Achilles' Charm

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  ACHILLES' CHARM

  by

  ADRIANNA DANE

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  Achilles' Charm

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

  http://www.amberheat.com

  http://www.amber-allure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2007 by Adrianna Dane

  ISBN 978-1-60272-097-8

  Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by Adrianna Dane

  The Argadian Heart Trilogy

  The Boy Next Door

  Carnal Carnivale

  Closing Time

  Come Into My Parlor

  The Diary Of Lillian Manchester, Book I: The Stranger

  Esmerelda's Secret

  The Exile: A Seductive Tale

  Fertility Rite

  Graphic Liaisons

  If You Dare...

  I Want

  Images Of Desire

  Immortal Treasure

  Jebediah's Promise

  Jewel Of Niveka

  Legend Of The Beesinger

  Mariposa Soul

  As well as...

  Nights In White Satin

  No Choice

  Primal Magic: Scent

  Primal Magic: Swan's Lake

  Realm Of The Ice God

  Ruthless Acts

  Sequestered Passion

  Smooth Finish

  Sylvie's Gift

  Tempt Me Not

  Therapy

  Train Me

  A View To Possession

  Whisper

  Dedication

  For my husband, who is always supportive and there for me.

  First love can last forever.

  Chapter 1

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  It was the delicate drape of the anklet as the charm nestled into the shadowy dip of her ankle that caught his eye first. The refracted rays of the sun shot in at an angle and lit a path right to him. He dropped the fork back onto his plate, heard the distant clatter somewhere in the back of his mind, but his thoughts were focused elsewhere. His memory could smell her feminine scent as though he was within touching distance rather than across a room. He could still feel her quiver as he traced the sensitive flesh of her ankle where the anklet now lay.

  Most men obsessed about how large a woman's breasts were, or the shape of an ass, but not Ross. The most beautiful part of a woman, the first thing that always drew his attention was the turn of a shapely ankle, the Achilles' tendon, that length of leg that rose quietly in shapely sensuality, a subtle portion of beauty. And with her, the sensitivity that was always exhibited when he stroked and made her shudder with desire. It was the touch of that most sensitive place on the body that made him hard and needy in anticipation of savoring the rest. But that first touch...ahhh, to feel her shiver--his fingers sliding over the contours of smooth, silky skin sheathing feminine muscle--there was nothing like it.

  Holding that tender, delicate length of limb in his hand was as powerful an aphrodisiac as he had ever felt. It had to be that portion of a woman's body the gods had shaped first to entice a man and make him vulnerable.

  But none of the women he'd observed had ever shoved him over the edge in the way Agnes Mary O'Connor's gorgeous ankles had done.

  He'd given her that ankle bracelet on their last night together, weeks before her graduation from college. He'd been the one to place it there and watched as the tiny charm shimmered against that most sensitive spot on her body, the cleft that dipped between shapely foot and sensual shin. He remembered her responses as his fingers traveled the length of her inner calf, stopping at the knee, teasing her flesh. He remembered how wet she got as he massaged her calf, working his way up and down her seductively curved, silky leg. Each stroke drawing more of her cream, coating her mound and her inner thighs.

  His memories, ones that he had shoved away, rose quickly, making him hard and greedy for her body once again.

  His gaze now slid from her ankle, slowly upward, noting the expensive cut of her apricot suit, traveling upward to finally reach the familiar lines of her lovely face. She was speaking animatedly with the man sitting across from her.

  Ross wondered who he was. He wondered if she was married. Did she have children? Did her husband or lover know those secret spots that aroused her to frenzy? Could they make her come just with a look or a soft touch? Did they see her ecstasy when she orgasmed, the way her body could be made to yield with a word, a glance?

  Damn, if he kept thinking about it he was going to shoot off right here in the middle of the restaurant. She'd always been able to do that to him. From the moment he'd first noticed her, her ankles crossed demurely, bowing her head in prayer in the cathedral.

  It was her glowing, tanned skin that pulled him from pious thought for the rest of the mass. He wanted to know her name. She sat at one end of the wooden pew and he at the other, an ocean of distance between them, her hands clasping her rosary, her sensual, full lips whispering the words to a prayer.

  When the mass had ended, he'd tried to reach her through the surging wave of people eager to leave, but by the time he'd reached the steps, she had disappeared.

  He studied her now as she sat conversing with the man across from her. As he watched she reached across to a brown leather portfolio resting next to her. She opened it and slid a gold pen out. She re-settled herself, crossing her ankles in the way he loved. That demure action that make him rock hard sending him zero to ten within an instant.

  What he loved best was disentangling them, separating one from the other, and spreading her wide, then sinking into her welcoming heat.

