Bride of the Tiger

by Heather Graham

  “Is someone trying to trail that car?” Rafe asked tensely.

  “Sí. They will search for the car. We will do our best. Now, Miss Hill, you are certain you have heard nothing from this man, Tine Elliott, in the two years since he disappeared.”

  She knew that she was trembling. With outrage, with remembrance—with fear. “I’m positive!”

  The officer nodded. “We’ll take you back to the hotel. Please, don’t wander around in the future.”

  “She won’t,” Rafe said grimly.

  They returned to the hotel in the police car. It was a silent party. Tara was grateful to Rafe for his appearance, but despite her fear, anger was coming to a boil within her. Perhaps it was even the fear that was fueling the anger. She didn’t know.

  In the lobby, she suddenly balked, staring at Rafe. “Maybe you don’t care about your uncle’s health, but I do!” She spun around to face Sam. “Are you all right? I don’t know why he’s ignoring your existence, but I appreciate very much what you tried to do, and I’m concerned that you could have been hurt.”

  Sam flushed—his face crimson against the white of his hair. “I’m fine. Just a little dusty. A shower will take care of everything.”

  Sam wasn’t going to give her a chance for any more questions. He waved quickly and disappeared into an elevator with an already closing door.

  “Someone should find George and tell him what happened,” Ashley murmured, and whether she was in earnest or merely wanted to escape the two of them, Tara didn’t know. But the redhead gave them a weak smile and disappeared into the lounge.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Rafe asked Tara, looking her over thoroughly. “Maybe I should have taken you to the hospital—”

  “I’m fine. I haven’t got a scratch on me!” Tara snapped.

  “Oh.” He gazed at her again, more intently and seemed to stiffen. “Shall we talk upstairs?”

  “Definitely.”

  They went up in the elevator, standing apart, exchanging not a word. Rafe opened his door.

  Tara stepped in first. Rafe followed, pulling his dusty polo shirt over his head and tossing it in the corner.

  “Should I order drinks?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think you probably should,” Tara said coolly. She wasn’t feeling cool at all. She didn’t know if she was still terrified—Tine was here! Alive! After her!—or merely devastated.

  She didn’t think that she could take it if everything she thought she knew about Rafe was a lie.

  He walked to the phone and requested room service, gazing at her questioningly. She didn’t speak, so he just ordered a bottle of rum and some Cokes.

  He set the phone down and stood there, watching her with his jaw set, but a little warily, too, she thought. He knew what was coming.

  “All right. What?” he asked.

  “You don’t need to ask that.”

  “Apparently I do.”

  “Okay. Sam was on the ship. Sam was following me today. Sam was with you in the restaurant. If this man is your uncle, why was he hiding on the ship?”

  “He wasn’t hiding.”

  “You gave me an engagement ring. Most men would introduce a handy relative to the woman they claimed they intended to marry.”

  He didn’t blink. He just stood there in his jeans, feet slightly apart, muscled chest bare, flesh a little dusty. She almost lowered her eyes from his. He had that tiger look again. A look of cunning, of sleek power.

  “Is he or isn’t he a relative?”

  Rafe cocked his head slightly. “He is—and he isn’t. He worked for my father, and he works for me. But he met me the day I was born, so he’s definitely family.”

  There was a knock at the door. Room service had arrived. Rafe let the man in, signed the bill, then fixed two drinks.

  Strong drinks, Tara noticed. Well, he wasn’t going to make her veer from her purpose.

  He intended to, though. He handed her a glass that held far more rum than Coke and demanded a little harshly, “I don’t think that Sam is really the important question at the moment. Someone just attempted to abduct you.”

  “I’m very aware of that.”

  “Are you? Good. There’s safety in awareness.”

  “Rafe, what’s going on!”

  Tara realized then that neither of them had sat down. Nor were they touching. They were very carefully circling each other. For a moment, she thought that she was going to burst into tears. She didn’t want suspicions. She wanted to run into his arms and believe that he could protect her against the Tines of the world forever.

  And—oh, God!—she wanted to believe that he wasn’t another Tine himself!

  “Tara, I made Sam come in and eat lunch with me because I knew that you were in there—I overheard you tell your taxi driver to take you to the Oak Room. And I asked him to come on the trip for the same reason that I asked him to follow you today—to keep an eye on you.”

  She swallowed, feeling a smothering sensation come over her. He couldn’t be like Tine, watching her, following her, spying on her.

  “And you arrived so opportunely today because Sam called you to tell you that I’d left the hotel?” she asked him incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “Where were you, really?”

  He hesitated. “At the police station. I wanted to see if anything new had been discovered. If they thought that there was any possibility that Tine was still in the country. All right! Yes, damn it! Sam was watching you, with orders to tell me if you left the hotel.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” It seemed as if his temper suddenly snapped. “You little idiot, that’s obvious!”

  “Don’t call me an idiot!”

  “You went off, alone!”

  She shook her head. “I went to the glass factory, to a place that’s always full of tourists—”

  “And you almost met your ex-lover again. I didn’t interrupt something you were looking forward to, did I?”

  She remained deathly still; the only sound in the room was her sharp and horrified gasp.

  She didn’t say anything to him; she merely set her drink down on the bedside table and turned around sharply, heading for the door to her room.

  “Tara!” He caught her arm, bringing her back around, closing his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

  “No! Let me go!”

