No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) (5 page)

She found it ridiculously easy. All it took was a slow, seductive smile or an alluring sidelong glance and her partners responded as if she’d pushed the ignition button on a rocket. She soon had a small court of eager males around her, vying for her favors. She was aware of the whispers and coldly disapproving glances she was receiving from the other women in the room, but that didn’t really matter until she looked up to meet the eyes of Celia Bettencourt.

The blonde was standing only a few yards away. She was holding Todd Jamison’s arm with possessive intimacy, but her attention was fixed with malevolence on Tamara and her circle of admirers. Her voice was light but meant to carry clearly to the people in her immediate vicinity. “Isn’t it amusing to see the little bastard try her hand at social climbing? But then who could blame her after living all her life with that crazy old witch of an aunt?”

At the blatant insult, rage shot through Tamara like a lightning bolt. She’d taken just about enough from Celia for one day. There was a look of embarrassed shock on the faces of most of the
crowd surrounding them. The rudeness had been too obvious for even Celia’s most devoted sycophants to accept. It was clear Tamara was meant to be hurt and humiliated by the comment, and that only served to increase the tide of anger flowing through her. She might have tried to ignore an insult to herself, but there was no way she was going to take Celia’s sniping at Aunt Elizabeth without retaliation.

Her eyes narrowed as her gaze moved thoughtfully to Todd Jamison. Judging by the flush on his face and the slight sway of his body as he returned her look hungrily, he’d clearly been imbibing heavily since she’d seen him last. For a moment she hesitated. What she was about to do went much against the grain, and she almost surrendered the idea at its birth. Then Celia followed her remark with a burst of scornful laughter.

What had Todd said earlier? Oh yes, that he would come to her if she so much as crooked her little finger. Well, he was about to be put to the test, she thought grimly.

She smiled, putting every bit of voltage and appeal she possessed into it. Then, raising her hand, she languidly beckoned Jamison to come to her. At first she thought he was ignoring the gesture. He didn’t move and there was a dazed, blank expression on his face. Then he brushed Celia’s hand from his arm as if she didn’t exist and started eagerly forward.

“Todd!” Celia’s exclamation was charged with incredulity and outrage, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He was so soused he probably hadn’t, Tamara thought wryly.

Then suddenly there was a sound from Celia that was a cross between a snarl and a shriek as she rushed forward, pushing Todd Jamison out of her way, to halt before Tamara. She was breathing hard, her doll-like face suddenly not pretty at all, her eyes glazed with fury.

“Damn you!” she hissed, and her hand swung out to connect with a sharp crack on Tamara’s cheek.

For an instant Tamara couldn’t believe it had happened. Even Celia wouldn’t cause such a scene at her father’s anniversary celebration! But
she’d done it, as was evidenced by the sudden, shocked silence of the guests.

“If you’ll excuse me, please,” Tamara said formally. She raised her chin proudly and with a slow, regal dignity glided through the silent crowd to the French doors that led to the terrace.

T
HREE

A
S
T
AMARA CLOSED
the doors, she heard the sudden outbreak of conversation behind her. She leaned back for a moment, the cool breeze stroking her hot cheeks like a caressing hand. The reckless gaiety and daring that had sustained her through the evening had abruptly subsided, drowned in the shock and embarrassment she’d felt in that terrible moment when Celia Bettencourt had attacked her.

She felt only a deep depression now as she straightened slowly and wandered despondently to the decorative stone wall bordering the flagstone terrace. She gazed blindly out over the formal
rose garden as silent tears ran slowly down her cheeks.

“Well, you’re certainly well versed in the art of raising hell, sweetheart,” Rex Brody drawled behind her.

Tamara whirled to face him, her stance as defensive as an animal at bay.

Brody leisurely closed the French doors behind him and moved toward her with lithe grace. The moonlight flooding the patio illuminated his tuxedo-clad figure in dramatic, black-and-white relief, and if anything he appeared more magnetic than ever in the formal attire.

She didn’t answer, afraid he would detect her momentary weakness in the shakiness of her voice. She turned hurriedly away again, not daring to wipe her eyes. The blasted moonlight was almost as bright as the noon sun and she’d be damned if she’d reveal to Brody how vulnerable she felt at this moment. He was already dealing from a position of power without her weeping before him like a woeful child.

