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“You could have fooled me.”
She was no shrinking violet, that was for sure. Tripp admired her for it. If she’d been afraid of her own shadow, she never would have had the courage to stand up to her father on his behalf all those years ago. “I didn’t stop you to take another cheap shot at you. I stopped you to apologize. For yesterday. And in answer to your earlier question, if I have a problem with you, it’s not your fault.”
Amber stared up at Tripp. His shirt and tie were black, his skin a shade of brown that didn’t need sunscreen. He was clean-shaven this morning and handsome beyond belief. And it ticked her off that she’d noticed. He’d just admitted that his earlier jabs had been cheap shots. In the same breath, he’d admitted that he did, indeed, have a problem with her.
“Whose fault is it then, Tripp? This problem you have with me.” Her breath caught in her throat, making her voice sound breathless to her own ears. That ticked her off, too.
“I’m sorry about insulting you yesterday. You didn’t ask to be born into a wealthy family any more than I asked to be born into a screwed-up one. It’s just that you rich people have no idea how intimidating you are to the rest of us.”
He called that an apology? “I…you…” Amber was never at a loss for words, yet here she was, stammering for the second time in a matter of days.
She didn’t try to speak again until she’d made certain she’d put one entire thought in order. “Rich families can be just as dysfunctional as poor ones.”
They were arguing about whose family was more dysfunctional? The conversation had sunk to a new low.
He shrugged in a noncommittal, infuriating manner.
“I intimidate you?” she asked.
He released the clasp on his watch, fiddled with it, tightened it again. “Forget it, okay?”
Perhaps she should have let it go, as he’d asked, but that wasn’t her style. Yesterday, when she’d seen him again out in the garden at Hacienda de Alegria, she’d felt a connection to him. Ever since her mother had changed and her father had grown distant and her family had basically fallen apart, she’d feared that nobody would ever love her for herself again. Looking at the lines around Tripp’s eyes and the furrow between his brows today, she believed it was possible that she’d been wrong. She felt on the brink of understanding something important about him.
Forget it? Now why on earth would she do that? “How do I intimidate you?”
Releasing most of his breath in one noisy stream, he said, “You’re brilliant, you’re witty, you’re rich. You received your MBA from Radcliffe.”
“And you’re a doctor, for heaven’s sake.”
Luckily, the corridor was empty, so no one heard him raise his voice as he said, “I’m a struggling, part-Latino, mostly broke doctor who had to work my butt off to make it through med school.”
“I distinctly recall my father saying that you graduated at the top of your class.”
“The top of my class would have been the bottom of yours.”
“I highly doubt that.”
He made no reply. So she tried another tactic. “I intimidate you. That’s the problem,” she said, persisting. “That’s what’s keeping us from being friends. Let’s see. How could we fix it?”
“I don’t think we—”
“When I was in grade school and had to give a speech, I used to imagine my classmates in their underwear. Maybe you should try it.”
His eyes darkened, his lids lowering slightly.
She ducked her head, pulled a face, and smiled. “On second thought, that’s probably not a good idea.”
It occurred to Tripp that he was staring. He couldn’t help it. The warmth in Amber’s smile got to him. He couldn’t help that, either. He ran a hand over his hair, skimming the rubber band that secured the stubby ponytail at the back of his neck. He’d kept his ponytail to remind him of where he’d been, and where he was going.
“Coop read me the riot act when he discovered I’d turned down your offer. But you’re right. This isn’t a good idea. None of it.” Not what was in his imagination, not what was coursing through his body. “If I need a woman, it’s one who shares my background, my heritage. And I don’t need anybody’s pity.”
Her face fell, a bleak expression settling where her humor had been. She took a backward step. An instant later her chin came up, and her voice rose. “Pity? That’s what you think this is about?”
“Aw, hell.” He’d done it again.
She handed him the stuffed dog. “I’m late for my meeting. I would appreciate it if you would see that P.J. gets this.”
