Bride of the Tiger, Page 2

  “Sam,” Rafe sighed, “if you want another drink, just motion to the waiter.”

  Sam started to rise.

  “Subtly, Sam, subtly!” Rafe moaned, tugging Sam by the jacket to bring him back to his seat. He caught sight of their waiter and signaled; the waiter nodded and brought two more drinks.

  It was then that Tara noticed the men at the next table. The very uncomfortable, older man—and him. The tiger-man. The man from the museum with the cat-gold eyes and midnight hair. And the lithe, tightly muscled build. Unconsciously, she picked up her wineglass—and drained it.

  Rafe caught her eyes on him; he saw her stunned—and slightly panicked—expression. Damn! Groaning inwardly, he gave her a smile, raising his glass slightly.

  “Well, the best part of this deal,” Ashley was saying blithely between mouthfuls of fruit salad, “is that we get to keep everything we model! Can you imagine? Some of those designs are priceless!” Ashley paused, staring at Tara. “What on earth is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “It’s him,” Tara said.

  “Who him?” Ashley frowned.

  “Don’t look now. It’s him, the man I was telling you about. Who reminded me so much of the tiger.”

  Ashley turned immediately.

  “Ashley! I said don’t look now!”

  “Well, how will I know what you’re talking about if I don’t look?” Ashley stared straight at him. Tara had to do the same thing. He appeared quite amused. He returned their gaze with a buccaneer’s secret smile, then returned his attention to the older man at his side.

  “Whew!” Ashley whistled softly.

  “What do you think?” Tara asked.

  Ashley laughed. “If I had been alone in the same room with him, Tara, I sure as hell wouldn’t have run! Or maybe I would have. Ooh! Dangerous type. Hypnotic. You’d have to crawl through half a million singles bars to find something like him. No, you never would. He just wouldn’t be there. He’s—he’s incredible. Snag him, Tara!”

  Tara shook her head in annoyance. “Ashley,” she whispered urgently. “I told you—I felt that he was watching me, homing in for a kill! And here he is again. Doesn’t that seem odd?”

  “He’s eating lunch, Tara. The same thing we’re doing.”

  “This is a huge city!”

  “And coincidences do occur! I once had the same cabdriver twice in the same day. Now that’s odd!”

  “Ladies, excuse me.”

  Tara quickly looked up. She hadn’t seen their waiter approaching, and now he was setting down a silver tray that held fresh wineglasses, an ice bucket, and a bottle whose label made her certain that it was much more expensive than what they had been drinking.

  “From the gentleman at the next table,” the waiter informed them.

  “Oh, we can’t accept it!” Tara protested.

  “But we will anyway!” Ashley exclaimed, laughing delightedly.

  The wine was poured, and short of creating an embarrassing scene in the middle of the dining room, there was very little that Tara could do about it.

  “Please thank the gentleman very much for us,” Ashley was saying quite cheerfully.

  “Oh, hell!” Tara muttered as the waiter bowed and moved away. “Ashley, do you know what you’ve done?”

  Ashley just laughed, her green eyes glittering like emeralds. “Tara, you’ve been in hiding too long. He’s got his eye on you, but if you’re not interested, I am!”

  “Be my guest, then,” Tara murmured.

  “Tara Hill, what do you want to do, shrivel up and die because of one unpleasant episode?”

  “Unpleasant!” Tara exclaimed.

  “All right, that’s an understatement. But you can’t give up on men just because of Tine Elliott! Oh, Tara, I was right all along. You’re taking this job because you can get to Caracas! You think you’re going to find him—”

  “I don’t want to find him!” Tara cried.

  “Tara, he made you too...aloof. Too hard, too cynical. Maybe if you did come across him again—”

  Tara interrupted her with a soft groan. “Ashley, I’m not aloof. I just learned a lot about the male of the species from Tine.”

  “Mmm-hmm. They amuse you these days. You don’t take a single introduction seriously. You meet charmers, rich men, handsome men. You smile at them over drinks and then politely slam the door in their faces. You’ve got to let one through that door.”

