Morning Rose, Evening Savage

by Amii Lorin

  Tara had to fight a different kind of fear now. The fear of betraying, yielding softness invading her body.

  “No,” cried. “Alek, you promised me.”

  His cool breath caressed her cheek as he sighed, then lifted his hand and pushed himself up and away from her. He stood tense, staring at her broodingly for a long minute before snapping, “All right, let’s gather this stuff together and get the hell out of here before I change my mind.” The thought flashed into Tara’s mind that this was the reason for his insistence she stay with her parents. Was he afraid that the inevitable would happen if they were alone here? She shook her head in negation. No, not Alek. Too out of character. His reason was obvious. While she was surrounded by her family, there was less chance she’d change her mind, call the whole thing off.

  By nine o’clock Tara was settled into her sister’s room. Betsy had emptied some drawers and made room in the closet for her things, then stayed to help her unpack.

  After the scene in her apartment bedroom, they had made fast work of the packing. Alek had carried the heavier things down the stairs and stowed them in his trunk. Then he had followed her car in his own to her father’s house, where her brothers had taken over, lugging the cases up to Betsy’s room.

  Tara and Betsy were stowing the cases under the twin beds when their mother called, “I’ve made coffee, girls. Come have a cup while it’s hot.”

  The sisters grinned at each other at the term girls then, side by side, went down the stairs and into the living room to join Alek and their parents.

  “Well, Tara, come sit down. You look so tired, you’re pale.” Her father’s changed attitude toward her was a secret source of amusement to Tara, and she had to work at controlling the twitch on her lips—a job made almost impossible when she encountered the wickedly laughing gleam in Alek’s eyes.

  “Yes, darling, come sit next to me and have some coffee. It will help you relax.”

  Although she did as he asked, Tara was convinced that if she was to relax, the last place in the world for her to sit was next to Alek.

  As they drank their coffee, they discussed their plans for the next few days. Tara told her mother about having Sallie for her matron of honor, and that Sallie would be coming over tomorrow night. Then, glancing at her hopeful-faced sister, she grinned and said teasingly, “I hope you’ll agree to be my maid of honor, as I’m planning on it.”

  “Oh, Tara.” Betsy laughed shakily. “I was beginning to be afraid you weren’t going to ask me.”

  “Not ask you? You nit, do you think I’d get married without you?”

  Tara’s voice was a little shaky, and she was glad when her mother turned the conversation to Alek.

  “Have you decided on a best man yet, Alek?”

  “Yes, I have. As a matter of fact I spoke to him today. My cousin Theo assured me he’d be delighted to prop me up, so to speak.”

  “Your cousin lives here in Allentown?” her father asked.

  “No, Theo lives in Athens.” At her parents’ startled expression he explained briefly: “My mother’s sister married a Greek. The Zenopopoulos family is a very old, respected one. Their firstborn son, Theo, runs the family shipping line now that my uncle Dimitri has retired.”

  “You have something of an international family, it appears,” Tara said quietly.

  His eyes came back to hers; his smile was pure charm.

  “Yes, my sweet, I suppose I have. But only on my mother’s side. She was born in Great Britain and her mother, now widowed, still lives in London, as does her brother, my uncle Edward. Her eldest brother, William, married a girl from Scotland. They live in Edinburgh. My father is second-generation American. He and I are the only ones left, as his parents are both dead, and he was an only child. As I am.”

  “I see,” Tara replied, not quite sure she understood the underlying inflection he’d placed on his last words.

  “Do you, my love? I wonder.”

  Confused, feeling as if she’d missed an important point, Tara changed the subject. “I think we’d better work on the guest list tonight,” she said to her mother. “Have you had a chance to work on it at all today?”

  “I’ve finished it.” Marlene slanted a quick glance at her husband before adding, “Your father and I worked on it last night after you left.”