For a long moment, she stared at him without blinking, a burning, faraway look in her eyes. Slowly, she turned, her heels clicking as she walked away from him across the polished, spotless floor.
She paused in the doorway, her back to him, her shoulders rising and falling with her effort to draw a deep, calming breath. “I never felt sorry for you, Tripp.” She turned and faced him. “Until now.”
She left him standing in the middle of the corridor, his heart beating a heavy rhythm, the ears of the stuffed dog clutched tightly in his fist, sourness in the pit of his stomach, and egg on his face.
Amber ignored her doorbell on her Fort Bragg home the first time it rang. Not five seconds later it rang again, followed immediately by a loud knock that rattled the house. She unfolded her arms and legs and rose from the floor. Hurrying, she raised up on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.
A sound of surprise rose from the back of her throat before she could stop it. Fifteen minutes of meditation, wasted.
She dropped back down to the heels of her feet. Bristling, she reached for the doorknob, but froze in indecision. Her ego was still smarting from her last confrontation with the stubborn, belligerent Dr. Tripp Calhoun.
“Come on, Amber. Open up.”
She considered ignoring him. In the end, her curiosity got the better of her. “Give me one good reason why I should.”
The moment of silence stretched. Prepared to wait as long as necessary, she shifted her weight to one foot and folded her arms.
“Please?”
He gave her that one word in a voice soft and warm enough to slip into. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, gliding slowly down her neck, coming to rest over the rapid thud of her heart. She took a fortifying breath, turned the lock and opened the door.
Facing him squarely, she simply looked at him. He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt that had seen better days but fit him to perfection. His face was made up of interesting planes and hard angles. His teeth were white, his lashes long, his chin firm, his cheekbones prominent. His nose was narrow and had probably been considered regal-looking before it had been broken years ago. He was an arrestingly good-looking man, with just enough imperfections to ensure that his wasn’t a pretty face. She had artist friends, like Claire, who would love the chance to paint him. He was that handsome. Amber knew a lot of handsome men. None of them made her so angry with seemingly so little effort.
“Please isn’t a reason, Calhoun.”
His chiseled features cracked slightly, giving her a glimpse of a self-deprecating half smile. “I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got.”
Her traitorous heart skipped a beat, darn it all. He was wrong. He had so much more. But who was she to argue? “What are you doing here?”
“I came to say I’m sorry.”
She clasped her hands together and stared at them. “Your last apology had a lot in common with an insult.”
His silence drew her gaze. Studying his lean, olive-skinned face, her heart lurched. He seemed to be having difficulty swallowing, too, his lips thinning into a straight line. “I’m sorry about that, too.”
She believed him, which either made her foolish or desperate. She bristled. Oh, no it didn’t.
Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Apology accepted. Now, if you’ll excuse—”
“P.J. loved the stuffed animal.”
“He did? I mean, I’m glad.”
He held her immobile with his eyes. “And I was thinking that it might be good for him to meet someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” She was breathless again. Had she no backbone whatsoever?
“Someone with a strong will, a drive to succeed, a sense of humor and a forgiving spirit.”
Evidently not.
She nearly melted into a heap at his feet. Entirely too caught up in her own emotions, she had to remind herself that she was no longer a whimsical girl of nine, or even nineteen. She was a woman, strong and independent.
He looked at her for a long time. Next, he looked beyond her into her foyer where a candle burned and a tabletop fountain gurgled.
“I would be honored if you would invite me in.”
The word honored was nearly her undoing. It was so old-fashioned, it left her wondering if chivalry was really dead, after all. Thinking “once burned,” she took control of her wayward thoughts and said, “You’ve apologized and I’ve accepted. What else is there to say?”
She could tell this wasn’t easy for him. Groveling never was. She might have let him off the hook, but then she remembered his little quip comparing her to a spoiled cat. And he’d called her bossy.
It wouldn’t hurt to let him squirm.
