Morning Rose, Evening Savage

by Amii Lorin

  The thought drove the pain deeper, and she stirred restlessly. There was the cause of her misery, the reason she could not stay with him. For he did not love her. What had his words been? She had no need to ask herself the questions, for she could hear his voice as if it had been yesterday: “If the only way I can have you is through marriage, I’ll marry you.”

  Just in time Tara caught back the sob that rose in her throat. If she stayed with him now, slept with him, he’d crush her spirit and independence. Loving him so deeply, she’d be like clay in his hands. His nearness made her ache; his touch set her on fire. Her dependence on him would grow, and within a short amount of time he could make a near-slave of her. And being the epitome of dominance, he would relish the enslavement. She would end hating herself and probably him as well.

  No, no, no, she told herself. She would not, she could not, let that happen. She must end it, now, this morning.

  As if it were a sign, he moved in his sleep, lifting his arm from her and flinging it back over his head. She was free and with a shiver she slid her naked body off the bed. Their robes lay in a heap where he had tossed them last night and, scooping hers up, she slipped into it and wrapped it around her slim form, tying the belt securely.

  Like a sleepwalker she moved to stand at the windows, staring down at the Sunday morning street empty of traffic, her arms wrapped around her trembling body.

  “Good morning, pansy eyes. Come back to bed.” Alek’s sleepy soft voice reached out across the room to envelop her like a caress. “There’s something I want to tell you. Something I forgot in the—uh—heat of the moment last night.”

  Tara shook her head, her fingers biting deeply into her upper arms in an effort to still her increased trembling.

  “Tara,” he crooned, “this bed is getting colder by the second. It’s early yet. Come back here and we’ll warm it together.”

  “No.” It sounded like a frog’s croak and Tara cleared her throat nervously.

  “No, Alek, I’m not coming back to bed with you. Not now. Not ever again.”

  The silence that blanketed the room had the cold stillness of death. Tara’s nails dug unmercifully into her flesh. Why didn’t he speak? Swear at her? Anything but this silence that seemed to stretch forever and tear her nerves apart. When he finally did speak, the sound of his voice was as chilling as the silence had been.

  “When you speak to me, Tara, please have the courtesy to look at me.”

  The insolent tone of his words had the same effect on Tara as if he’d smacked her with a cold, wet towel. She spun around, head up, eyes blazing with defiance. The sight of him stole the stinging retort from her lips. He had pushed himself back and up against the pillows, more in a reclining than a sitting position. His long torso, exposed to at least two inches below the naval, had a golden, toast-brown hue in the morning sunlight. He didn’t move or say anything, and yet the invitation was as clear as if he’d held out his arms and whispered, “Come to me.”

  And she wanted to. With every fiber and particle of her being, she wanted to. She had lain in this man’s arms all night. He had opened doors in her mind and body, shown her beauty she had never dreamed existed. For one sharp instant she felt not only willing to be his slave, but longed for it. She actually took one step toward him when her eyes touched his face, and she was stopped cold, pinned to the spot by two rapier-sharp points of glinting blue.

  “That’s better,” he said coolly. “Now what the hell is this all about?”

  Tara drew a deep calm breath. Somehow she had to match his coolness. “Exactly what I said, Alek. I won’t sleep with you again.” Lord, was that detached voice hers?

  “You can say that to me after last night?” Anger ruffled the coolness now. Anger and a touch of disbelief. “Do you have any idea how rare an experience like that is?”

  Without realizing it, she was shaking her head. She didn’t know, not really, but she was beginning to. So many things that she’d never quite understood began to make sense. “The world well lost for love”—that had always baffled her. The idea that anyone could turn his back on the world, or his own small corner of it, had been beyond her comprehension. Yet now, if he loved her, just a little, she would happily do just that. But he didn’t love her, and the knowledge was tearing her to shreds.