  Will wonders never cease? Tara asked herself wryly, somehow managing to keep the surprise she felt from showing. Her father’s complete change of face since Alek had spoken to him the night before was both a source of amusement and irritation. It was as if he felt that now he had to handle her with kid gloves so as not to damage the merchandise Alek had claimed as his own. Tara couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh out loud or scream at him. What she had suspected weeks ago had been proved correct. Her father, recognizing in Alek the top dog of arrogant tyrants, had capitulated completely. Mentally tossing her head at the funny little games men played, Tara offered, “I’ll go over the list later and add my own to it. It will be ready tomorrow, Alek.”

  He left soon after that, drawing her with him when he stepped out the door. Her hand firmly on the doorknob to prevent the door from closing entirely, she shook her head when he asked, “I won’t be seeing you at all tomorrow night?” His eyebrows went up in question when she replied, “Or Thursday.” At his expression she added hurriedly, “I want to go shopping. The dresses must be selected as soon as possible.”

  He frowned but murmured, “All right, but don’t make any plans for Friday. We’re having dinner together. I’ll come for you at seven.”

  She had no time to answer, for, bending his head, his lips caught hers in a light kiss that proceeded swiftly to one that was hard and demanding. She stood passive, her lips cool under his, for a few seconds. Then, frightened by the warmth spreading through her body, she pushed her arm against the door and stepped back into the comparative safety of the brightly lit hallway. His eyes flashed with irritation, and she whispered breathlessly, “I must go in, Alek, I’m cold.”

  “I could have warmed you,” he murmured harshly as he turned abruptly and walked to his car.

  I no longer doubt it, Tara admitted to herself somewhat fearfully.

  * * * *

  Sallie stopped by, as planned, the following evening and after a few hours of haggling with everyone in the house, Tara had her own way. They all protested, but Tara was determined to keep the wedding party small. Betsy and Sallie would be her only attendants.

  Right after dinner Thursday evening, Tara, her mother, Betsy, and Sallie set out for the most exclusive bridal shop in town. Tara had no preconceived idea of what she wanted but she chose the second dress she looked at, paling slightly when the salesclerk told her the price. The other three women took much longer in selecting their outfits, enjoying themselves immensely, trying on dress after dress, while Tara sat, shifting restlessly in her chair.

  She and Alek did not go out for dinner on Friday evening after all. As Sallie was preparing to go home after they’d returned from shopping, having gone from the bridal shop to a shoe store, she said gayly, “Tara, David and I have planned an engagement party for tomorrow night. Just a small gathering, casual dress, so I’ll see you then.”

  Tara felt suddenly panicky at the prospect of facing the rest of her friends for the first tune since the wedding announcement and she stammered, “But, Sallie, I—I don’t know, I mean, I don’t think Alek—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Sally interrupted. “David spoke to Alek about it this afternoon and he said Alek was delighted. Now I’ve got to run. See you tomorrow night. Bye.”

  The party was an ordeal for Tara. She dressed casually but carefully in a sapphire colored raw silk shirt and matching pants. After a light application of makeup, she stepped back from the mirror to observe the overall effect and smiled with satisfaction. Alek’s expression, as he ran his eyes slowly over her, was an added boost to her confidence. But it was shortlived, slipping away to be replaced by growing nervousness and tension, as she fought to ma
intain the picture of the happy bride in front of her friends.

  The evening seemed to drag on forever, Alek’s possessive attitude and endearments making her alternatively angry and more nervous. When it was finally over and they were back in Alek’s car on their way home, she let her head fall back against the seat and sighed with exhaustion. There would be more parties of this type, and she knew it and prayed for the strength to get through them with at least some degree of aplomb.

  Her mind was drifting aimlessly when he brought the car to a stop in front of her parents’ house, and her body jerked in alarm when his hands cupped her face, and he touched her mouth with his own. Turning her face, sliding her mouth from his, she whispered, “Alek, please, I’m so tired. All I want to do is go to bed.”

  Her action had placed her ear close to his lips and he replied, urgently, “Not nearly as badly as I do.”

