His hand fell on her arm again. In seconds they were outside. Tara was amazed to see that darkness had fallen.
But the fact that Rafe Tyler didn’t hail a cab did not particularly surprise Tara. He led them to a waiting limo. It was everything she might have expected—roomy and luxurious, with a bar, phone and a television. There was also a miniature desk, as if someone carried on business from the rear of the vehicle during traffic jams.
Tara was not even seated beside him. She was on the far right; Ashley sat in the middle, next to Rafe Tyler.
There was little traffic. In a matter of minutes, they were pulling up to a curb again. The restaurant was exactly as he had described it. Neat and clean, but very crowded, with tables almost on top of one another. Tea and noodles were served instantly. Rafe poured tea for Tara, smiling while she sipped at it, saying nothing, understanding that the hot liquid was the thing she needed most.
Curiously, dinner went just as lunch had. Ashley and Rafe talked. She told him about modeling; he listened intently.
And still Tara felt his eyes on her. Felt as if he were weighing her, assessing her, thinking deeply about her. Why? She wanted to scream. But then, in between bursts of panic, she felt wonderful little ripples of excitement cascade along her spine. She wanted to touch him, to feel the texture of his hair, to run her fingers along the muscled flesh beneath his shirt….
Dinner ended, and he offered to drive them both home. Tara became uneasy, realizing he would know where she lived.
Where—but not which apartment.
“Lovely!” Ashley answered.
Tara was struck with the sudden urge to run down the street—run anywhere from this sense of danger. But that would be absurd. And it would be a kind of surrender, too. Yes, I am afraid, she thought. Afraid that I can’t withstand him.
They drew up before Ashley’s apartment building. Ashley blew Tara a kiss. “See you tomorrow at one! Don’t forget—fittings!”
Rafe excused himself to see Ashley to her door.
Alone in the rear of the limo, Tara leaned back, her heart pounding. There was a chauffeur in the front, she knew. A chauffeur who worked for Rafe Tyler. Long accustomed to the man’s nocturnal habits?
Nocturnal habits! Her teeth started chattering slightly, and she twisted her fingers in her lap, wondering what she was doing, waiting alone in the back of a luxurious limousine for a man to return. Ashley was the one who had baited him all night. Why the hell hadn’t Tara insisted on being brought home first?
Because he hadn’t intended to let her go first! And she hadn’t even fought, because she had known that she would lose….
No, it wasn’t that at all. There’d been no battle. Surely he was a respectable man, albeit a devastating one, assured and adult, and definitely male.
Very male. Very attractive—because of that potent masculinity.
Tara released her hands and nervously stretched her fingers. She envisioned him coming back to the car, sitting beside her, staring into her eyes with that subtle, rueful smile. There would be no need for words. He would reach for her, and she would utter a small sound of protest, but it would be no more than a whimper caught in her throat. His arms would engulf her, and she would be swallowed in heat; his mouth would be firm and persuasive, but brook no resistance, should she find the strength to offer it. His kiss would be like fire. She would feel his fingers moving over her flesh with the same tender expertise with which they had touched the silver fox, but unlike the fox, she would feel that caress, and, knowing that she was a fool, she would still delight in it, gasping when his lips left hers to trail down the bare flesh of her throat.
No! In panic at her own vision, Tara almost gasped the word aloud. Furious with herself for being such a guileless coward—after all she had been through!—she nevertheless began to grope for the door handle. Let him think that she had run. That was exactly what she intended to do.
Blindly, Tara leaned forward. The door handle refused to budge, then quite suddenly gave way. Ready to leap for the pavement, she looked up.
Into his golden eyes.
“Was I gone so long? I’m sorry,” he said smoothly.
Tara couldn’t think of a thing to say. His foot was already inside; she had no choice but to back away.
Still smiling, he moved in beside her and tapped on the window. He looked back questioningly at Tara.
“Where to, Miss Hill?” he asked softly.
She stuttered out her address, furious at the sound of her voice, more annoyed still with the amusement on his features.
He repeated her address to the driver, and the limousine pulled out into the traffic. Rafe sat back, idly folding his hands before him, watching her with his slight, devilish grin.
The city lights flickered around them, giving occasional glints of substance and bursts of shadow. For a moment she tensed, remembering her fantasy. His arms around her, the potent kiss. The sleek feel of the rugged planes of his face beneath her fingers…
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t lean toward her.
“You’ve just come back to the city?” he asked casually.
“Yes.”
“Long vacation?”
“Yes.”
They passed beneath a streetlight. Tara noted that his eyes were really green, with brilliant pinpoints of topaz around the pupil that gave them their compelling quality of yellow gold.
Shadow came between them again. In that shadow he seemed to move slightly. His gaze appeared to change slightly, to become as gentle as the darkness.
He was going to touch her….
She could feel the air grow tense between them. Little shocks seemed to leap through her, seemed to flame and warm her blood, heat her skin. She wanted to cry out, to leap away….
Or into his arms.
“This is it,” he said suddenly, and she started violently.
His lip twitched, but he said nothing, and merely opened