  Catching back the urge to put her pain into words, to cry out, “Alek, please love me,” she replied hoarsely, “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t matter?” His words were barely whispered, and yet the astonishment in them had the impact of a shout. His eyes closed briefly, and Tara told herself she misread the emotion she’d glimpsed in them. She knew she did not have the power to hurt him. The truth of this hit her forcefully when he lifted his lids, for his eyes were hard and cold and filled with contempt for her. He moved abruptly to get up and, startled, Tara stepped back, catching a glimpse of his long, muscular thigh before her lids veiled her eyes.

  “You can open your eyes now,” Alek murmured sardonically a few moments later, then his voice went flat. “Would you care to tell me what you intend to do?”

  He had put on his robe, and as Tara opened her eyes, he paced in front of her with the masculine, dangerous grace of a jaguar. Tara exhaled slowly before answering equally flatly, “Go back to my apartment. Go back to work. Get a divorce.”

  “Of course. This is the way you get your revenge. Right?”

  His voice was ominously soft and his eyes watched sharply, through narrowed lids, for her response.

  She didn’t disappoint him. Swallowing with difficulty she gasped, “You—you knew?”

  He sighed almost wearily. “Credit me with at least a little intelligence, Tara. You ran up the white flag too abruptly. Did an about-face too quickly to be believable. I knew at once you were up to something. It took me all of about ninety seconds to come up with the word revenge. You had decided to make me pay. My mistake was in thinking you were planning to make me pay through the wallet. I have to admit, you threw me when you refused an engagement ring. But then I decided you were waiting until everything was legal to put the bite on me.”

  Tara flinched and whispered, “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?”

  “I pushed you pretty hard,” he said quietly. “You were hurt and angry and wanted to retaliate.” Shrugging carelessly, he added, “I wanted you and I was willing to pay the price.”

  His words stung, brought a flush of color to her cheeks, and she said angrily, “Pay the price? Like I was a common—”

  “Don’t say it, Tara,” he cut in warningly. “That’s not true, so don’t ever say it.” He was quiet a moment, then he asked softly, “Last night wasn’t part of the plan, was it?”

  Tara wet her lips nervously and slid her eyes away from his, unable to maintain that hard blue contact. “There—there was no actual plan. I just felt I had to make you pay, somehow.”

  “And now you’re going to walk out of this room and out of my life?” She should have been warned by the silky sound of his voice but, in trying to hang on to her own composure, she missed it and answered calmly, “Yes.”

  “Think again.” Startled eyes flew back to his at the finality of his tone. Before she could protest, he went on blandly. “Have you thought what you are going to tell people? Sallie and David? The rest of your friends? The people you work with?” He paused, then underlined: “Your parents. Yesterday you were the picture of a gloriously happy bride. What can you give as a reason for leaving me? That you suddenly fell out of love? Hardly. That I beat you? Where are the marks? That I’m a terrible lover? Well, as everyone was convinced we anticipated our vows anyway, I don’t think that will do. So what can you tell them? Can you imagine what your father is going to say?” He paused again before adding ruthlessly, “Or your mother’s face?”

  Her mother! A low strangled moan escaped Tara’s lips. Dear Lord. She hadn’t thought. Had been too full of thoughts of him to spare any for anything or anyone else. A picture of her mother’s face
the day before, serenely happy, looking almost young again, formed in front of Tara’s eyes. In pain she closed her lids against the image.

  Insensitive to her distress, words hard, measured, as if underlined darkly, Alek drove on ruthlessly. “Which do you think will be harder for her to take? The idea of her daughter sleeping with a man without benefit of clergy or the fact of her daughter leaving her husband the day after a full Catholic wedding?”

  As he spoke, he walked slowly to her, coming to a stop so close, she could feel his breath on her hair. She kept her eyes tightly closed, vainly trying to control the shudder that ripped through her body at his nearness.

  “Look at me, Tara.”

  It was a command. One, his hard tone warned her, she dared not disobey. Slowly, she lifted her head and her eyelids, then swallowed with difficulty. His eyes were as cold and hard as the stone they matched.

