No Red Roses, Page 4

  "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 Guenevere."

  "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 co
ndescending 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?"

  "Oh yes, your Aunt Elizabeth," he said absently, and Tamara had the odd impression he'd forgotten about the threat that had made her almost frantic with worry. Then his dark eyes became shuttered and he once more leaned back against the balus­trade and smiled mockingly. "It's not going to be that easy, sweetheart. I happen to be as protective of my aunt as you seem to be of yours. I'm afraid I'm going to need a hostage for your aunt's future good behavior."

  "A hostage?" Tamara asked warily. "You can't mean you're still suggesting that I become your mistress?"

  "Oh yes, I still intend that you occupy my bed eventually," he said gently, his dark eyes regretful. "But I must admit you've complicated things enormously by appealing to my protective instincts. When I thought you were just a tough little cookie with a fantastic body, I was sure we could negotiate a mutu­ally pleasant exchange of favors." He sighed morosely. "Now I guess I'll have to resort to a little blackmail."

  "Blackmail can be a very ugly crime, Mr. Brody," she said, her voice shaking with anger.

  "Just calm down, sweetheart," he said coolly. "I've no intention of inviting you into my bed until you're as eager to go there as I am. I like my women willing. All I'm bargaining for at the moment is the pleasure of your company for the next four weeks. I open in New York day after tomorrow, and then I go on a cross-country tour. I want you to come with me."

  "Come with you?" Tamara repeated, feeling as if she were caught in the center of a whirlwind. "You mean you want me to just drop everything, disrupt my entire life, and trail around with you like some sort of camp follower?"

  "Yep," he drawled blandly. "That about covers it. In return, I promise to leave your slightly larcenous relative to her own devices as long as they don't involve Aunt Margaret. I'll also promise not to bed you until you say the word."

  "You have it all worked out," she observed dryly. "Didn't it occur to you that I do have a career of my own? I just can't abandon it to become your own private groupie."

  "I hardly think Bettencourt will be too enthusiastic about retaining your services after the debacle this evening," Brody said, a glint of sympathy in his eyes. "No matter how valuable an employee you are or how close you were in the past, I got the distinct impression tonight that he's very fond of his Celia. If it comes down to choices, you'll be out on your ear, love."

  She wondered uneasily if he were right. Despite Walter Bettencourt's business acumen, he'd always been blindly indulgent in matters concerning his daughter. Was all the work and effort of the past five years to be wiped out in a matter of hours?

  Brody frowned with concern when he saw the stricken look on Tamara's face, and he moved instinctively to cradle her once again in his arms. "Hey, don't," he said huskily, as he buried his face in her hair. "You look like a little girl who's just lost her favorite doll. I told you I can't stand that." He rocked her tenderly, while his deep voice murmured consolingly. "Who in the hell cares about Bettencourt's job anyway? At the end of the tour, I’ll buy you your own flower shop anywhere you want to set up. How about Rodeo Drive?"

  "Herb shop," she corrected automatically, and then chuckled. "I think you actually mean it. One minute you're blackmailing me and the next you're giving me the most fabulous present imaginable. Are you always this generous?"

  "It's only money," he said and shrugged. "I've pots of the stuff. Why shouldn't I replace your doll, little girl?" His deep voice was like dark honey.

  Tamara felt her throat tighten helplessly. This par­ticular Rex Brody was much more dangerous than the sexy aggressor who had brought her body to electric awareness early this evening. It was so hard to fight his warm, touching, caring, and almost boyish sincerity. Nevertheless, she said huskily, "I'm a big girl and I buy my own toys now. I couldn't accept your offer, Mr. Brody."

  His arms tightened about her. "We'll work something out. I'll advance you the money as a long-term loam."

  She shook her head, trying hard not to smile. "You're certainly offering extravagantly generous terms for your bargain. You know you've no real guarantee of getting what you want, don't you?"

  He tilted her head back and his hand stroked the curve of her cheek with sensuous enjoyment. "You have the most exquisite skin. It's like warm satin," he said. She stood quite docilely, still curiously con­tent under that caressing touch, almost as if he had a perfect right to stroke and caress her. This remark­able man had the most extraordinary effect on her, Tamara thought in bewilderment. She would move out of his arms in a moment, she promised herself. But there was no threat in that gentle touch, and it was pleasurable to let herself be fondled like a be­loved child.