He halted next to her, gazing down at the dark silkiness of her averted head. “You ought to be
spanked, you know,” he said grimly. “After you move in with me, I’ll break your little neck if you pull anything like this again.”

“
I
deserve to be punished!” she exploded indignantly, only hearing those first outrageous words. “I’m the one who was slapped by your dear cousin-in-law in front of an entire room of people. I’m the one who was insulted. Don’t you think she should reap a bit of the blame?”

“What did you expect after the way you behaved all evening? You threw out so many lures you had every man in the room reeling. You’re fortunate one of those women whose man you filched didn’t take a knife to you. I’d say you got off damn lucky.”

“How do you know how I’ve been behaving all evening? I haven’t even seen you since you walked in the door. You’ve been so surrounded by all your fans I’m sure you haven’t had time to do anything but absorb all their adoring gush.”

“You may not have seen me, but I assure you I’ve kept an eagle eye on you,” Brody said mockingly. “You’ve been very visible indeed, love. At first I was merely amused by your antics. I must
admit you play Circe with more panache than I’ve ever seen it done, and as a performer myself, I have a certain admiration for style.” His mouth tightened. “I was about to put a stop to your little charade when you decided to put the crowning touch on your achievement by bewitching little Cousin Celia’s property. That was a bad move, darling.”

“I thought I did it very well,” Tamara said, a thread of bitterness running through her voice. “Though in Todd’s case it was really no challenge. Circe wouldn’t have wasted her time on Todd. He’s already a swine.”

Brody gave a soundless whistle. “I believe I detect a note of passion in that lovely voice,” he said thoughtfully. “I think perhaps I’ll have a little talk with Todd Jamison.”

“Passion! I hate the man,” she cried, and suddenly those maddening tears began to fall again.

“I don’t care what you feel for him,” Brody said with soft menace. “It’s enough that you feel something. I find I’m becoming quite possessive of you, Tamara Ledford.”

Tamara shook her head dazedly. “You’re not
making any sense. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and at the moment I don’t care,” she said huskily. “Will you please just leave me alone?”

Brody swore under his breath at the sudden break in her voice. He reached out swiftly and grasped her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, tilting her head back with one hand so he could look into her face.

“Oh hell’s bells, you’re crying!” he said incredulously. His dark eyes probed her face mercilessly, noting every nuance of pain and unhappiness in the shaking of her lips, the swift veiling of her eyes as she closed her lids. “Damn it all, you let them hurt you in there. I thought you were one tough lady, but you’re just a kid,” he said wonderingly.

“No, you’re wrong,” she said, trying to turn her face away from that scalpel-keen appraisal. “I’ll be all right in a moment. It was just the shock.”

“Shut up, sweetheart,” Brody said, and swept her into his arms, holding her as warmly and securely as if she were a baby. His hands moved
gently up and down her back in a magically soothing caress. “Just be quiet and let me hold you. I promise you nothing will ever hurt you again while I’m around.”

She believed him. It seemed impossible this was the same man whose nearness had turned her into liquid fire only a few hours before. It was as if he’d switched off that virile magnetism and electric vitality and was offering her only the warmth and tenderness she so desperately needed at the moment. She buried her head in his shoulder and let the tears flow freely while he rocked her in his arms, murmuring inaudible words of comfort and reassurance. His hands caressed and massaged her back and he dropped an occasional butterfly kiss on her temple or the curve of her neck. It was all so deliciously healing and secure Tamara felt she could stay there forever, being stroked and cosseted by this complex man who’d turned her life upside down in only a few hours. She didn’t know when her arms went around his waist to hold him closer or when the tears stopped and were replaced by a dreamy contentment.

“You know that this changes things, of course,” Brody whispered huskily, as he reached up to tangle a hand in her silky black hair. He tilted her head back to look into her face, catching his breath at the expression of glowing contentment and languid radiance illuminating it. “Don’t you know weeping is supposed to make a lady’s face swollen and ugly?” He touched her wet, dark lashes with a gentle finger. “It’s not supposed to make your eyes look like violets after rain. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

“I guess not,” Tamara whispered, looking up at his face so close to her own. She hadn’t noticed before how long and thick Brody’s black lashes were, she thought languidly, or how truly beautiful the cut of that sensual mouth.