  “As I said, you’d better think again. For if you go through with this, I won’t make it easy for you. In fact I’ll make it very hard. I’ll fight you publicly. Make an unholy field day for the newspapers.” His voice dropped to a menacing growl. “In short, Tara, I’ll tear you apart.”

  “But why?” Eyes wide with confusion and more than a little fear, Tara’s cry was one of despair.

  “The Rykovskys do not divorce.” Flat, final, the words struck her like blows. “You seem to forget, I also have parents. Who, by the way, love you already. I will not have them hurt.”

  His hands came up to cradle her face; long brown fingers, unbelievably gentle after his harsh words, brushed at the tears that had escaped her lids and rolled down her morning-shiny cheeks. His voice was now low, husky, yet still firmly determined. “No, Tara, You’ve made your bed and now we’ll lie in it. Together.”

  “No!” In desperation she jerked away from him. Away from his warm, caressing fingers. Those hard, compelling eyes. That hypnotic, druglike voice that was sapping the resistance from her body. She put the width of the room between them before she turned to face him again, eyes blazing. “I’ll stay with you. Play the role of the adoring wife. But I want nothing from you, either material or physical. I will not share your bed.” She paused to draw a deep, calming breath, then added quietly, “And if you try and force me, I’ll go, and to hell with the consequences.”

  “Don’t do this, Tara.” His quiet voice seemed to float on the angry silence left by her bitter words. “We could have a good life together if you’d—”

  Weakening, and frightened of it, Tara cut in scathingly, “If only I’d agree to every one of your dictates. Thank you, but no thank you. I’ve given you my terms, Alek. It’s the only way I’ll stay.”

  His face a mask, he studied her a moment, then turned away with a shrug so unconcerned, so indifferent, it sent a shaft of hot pain into Tara’s heart.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I think we’d better dress.” His detached tone deepened Tara’s pain. “I’m hungry, and I’d planned to stop for breakfast on the way to New York.”

  “You still want to go?” she gasped.

  He turned back swiftly, eyes hard and cold. “My dear wife, do we have a choice? The reservations are made. Everyone thinks we’re there now. Our only other option is to pen ourselves in this apartment for a week. Would you prefer that?”

  “No!” Tara answered quickly, then more slowly, “No, of course not. I—I’ll be ready in half an hour.” As she turned to escape his unyielding stare, his taunting voice stopped her on the threshold. “One more thing, Tara. I’m a normal male, with all the natural drives. I was fully prepared to live up to the vows I made yesterday, as regards fidelity. Your attitude changes that. Do you understand?”

  Tara froze, unable to force herself to look back at nun, a picture of the smirking Kitty locked in her mind. Fingers like ice, she pulled the door wide and stepped into the hall.

  “Do you?” Alek insisted.

  “Yes.”

  It was a hoarse whisper hanging in the air. Tara had fled.

  Chapter Nine

  The following Sunday afternoon Tara sat in a state of bemusement listening to her husband’s smooth, quiet voice as it blended with the low hum of the Lexus’s engine as they neared home.

  It had been a surprisingly relaxing week. Alek had revealed a facet of his character unseen by Tara up till now. He had been courteous and considerate, easygoing and almost light-hearted, as he squired her around New York.

  They had walked the city until she thought her legs would drop off, and she doubted there were any elaborate Christmas decorations anywhere that they had not admired. Secretly her favorites were the angels and the enormous tree in Rockefeller Center. They had started early every morning and had gone full tilt until after midnight every night. They had dined at a variety of restaurants, from the newest ‘in with the in people’ to the one of the oldest steak houses in the city.

  One night he took her dancing, surprising her even more on the dance floor with his perfectly executed, somewhat sensuous steps. And Tara had to admit to more than a twinge of pride and jealously at the blatantly admiring female glances cast over his long, slim form clothed in black shirt and pants that were as simple as they were devastatingly sexy.

  As they were having breakfast Wednesday morning Tara said suddenly, “Alek, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do some shopping today. I haven’t finished my Christmas shopping and I think it’d be fun, especially for Mama and Betsy, to receive gifts from New York.”

