Between the Lines Read online

  “I can’t believe he made such a casual thing of it. For Pete’s sake, it sounds as if he asked you to marry him the same way he might have asked you to type one of those reports he’s always doing for his clients.” Cynthia Paxton slipped the car into a turn lane with unerring accuracy. She was driving toward the huge indoor mall that covered a large chunk of downtown Bellevue real estate. Cynthia could probably have driven the route from her home to the shopping center blindfolded. She spent a lot of time at the elegant mall; many people in Bellevue did.

  Cynthia was two years older than Amber. Her short, sassy, stylish hair was a few shades darker than her sister’s, and she had inherited their father’s blue eyes instead of the golden-brown ones Amber had been endowed with. She had been working in the personnel department of a Seattle bank when she’d met and married her husband Sam. Sam Paxton was a successful stockbroker. Cynthia had quit her job shortly before her son Drake was born, intending to go back to work when Drake turned three. In the meantime she had taken to the life of the affluent suburban matron like a duck to water. She also took her duties as an older sister seriously. She was free with advice.

  Amber threw Cynthia a wry smile. “If I’d given the matter any thought, I would have guessed that Gray would have asked a woman to marry him in exactly that manner. It’s just his style. He’s a quiet, calm, deliberate sort of man.”

  “Dull is the word you’re looking for,” Cynthia said. She spun the wheel of the BMW, pulling into the large parking complex that surrounded the mall. She began cruising between the lanes of parked cars. With an expert’s eye she perused the aisles of already tethered BMWs, Volvos and assorted Japanese-made vehicles. “Placid, dull, nice and boring. Are you sure that’s what you want, Amber? Just because he looks like a quiet port after the storm of Roarke Kelley, don’t jump into anything. Things may have ended badly with Roarke„ but that doesn’t mean you’d be happy with someone who’s his direct opposite. After all, when you were happy with Roarke, you were very happy. Almost euphoric.”

  “And when I was unhappy I was absolutely miserable,” Amber concluded firmly. “I can do without the highs I had with Roarke, Cynthia. They aren’t worth the price. The last thing I want is another situation such as the one I had in California. The truth is, I really think I might be quite content with Gray.”

  Cynthia slipped into a parking space and switched off the ignition. Turning in her seat, she slanted an assessing glance at her sister. “Is content going to be enough, Amber?”

  “I’m almost certain it will be for me,” Amber said slowly.

  “But?”

  “But I’m worried that it might not be enough for Gray. He deserves more, Cynthia. He’s a good man. He deserves someone who really loves him.”

  “And you don’t.”

  Amber sighed. “I like him. I’m comfortable with him. I respect him. But I don’t feel anything as strong as a grand passion for him. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that way about anyone again. I got burned out on Roarke.”

  Cynthia tapped one crimson nail against the steering wheel, ignoring her two-year-old son who was starting to bounce up and down in his car seat and make anticipatory noises. “Tell me something, Amber, how do you feel about Gray as a lover?”

  Amber flushed slightly, surprised to find herself more flustered by the question than she ought to have been. “I’m not repulsed by him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Are you attracted to him? Has he kissed you? Have you been to bed with him?”

  Amber yanked at the door handle. “No, I have not been to bed with him. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Amber, you’re talking about marrying the man. You’ve got to consider the physical side of things.”

  “He’s kissed me a couple of times,” Amber muttered as she opened the car door and got out. She didn’t add that the kisses had been brief, casual and friendly rather than passionate.

  “Kissed you a couple of times! My God, what a Romeo. Be still, my beating heart.” Cynthia opened her own door and then reached into the back seat to remove Drake from his car seat. “You’ve been practically living in his house and all he’s done is kissed you a couple of times?”

  “I have not been living in his house. I work there.” It annoyed her that Cynthia had made virtually the same observation Gray had made about the situation.