“I’ve changed my mind, Amber.”
“Oh? About what, pray tell?”
“About your offer.”
As it often did this time of day, a heavy fog had rolled in, producing a perfect excuse for her shiver. “And what offer was that?” She didn’t know what to blame for the way her voice had dropped in volume.
“Your offer to act as my fiancée at a dinner party this weekend. That is, if the offer still stands.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of voices from a middle-aged couple walking their Great Dane. “May I come in?”
So, he’d changed his mind about that. She waved at her neighbors, then looked up at Tripp again. She wondered if he’d changed his mind about her, as well. But one thing at a time. She stepped aside, and opened the door all the way.
Tripp walked past Amber. Hesitating in a spacious foyer, he tried to affect an ease he didn’t feel. He hadn’t been at all certain she would accept his apology. He sure as hell didn’t assume that her offer was still good.
“Why don’t we sit down?”
Why? Because sitting down meant he had to try even harder to appear relaxed. “After you.”
He followed her into a small living room dominated by overstuffed furniture and framed artwork done almost entirely in pastels. A dozen candles burned on a low table. A small fountain gurgled nearby. “Did I interrupt something?”
She shrugged. “I was meditating.”
At least that explained her appearance. Her hair was in a loose knot on top of her head, flyaway, golden-blond tendrils cascading around her ears and neck. Other than the plain silver ring on her second toe, her feet were bare. Her baggy knit shorts hung below her waist, the front dipping lower than the back. Her top was a sleeveless tank made out of a stretchy fabric that clung to her breasts and bared her midriff. It wasn’t as revealing as the bikini she’d been wearing yesterday. It had no business being even more stimulating.
“Smell that?” she said.
For lack of a better plan, he inhaled.
And she said, “It’s a blend of lavender, chamomile and rose essential oils. It’s called aromatherapy and is supposed to be soothing.”
“Did it work?”
“I was getting there. Perhaps you should try it.”
He took a quick, sharp breath. So much for trying to appear unaffected.
He could tell she was trying not to smile as she gestured toward an overstuffed, ruffled sofa, indicating that he could take a seat. “Or would you rather stand?”
It was as if she knew him. He shrugged. They both remained standing.
She meandered to the other side of the room. “So you’ve reconsidered my offer to act as your fiancée at that dinner party.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said lies are like dogs.”
“They are.”
“But?”
“Coop claims playacting and lying are two entirely different things.”
“I see. You said Coop read you the riot act because you turned my offer down. Is that why you reconsidered? Because Coop made you see reason?”
“Coop has nothing to do with this. I thought about what you said. About pitying me.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. It was my temper talking. I’m sorry.”
“I had it coming. But I don’t want your pity.”
“What do you want?”
She must have walked closer when he wasn’t looking, because he could see her eyes, round in the dimly lit room, the pupils so large only a narrow circle of green surrounded them. Like pools of appeal, they invited him in. He was in the process of taking his second step when it occurred to him that she wasn’t the one who had moved closer.
He needed to loosen his tie. And he wasn’t wearing a tie. He settled for clearing his throat. “It isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I need.”
“What do you need, Tripp?”
His gaze strayed to her mouth, his throat convulsing on a swallow. He had to clear it again in order to say, “I need that position in Santa Rosa.”
“Why?”
“Santa Rosa is a city of more than a hundred thousand people. It’s a wealthy area; the practice is a private one with new, modern, state-of-the-art equipment. The facility is only a thirty-minute drive from San Francisco and caters to the wealthy. My salary would more than triple. I need the money and the prestige.”
She looked him in the eye and said, “You don’t strike me as the type who cares about prestige.”
He told himself he had no business feeling complimented. “It isn’t for me. It’s for a clinic I’ve set up to aid the poor. Right now, it’s operating on a shoestring. I want to expand it in this area. Eventually I plan to open a dozen more up and down the California coast. It’s going to take donations, and backers with deep pockets.”
