No Red Roses

Three

As Tamara 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 stonewell 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 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 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?"

"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.

Brody shot a concerned glance at the mauve shadows beneath her violet eyes, which gave her face a haunting fragility. "Try to relax," Brody ordered as he put the car in gear and started down the circular driveway. "As I recall, it's about a thirty-minute drive." He patted the steering wheel affectionately. "And Ole Dobbin knows the way home."

She had to smile at the absurdity of comparing this sleek, futuristic monster with a farm horse, and she leaned her head back obediently on the headrest. The motion of the car was smooth and effortless, and the powerful motor purred with the hypnotic growl of a jungle cat. It was rather like its owner in that respect, Tamara thought. Sleek, compact, graceful, and very, very danger…

Aunt Elizabeth had definitely put too much starch in the pillow cases and they had a strange musky odor, most unlike their usual fresh, outdoor scent. Worst of all, the pillow was hard and lumpy. Tamara burrowed deeper into its depths, but it was really impossible to get comfortable.

"If you don't stop that infernal squirming, my brotherly attitude is going to undergo a radical change, sweetheart." Brody's amused voice reverberated beneath her ear.

She was so deeply enwebbed in sleep it didn't even surprise her to discover that her pillow was Brody's hard, muscular chest and that the car was now parked in front of the white picket fence that bordered Aunt Elizabeth's house.

She lifted her heavy lids and noted inconsequentially that his lean jaw was already faintly shadowed. She wondered idly if he were one of those men who had to shave twice a day. He probably was, she thought, faintly annoyed. The man was almost aggressively masculine.

"Your blackmail isn't going to do you any good, you know," she murmured drowsily. "I'm not going to sleep with you."

She felt his lips brush the top of her head as he chuckled. "You've already slept in my arms. How big a step is it to sleep in my bed?" Then, before she could reply, he put her back into her own seat and opened the door. "Sit still."

He was around the car and opening the door in seconds. To her surprise, instead of helping her out of the car, he scooped her up in his arms and strode down the flower-bordered walk to the front door. After the first startled moment of protest, she lay docilely in his arms. If Brody wanted to act the macho male, she wasn't going to protest. Besides, she was finding it extremely difficult to keep her head from nodding once more onto that warm, solid chest.

After he'd set her gently on her feet on the porch, he took her evening bag, extracted the key, and deftly unlocked the door. She was almost asleep on her feet as he took her once more in his arms and held her for a long, peaceful moment. His hand stroked her dark hair gently.

"Is it true what Celia called you?" he asked suddenly. "Are you illegitimate?"

She felt a thrill of shock jar her abruptly awake. She lifted her head warily. "Yes, it's quite true. I'm not only illegitimate, but my mother deserted me a few months after I was born. I don't have any idea who my father was. Does it matter?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I'm glad you don't have anyone else. It makes you more mine. I told you I was very possessive."

"I have Aunt Elizabeth," she protested.

"Ah, yes. I'm beginning to be very grateful indeed for dear Aunt Elizabeth," he said, slightly mocking. "Now close your eyes, sweetheart. I'm not accustomed to behaving like a big brother, and I'm feeling the strain. I want something for myself."

He didn't wait for her to comply before he swooped down and enfolded her in an embrace that was anything but brotherly. Holding her to the strong muscular column of his thighs, he covered her lips with his in a kiss that was almost bruising in its passionate intensity. From drowsy security, Tamara was flung headlong into a blaze of flaming need that turned her both boneless and mindless in his arms. His lips left hers to move hotly in a series of quick, fervid kisses that followed the line of her cheek to her ear, and then returned to ravish the softness of her parted lips as if they were starved for the taste of her. He coaxed her lips open and captured her tongue in his mouth, sucking at it for a long, breathless moment with a hunger that caused her to melt against him with a little moan of sheer animal desire.

Then, before she could recover from this blinding attack on her senses, he put her away from him. His breathing was hoarse and ragged as he opened the door behind her, pushed her inside with a playful swat on her derriere, and said thickly, "I can't take any more right now. You not only go to my head but to other portions of my anatomy that have a decided will of their own. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and ran lithely down the porch steps, leaving her to gaze after him.

