I was a kid, the numbers racket in my neighborhood was run by a little, white-haired old lady who resembled everyone's dream image of a grandmother.'
She whirled to face him, prepared to make a scathing condemnation of his cynical attitude. Suddenly she lost track of what she was going to say. Rex stood in the middle of her bedroom, looking as boldly out of place as a pirate in the silken chamber of a lady-in-waiting. His dark vibrance charged the serenity of the room with an electricity that was almost violent. She wondered if she would ever be able to occupy this room without remembering Rex standing here, appraising her with those mocking dark eyes.
She was suddenly overpoweringly conscious of everything about him. The way his thick, dark hairline formed into a slight widow's peak, the rhythmic movement of his hard muscular chest as he breathed, the almost indecent snugness of his rust jeans as they molded the flatness of his lean stomach and hips. She felt a slow heat burn through her that was as potent as it was bewildering.
'Shall I lock the door?' he asked, and her gaze flew up to his in shock. She saw the same sexual awareness that she was experiencing. His dark eyes were hot and intent as they roamed over each valley and curve of her body, and his beautifully sensual mouth was oddly tender. 'Let me love you, sweetheart,' he said huskily.
She drew a deep steadying breath, angry she'd let him see how his presence aroused her. She felt a languid melting in her loins and braced herself as if for a physical assault.
'No,' she said sharply, even as her breasts moved tumultuously with her uneven breathing. She pointed to the two suitcases by the bed. 'That's what you came up here for and that's all you're getting, Rex Brody.'
For one breathless moment she thought he would ignore her rejection and take her in his arms. Then his body relaxed, and he drew a deep, ragged breath. With a muttered curse he swung away from her, snatched up the bags, and stormed angrily toward the door. 'If you're not down in fifteen minutes, I’ll take it as an engraved invitation,' he said grimly. The door closed decisively behind him.
Tamara gazed at the door, a curious indignation mixed with her relief that Rex hadn't exploited that brief moment of fluid electricity that had leaped so suddenly between them. If he'd held her in his arms, she didn't know if she would have had the will power to refuse his taking anything he wanted of her. She was only grateful she hadn't been put to the test, and she certainly didn't want to face him again in the intimacy of her bedroom. He'd said fifteen minutes and she had a shrewd idea if she wasn't downstairs in that time, he'd have no compunction about coming up to get her.
In ten minutes she'd showered and exchanged her faded jeans and shirt for a tailored cream-colored blazer and matching pants and a peach silk blouse that looked glowingly attractive with her golden skin and shining, blue-black hair. She slipped on bone- colored high-heeled shoes and swiftly put her hair up in a knot on top of her head, leaving a few wispy tendrils to float alluringly about her face. There was no time for makeup, and she hurriedly checked her herb bag to make sure it was fully stocked. Finally she picked up from her desk the bulky loose-leaf notebook that contained her manuscript notes, and tucked it into the bag. She gave the room a last hurried look before closing the door and almost running for the stairs.
Rex met her on the upstairs landing. 'You're five minutes late,' he said, as he took the bag from her. 'I was hoping you'd changed your mind.' His eyes lingered caressingly on her flushed face. 'Pity.”
She shot him a lethal glare and, tilting her nose in the air, sailed down the staircase. Aunt Elizabeth stood in the entrance hall at the bottom of the stairs and drew her into a loving embrace as she reached the last step.
Tamara clutched her aunt's slender form in a tight hug, her eyes filling with tears. Aunt Elizabeth had such quantities of inner strength that no one ever thought of her as being old or fragile, but suddenly Tamara realized just how delicate and vulnerable an old lady she was. 'Will you be all right?' she asked huskily. 'I don't want to leave you alone.'
'Of course I’ll be okay, if you’d just refrain from breaking my ribs,' Aunt Elizabeth said ruefully, unwinding Tamara's arms from around her and pushing her gently away. She stroked Tamara's cheek gently. 'Don't you dare worry about me, Tamara Ledford,' she scolded with tender fierceness. 'I won't be alone. I have that nice Professor Billings to keep me company. I managed to take very good care of myself for quite a long time before you were born, and I'm entirely capable of doing it for some years to come.' One long finger touched Tamara's wet lashes. 'I was lucky to have you to myself for so long.'
She looked over Tamara's shoulder at Rex coming with purposeful slowness down the stairs, and leaned forward to whisper mischievously, 'You won't miss me for long, dear. When I shook Rex's hand, I realized the music was even stronger than I imagined.'
It was the second time Aunt Elizabeth had made reference to that mysterious music, but Tamara impatiently pushed the allusion aside. 'I suppose I'm stupid to get so choked up over only a month's parting,' she said. 'I’ll be sure to call you often, love.'
Rex had reached the bottom of the stairs and he grasped Tamara's arm. 'I’ll take very good care of her, Miss Ledford,' he promised.
'I know you will, Rex,' Aunt Elizabeth answered serenely. 'You won't forget to remind her to eat?'
'If necessary, I'll force-feed her myself,' he said lightly.
Tamara felt maddeningly like a small child with all the grownups talking above her and about her but never to her. How dare Rex be so possessive in front of Aunt Elizabeth? And Aunt Elizabeth seemed to accept his assumption of responsibility as a matter of course.
She kissed her aunt on the cheek. 'Good-bye, darling,' she said huskily. 'Take care.' Her eyes were glistening with tears as she turned and hurried through the door that Rex was holding open.