  “Ashley, I don’t want to let anyone through—”

  She paused suddenly with horror, aware that her tiger-man had come to their table, that he was, in fact, standing right behind her.

  She looked up slowly, and saw his legs first, the way the black cords wrapped around his muscled thighs and lean hips.

  Beneath his jacket, his shirt was a soft kelly silk. It clung nicely to his chest, delineating its sinews and muscular structure. The open jacket enhanced the breadth of his shoulders.

  And then there was his face.

  Handsome, bronzed features. Too dark, too rugged for New York City on a misty, overcast day. His manner was perfectly civilized; his presence was anything but.

  Like a great cat, he belonged in the jungle....

  “Excuse me, ladies. May I join you for a moment?”

  Tara picked up her newly filled wineglass and drained it, eyeing him warily—and discouragingly, she hoped. The wine went down like velvet, and it did help. She quickly composed a courteous turndown.

  “I’m sorry; this is a personal—”

  “Please, sit down!” Ashley interrupted, awed.

  “Thank you.” His eyes, topaz, sunny gold, fell upon Tara again.

  He offered his hand first to Ashley.

  “Rafe Tyler.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Tyler,” Ashley murmured, adding a slight and very feminine Southern slur to her words. “I’m Ashley Kane, and this is Tara Hill.”

  His pleasantly assessing gaze fell guilelessly on Tara. Yet for a second, she was convinced that he had seen or known of her before. Before the restaurant, before the museum.

  “I hope you’ll forgive the self-introduction, but I couldn’t see another way.” He looked at Ashley. “I saw Miss Hill at the museum. And when she appeared again, just a table away, I was rather hoping that it might be fate.”

  “Fate can be absolutely wonderful!” Ashley gushed. Tara kicked her under the table. Ashley, it seemed, was in no mood for finesse. “Ouch!” she complained loudly.

  “Should you be leaving your companion to...flatter us?” Tara asked bluntly.

  He just smiled and indicated the table behind them. “My uncle had some business to attend to. He’s finished his lunch and gone on to his appointment.”

  Tara glanced at the other table and saw that the older man was indeed gone. She turned back just in time to see a busboy clearing away her untouched salad, as Ashley assured him that they were quite through with their meal.

  The waiter poured more wine.

  Tara felt her heart begin to beat too quickly, and she tried to quell her irrational fears, as well as the budding sense of excitement his presence brought—despite all her indignation and the inner knowledge that he was nothing more than a tiger on the prowl.

  Yet he didn’t seem at all obnoxious, or even really interested in her. While she tried to unravel the web of emotions within her, he chatted easily with Ashley. He traveled frequently on business, it seemed, and they were discussing various countries and cities.

  The Tylers were into a number of concerns, he said. Jewelry was their main interest, requiring most of his travel.

  Ashley laughed, her eyes still bright while she sipped her wine. “Did you grow up in the family business, Mr. Tyler?”

  “Rafe,” he corrected her softly.

  “Okay, Rafe. The question still stands.”

  “No,” he replied. “I’ve only been back with it about two years.”

  He turned abruptly to Tara. “You’re not drinking your wine,” he said. “Isn’t it good?”

/>   “Oh, no, it’s lovely,” she said, picking up her glass, then wondering with annoyance why she had done so. He smiled; she sipped her wine, wondering again at the sensation that rippled through her at the sun-gold touch of his eyes.

  He turned his attention to Ashley once more. They were discussing the merits of ocean cruises. Tara thought that he had an accent, though it was slight. Something British, but not English.

  She leaned back, wishing once more, very fervently, that she could tell him to go away. But there was really no reason to do that—he seemed to be most interested in Ashley, and Ashley seemed very pleased to be with him.

  She should just leave, and she would, as soon as she finished her wine.

  Four glasses on a nearly empty stomach, she reminded herself dolefully. And she really couldn’t drink wine. Tine had told her that often enough, hadn’t he?

  Was Tine really the reason she couldn’t trust anyone? One affair in her life, and that one affair had led to hurt, then betrayal—and tragedy. Tine...handsome, charming, masterful Tine. She’d been no match for him when she had met him. Too innocent to mistrust him.