By the next morning Tamara had firmly convinced herself that Brody's mesmerizing effect on her had been engendered purely by the bizarre combination of events and emotions of the evening. She'd obviously been shaken to the point that her imagination had magnified both his powerful charisma and her own response to it. In the clear light of day, when she had time to assess the violent changes that her calm, orderly existence had undergone, she was quite sure she would regain her cool, businesslike reserve and be able to deal with him in her usual efficient, emotionless manner.

She'd reached this conclusion in the wee hours of the morning after lying in bed mentally berating herself for the docile way she'd accepted both Brody's so-called bargain and his lovemaking.

Why had she let him bluff her as he had done? Now that she was away from that bold, magnetic charm, she could see he had no real weapon to use against Aunt Elizabeth. She had no doubt Margaret Bettencourt would vouch for her aunt's integrity if it came to a confrontation. Though Brody might cause a little unpleasantness if he chose to go to the authorities, she was sure no criminal action could come of it.

No, she'd been so upset by the events of the evening that she'd let him bulldoze her into a commitment that was totally unnecessary. In the morning she'd tell him what he could do with his threats and his blackmail, she thought crossly. With this grim resolve, she forced herself firmly to fall into a sleep that was both restless and short-lived.

She finally admitted that her nerves were too on edge for her to rest properly and dragged herself out of bed and into the shower when the clock on the nightstand read only eight. The cold needlepoint spray brought her to life with shocking rapidity, and she was soon feeling alert and much like her usual cool, confident self as she dressed in her favorite old faded jeans and a lavender cotton shirt.

She made her way briskly downstairs and into the kitchen, only to find a note from Aunt Elizabeth on the kitchen table, propped against an enormous ebony bowl full of golden irises.

Darling,

I thought I'd let you sleep in after your late night. Mabel asked me to breakfast before church, and I'll be having lunch with Reverend Potter afterward. There's tuna salad in the refrigerator for your lunch. Have a good day.

E.

Tamara touched one of the blooms with a delicate finger while she toyed with the idea of going on to church herself, ignoring that the arrogant Mr. Brody had stated he'd arrive at eleven without even asking if it would be convenient for her. No, she would wait for Brody to put in an appearance and give herself the pleasure of telling him off.

She had opened the refrigerator door and was reaching for the pitcher of fresh orange juice when she heard the front door buzzer. With a puzzled frown she closed the refrigerator and hurried down the hall. This couldn't be Brody yet. It was only eight-thirty and he'd clearly said he'd arrive at eleven.

Celia Bettencourt was standing on the top step dressed faultlessly as usual in designer jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. She started speaking as soon as Tamara opened the door. "I know you have the right to be angry. If it were I, I'd probably slam the door in my face," she said desperately. "But I'm asking you to listen to me. Will you do that?"

"I don't think we really have anything to say to each other," Tamara said coldly. "You made yourself more than clear last night."

Celia moistened her lips nervously and Tamara noticed she didn't look at all well. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her mouth was taut and strained. "I want to apologize for that," she said haltingly. "I know my behavior was unforgivable." She grimaced. "Even if I wasn't aware of it before, I assure you my father let me know in no uncertain terms how disgracefully I'd treated you."

"I'm not in the mood to be very forgiving at the moment, Celia," Tamara said. "There are some things that take a good deal of time to forget before-"

"Look, do you think this is easy for me?" Celia burst out. "Do you think I'd be here if there were any way I could get out of it? I have to talk to you, damn it!"

So much for Celia's abject apology, Tamara thought grimly. "You might as well come in," she said, moving aside reluctantly. "Though I don't agree we have anything to talk about now that you've done your duty. I promise I’ll let your father know you've done the proper thing."

"My father doesn't know I'm here," Celia said, stepping hurriedly into the hall as if she were afraid Tamara would change her mind. "I left before breakfast this morning. I wanted to try to see you before my father called you with his own apologies."

Tamara shook her head doubtfully but turned and preceded her into the living room. "Sit down," she invited curtly, gesturing to the couch while she dropped into the pale blue armchair.