Rex didn't speak until he'd settled her in the Ferrari and slipped into the driver's seat. He shot an exasperated glance at her shaking lips and her eyes that were brilliant with unshed tears. 'Will you knock it off?' he growled, as he put the car into gear. 'I'm not carrying you off to a brothel, you know.'
'Aren't you?' she asked shakily.
He glowered at her but didn't respond verbally as the Ferrari roared into motion. Tamara stared blindly out the window at the passing scene and was conscious of a growing sense of unreality as they passed the well-tended grounds and large, red brick building of her old high school, the white steepled church she'd attended all her life. A little over an hour ago she'd been peacefully working with her plants, wrapped in the quiet security of the dear and familiar. Now she'd been ripped away from her old moorings and was caught in the whirling eddies generated by the enigma that was Rex Brody.
She was abruptly awakened from her abstraction when they reached the highway and instead of turning south, Rex headed north.
She sat up straight. 'You're going the wrong way,' she protested.
Rex shook his dark head as he turned right at a small blue sign lettered McCarthy Airport.
'It would take too long to drive to New York now. I've lost too much time already so I arranged to charter a plane and have my car driven down later.' He made a face. 'I had to settle for a prop job. The runways at this private field aren't long enough to accommodate even a small jet.'
'What a pity,' Tamara murmured. The look Rex shot her, as he brought the sports car to a smooth halt beside a large hangar adjacent to the runway, was definitely intimidating.
As she climbed the steps and entered the cream and gold Beechcraft a few minutes later, Tamara thought a few people would have been quite happy to settle for the unobtrusive luxury of this plane. The passenger compartment seated eight, and the tan and cream tweed-covered seats were grouped for informal comfort, with a polished mahogany writing table between each pair of chairs. The plush rust carpet contrasted with the glowing mahogany paneling, and the small bar at the rear of the plane was built of the same beautifully textured wood.
'Sit down and fasten your seat belt,' Rex said as he entered behind her. He turned to the door leading to the cockpit. 'I've had the pilot standing by since nine this morning. We should be taking off any minute. I've got to check our ETA in New York and then radio ahead to arrange for us to be picked up at the airport on Long Island and driven into Manhattan.' Without waiting for her to reply, he disappeared into the cockpit.
Tamara sat down, opting for an aisle seat rather than a window. The one time she and her aunt had flown from Boston to New York, she'd gotten a bit queasy looking down at the patchwork terrain below. She was fumbling with her seat belt when Rex returned. He brushed her hands away and deftly fastened the belt before dropping into the seat across the aisle from her.
'Take off your jacket and get comfortable. It will be about an hour and thirty minutes before we arrive in New York.' Then to her surprise he drew a crumpled sheet of paper and a stub of a pencil from the back pocket of his jeans and proceeded to ignore her. Whatever he was working on, it was receiving his complete attention, Tamara noted, as she slowly pulled her own notebook out of her bag and put it on the table in front of her.
It wasn't until they'd been in flight over an hour that Rex looked up, his face intent and abstracted, to meet her puzzled gaze. The absorption gradually faded and he grinned with an appealing boyishness. 'Sorry, I just wanted to polish these lyrics while I had the chance. It's going to be pretty frantic once we reach New York.' – 'It's a new song?'
He nodded. 'I did most of it last night when I was holed up in that motel outside Boston, after I'd contacted Billings and wrapped him up in pink ribbons for you.' He made a wry face. 'It kind of reminded me of the old days when I was on the road and the only spare time I had to do any composing was either after the show or while I was traveling. Only then I usually went by bus, not plane.' He smiled reminiscently. 'My first single that went platinum was written on a paper towel from the washroom at the Greyhound Bus Station in Milwaukee.' He folded up the paper he'd been working on and stuffed it carelessly back into his pocket.
'How are you able to compose music without an instrument?' Tamara asked, interested in spite of herself at this glimpse of Rex's colorful past.
He chuckled and reached across the aisle to flick her nose with a playful finger. 'You don't, sweetheart,' he answered, his dark eyes twinkling. 'Even I'm not that good. I never travel without my guitar, though I prefer a piano for composing if one is available. My guitar is stored with the rest of the luggage in the cargo compartment.'
'I see,' she said a trifle crossly, feeling a bit of a fool. How did she know how pop singers composed their songs? Judging by the cacophony of discordant notes that were produced by some of the more famous groups, their music might well be composed on a rusty washboard. She huffily turned her attention back to her own work with the firm intention of ignoring him.
Rex evidently had other ideas, though. He checked his watch, then rose to his feet, stretching lazily.
'How about a cup of coffee?' he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he strolled to the bar in the rear of the plane and poured two coffees from a large thermos on the counter. He added cream to one, then returned and offered it to her.
'Thank you,' she said, gazing at him curiously. 'How did you know I took cream in my coffee?'
'Your aunt mentioned it this morning when she was stuffing me with coffee and sugar doughnuts,' he said with a shrug, half sitting on the arm of his chair, his long legs stretched out before him in the aisle. 'She seemed to think it was an insult to her coffee-making expertise to dilute the flavor with milk.'
Tamara took a sip of the aromatic coffee. 'Yes, she would. Aunt Elizabeth is a purist where cooking is concerned,' Tamara replied absently. 'But isn't that a rather unusual thing to remember about a comparative stranger?'
'Is it?' Rex took a sip of his coffee before looking up, his face surprisingly serious. 'But then I don't intend that you remain a stranger, Tamara. Before I'm through I'm going to know everything about you. I want to know what you love and what you hate and all the in-betweens. I want to know not only what pleases that gorgeous
