The Amber Stone (17 page)

Teresa nearly released his hand. His revelation stunned her. She thought all his pain and love had been metaphorical. That the demise of his marriage had been like a death to him, she hadn’t sensed that it was literal. She didn’t know what to think and thought of Bertha’s warning about the shadows around him. Had the death of their child led to the end of their marriage? If she helped him heal, would he return to his wife?

For a moment, she selfishly thought of pulling away. She didn’t want to heal him and help him resurrect his heart only to see him turn to another woman. She didn’t want to be just an itch he’d scratch and then discard like Louisa suggested. Louisa, who still refused to tell her who the father of her baby was. Louisa, who probably knew more about seducing a man like Sean than Teresa ever could. She knew it would take a lot more than a pretty dress and makeup to get him to see her in a new way.

He was wonderful and she loved him. She loved everything about him, from his unruly hair, his sharp hazel gaze, his old truck and his teasing humor. But he didn’t see her as a possible replacement for the woman he’d married, the mother of his child. Teresa swallowed her bitter jealousy and cast any hope aside that their friendship could be anything more.

“What was her name?” she asked with a tender smile.

“Chloe. She died at four from cystic fibrosis. And after she died, I just worked. I worked to save as many people as I could and it made me feel good. It made me feel alive. It made me feel useful when for so many years I’d felt helpless.” He stared down at his soup. “I never thought I’d be able to talk about this again, but it feels good. It actually feels good to say her name. Chloe. I remember her tiny hand against my lips telling me to stop when I made funny faces at her. I took a picture of her in a little white coat and plastic stethoscope because she wanted to be a doctor just like me.” His eyes shone with unshed tears. “And I remember her telling me not to be sad when she lay sick in her hospital bed.”

“Because she loved her daddy so much.”

Sean blinked back his tears and sighed. “And her daddy loved her.”

Teresa released his hand. “And that love made you strong, not weak.”

Sean pushed back his chair and motioned to the waitress. “I want to go home.”

“Yes, of course,” Teresa said, taking his abrupt action in stride. He probably felt he’d revealed too much and wanted to be alone. They were silent as the waitress put the food in a takeaway bag and he paid.

“Thank you for everything,” Teresa said, climbing into the truck and closing the door.

Sean groaned and rested his head on the steering wheel. “Please don’t do this to me.” He sat up and pierced her with a hard look. “I want you. I want you in my bed and I want you by my side and I want to get you out of my system.”

“I know you’re being honest, but–”

He effectively kissed the reply from her lips. His tongue tasted the sweetness of her mouth, then his hot lips burned their way to the side of her face and neck.

“Sean.”

“Please don’t say no to this,” he breathed.

“I wasn’t, I just—”

“Then don’t say anything at all,” he said, efficiently removing his jacket and her top. With one expert tug on her bra, the latch unhooked and her full breasts spilled out into his waiting hands. Like a man who had happened upon the lost city of Atlantis, he merely stared, holding and stroking them.

“What are you doing?” Teresa asked when he continued to stare, making her embarrassed.

“You just turned me into a breasts man.” He brought one luscious hanging fruit to his lips and sucked like he would a ripe mango. “Had I known what was waiting for me, I wouldn’t have been so patient.” He watched a nipple harden under his touch then skimmed his hands down her side. “You’re so round, full, soft,” he said each word as he planted a kiss on her shoulder, stomach and chest. “So much to explore.”

“It’s called the fat girl advantage,” Teresa said a little embarrassed.

He didn’t hear her. He was too busy unzipping her jeans.

“Sean, wait. You don’t even have your shirt off.”

He quickly shed his shirt and pulled her close. Teresa never realized flesh could feel so fiery; his soft curling chest hair rubbed against her breasts, sending electrical shocks through her body.

Sean suddenly swore. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?”

He smiled at her irritation. “It’s too awkward. The gear shift nearly turned me into a woman.”

She sat up, her face flushed. “And you want to go home,” she reminded him as she quickly latched her bra and pulled on her top.

He groaned. “I hope I can make it there.”

She glanced at her watch. “Want me to call a taxi?”

He turned sharply to her. “What are you talking about?”

“You want to be alone.”

“What gave you that idea?”

Teresa hesitated, surprised by the question. “You said you wanted to go home.”

Sean rested his head on the steering wheel and shook his head. “I keep forgetting it’s you.”

“What?”

He sat up. “Yes, I want to go home and I want to take you with me.”

“Take me with you?” Teresa repeated, not sure she’d heard him correctly.

“That’s right, Sweets,” he said with a soft smile, his voice deepening into huskiness. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

Teresa stared at him, seeing the hunger and desire in his gaze, not knowing what to say. He wanted her and that made her feel gorgeous and desirable. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Her makeup and tight clothes reflected a false image of her. Was this what Louisa had been trying to help her achieve?

And did he feel true desire or did he only want her because he wanted to forget his pain? Was his hunger a primal desire for any kind of solace? Would he look at her this way if she looked like herself and he hadn’t told her about his daughter? He didn’t share her feelings. Maybe if she waited longer, he’d see her for more than just a good time. After tonight would she lose what little power she had over him? Would the novelty end?

But as Teresa looked into his smoldering gaze, she couldn’t pretend that he was the only one interested. She wanted it too. Just as much. Maybe more. Teresa clicked on her seat belt, coming to a decision. “Let’s go.”

But when she got to his house, some of her courage failed her. Teresa inwardly grimaced as they drove up to his house, the moon touching it with a faint light. It was a great monstrous insult to architecture. A Gothic mausoleum with turrets, and arched windows melded with contemporary lines. It looked like the designer was on LSD at the time and unsure of what style the house should be. One side was handled with care while the other looked like the builders had gotten tired and given up. Yet the location was spectacular. Suddenly a deep mist came in from the bay cloaking the house in a haze.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” he said proudly.