Celia gazed curiously about the room, and she looked no more at home than Brody had with the mellow period furnishings. Tamara stiffened defensively, expecting some caustic comment, but she was startled to see a curiously wistful expression on the other woman's face. "This is nice," Celia said softly. "It's almost like a Norman Rockwell print."

"You like Norman Rockwell?" Tamara asked, surprised. She wouldn't have thought a woman as worldly-wise as Celia would embrace Rockwell's down-to-earth hominess.

But Celia was nodding. "I have several in my room," she said absently. Then she sat up arrow-straight, her thin figure tense. "I want you to go away," she said abruptly.

"I beg your pardon?" Tamara's eyes widened in shock.

"I have some money I inherited from my mother's estate," Celia said, moistening her lips nervously. "It's not a great deal but it's enough for you to resettle comfortably in another town. Perhaps if you're careful you'd even have enough to open your own boutique."

This was the second time in twenty-four hours she'd been offered a shop of her own, Tamara thought wryly. If it hadn't been so insulting, it would have been a little amusing. "I think you'd better leave, Celia," she said, a thread of steel in her voice.

Celia ran her hand through her hair, disturbing her elaborate crown of curls. "Oh damn, I knew I'd make you angry," she said and, incredibly, her brown eyes were glistening with tears. "Look, I know you must hate me as much as I do you, but you've got to listen to me. Can't you see what an opportunity this would be for you?" She bit her lip as Tamara continued to gaze at her without speaking. "All right, give me just a year. Go away for a year and you can still have the money."

"I don't want your money, Celia," Tamara said, shaking her head in bewilderment. "And I don't hate you." Her lips twisted bitterly. "After last night, I can't say you're on my list of favorite people, however."

"I went a little crazy last night," Celia admitted hesitantly. "I saw you dancing with Todd and the way he was looking at you, and I guess I drank a little too much."

"That makes two of us," Tamara said. "I wouldn't have responded quite so readily to your charming little remark if I hadn't had more than I could handle." She shrugged. "Let's just try to forget about it, Celia."

"I can't," she said, her lips trembling. "I can't take any more. Won't you please go away?"

The woman was actually pleading with her. Where was that brittle, sophisticated facade with which Celia Bettencourt usually faced the world? She looked more like a desperate little girl with those big brown eyes swimming with tears. Here was a Celia Tamara had never seen before.

"This must mean a good deal to you," she said slowly, her gaze fixed on the other woman's face. "You don't have to worry about Todd and me, you know. There's really nothing between us."

"Yes, I know that." Celia smiled bitterly. "I also know that Todd wants you. It was clear to everyone at the party last night. You only have to reach out your hand and gather him up as you do all the other prizes."

"Prizes?"

"Even when we were children in school, you were always the bright little star pupil who won all the blue ribbons in sight," Celia said. "And when Daddy hired you after you graduated, he could never stop raving about you. I thought after high school I'd go right into the store but Daddy sent me to Switzerland instead." She drew a deep, shaky breath. "Then when I came back you were even more deeply entrenched."

Good Lord, how close Aunt Elizabeth had come to the truth, Tamara thought with a touch of remorse. Why couldn't she herself have seen beyond that hard stinging exterior to the hurt that lay beneath the surface?

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Celia asked impatiently. "Why don't you say something?"

"I was just thinking that there's so much more to all of us than what appears on the surface," Tamara said quietly. "And how seldom we make the effort to see beyond the superficial. Do you really love Todd Jamison, Celia?"

"Yes, I really do," the other woman answered simply. "And I can make him love me. Give me a year and he’ll forget you ever existed."

"And my job at Bettencourt's?"

"At least I'll have a chance to prove myself to Daddy without standing in your shadow." Her face brightened hopefully. "You're considering it, aren't you? You're going to take the money?"

Tamara shook her head. "No, I don't want your money," she said as she rose to her feet. "But that doesn't necessarily mean you won't get what you want. I’ll think about it, Celia."

Celia also stood up. "I suppose I should be grateful you haven't given me an outright refusal," she said, attempting to smile. "I can't lie and tell you I'll like you any better if you do this for me. You've been a thorn in my flesh far too long for me to promise that."

"You haven't made my life exactly a bed of roses either," Tamara said dryly, as she followed Celia to the door.