  But this man, this tiger-man—not even Tine would have been a match for him. Rafe Tyler. What was he after? What was it that he stalked? For a moment it seemed that her blood ran cold. Was he a reporter?

  No, no, she assured herself. Reporters didn’t order such expensive wine. They didn’t dress with the negligent flair that was a part of Rafe Tyler.

  He was just a man, albeit an experienced one, an affluent one. Handsome, charming, and alluringly male. If she wasn’t so...wary, she might enjoy him. He was flattering and pleasant. Really, she had no right to be rude.

  Another glass of wine, she realized ruefully, and she’d be overly charming herself. Why hadn’t she eaten? It was something about him. He was talking to Ashley, yet she was the one who was mesmerized. She hadn’t even been able to pick up her fork. She didn’t seem capable of rising, excusing herself and leaving. The only physical feat she seemed able to manage was that of bringing the wineglass to her lips.

  She just hadn’t been back very long. Back in the world, in the company of others. In her upstate farmhouse, there had been little in life that was difficult. She’d seen her neighbors, chatted with Mr. Morton at the store. No worries, no cares. She had never used her real name, nor had she encountered the slightest problem. There had just been the garden, her sketches, an occasional ride in the forest or swim in the lake. It had all been perfect, until her savings had begun to dwindle, and she had realized that she had reached the now-or-never point. She had had to return to work—and to the real world. She couldn’t run forever.

  Time and events had given her a certain hardness. She could smile through any line, lower her lashes to any flattery, converse, sip drinks, dine—and never be touched. She had met some nice people, too; that was true. And they had become friends. But after Tine, she had discovered that she just couldn’t be affected by a man. There had been good times with Tine, but the end had been so horrible that she couldn’t remember any of them. Just the betrayal. His use of her; his total disregard for her.

  She smiled slightly, off in her own little world. She would never be innocent again. She wasn’t cold; she just couldn’t be swayed, flattered—or seduced. It was like a numbness inside her, not something she did purposely.

  She gritted her teeth, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  That had all changed suddenly, hadn’t it? Because Rafe Tyler had a massive affect on her. She’d only just seen him for the first time; she’d barely met him. Yet the disturbing impact he had on her was as frightening as the promise of his power.

  No, she thought. She was just so startled by it that she had been shaken from her customary poise. She resolved to behave normally.

  “Do you live in the city, Mr. Tyler?” she asked with a forced smile, determined to join in the conversation.

  Ashley and Rafe stared at her as Rafe hiked a rakishly amused brow. “She’s with us again,” he said.

  “It’s the wine,” Ashley told him conspiratorially. “And don’t you dare kick me again, Tara Hill,” she warned as she caught the silver sizzle in her friend’s eyes.

  “Can’t drink wine, eh?” Rafe inquired lightly.

  “Not worth beans,” Ashley replied bluntly.

  “Ashley, are you sure you wouldn’t like to give him a rundown on my life from start to finish?” Tara murmured with a warning frown.

  But though Ashley was having a good time, she loved Tara dearly. She was convinced that the only way Tara would ever salvage any happiness was to hop right in.

  “She’s a transplanted farm girl, right out of the dust bowl,” Ashley said seriously. “Just seventeen when the George Galliard rep found her at high school graduation. And from there, of course,” she teased lightly, “Tara was transformed into the totally sleek and perfect beauty you see before you now. Of course, she does have this penchant for changing into blue jeans. And she looks great with hay in her hair.”

  “I’ll bet,” Rafe murmured quietly.

  Tara watched as his disturbing gaze subtly roamed her face, so much like a caress that the entire room suddenly seemed to sway and grow hot. Maybe it was the wine....

  She smiled, and even managed to do so pleasantly. “Mr. Tyler, it has been a pleasure to meet you. But if you’ll both excuse me...”

  She attempted to stand, but to her total embarrassment she slid back into her chair.

  Rafe and Ashley chuckled openly. He leaned across the table and the expression on his face offered a gentle empathy that touched her despite all her resolve.

  “I have to admit,” he told her softly, “I have a hell of a time with wine myself. You never ate anything, did you?”

