Free A Perilous Eden by Heather Graham Page B

started again, and her father pulled her into his arms, but she was still staring after Michael.
    â€œAmber!”
    â€œWhat?” She looked into her father’s eyes. They were troubled and severe.
    â€œStay—” He paused, swallowing. He hadn’t told her what she could and couldn’t do in years. “Stay away from—from Adams.”
    â€œWhy? Who is he?”
    â€œYou—”
    â€œSecurity?”
    â€œWe … we haven’t decided yet. Amber, he’s dangerous.”
    â€œIt sounds as if you don’t like him.”
    â€œNo, I do like him. I like him very much. I just want you to stay away from him.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy?” Her father was silent for a long moment. “He was in Vietnam—”
    â€œDad! Half the men I know were in Vietnam!”
    â€œDamn it, Amber, just listen to me for once. Stay away from Michael Adams. For my peace of mind.” Angry, he released her, and Amber found herself alone on the dance floor, staring after the second man to leave her there.
    It wasn’t long before she was claimed again. Timothy Hawkins, the youngest rep from the great state of Kansas, slipped up behind her and offered her a broad grin. “Amber! You’re back in Washington! Is it too much to hope that you might be alone?”
    â€œVery much alone, Tim,” she replied, accepting his arm. He whirled her around happily. He was tall, with friendly hazel eyes and a freckled face, and she liked him very much. But even as she smiled and laughed and responded to his questions, she wondered how it could feel so different to dance with him. No quickening breath, no slow fire touching her soul.
    So Michael Adams was dangerous, in her father’s estimation. But her father liked him; he had admitted that. He liked him—but he still thought he was dangerous.
    She wondered whether she could make that matter or not.
    He couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t talk to Daldrin or Larkspur or any of the others. He had to leave the terrace.
    With a stiff Scotch in his hand, he hurried down one of the garden paths and came to a trellised arbor with a black wrought-iron bench. Sitting, he found himself loosening his tie. He was hot, burning up from dancing.
    No, it wasn’t from dancing. It was the woman.
    What was it about her? She was attractive, yes. She had beautiful flowing light hair that smelled wonderful. Her shoulders were bare beneath the slim strips of the kelly-green silk she was wearing. Her skin was ivory, she was slim, with beautiful hollows and curves, and she had fit into his arms as he had rarely felt any woman do. There was warmth to her, there was laughter, and there was that flare of passion and determination and bravado within her eyes. Eyes the color of the Caribbean. Green and blue and beguiling. From the moment he had seen her across the room, he had known that he should stay away from her. She was Ted Larkspur’s daughter, and he liked Ted Larkspur. And he wasn’t going to fall in love; love was dead within him. But from the moment he had seen her tonight, he had known that he wanted her. Wanted to bed her. Wanted to be with her. He didn’t want to know about tomorrow; he just wanted to have her, to feel her move beneath him. He had watched her on the dance floor, watched the length of leg displayed when her skirt swirled around her. Watched the laughter and the love when she looked into her father’s eyes. But when she had looked into his eyes, he had seen more, much more. He had seen passion, seen electricity that could spark and burn and rise in sweet, fantastic flames. The room had faded, and he had known that he needed to leave. Now fury touched his soul. He couldn’t have her, and that was that, and it was ridiculous to want to touch a woman so badly, any woman. The woman he had loved was gone, and others did not matter. One had to be the same as any other.
    But she wasn’t. His