“Well, they should have,” he said huskily. “It’s totally unfair you should look like this right now. It’s the unexpected that lays a man low every time.” He shook his head as if to clear it and then moved backward, unwinding her arms from around his waist and putting her firmly from him. “We’ve got to talk, and I find I’m just
as susceptible as your other little conquests tonight. So keep your distance. Okay?”

Tamara felt a shaky chilliness and desolation now that she was no longer in the warm circle of his arms, and it served to rip away the languid contentment he’d so easily woven around her. She was jarred abruptly back to her senses. What on earth had she been thinking of?

“Yes, of course,” she said confusedly, backing hurriedly away from him. “I’m afraid I lost control for a moment. I apologize for weeping all over you. It must have been very embarrassing.”

“Hush, sweetheart,” Brody said, his dark eyes twinkling. “I enjoyed every moment of it, and you’d still be in my arms if I thought I could think straight with you cuddling up to me like a little girl with her favorite teddy bear. Unfortunately I’m finding my paternal attitude is fading fast, and I don’t think you’d want the type of comfort I’m prepared to give at the moment.” He leaned back against the balustrade and gazed at her ruefully. “I thought I had it all worked out, but I’m afraid you’ve blasted all my plans to shrapnel.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tamara shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh yes you did, lovely lady,” he said mockingly. “You wept. I find I can’t stand to see you cry, it tears me apart.” His lips twisted wryly. “I remember once when I was a boy, I saw a ‘Star Trek’ episode on TV about an incredibly lovely alien who could completely bewitch any man by merely letting fall a tear or two. I thought it was the most arrant piece of nonsense imaginable. Now I’m not at all sure.”

“Oh no, not again!” Tamara cried indignantly. This was just too much! Placing her hands on her hips, she glared belligerently at him. “Today you’ve called me everything from Cleopatra to Circe and now you’re comparing me to some futuristic
femme fatale
!” She punched a finger at his broad chest and said hotly, “Well, I’ve had enough! For your information, Mr. Brody, I’m an intelligent, modern businesswoman and I haven’t the faintest desire to tempt you strong macho men to do anything but jump into the Atlantic Ocean!”

She saw to her extreme exasperation that there
was an indulgent grin on Brody’s face and a decided twinkle in the midnight dark eyes. “You can scarcely blame us for romanticizing you,” he said, one eyebrow arching whimsically. “We poor males have a rough time finding a woman who can transport us back to the days when knighthood was in flower. But I’ve changed my mind about your being Circe. You’re more like Helen of Troy or Guinevere.”

“That’s hardly much better,” Tamara said with a grimace. “They were both unfaithful wives, as I recall.”

“But with a subtle difference. They were as much victims of their own allure as the men they enchanted,” Brody said lightly. “That’s why wars were fought over them. Who can resist a tragic maiden in distress? Even I feel an urge to go out and fight a dragon or two when you look up at me with those big pansy eyes.”

“I can fight my own dragons, thank you,” she said crossly. “The only thing I need is for you to drop this ridiculous persecution of Aunt Elizabeth and go back to cavorting at your rock concerts.”

“Cavorting!” he exclaimed. “Is that what you think of my performance?” He drew himself up majestically. “I do
not
cavort.”

Her lips twitched in reluctant amusement. It seemed she’d scored a hit on a very sensitive nerve. “I meant no offense, Mr. Brody. I’ve never seen you perform,” she said, gazing demurely at him from beneath her lashes. “I thought all rock stars cavorted.”

“What a damnably condescending description! And for your information, I’m not a rock star.”

“Whatever,” Tamara said with a shrug, and this seemed to please him even less.

“You’ve really never seen me perform?” he asked, shaking his dark head disbelievingly. With the simple endearing egotism of a child, he added, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

She smothered an involuntary smile and tried to frown sternly at him. “This is all completely nonessential, Mr. Brody,” she said briskly. “Now, will you permit Aunt Elizabeth to return that gift and forget about all this nonsense of pressing charges?”