  Suddenly, she looked up and her wide, smoky gaze met his. And it was as though the world stopped dead right at that moment as recognition arced between them. Deliberately, he trailed his gaze downward, a slow tracking of each exquisite inch between her startled eyes and her demurely posed ankles. He saw the subtle movement as her lovely legs separated. His gaze flicked upward, noting the pen dropped to the pad, just as his fork had done not long before, and his focused attention returned to blaze a path downward.

  He saw her hands shift to rest on her succulent thighs, gripping the material of her sleek skirt as they separated, one hand moving to press against her cloth-covered mound.

  She hadn't forgotten. After all these years he sensed her response to him, learned passion and reaction from their time together.

  Suddenly, she ripped her gaze from his and turned back to the man sitting across from her. She straightened, lifted one leg and slid it over the other, picked up her pen, and smoothed her expression, walling herself off from him and, apparently, her memories.

  Ross turned away and picked up his coffee cup, gazing out the window at the busy traffic on the street.

  What they'd shared between them once upon a time was passion in its rawest form. They'd never mentioned the word love, not once. Well, he hadn't, and he should have. He regretted that he'd remained cautious, trying not to p
ush her to a commitment.

  That kind of raw, sexual experimentation couldn't last forever--couldn't be the basis for a long-term relationship, and he'd wanted to show her there was more. He still didn't know what really happened that sent her away without a word, not even showing up for the graduation ceremony. He'd given her the diamond anklet just before graduation, meaning to give her the matching ring right after. At the time he hadn't known why, at the last minute, he'd added that small charm to the anklet as an afterthought.

  If she hadn't loved him, why did she still wear the anklet with the gold charm? He still didn't understand.

  Like that first time in the church, he felt the overwhelming need to touch her to get to know her. Again. How had she changed after all this time? He already knew she still responded to him on the most elemental level. But he also saw in her eyes that she was afraid of what she felt. That she denied it.

  How did one go back to reclaim something lost? He called the waiter over and ordered a glass of sweet, iced wine made from the late harvest of grapes. Rare, delicate, and special. He had it sent to her table as he paid the check and rose to leave. He wasn't going to allow her to forget him so easily. Not this time.

  He stopped in the small gift shoppe attached to the restaurant and on a whim, chose a bottle of wine and paid for it. He had once shared a bottle with Agnes Mary in the most decadent way possible. A long time ago.

  As he stepped out of the shop, he almost collided with a feminine body, his mind on other things. He reached out to grab her arm. It was Agnes Mary's shocked gaze that met his. His hand tightened on her arm, steadying her, and they stared into each other's eyes for long moments before she carefully pulled away.

  "Agnes Mary. It's been a long time."

  She smiled politely, a mask of expression. "Ross. I didn't know you lived in the city. It's nice to see you again. Excuse me. I have an appointment I'm late for." And then she whirled away and was gone before he could stop her. It wasn't the end of it, but he planned to take his time. Gripping the wine bottle he had just purchased, he left the restaurant.

  Some things were worth waiting for...and were so much better if allowed time to breathe.

  Chapter 2

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  That was not a confrontation she would have wanted on the best of days. It had been a long time since she had thought about Ross Carpenter. Since she had allowed herself to think about him. When she had felt that particular sensation of heat that traveled up her leg, she had known it was him. No one had ever made her feel like that but him.

  Suddenly the weight of the anklet had grown heavy and she had felt the charm sear into her skin. There was a sensation of someone stroking her calf with one finger the way Ross used to do and she had shivered at the imagined sensation.

  And then she had felt the heat of his gaze on her face. Shock had threaded through her when she looked across the room and saw him sitting there, his eyes studying her the way he used to do. Drawing her. She couldn't bring herself to look away and suddenly the remembered emotions flared to life like dry brush catching fire, just like there had not been the span of four years between them. Her pussy clutched at emptiness and her flesh tingled with the memory of his possession and the way he could make her beg for completion. The way just a glance from him could make her body hum for climax. She had loved what he did to her. So much.

  When he had given her the anklet, she had been so happy--there had been no single moment like that in her life since then. What came later was the nightmare, like a part of herself had been ripped away. What was she going to do if he tried to find a way back into her life?

  She remembered the first time she felt that tingling sensation. She'd been in church and been embarrassed by her body's responses. Once the service was over, she'd hurried out as quickly as possible to get away from the source of those feelings. Oh, she'd seen him then, known he was interested, but the feelings shooting through her body scared her.

  It was the picnic that had changed everything. That was when she knew there was no turning back. She remembered that moment as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. She could still smell the pine and feel the summer breeze, the scent of August searing heat. As she looked back now, there was no way it couldn't have been combustible.