  The words, his tone, sent a shaft of such intense longing through Tara, she was shocked, suddenly frightened. She didn’t understand these feelings he could so easily arouse, and in sheer self-defense, she whipped up her anger. Her hand gripped the door handle and pushed the door open as she moved away from him. “I’m going in,” she snapped. Then she turned to look directly at him and observe, “It seems to me that the only things men think about are sex and money.”

  “And that’s bad?” He laughed softly.

  “Don’t laugh at me, Alek,” she warned.

  “All right, I won’t,” came the indulgent reply.

  “And don’t patronize me either,” she cried, turning to jump from the car.

  His hand grasped her arm, forced her around to face him. “Whoa, take it easy.” His eyes glittered, his voice held a touch of concern. “You are tired. Sleep in tomorrow. I told you, I didn’t want you wearing yourself out.”

  His last statement brought color to her pale cheeks, a flash to her tired eyes. Who the hell was he to tell her anything?

  “Let me go, Alek.” She spoke through gritted teeth to keep from screaming at him. “I’m going inside.”

  Slamming the door as she got out of the car, Tara ran up the walk and had the key in the door lock when Alek caught up with her. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her back against him.

  “Tara, I know this evening wasn’t easy for you, but don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” His breath was a soft caress against her hair, and in a weak moment Tara let her head rest on his hard chest. “If you allow yourself to get this uptight every time we’re in the company of our friends, you’ll be a total wreck in no tune. Relax. Enjoy the attention you’re receiving as the bride-to-be. The decision to marry was yours, you know.”

  Renewed anger banished weariness temporarily and, twisting away from his arm violently, she said bitterly, “Oh, yes, I know, the final decision was mine. But I was left with little choice and I didn’t want, nor can I enjoy, the attention of my friends.” Sarcasm overlaid the bitterness as she added, “Now, if I have your permission, I’d like to go hi.”

  “Tara!”

  “Good night, Alek.”

  With that she turned the key, pushed the door open, stepped inside, and shut the door firmly in his face.

  The following two weeks rushed by hectically, Tara constantly fighting down the growing feeling of panic. What had she started? Would she go through with it? Was there any way she could stop it now? She knew the answer to that. Her mother’s happy face, as she sat carefully numbering the increasing flow of wedding gifts and arranging them on a long folding table her father had set up in the living room, gave it to her. There was a sparkle in her eyes as she smoothed work-reddened hands over the white tablecloth and touched, again and again, the obviously expensive gifts. She looked years younger and laughed often, and Tara felt trapped, afraid to go ahead, unable to step back. Betsy and Sallie were enjoying the preparations almost as much as her mother and through it all Tara plastered a smile on her face.

  She could find no escape, even in the office, and the smile grew brittle. Suddenly all the friends who’d been silent for weeks became very vocal and Tara had to fight down a mushrooming cynicism. God! She had never been so popular in her life. Totally unimpressed, she moved through the days, giving all the proper answers, laughing at all the proper times, and withdrew into her own hiding place inside herself. Denied even the solace of a room of her own, she cried inside, bitter, resentful tears that never touched her cheeks but lent a sparkle to her eyes that was mistaken for happiness, excitement. She drove herself in the office, rearranging files that were already in perfect order, cleaning desk drawers that had always been neat. She knew David attributed her industry to a desire to have her office in order for her replacement while she was on her honeymoon.

  The very word honeymoon, which she was beginning to hear more and more frequently in teasing tones, was enough to send a tiny flutter—of what? Fear—up her spine. And she was tired. Lord, was she tired.

  Tara looked forward to Thanksgiving as to an oasis in the desert. Although she would be spending most of the day with Alek, she hoped that, surrounded by family, she would be able to rest, relax, be herself. It seems, she told herself at the end of the day, that fools never learn.

  The arrangements were for her and Alek to have the traditional Thanksgiving dinner at one o’clock with her family then, in the evening, go on to his parents’ for a cold buffet. Alene and Peter had invited a few close friends to join them, Sallie and David included.

