Amber's Ace Read Online Free Page B

them sell some of their best pieces at Brenna’s Boutique in Shady Heart, the big cat stronghold on the other side of the mountain, where Brick’s own signature carvings sold like honey-slathered hotcakes despite the high prices they commanded.
    The watermelon tourmaline would make a lovely pendant, delicately wrapped in a shred of silver wire, whisper thin so the setting did not mar the beauty of the stone. Geology had always fascinated her, even as a young girl. But the mystic meaning of stones and crystals, the metaphysical properties inherent in the rocks, their ability to heal or soothe or agitate, spoke to her in a different, more profound way.
    The most significant for her was amber, like her name. She greatly admired the large teardrop chunk strung on a leather strap and worn by Miss Claire, one of Los Lobos’ elder ladies. Amber wasn’t a true mineral, of course. Made from the hardened, fossilized resin of a coniferous tree, it should more rightfully be in the vegetable category, perhaps. The best amber even retained an aromatic hint of pine. Miss Claire’s belief in her necklace’s power to energize, to draw out negativity and soothe physical pain had urged Amber to adorn herself with the pieces.
    She did not go overboard, as Miss Claire’s best friend, Miss Fern, sometimes did. That wasn’t Amber’s style. She wore on her index finger an amber cabochon ring as a reminder of her recent plight and, more especially, of her survival. A miniscule, nearly-invisible insect remained trapped inside the gem, perhaps a prehistoric bee lured to its death by the honey color of the sticky sap. Trapped. As she had been not long ago. As she might be still. Yet, the ring reminded her the huge and mighty dinosaurs were no more and the small bug, frozen in amber, endured.
    Of course, Miss Claire also swore amber aided romance. Amber could not scoff at her belief. Stones and crystals had some intrinsic properties, but, largely, they were what the wearer needed them to be. Miss Claire believed amber was a love potion or aphrodisiac in hardened form.
    When Amber rubbed the cabochon ring on her finger, warming the stone with her hand, her thoughts of the damaged baseball player grew more intense.
    Her brother Brick believed. He’d given both her and Garnet small wolves he’d carved out of gorgeous pieces of agate— to always look after you, he’d said. Agate was known for its protective properties. Amber kept hers with her always, drawing upon it for courage and strength during trying times of the day, or to bolster her flagging confidence. Garnet did, too.
    Plop.
    Something sloshed into the creek from the nearby falls and briefly splashed about before emerging onto an island of rock—beaver or badger out to play and test the cold spring waters, most likely. Amber jerked her head up, gazing through the filmy curtain of spray, and sucked in a sharp breath.
    A man.
    Not “a man.” The man. The one she’d seen on the flickering TV screen eight months ago on the day of her rescue. The man who’d fallen to the ground in centerfield, writhing in agony. The man she could not forget. She rubbed her ring. The amber heated and seemed to glow. Everything inside her melted.
    He seemed blissfully unaware of her, so she gaped her fill. Luna . Such a sinfully handsome naked man, droplets of water glistening like diamonds on his lickable, strokable, sun-kissed skin, his taut muscles bulging and rippling with every movement.
    Tendrils of his rich, unique scent wafted across the water, curling around her, into her nose, into her brain, seeping into her body and setting a carnal fire between her legs. Goddess . He smelled delicious—as she’d known he would. She sniffed again. He smelled like summer, like hot sun and freshly mown grass, like the whisper of clean, soothing rain, bringing with it the barest hint of a dangerous thunderstorm. Like Cracker Jacks and cotton candy and roasted peanuts and salted caramel fudge at a state