No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  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 pillowcases 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, p
ushed her inside with a playful swat on her derrière, 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 façade 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.”