  Tara was blissfully alone in the kitchen Thanksgiving morning, humming to herself as she prepared vegetables for a salad, when Alek’s soft voice stalked across the room to her from the kitchen doorway.

  “Good morning, my love. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  As Tara jerked around from the sink with a startled “Oh,” the paring knife she’d been using slipped from her fingers and bounced around on the floor tiles, dangerously close to her ankles.

  “Careful!”

  Alek was across the room in three long strides, his hand outstretched to grasp her arm and pull her away.

  “Are you hurt? Did it hurt you? Why the hell did you let go of it?”

  The sharp, staccato questions struck her like blows and, feeling attacked, she answered defensively, “I—I ... you startled me.”

  He bent, retrieved the knife with his free hand, dropped it into the sink, then turned her into his arms, holding her loosely.

  “That is the second time you nearly injured yourself because, as you say, I startled you. Tara,” he said probing gently, “what is it about me that unnerves you so? Are you afraid of me?”

  How could she answer him? She didn’t know the answers anymore. She felt confused, uncertain. Oh, why had she started this? She was afraid of him. But why? And did he really think she’d ever admit it?”

  Snaking her head in negation, she said, lying, “Don’t be silly. I was deep in thought and—”

  “You won’t let me near you, will you?” he sighed. “You’re hiding behind that invisible fortress you’ve built around yourself. Tara, don’t you realize that while you’re locking me out, you’re also locking yourself in?”

  She didn’t want to listen to any more. Making a move to turn out of his arms, she snapped, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now go away so I can finish the salad.”

  His arms tightened, refusing to let her go. Bending his head, he whispered, “You didn’t return my greeting.”

  “But that’s all right, I prefer a silent one anyway.” His mouth caught hers, locking on firmly. Tara steeled herself to remain passive then felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach as his lips forced hers apart, demanding a response. Panic crawled through her when she felt the tip of his tongue, and her hands pushed against his chest. He reacted by dropping his hands to her hips, pulling her roughly against him. The hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her urgently.

  Her resistance weakened, and as her mouth grew softer, his became harder, bolder. She felt floaty, light-headed, and, her breath quickening in unison
with his, her arms snaked up around his neck and clung.

  Tightening his arms, he drew her even closer, his hands moving gently along her spine, pressing her softness against the long, hard length of his body. Thought disappeared and was replaced by sensations. The golden curtain dropped around them, and she felt a strange contentment seep through her. For the first time in weeks she felt safe, secure. Sighing softly, she allowed her lips to be parted yet farther, wanting to drown in the firm sweetness of his mouth.

  The slamming of the front door reverberated through her like shock waves, setting off an alarm in her mind. Her father’s voice, chastising Karl for letting it slam, brought both shame and reason. What did she think she was doing? Was her mind slipping? Was a soldier ever so weary, he sought rest in the camp of his enemy?

  With a small cry of self-disgust, she backed away from him, eyes closed in pain, her hand covering her quivering lips.

  “Tara?”

  Shaking her head wildly, she turned away. “Don’t say anything.”

  “Tara, this is ridiculous. If you’d—”

  “No! You make me sick. I make myself sick.” She spun around to face him, eyes wide, frightened, refusing to see the almost desperate expression in his eyes, to hear the almost pleading note in his voice. “You can go to—you can go to the living room. Keep my father company while I make the salad.”

  She had been speaking softly, tremulously. Now her tone went hard: “Go away, Alek.”

  He started toward her then stopped as the kitchen door was pushed open. Marlene’s voice preceded her into the room.

  “You should have come to church with us, Tara—” On seeing Alek she paused, hands behind her back as she tied an apron around her still slim waist. “Oh! Good morning, Alek. Happy Thanksgiving. I swear, if it wasn’t for the mouth-watering smell of that turkey in the oven, I wouldn’t believe it was Thanksgiving, it is so mild outside. Why—” She stopped, eyes swinging from Tara to Alek then back to Tara, suddenly feeling the tension that danced between the two. “Is”—she paused, wet her lips—”is anything wrong?”