  “Why should I mind?” he asked blandly, then added sardonically, “It’s your honeymoon too, you know. I’m sure I can amuse myself for a few hours. Where would you like to go? Bloomingdale’s? Saks?”

  “I don’t know. The few times I’ve been in New York have been on day tours. Just time enough to see a show, squeeze in some sight-seeing. I’ve never done any shopping here.”

  “Bloomingdale’s,” he stated firmly. “If you’ve never been there, you’ll love it, and be able to find just about anything you want.”

  He was right. Tara was delighted with

  the store. When she had the time and money, she loved to shop. This morning she had both. When Alek had deposited her at

  the main entrance, he had handed her a no-limit platinum card with her name embossed on it, told her he’d be outside the same entrance at three o’clock, and added dryly, “Have fun.”

  Three o ‘clock? she had thought. What in the world was she to do for five hours? Time slipped away easily. At first Tara was content to stroll around aimlessly, fascinated with the unusual and varied selection of merchandise. When she finally did get down to serious shopping, she spent long minutes on her choice of gifts for her mother, Betsy, and Sallie, feeling a pang of guilt as the total of her purchases climbed alarmingly.

  With her father and brothers in mind, Tara wandered into the men’s department, growing suddenly taut with an intense longing. It seemed every third article her eyes touched screamed Alek’s name at her. Alek was always well groomed, and though Tara knew he had a huge closet full of beautifully tailored clothes, she wanted to buy him everything.

  For a few moments, a small smile on her lips, she allowed her thoughts to run riot, picturing low-slung expensive sports cars, sparkling white yachts, sleek-lined Thoroughbreds. Pulling her thoughts up short with a mental shake, she lovingly touched fine-knit cashmere sweaters, beautifully made raw-silk shirts.

  On the point of walking away, she stopped. Well, why not? It was Christmastime, wasn’t it? The time for giving gifts, also the excuse she needed. With a determined step she turned back, a happy gleam in her eyes, and promptly lost all sense of time. She bought discriminatory but lavishly, this time using a credit card from her own wallet, not caring about the rate of speed with which the bill totals rose.

  Tara could have gone on for hours, but a glimpse of her watch brought her shopping spree to an abrupt halt with a disbelieving gasp. It was a few minutes after three. She was keeping Alek waiting.

  Alek’s eyebrows rose in amusement when she finally
staggered out of the store under the weight of her packages.

  “When the lady says she’s going to shop, she’s going to shop,” he teased. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Oh, Alek,” she replied happily, unaware that for the first time since they’d met, she had responded to him warmly, spontaneously. “I’ve had a wonderful time and I’m starving.”

  She missed the quick narrowing of his eyes, his brief hesitation, for they were gone in a flash, and he was chiding her gently. “Didn’t you take time to have lunch?”

  “Lunch?” she laughed happily. “I never even thought of food.”

  Relieving her of the bulk of her burden, he helped her into the cab he had managed to hail and smiled dryly. “In that case I think we can find you a crust of bread and a glass of water somewhere.”

  After dropping her purchases in their room, Alek led Tara to a small table in the hotel’s bar. When he gave the waiter an order of a sandwich and coffee for her and only a drink for himself, she turned questioning eyes to him.

  Smiling easily, he murmured, “I didn’t forget to eat lunch.”

  Happy with her day and for the first time in weeks at peace in her own mind, Tara returned his smile with a brilliant one of her own. The waiter appeared at their table at the same moment, and Tara missed the low sound of breath catching in Alek’s throat, the fleeting expression of longing, of hunger in his eyes.

  At no time during the week had Alek made a move of a physical nature toward her. Other than taking her elbow while crossing streets and occasionally sliding his arm around her waist in extra crowded places, he did not touch her. Every night had been the same. He’d see her to their hotel room then go to the bar for thirty or so minutes to give her time to get into her nightgown and into one of the two double beds in the room.