  “Relax,” Cynthia said in the soothing way older sisters have of calming their younger siblings. “I just meant that there doesn’t seem to be much excitement involved here.”

  “There isn’t,” Amber agreed. “I like it that way.”

  “And so does Gray? You’re sure of that?”

  “He says he’s quite satisfied with the arrangement. He made it very clear he won’t rush me into anything.”

  “What do you call rushing? He wants you to marry him in less than two weeks!” Cynthia exclaimed.

  “Only because it would be convenient.” Even as she said the words, Amber experienced a sense of chagrin. It was true she didn’t want, a wild, flaming affair, but Gray’s approach to the matter did sound a little prosaic. Surely even a quiet, placid marriage should be scheduled for reasons other than convenience. In the next instant she determinedly banished the thought. Convenience was as good a reason as any for the scheduling of a wedding.

  “Tell me something,” Cynthia challenged as she led the way toward the mall entrance, “does Grayson get excited about anything?”

  “Well, there is Sherborne Ulysses Twitchell,” Amber murmured with a hidden grin. “There have been moments when Gray has become positively exhilarated by the subject.”

  “Twitchell! That idiotic nineteenth-century poet Grayson claims to have discovered?”

  “Twitchell’s for real,” Amber assured her. “Gray’s got three copies of the collected works of S. U. Twitchell. All privately printed and signed by the great man himself. As far as Gray knows, they’re the only copies in existence. That makes Gray the official expert on the guy.”

  “It’s crazy. When you first told me about the whole thing, I thought it was a joke. There are times when I still think it is.”

  Amber shook her head. “It’s no joke. Gray’s had several articles on Twitchell published in some obscure little poetry newsletters. He had a rather interesting piece hit print a couple of months ago.”

  Cynthia shot her sister a suspicious glance. “Really? What magazine?”

  “A small one called Radiant Sunsets. It’s a monthly devoted to the history of Southwestern poetry. Gray’s article was entitled ‘The Desert as a Metaphor for Psychic Isolation in the Works of S. U. Twitchell.’ I helped him write it.”

  “Good grief, you don’t have to sound so proud of the fact.”

  “It’s kind of fun,” Amber said with a bashful grin. “I enjoy arguing with Gray on the subject. Twitchell is such an incredibly bad poet.”

  “Does Grayson acknowledge that?”

  “Are you kidding? He’d defend Twitchell to the last literary ditch.”

  Cynthia shook her head in exasperation. “I can’t believe you’re thinking of marrying a man who’s so utterly boring that the only thing that excites him is the analysis of a terrible poet no one else has ever heard of. For heaven’s sake, Amber, think about what you’re doing.”

  Amber shoved her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans as she followed her sister into the bustling mall. “I have thought about it. And the more I think about it, the better it sounds. If Gray is sure he’ll be satisfied with a woman who isn’t passionately in love with him, then I believe I’ll say yes.” She was aware of a curious satisfaction as she reached her decision. “I think I will be quite content with him.”

  Cynthia groaned. “Well, you’re a grown woman. You have to make your own decisions. What about this matter of having to get married in two weeks? What’s the rush, anyway?”


  “Gray has a consulting assignment down in Arizona. One of his clients is considering buying a fancy dude ranch down there. He wants Gray to look over the operation and give him an opinion.”

  “Grayson gets a hefty fee for his business consultations, doesn’t he?” Cynthia noted shrewdly.

  Amber shrugged. “He does all right.”

  “Sam checked him out, you know.”

  Amber glared at her. “No, I didn’t know. When was this?”

  “Back when you first went to work for Grayson. Don’t look at me like that. I was worried about you. You seemed to be functioning in a daze when you first arrived from California. You had just quit a high-paying, fast-lane ad job and you were about to go to work as a temporary secretary, for goodness’ sake. Two weeks into that job and you quit to go to work full-time for some guy who’s so low-profile he doesn’t even maintain a proper business address. Naturally I was concerned. So I asked Sam to make a few inquiries. He did and came up with the news that while Cormick Grayson operates in a discreet manner doing these financial consultations for his clients, he seems to be successful. His business reputation is sterling.”