  “I...”

  Why was she answering him? She owed him no explanations. He was a stranger who had rudely interrupted their lunch.

  He was up then, coming around the table, bending his dark head to whisper against her ear, “Try standing again. I’ll steady you. We’ll go somewhere else and get some food into you.”

  She moved her lips to form the word No. Sound didn’t come, only the gasp of her breath. Because he was touching her. Hand gently on her shoulders, he was offering his support. She could sense him, feel him, and it was causing that horrible rush and confusion of emotions all over again.

  He was strong, secure. He was sexually fascinating in a way that defied all reason and description.

  She wanted to fall into his arms; she wanted to disappear, to run, to find some safe place where she might never see him again and therefore never feel the lure of his tiger power....

  Too late. She was standing, and his arm was about her waist, long fingers played masterfully over her ribs.

  Possessively.

  As if the tiger had made the first swipe at its prey.

  And the prey...the prey was stunned into submission. The tiger could play a while longer before pouncing for the kill.

  She leaned against him too easily. Heedless of the wisdom and intelligence of her mental warnings, she felt as if she had been created just to be held by him.

  What in heaven’s name was wrong with her! She was worldly; she was wise. He was a tiger-man, full of vigor and shocking vitality, exuding energy. Tall, remote, carelessly charming—when he so chose.

  Blatantly masculine. So unrelentingly sexual that any fool would fall for him at the slightest invitation.

  Tara stiffened and straightened. She wasn’t a fool. She had learned a great deal about life, the hard way. She didn’t need any lessons from a man like Rafe Tyler.

  And, damn it, the man was after her!

  CHAPTER 3

  Moments later she was standing, albeit a little weakly, far away from him. Ashley was beside her as Rafe went to the cloakroom with their stubs.

  She was amazed to discover that they had been sitting at the table for nearly three hours—it was time for an early dinner, and it might even be logical for them to move to another restaurant w
ith the coming of the evening.

  Tara shook her head uneasily. “I don’t think we should be doing this. Oh! We didn’t even pay the bill!”

  “Rafe had it put on his tab,” Ashley said blithely.

  “Ashley! How could you let him?”

  “Tara, it was lunch. Not a night at the Bonsoir Hotel!”

  “Still...” Tara paused, not at all sure why she was arguing so strenuously. “Ashley! We don’t know anything about him. He could be a murderer or a rapist. A criminal—”

  “How many criminals do you know who keep open tabs at the Oak Room?” Ashley demanded dryly. “And who look and dress like that?”

  “Jack the Ripper was supposedly quite distinguished!” Tara snapped back.

  “Oh, come on!” Ashley exclaimed, laughing. “You don’t really believe he’s a criminal.”

  “No,” Tara murmured uneasily, and dropped the subject because Rafe Tyler was coming toward them.

  He was back, their coats in his hands. Tara found herself watching the way his fingers moved over her silver fox, and unbidden thoughts came to her mind. Thoughts of his fingers, his hands, moving with that same careless ease over naked flesh. She flushed, mumbling a thank-you as he helped her into her coat.

  Ashley was smiling sweetly. “You’re not a cutthroat or a wild rake, are you, Mr. Tyler?”

  He hiked a brow, casting his gaze toward Tara. “Nor any other type of dangerous knave.” He chuckled softly. “I’ve yet to cut a throat, I assure you.”

  “Pity!” Ashley laughed. “Tara could use a bit of seduction in her life right now. Work on that one, will you, Mr. Tyler?”

  “Ashley!” Tara gasped. She was accustomed to the fact that Ashley said whatever came into her head, but she couldn’t believe that her friend was going this far—with no discretion at all!

  “Well, it’s true!” Ashley blandly tossed her short red curls. “She’s just come back to the city from years away.”

  “Years?” Rafe Tyler lightly mocked Ashley’s Deep South accent.

  “Just two, Mr. Tyler,” Tara said flatly, staring at Ashley with a look that promised murder if she didn’t cease and desist. She stared back at Rafe. “I believe I’m a bit of a loner. I like life that way.”