"I felt I was entitled to get a little of my own back," Celia defended herself. "That's why I turned Rex Brody loose on you last night." There was a ghost of a catty smile tugging at her lips. "I wanted to see how you'd cope with a man the caliber of Brody. I even told him you'd only gotten the job at Bettencourt's because you'd had an affair with my father."

"Charming," Tamara said sarcastically. "I think perhaps you'd better leave while you're still ahead."

"I didn't really mean to cause-"

"Good-bye, Celia."

The other woman shrugged as she opened the door. "You’ll let me know what you decide?"

"Somehow," Tamara answered. "But I don't think either one of us would really enjoy another tete-a-tete."

Celia Bettencourt nodded. "Goodbye, Tamara." The door shut quietly behind her.

Tamara shook her head ruefully as she turned and slowly walked through the house and out the kitchen door, instinctively heading for the familiar haven of the greenhouse. There had been a flicker of triumph in Celia's face before she'd closed the door that caused Tamara to bristle instinctively. She doubted if it would ever be possible for her to really like her employer's daughter. Despite the surprising vulnerability Celia had revealed today, there was a little too much of the feline in her demeanor for her to be very appealing. She had an idea Celia would be very disappointed if she realized just how grateful Tamara was feeling toward her at the moment.

As she walked slowly through the garden, she paused for a moment to watch a gorgeous orange and sable butterfly flitting among the marigolds bordering the red brick path. So lovely. So graceful and free as it spread its brilliant wings in the sun.

Flitting. Tamara's lips curved in an involuntary smile. That was how Aunt Elizabeth had described her mother when she'd first explained Tamara's illegitimate birth and her mother's desertion. Carla Ledford had been like a beautiful butterfly that flitted from flower to flower, only pausing to drink the nectar before continuing dizzily on its giddy flight. It wasn't the nature of the butterfly to ponder and worry or to stay in one place, Aunt Elizabeth had told Tamara gently. So one mustn't blame either the butterfly or the flower, but accept it as the nature of things. For years after that explanation, whenever Tamara had seen a butterfly she'd thought of her mother, and the simile had relieved her of any corrosive bitterness she might have harbored.

Aunt Elizabeth saw everything with such clarity and honest simplicity. Tamara had been raised to face life with strength and that same honesty, but now she was forced to acknowledge she hadn't even been honest with herself. As she'd sat watching Celia and thinking how seldom people and actions were what they really seemed to be, she'd suddenly realized what had provoked the scene at the party.

There had been a growing restlessness within her for years that had culminated in that explosion the night before. She must have been mentally rebelling for some time against the emotioned and physical strictures she'd placed on herself. Why else had she let Celia's petty shrewishness prey on her nerves after a lifetime of ignoring it? And why had she worn that crimson gown after years of dull anonymity? Now that she looked back on it, her actions had been as smooth and consistent as if she'd formulated them. Celia, Todd, and Brody may have acted as catalysts, speeding up the process, but they were only that… catalysts. She was responsible. She wanted to break free.

Tamara shook her head in wonder, her gaze still fixed absently on the butterfly. Freedom. It was all so clear now. She'd never have acceded to Brody's blackmail threat so readily if she hadn't subconsciously wanted to go with him. He'd suddenly appeared on her horizon like a bold eagle and she'd instinctively recognized and desired the freedom he represented.

Perhaps there's a little butterfly in the most sedate of us, she mused, as she once more started toward the greenhouse. We hide in our little cocoons until it's time to shrug off the protective confines and try our wings. Going with Brody on his tour might be considered a bit reckless for a fledgling butterfly like herself, but she suddenly knew there was no question that she would do it. The challenge he'd thrown at her was just too tempting to resist. Why shouldn't she begin her new, more colorful existence with a brief, dizzying flight that would break her free once and for ail from her cocoon? Yes, she would definitely go with Brody and let that wild eagle show the butterfly how to fly.

She certainly should have no qualms about making use of him after his blackmail attempt. But it probably would be much wiser not to let Brody know she actually wanted to go with him now. Yes, she'd let him think he'd bulldozed the poor little small-town girl into going with him. It would fortify her position and she guessed she might need that strength with a man as forceful as Brody.