“Terribly.”

“However, it has character.”

“It looks like it has a nasty temper. I bet the floors creak and the windows rattle.”

He laughed. “You get used to it.”

Teresa was pleasantly surprised when she entered the foyer. The outside was imposing but the inside was welcoming, if not stark. When she glanced at the living room, she saw the dark panel flooring covered by a red area rug, a big grand piano, and a large stone fireplace faced an overstuffed maroon couch and ottoman. Large windows faced the water.

Mist came up to greet her. Teresa patted the cat on the head. “Hello.”

Sean took her hand. “You can talk to her later,” he said, then led her up the squeaky stairs. They passed four closed bedrooms before reaching the master suite. It was a man’s room with dark wood flooring and dresser, a metal standing lamp, a woven blue rug on the floor and a large picture of a castle over the bed. A beautiful tan spread covered the bed, but she noticed only one pillow.

Sean saw her look and said, “I never expected company.”

She nodded. The room was neat and clean, just what she expected from him. She went to the window and saw it afforded a view of the bay. She turned to Sean, who was watching her with a guarded expression.

“It’s lovely,” she said, swinging her arms a little, not knowing what else to say or do.

He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving her face. “No, you’re spectacular.”

Teresa shook her head and smiled. “But I wasn’t talking about me.”

“I know,” he said, then made her forget her surroundings. He captured her mouth with his own and the impact was like hot wax poured over ice; the same rush of pleasure and surprise raced through their veins. Sean couldn’t get enough of her. She was a cool spring to a parched man, a shower of rain to a man who was burning. With her he felt something completely unfamiliar. His hands cupped her breasts, enjoying their fullness. He held them like he would any new object that held a fascination.

He’d never felt such a desire before and he couldn’t understand what it meant. Everything about her held him captive—that had never happened before. He’d never been a patient lover before, so it took some effort to restrain himself. Her pleasure mattered to him. He never again wanted to be the man he’d once been. And for a moment, he felt the weight of her innocence, he knew she’d never been with a man before, and the selfish part of him took it as a burden as he rolled on a condom, but the other half took it as a gift.

And in his life he’d been given many gifts—his brilliance, his wealth—which he’d taken for granted, until he’d lost Chloe and the ability to care about anything. But Teresa had changed all that. In her arms he found redemption. She was genuine and without guile and a place for his battered and tired soul to find solace.

Teresa felt the soft sheets on her back as she sank deeper into the bed and inhaled the scent of him. He had hands that roamed and smoothed her body until she felt like a perfect gem cradled in the hands of a jeweler. In the unfamiliar wave of emotion she felt safe with him, following his lead, unashamed of her inexperience, eager to learn. He was a master teacher—attentive and tender—arousing in her such sweet delight that any slight pain quickly turned into pleasure.

She welcomed him inside her with no inhibition, surrendering completely to him.

And with her simple action she caused some stones around his heart to fall and though Sean knew his vulnerability, he had no way to stop and soon didn’t want to. Although he knew she was surrendering her body to him, he also knew she was dangerously close to capturing his heart and forcing his own surrender. She knew how to touch him just the way he liked it. He moaned deep in his throat. She was so soft and smelled so sweet. He moaned again.

She giggled.

“What?” he asked.

“You sound like a purring panther.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmured. She was what he wanted. Needed. His hands, mouth and body sought every inch of her with a greediness he did not try to abate and as a conclave blanket of stars hung overhead he let himself lose control.

***

Afterwards, Teresa slipped into a deep, satisfied sleep only to be abruptly awaken when something warm and hairy touched her leg—she screamed and leaped out of bed. Sean did the same grabbing a knife from under his pillow.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” he demanded, turning on the lights.

“Nothing.” She felt embarrassed realizing it was only his leg touching hers. It had all felt so much like a dream, she’d forgotten it was true. She wasn’t alone in her bed at Louisa’s house, but with Sean.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling with annoyance. “
Nothing
made you scream and jump out of bed?”

“Yes. Put the knife away.”She got back under the covers. “Sorry, I’ve never slept with a man before.”

He got back under the covers as well, but looked at her, his eyes bright with amusement. “Afraid I was going to maul you again?” he asked, pulling her to him.

She relaxed, resting her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She remembered when her father would hold her on his lap and tell her stories and when her mother would lie in her bed and stay up with her after a nightmare. She could feel the weight of his tiredness that she knew had nothing to do with sleep, but she wouldn’t ask him about it. “No.”

He closed his eyes. “Good.”

She took the opportunity to study his face, what she could see of it. She pushed some hair from his forehead, then from the side of his face.

“Hmm, that feels good.”

She stopped. “I was just checking to see if you have pointy ears.”

He laughed. “No, I didn’t inherit those.”

She touched the necklace on his chest. “And where did you get this?”

“Don’t remember. Want one?”

“No.”

“I can get one made for you in the shape of a butterfly. Would you like that?”

She toyed with his hair again, to give her nervous fingers something to do. He wanted to give her another gift? “No, I don’t like butterflies.”

“Why not?”

“When I was little, I prayed and waited for the day I would come out of my cocoon and have beautiful skin, exquisite features and a shapely body.” She laughed at her childish hopes. “I never even made it to the cocoon stage. My Aunt Yvette—the most obnoxious British Caribbean immigrant to touch American soil as my sisters like to say—always hoped I’d grow into my looks. I know she means well. The Amarids, my mother’s people, have excellent genes. Every time she came over to our house her poor face would fall in disappointment. All of us, my sisters and I, are considered plain, you see. She actually considered paying for plastic surgery, we have a reputation to uphold, she likes to say.”