“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