There was a smile of infinite satisfaction on her lips as she opened the door of the greenhouse.

Some time later Tamara looked up absently from the pot of bay leaf she was transplanting into larger pots as the door was thrown open. Rex Brody stood in the open doorway with a frown of angry impatience on his face. When he caught sight of Tamara on her knees, contentedly working with her plants, the impatience turned to positive fury.

He kicked the door shut with his foot before striding forward to tower above her intimidatingly. "Do you realize I've been ringing your bell and banging on your door for the past ten minutes?" he grated between clenched teeth. "Since there was a car parked in the driveway I was afraid something had happened to you, so I let myself in. I search all over this Victorian monster of a house, and I finally find you playing in the dirt like a seven-year-old!"

She stared up at him belligerently, striving not to notice how the black jeans hugged with loving detail the solid line of his thighs. His blue shirt was open at the throat, revealing the start of the springy dark hair on his muscular chest. "I didn't hear you ring," she said defensively.

"I'm aware of that. How could you hear me when you were out here making mud pies?" he said caustically. "Why in hell weren't you inside waiting for me?"

Tamara slowly picked up a towel and wiped her muddy hands on it, wishing it were his immaculate chambray shirt. "I'm not in the habit of sitting in the front parlor waiting meekly for visitors like a Victorian miss," she said coldly. "And I'm not making mud pies. I happen to be working. I didn't notice the time, or I wouldn't have been so discourteous as to keep you waiting."

He looked impatiently at the gold watch on his wrist. "I'll give you just thirty minutes to get cleaned up and finish packing," he growled. "As it is”, we won't get into New York until late afternoon."

"Are you crazy?" she asked indignantly. "I have no intention of going anywhere today. I have arrangements to make, and I can't waltz off with you without discussing things with my aunt. I may have agreed to your terms but you can't expect me to simply pick up and leave. You'll just have to give me your itinerary and I'll join you when it's convenient."

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. She could feel the waves of anger that were radiating through his motionless body, and when his eyes flicked open, they were blazing with dark fire. "I'd advise you not to goad me today, Tamara," he said, enunciating very precisely. "I was mad as hell at you before I even arrived here, and this little game of hide-and-seek hasn't improved my temper. In addition to my less than indulgent mood, I'm in a hurry, damn it!"

"It's hardly my fault you got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," she said, glowering at him. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from blaming me for your own bad temper."

"The hell it wasn't your fault," he said roughly. "After I left you last night, I went back to the party and had a little chat with Todd Jamison."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "I'm amazed that he was capable of discussion," she said. "He could barely stand up when I last saw him."

"He was not only capable, he was positively verbose," he said darkly. "Once he got started, I couldn't shut him up. He wasn't just lyrical about your 'talents,' he was quite explicit."

Tamara could feel the warm color dye her cheeks scarlet and she dropped her gaze, her long lashes dark shadows on the curve of her cheeks. "That must have given you a kinky little thrill," she said scornfully, lifting her eyes again to glare at him.

"You could say that." His lips twisted painfully as his gaze moved compulsively over the voluptuous curve of her breasts, clearly outlined in the faded lavender shirt. "I couldn't decide whether I wanted to wreak havoc on Jamison or you. I didn't get to sleep last night thinking of you in bed with that loud-mouthed bastard, letting him do all those things to you. I wanted to do everything with you that he'd done and more. I wanted to wipe your mind free of every other man who'd ever touched you."

A wave of heat flowed over her, tuning her body to an exquisite sensitivity. He wasn't even touching her, yet the intensity of that look and the erotic picture his words evoked caused a strange, melting sensation in her loins. "How very chauvinistic of you," she said a little shakily, as she attempted to meet his dark gaze that was flickering now with desire as well as anger.

He scowled. "Perhaps I am," he admitted. "I know I don't have any right to question your past. I've never been an angel myself where women were concerned. I shouldn't care how many men you've had." Then his face darkened and his hands knotted into fists. "But damn it, I do! I don't want to meet another man who's had you, and if you ever let anyone else so much as lay a finger on you, I'll probably tear him apart."