  "I fully expect to get what I want, love," he said lazily. "We're a highly combustible mixture, and I assure you I'm going to bend all my efforts toward a Fourth-of-July explosion. Besides, there sure any num­ber of women who are attracted to the glamour of the spotlight and make a nuisance of themselves. A beauty like you would prove a valuable deterrent."

  "And what if I resist your fatal charm and refuse to occupy your bed for the entire month?" she asked curiously.

  "Then you walk away with your aunt free and clear, and an exclusive little boutique on Rodeo Drive. You also have the satisfaction of seeing me with egg on my face," he said lightly.

  Her eyes narrowed. "I think I may call your bluff. I don't think you'll really press charges against my Aunt Elizabeth if I don't go with you."

  His hand stopped its stroking and dropped to her shoulders. "Don't try it, babe," he warned so softly that Tamara barely detected the steely menace in his voice until she noticed the faint hardening of his lips and the dangerous flicker in the dark eyes. "I grew up as a slum kid on the streets of New York and I never learned how to bluff. If you couldn't deliver what you promised, then you ended up in a gutter or a hospital bed. Don't make the mistake of thinking I don't mean exactly what I say."

  She twisted away from him with a little nervous shiver. How could she have forgotten her first impression of Brody? He was every bit the tough, men­acing stranger of that first meeting. He was all the more dangerous for the chameleon quality that al­lowed him to alter his personality at will and keep his antagonists in a constant state of imbalance.

  "Oh, I believe you, Mr. Brody," she said. "I'm quite sure you can be just as unscrupulous as you say. I suppose I'll have to agree to your terms, but at the end of that month, I want nothing from you but my release." Her mouth tightened.” You’re going to look funny with egg on your face."

  He smiled gently, his eyes once more warm and caressing. "We'll have to see about that, won't we, love?" He leaned forward and gave her a quick, im­pudent kiss on the tip of her nose. "Now I think I'd better take you home. You've had enough strain to cope with this evening. Shall I get your wrap and bring it to you here?"

  She nodded wearily, feeling suddenly as exhausted as if she'd fought a major battle. And so she had, she thought ruefully, and a losing one at that. "Yes, please. It's a black velvet cloak."

  He nodded and started off, only to turn back abruptly. "We don't have to leave right now, you know," he said, his gaze searching. "You had a pretty rough time in there this evening. If you'd like to go in and get some of your own back, I usually have enough clout to carry the day. Being a celebrity has its uses."

  Her mouth dropped open in amazement. "You'd do that for me?"

  He shrugged. "Why not? I'd probably enjoy it."

  "Well, I wouldn't," she said
with a moue of distaste. "But I'm surprised you'd be willing to antagonize your aunt's guests just so I could enjoy a form of very petty revenge."

  "When you agreed to my terms, you became both my property and my responsibility for the next month," he explained simply. "You'll find I know how to protect my own. I'll get your cloak, and I’ll call off that date of yours."

  He was gone before she could reply, and she stared after him in amazement. The terrace seemed sud­denly terribly empty and lifeless now that his vital presence was gone, and she felt oddly weak and defenseless. Which was utterly absurd, she assured herself firmly. It must be weariness and discourage­ment that were making her so foolish.

  Brody was back in the space of a few minutes and he took charge again with the almost royal confi­dence she was becoming accustomed to. Draping the black velvet cloak around her, he buttoned it carefully while she stared at him bemusedly, feeling like a small child being readied for Sunday School.

  A little of that fugitive amusement must have been reflected on her face, for when he'd finished he looked up with a mischievous grin. "Sorry to be so slow, sweetheart. I promise you I'm much more dex­terous at getting a lady out of her clothes."

  She just bet he was. Even when dampened down that virile magnetism was almost overpoweringly potent, and combined with the wealth and glamour surrounding his profession, he would be practically irresistible to women. For some reason this thought irritated her exceedingly, and she maintained a re­mote silence while he whisked her along the flagstone path around to the front of the house.

  A silver Ferrari was waiting at the front entrance. A servant jumped out of the driver's seat and handed Brody the car keys, then with flattering obsequi­ousness helped Tamara into the passenger seat. The wine plush velvet upholstery of the sports car was as luxurious as the car's exterior, and she sank into the cushioned softness with a sigh of relief. This macabre evening was almost at an end and she could feel fatigue wrap her in a numb lassitude.