  “I could have told you that,” Amber muttered. “Gray is a very honorable man. His word is his bond. He’s kind of old-fashioned in that respect.”

  “I’m sorry for interfering, Amber,” Cynthia said gently, “but I really was worried about you.”

  Amber took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know. It’s okay, Cynthia. I understand. If the situation had been reversed, I probably would have done the same. Roarke went through my life like a whirlwind. When it was over, I probably didn’t appear to be acting too rationally for a while. But that’s all in the past now.”

  “Are you sure? It seems to me you’re still letting that relationship affect the way you behave. Would you be seriously considering Grayson s proposal if you hadn’t had that brush with Roarke Kelley?”

  Amber tried to come up with a reasonable answer and was startled to discover she couldn’t. “I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “If I hadn’t met Roarke, I might be a different person now. But I did get burned by him and it did change the way I think about relationships.”

  “Are you positive you’re not turning to Gray on the rebound?”

  Amber shook her head. “I’m not on the rebound. I wouldn’t go back to Roarke under any circumstances. And I wouldn’t ever want to marry anyone like him.” She took a deep breath. “Cynthia, I’ve made my decision.”

  “I can see that,” Cynthia said quietly. “No more sisterly lectures. Just remember that if it doesn’t work out, you’re not trapped for life. You can always file for divorce.”

  Amber looked away uneasily, not liking the all too practical words of wisdom. “I know. Let’s not talk about it anymore, Cynthia.”

  “Just be sure you invite me to the wedding, regardless of how small it is.”

  “Consider yourself invited.”

  * * *

  The next morning Amber used her key to let herself into Cormick Grayson’s home at the usual time. He had given her the key shortly after she’d started working for him. The house was a strikingly modern structure built with walls of windows to take advantage of the view of Lake Washington. The interiors were influenced by the serene Japanese style of design. Allowances had been made for American notions of comfort and for Cormick Grayson’s size, but a tranquil, clean-lined look had been achieved. Amber liked the house very much. She stood for a moment on the sleek hardwood floors of the expansive living room and admired the view.

  “Is that you, Amber?” Gray called from the kitchen.

  “Unless you’ve given a key to someone else,” she retorted lightly.

  Gray appeared in the wide doorway that separated the dining area from the living room. He was carrying two cups of tea. “No one else has a key,” he told her gently. “You know that.”

  “Ummm.” Feeling unexpectedly nervous all of a sudden, Amber went toward him to take one of the mugs of tea. “Then it must be me.”

  “Brilliant deduction. Did you make your decision?” Gray asked blandly.

  Amber’s fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the mug. There was no reason for this attack of anxiety, she told herself. Cormick Grayson was hardly the sort of man to inspire anxiety of any kind. The man had simply asked her to marry him. It was quite obvious that for him the matter was no big deal, so why on earth was she getting nervous? Amber summoned a smile. “You’re absolutely positive this is the kind of marriage you want, Gray?”

  His hazel eyes were half concealed behind lazily lowered lashes. “I’m positive.”

  Amber took a deep breath. “Then, yes, please, I would like to marry you. Thank you for asking me.”

  He took a sip of tea and studied her over the rim of the mug. His hazel gaze was unreadable, but when he lowered the cup there was a faint curve edging the hard line of his mouth. “Thank you for accepting. I’ll make the arrangements this afternoon. You don’t mind if we keep it very small?”

  Amber shook her head, wondering why she felt a vague sense of disappointment. Surely she hadn’t been expecting anything more than a quiet, businesslike acceptance of her answer. “I’d prefer to keep the wedding small. I’ll only be inviting my sister and her husband,”

  “Fine. We’ll take them out to dinner after the ceremony.” Gray took another sip of tea, his expression thoughtful as though he were already working through the details in his mind.