  Until that moment she had dated boys, allowed them to cop a quick feel on occasion, and had exchanged tame kisses that left her bored and wanting. They'd been sweet and attentive and schoolboy gentlemanly. How else could they act when she was the daughter of the police commissioner? Not much choice at the Catholic college they all attended. And Agnes Mary O'Connor, the youngest daughter of proud Irish Catholic parents would never think of going out with a boy her parents wouldn't approve of. She wasn't looking for a bad boy. Nor did she find him until her sophomore year.

  With Ross Carpenter's arrival the air altered sharply, charged with an electrical zap of bright lightning. He was a different breed and she'd known it from that first heated glance of his that seemed to claim possession of her immediately. In church of all places. Dark and daring, his eyes screamed wolf with a silvery, molten look of proprietary determination any good girl, no matter how naïve, would recognize, and run the other way.

  But like all wolves, Ross had a way of sneaking up on a girl from behind, catching her unaware, and then pouncing. That's exactly how it happened with her.

  That day, in the heat of the last dog days of summer, it had been hot and steamy, moisture clinging to her skin as she stood beneath the shade of a maple tree, sipping weak pink lemonade from a clear plastic cup. The bright apricot shorts and stretchy white tank top felt like they were pasted to her skin. As she nibbled at the edge of the cup watching some of her friends engaged in an intense game of volleyball, her thoughts were on ice water and air-conditioned rooms.

  "Do you like to play?"

  She stiffened and whirled around, almost drenching the person standing behind her with her pink liquid. "What?"

  He'd caught her by surprise; she hadn't even heard him step up behind her. His lips spread into a grin, his even white teeth sparkled, and his eyes...his eyes were smoky mirrors that reflected her shock back at her. She felt unfamiliar moist heat pool between her thighs, sharp bands of desire seemed to band and tighten around her middle and her nipples curled into tight, sensitive buds.

  She watched his gaze narrow and shift downward, felt the heat of embarrassment rise to her already hot cheeks, knowing what he saw.

  Dangerous--it was the only word that her brain would form just at the moment. She should turn and run. Now. Immediately.

  "Agnes Mary O'Connor. Do people call you Agnes or Mary or Agnes Mary?"

  How did he know her name? She found it difficult to concentrate on the question. His voice was like warm honey, just the tiniest bit of rough in its texture, but pure gold and rich, dark delight, meant to be savored slowly. It didn't really matter what he said, she could stand there and listen to him for hours.

  His skin was deeply tanned like he spent a lot of time outdoors, and he was dressed in low-slung jean shorts, his legs covered with dark hair that she found struck some primal cord inside her. Shirtless, he exhibited taut skin that was the color of beaten copper, tightly stretched across hard contoured muscles. The areoles of his masculine nipples puckered darkly, accentuating the bulging biceps, a tasty decoration. Her mouth watered to taste him, to suck at the buds.

  One single drop of sweat eased down across his chest and her hungry gaze tracked it. It took all her willpower not to lean forward to suck at the salty drop. She inhaled sharply and quickly drew away. Good heavens, she'd never had thoughts like that before in her life.

  She blinked and looked up at him. "What did you ask?" Her brain had turned to mush.

  She saw the knowing look enter his expression. His was an old soul, she could see it reflected there. He knew exactly what was going through her mind. And that scared her.

  "What do you like to be called?" he repeated.

  "You mean my name?"
>
  "Your name."

  "Ummm, everyone calls me Mary. Except my parents. They call me Agnes. I was named after my great-grandmother."

  He raised a hand and rested it against the broad trunk of the tree, bending forward, his face close enough she could feel a whisper of breath against her cheek, and the musky heat of his scent filled her nostrils. "Take a walk with me, Mary. It's too hot to just stand around. There's a path down to the river bank."

  "You want me to walk with you? Why?" She couldn't imagine him being the least interested in her. Ross Carpenter, that was his name. The other girls had talked about him with lust dripping from their conversations. He was a senior, much older than her if the gossip she heard was right. He'd spent four years in the Army and was now back to finish his schooling. Which made him about four or five years older than her. Definitely not a boy. There were things in his eyes, experiences that weren't evident in the eyes of the other boys.

  His gaze smoldered as he stared down at her. "Because I want you to. Come on, I promise not to gobble you up. If you don't want me to."

  Now there was a statement. If she didn't want him to? That was just the problem. She wasn't certain if she did or not. In a flash she found she didn't want to be a good girl--not just at this moment. Her stomach fluttered at the action she was about to take. It was totally out of character. But something in his eyes, in the way he made her feel had her jumping off the springboard into deep water.

  "All right."

  His arm snaked around her and they turned toward the edge of the field and crossed to a dirt path.

  "Tell me what you're studying," he asked as he guided her toward the shaded dirt path.