give me permission to tell Walker to go in and look around, and he’ll make certain it’s safe for you to enter.”

  “I give him permission to shoot anyone he sees inside,” Amber said, replacing panic with anger. “I don’t own anything, not even a TV! Why would anyone break in?”

  “It makes no sense. I’m calling the neighbors to see if they’re all right, but I’m guessing they were all home, and yours was the only empty house. You can tell me about that later,” she added with a more upbeat note before she hit off.

  Explain why she was sleeping in Josh’s bed. . . probably not happening.

  She waited for the shame and fear to catch up with her, but miraculously, the present replaced the past. She had a gorgeous man in her bed and a kid she needed to protect.

  Pulling on her caftan, leaving Josh’s dress shirt on a hook, Amber tip-toed back to the bedroom. Josh was still out cold. He’d had a really rough day yesterday, and it probably wouldn’t be better today.

  She jotted him a note, folded it to stand up so he’d see it as soon as he opened his eyes, and slipped through the main room to the other bedroom.

  Zeke was already up, dressed, and watching TV. “Breakfast!” he shouted with glee.

  “No time,” she answered with regret. “There’s a problem at home. We’ll go to the café after, okay? Fee will fix you anything you like.”

  It said something about her nephew’s life that he instantly sobered and yanked on his shoes, going from kid to miniature adult in the blink of an eye.

  She hated leaving Josh alone, but he was a big boy now. He’d be returning to LA and his real life after this mess was over. She ought to do everything in her power to help solve Willa’s murder just so he’d leave before he broke her heart.

  Samantha was waiting in her aging Subaru by the time Amber and Zeke walked to the front of the lodge. Gorgeous, skinny Sam looked as if she’d been up for hours—grubbing in the dirt.

  “What had Walker checking my house?” Amber asked as she slid into the front seat while Zeke climbed in back.

  “Cass called with one of her premonitions. Right after that, Mariah called and said hell was about to break loose, and we’d better find you. You know, the usual.” Sam gestured dismissively.

  Amber snorted, even as she shivered in fear. Mariah had an uncanny way of finding information on computers that no one else knew. “Only in Hillvale. What hell is breaking loose? I really don’t need any more excitement.”

  “According to Mariah, Willa’s lawyers have an information leak. I don’t know the details, but the online buzz Mariah is picking up is that Josh has inherited everything Willa owned, including her production company plus stock in her father’s holdings.”

  “Cool, he can hire Aunt Amber,” Zeke cried from the back.

  That wasn’t Amber’s first thought. “That gives Josh motive for murder. Oh crap, he’ll have to flee for the Riviera.”

  Sam quirked her eyebrow as she pulled into Amber’s driveway. “What?”

  “Bad joke. Sorry. We really need to find some way to speak to Willa’s spirit, if that’s what’s in my crystal ball. Why on earth would she leave everything to Josh? They weren’t even married yet.” At her cottage, Amber pushed open the car door to greet Sam’s husband, the police chief, waiting on her doorstep. She wished she could keep her nephew out of this, but Zeke was right on her heels.

  “No one in there,” Walker reported. “I’ll let you take a look, tell me what you think.”

  She didn’t need to be psychic to know someone had been inside her house. Her place was small, and she had to be neat and orderly to keep everything contained. But now, drawers weren’t completely closed. Clos
ets were left open as if someone had taken a quick look and moved on. The papers on her desk had been rifled through, and the files in her drawer were jumbled.

  “I can’t tell if anything was taken,” she said apologetically. “But if they were after paperwork. . . I don’t keep important ones on hand. It’s mostly invoices and credit card statements and miscellaneous like that.” She flipped through the files, trying to think of anything anyone might take. All her legal documents were in a lockbox at the bank.

  “They could have been after credit card and bank account numbers,” Walker suggested. “I can dust for prints, but I’ll guess half of Hillvale has been through here at one time or another, and you probably don’t want to ink all your friends.” Walker nudged a drawer closed and took another look around.

  “Even I know you don’t use ink anymore,” she protested. “But they’re not going to want their prints in a computer either. And chances are, if anyone really was looking for papers, they’d be smart enough to wear gloves.”

  “Do you have some reason to believe anyone would want any papers beside account numbers?” Walker asked in his best cautious cop tone.

  “I can’t imagine what they might do with them, but yeah, there are a few people who don’t like me very much. They may have just been looking for trouble.” Like her mother and Dell? Reporters? No, she didn’t think the news had identified her yet.

  “You’d better check your shop then,” Walker suggested.

  “Oh, sugar crap.” Heart plunging, she followed Walker out with a worried Zeke trailing behind. “We’ll walk down. I promised Zeke breakfast.” She rubbed his head, letting him know she was okay and he wasn’t to worry.

  “They didn’t take my Nintendo,” he offered. “That’s worth a lot.”

  Well, no, it wasn’t to a thief, just to poor people, but she squeezed his shoulder. “So maybe they weren’t thieves,” she agreed, reassuring him.