  Impulsively Amber touched his sleeve. “I’ll try to be a good wife to you, Gray.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were still gleaming with an unreadable emotion. “I know.” He hesitated and then said very seriously, “I’ll do my best to be a good husband to you, Amber.”

  She looked up at him searchingly, uncertain of what she should say or do next. It was all very well to talk about a passionless arrangement, but somehow this quiet discussion of such a major event was a little too placid. “Gray...”

  He lowered his head and brushed her mouth lightly with his own. The brief caress was warm and affectionate, but not much else. Amber closed her eyes, and her fingers tightened on the sleeve of Gray’s shirt until she could feel the sinewed strength of his arm. She didn’t know what she expected or even what she wanted. Amber just knew she wanted more than the light, meaningless kiss she had just received.

  She felt Gray go still for a moment and then very carefully he removed the mug of tea from her hand and set it down beside his on a nearby table. Without a word he pulled Amber into his arms.

  2

  Amber went into the embrace with a sense of curiosity and mild trepidation. She just didn’t know what to expect, either from him or from herself. But she discovered immediately that she needn’t have worried. What she found in Gray’s arms was a warm, comforting strength that seemed to enfold her completely. Quite suddenly Amber wasn’t sure why she had been at all nervous.

  Gray’s big hands moved down her back in a slow, stroking motion that compelled her gently against him. Amber leaned into the heat of his large body and lifted her face for his kiss. Gray covered her mouth with his own, moving his lips warmly on hers. He made no effort to deepen the kiss, but seemed content to let her set the pace. Half curious and half relieved, Amber slowly put her arms around his neck. She was vividly aware of the sleek muscles of his shoulders. Unconsciously her lips parted under his.

  Gray exhibited little interest in the gentle invitation she had issued. He didn’t even touch his tongue to her lower lip, let alone attempt to explore the intimate confines of her mouth. But he seemed willing to let Amber become familiar with the feel of him. When her fingertips sank gently into the skin of his shoulders, however, Gray sighed lightly and slowly lifted his head. He smiled down at her.

  “I think everything’s going to work out fine,” he declared calmly.

  Amber tilted her head slightly, stran
gely disturbed by the sensual curiosity she had begun to sense within herself. She regarded Gray with grave uncertainty. “You meant what you said about not rushing the... the physical side of things?”

  “Amber, have you ever seen me rush anything?” he asked with a disarming smile.

  She had to laugh. “Sorry I asked.” She stepped back. “Well, I guess we ought to start work or something.” She struggled briefly and found her composure. “I’ll take a look at the mail.”

  “All right. I’ll join you in the office in a few minutes. I want to grab some data sheets I was working on in the kitchen.” Gray turned away to saunter casually back through the wide doorway as if nothing of any great moment had just occurred between himself and Amber.

  Amber was surprised to find herself wondering irritably how many times Gray had asked a woman to marry him. He seemed awfully casual about it. But as quickly as the thought surfaced, she dismissed it. Cormick Grayson was acting exactly as he always did. Calmly unflappable, placidly confident. She smiled to herself and headed for the large study that Gray called his office.

  The day’s mail was sitting on her desk. Gray had brought it in earlier, and as usual, he hadn’t bothered to go through it. He left that chore up to his assistant. Amber sat down at her desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and picked up her brass letter opener.

  She was halfway through the pile of advertisements, bills and business letters when she spotted the familiar return address on a long manila envelope. Amber grinned and instantly slit the flap. A two-page letter signed by one Honoria Tyler Abercrombie fell into her hand. She began reading it at once.

  “What’s that?” Gray asked as he strolled into the office and glanced over her shoulder.

  “A letter to you forwarded by Radiant Sunsets.” She glanced up at him. “It’s about the article you did for the newsletter a couple months ago. Remember? The one on the desert as a metaphor for loneliness. You used ‘Gunslinger’s Lament’ as an example.”