A Perilous Eden by Heather Graham

fury in the question that for a moment she caught her breath, wishing she had never come.
    Then she lifted her chin. It was a free world.
    â€œCruising, Mr. Adams. That’s what I’m doing.”
    â€œDoes your father know where you are?”
    A guilty little pang seized her. Actually, he didn’t. She’d been trying to get through to him all week, but all she’d managed to do was tell his various secretaries and assistants that she would try again. She’d finally written him a letter yesterday. But it hadn’t really mattered. He didn’t expect her back for a while.
    But just what was that to Michael Adams?
    â€œMr. Adams, that’s really none of your business. I assure you, I’m quite old enough to make my own decisions.”
    â€œHe doesn’t know you’re here!” His words were harsh, and Amber felt as if a whole new atmosphere had settled over the deck. They were alone in the growing darkness—others who had waved goodbye to the shore had given up their vigil and gone in to change for dinner, or relax in one of the lounges, or perhaps just amble around. The salt-sea air seemed to change around them, razor sharp, touched by electricity. She wanted to slap the man, but she wanted to walk closer and touch him, too. He would be alive with fury, trembling, hot.
    She was shivering, alternating between hot and cold. It was all very ridiculous; in the whole of her life, she’d never felt the way he made her feel, and she didn’t like the lack of control one bit. He thought she shouldn’t be on the ship; that much was obvious. But she wasn’t going to kowtow to some two-bit security officer—no matter how much he thought of himself.
    â€œWill you excuse me, Mr. Adams?” she said, and she was very proud of the sound of her voice; it was cool and controlled and level. She started to walk by him with the same disciplined disdain, but her exit was ruined when he caught her arm and whirled her around to face him.
    They were touching. His hand lay on her arm, and she could tell that he was just as she had thought he would be: hot, vibrant, trembling just slightly, tense and electric.
    â€œAnswer me. Your father doesn’t know you’re aboard this ship, does he?”
    She swallowed, finding it difficult to meet his eyes. She stared down to where his fingers wound around her arm in a vise. He wasn’t hurting her, but she could not have moved, not unless he chose to let her go. She met his eyes at last and wondered what had happened to him to make him so very cold, and yet so fiercely hot, all in one. She didn’t know. She was aware only that she was in over her head with this man and that she should keep her distance, no matter how much he intrigued her.
    She didn’t tug on her arm. She wasn’t about to appear undignified. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Adams, I’d like to get by.”
    â€œI mind. Who are you here with?”
    She sighed with great patience, her teeth grating. “Congressman Bainbridge and his wife, and Myra Norman. Shouldn’t you be elsewhere? I assume that, if you’re here, you’re gainfully employed in some capacity. Now, will you please remove your hand from my arm?”
    To her amazement, he released her abruptly, turned around and left the deck.
    Amber discovered that she was shaking so badly that she had to sink into one of the deck chairs. It was several long moments before she could stand up again.
    Myra wasn’t in their stateroom when Amber finally mustered up the strength to reach it. She showered and dressed for dinner. They were scheduled for the second seating, she knew, but once she was dressed she was too restless to remain in the stateroom. The casino was straight down from their room, and she found herself walking in that direction.
    Along the hallway she passed a pair of handsomely dressed children of about ten and eight, the boy in a dinner suit, the girl in