She shivered as the absolute sincerity in his tone came home to her. Then she lifted her chin defiantly as she realized he was doing it again! Despite all her resolutions, Brody was manipulating her emotions and intimidating her just as he'd done last night.

"I can't say I'm interested in either your sexual fantasies or your possessive delusions, Mr. Brody," she said icily. "And I certainly don't intend to indulge you by paying the slightest attention to any strictures you attempt to place on me. I run my life as I see fit."

"Rex, damn it," he bit out. "And you'll be very interested in my sexual fantasies in the near future, I promise you." He drew a deep breath and ran his hand through his crisp dark hair. "But all that isn't important right now. I have to be in New York by late this afternoon, and you're coming with me. Now, let's get moving."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. I can't possibly leave today," Tamara said. "So I'd suggest you leave without me."

"Of course you can leave today," Rex asserted arrogantly. "All you need is a little organization. Now-what do you have to do?"

Tamara sighed resignedly and counted slowly to ten. She spoke with painstaking slowness as to a very young child. "I have to discuss my plans with my aunt. I have to pack. I have to give at least a week's notice to Mr. Bettencourt, and I have to find someone to care for my plants while I'm gone."

He frowned impatiently. "I’ll help you pack. That shouldn't take long. You can call your aunt from New York and explain. You don't have to worry about Walter. I told him at breakfast I was taking you with me today."

"Wasn't that a trifle presumptuous of you?" she asked angrily. "I owe the store at least a week's notice, and it was my place to speak to my employer."

"I was hoping to spare you the awkwardness of what I assumed would be a painful situation." His voice was dangerously soft. "I'd forgotten how close you once were. Perhaps you wanted to bid him a fond farewell."

"As you're quite sure I have the morals of an alley cat, you may find it difficult to believe I have other motivations in my relationships with men other than luring them into bed with me," she said caustically, rising to her feet. "I owe Mr. Bettencourt a great deal. It's only courteous to give him notice personally."

Rex's lips twisted cynically. "I wouldn't worry about that if I were you. I got the distinct impression that Walter was quite relieved not to have to speak to you. I gather that Celia was almost hysterical last night after you stalked out of the ballroom like a disdainful princess. I think it will be much more comfortable for Walter this way."

"I guess you're right," Tamara said, a trace of bleakness in her violet eyes. "Perhaps I'd better take you up on the offer of that boutique on Rodeo Drive. I don't imagine Rex Brody's latest mistress will be very welcome in Somerset."

Rex frowned again. "The whole world doesn't revolve around this little Peyton Place, you know. I promised I'd protect you."

"The world might not, but Aunt Elizabeth's life certainly does. For that matter, so has mine for almost twenty-three years," she said.

"I told you I'd make everything right for you."

"There are times when you can't just wave a checkbook and have everything fall into place."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he said ironically. "I think I can demonstrate that I have a few more assets than the ones in my bank account." He gestured impatiently. "Now that we've disposed of your arguments, shall we start packing?"

She shook her head decisively. "Even if I agreed with your rather arbitrary disposal of my other objections, I still have no one to care for my plants."

He gave the interior of the greenhouse a cursory glance. "Surely your aunt could water your flowers for you," he said carelessly.

"Plants," she corrected firmly. "And they require a good deal more attention than watering. I've spent two years developing and nurturing some of these strains, and I'm not about to forfeit all my work by putting someone in charge who has little or no knowledge of horticulture. You’ll have to wait until I can hire a competent person. What can a week matter?"

"It matters," Rex said grimly. "Let me get this straight. You won't come with me because you haven't got someone to babysit a bunch of plants?"

"I'm delighted I've finally gotten through to you," Tamara said with a demure satisfaction she didn't bother to conceal. "That's exactly what I mean. So you’ll just have to do without me until I'm free, won't you?"

"Like hell I will!" he said explosively. He turned and strode out of the greenhouse, slamming the door behind him with a violence that caused the glass panels to vibrate.

Tamara flinched involuntarily. It seemed the forceful Mr. Brody wasn't at all pleased on the odd occasion when he didn't get his own way. Well, he'd just have to become accustomed to it, because she was through jumping whenever he snapped his fingers. There was a serene smile on her face as she once more picked up her trowel and began to work.