  “I can’t, Tara! I’m sorry. I just get frightened now and then myself. My God. I love you so much—”

  Something inside her snapped, too. It was the shattering truth of the day. She was in Caracas and Tine was in Caracas, and he was going to get her if he could. She was overwhelmed by a memory of the past that she couldn’t bear. A memory of being held and forced, helpless beneath a greater strength.

  She panicked. She gasped out inarticulate words and beat against his chest.

  And Rafe didn’t understand. He knew only that he loved her, that deep inside he was very afraid. He was afraid that she could be taken, that he wouldn’t be there to help her.

  Fear that he was a fool. That she didn’t really want his help. That he had given his heart and soul to some beautiful temptress, the same one who had caused Jimmy’s downfall....

  “Tara, stop it, I love you!”

  Savagely, he swept her into his arms, carrying them both down hard on the bed. He was half tenderness, half fury. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to assure her. He wanted to erase the past.

  “Tara!”

  She stopped hitting him. Her eyes were blank. She was as pale as a sheet.

  He knew an even greater terror as he watched her.

  He moved to the side of the bed, kneeling beside it. He stroked her face, his heart thundering madly. A doctor, he needed a doctor.

  “Tara, it’s all right. Tara! Come back to me! I won’t touch you. My God, what’s wrong?”

  He drew a shaking finger down her cheek. “I love you. Talk to me. Talk to me. Tara, what’s wrong?”

  Tears came into her eyes
and overflowed when she saw him there. “Oh, Rafe!”

  “I’m here!”

  Her arms curled around his neck. He held her there, smoothing back her hair while she cried. And somehow, in whispered words, in broken words, the whole story of that last awful day came out, and what she didn’t say, he could piece together. He stiffened as she spoke, knowing that if he ever met Tine Elliott, he would want to kill the man, to tear him into fragments of spindrift to throw to the wind.

  She was quiet after a while. He stretched out beside her and held her, her head against his chest, still moving his fingers through her hair with a trembling tenderness.

  “I love you, Tara. I would never, never hurt you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “My God, I’d like to kill him.” He felt the little skip and beat of her heart.

  “He wouldn’t be worth it,” she whispered. And then she buried her face against his chest in such aching trust that he could hardly bear it. “He is out there, though. I know he’s out there.”

  Then where is Jimmy? He almost shouted the words, but he didn’t. They’d gone too far today; she couldn’t take any more shocks.

  And no matter how he loved and trusted her, there was always that last little doubt that he couldn’t ignore. If it were just him, he would. He would be a fool; he’d gladly give his life; he’d gamble on his love.

  But it wasn’t just him. Jimmy was still somewhere. Either dead or alive.

  Her tears were damp on his chest. Mechanically, he continued to soothe her, his thoughts meeting a blank wall. He brought her tear-streaked face to his and kissed her, and that kiss led to another, and suddenly it kindled a fire. Dirt and dishevelment didn’t mean a thing as they made love.

  The room grew dark. Rafe mixed another drink; they were able to laugh at each other’s appearance, and then move into the shower together.

  Rafe emerged before she did. He stood by the window and looked out as darkness began to descend in earnest on the city.

  He should make her go home. He should dress, drive her to the airport, make reservations for two, and go home with her.

  But he couldn’t do that. There was Jimmy to think about.

  And there was Tine Elliott. Rafe had too many scores to settle with the man.

  The only thing that he could do was stick with Tara. Stick tighter than glue.

  And be ready.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tara awoke the next morning because the phone was ringing. She really didn’t want to open her eyes, and she didn’t have to at first—Rafe picked up the phone.

  But when she heard him say a sleepy good-morning to George Galliard, she knew that she was going to have to take the call. Rafe handed the receiver to her expressionlessly, and she took it.

  “Good morning, George.”

  He called her “ma petite” and went on and on, telling her that he hadn’t called last night because he had been sure that she had been resting. Tara thought that he knew she hadn’t actually been resting, but perhaps he was being polite.

  He went on and on—she didn’t really get a chance to say anything for what seemed like a full five minutes. He was terribly worried. Perhaps she should board the next plane back to the States. Was she all right? How did she feel? If she couldn’t manage the show, they could manage.

  “Ah, Tara, Tara, Tara! I thought it would be good to bring you back here. I thought that nothing would happen, that you would go back to living normally—relaxed, you know. And instead, this!”

  “George, I wasn’t hurt at all,” Tara said. “I’m fine. I can do the show with absolutely no difficulty.”

  “But your safety, ma chérie!”

  “George—what can happen to me in an entire roomful of people?”

  “Perhaps it was not Tine at all. Perhaps it was a random happening.”

  “Perhaps it was,” Tara agreed. She didn’t believe it—not for a second. She wished that she could. Tine Elliott was out there. God alone knew why; he hadn’t really loved her. Ever. He was probably incapable of really loving anyone.

  “Still, maybe you should get on the next plane.”

  That was definitely another thing she had thought about herself. Rafe had suggested it last night, quietly, when room service had delivered their dinner.

  And it had been a great temptation. But it would have been wrong. What she needed to do was plan a way to trap Tine. If he wanted her—for whatever reason—he could find her. Maybe he had just been lying in wait down here, but she would never doubt that with his resources he could obtain false papers, a false identity—and come after her, wherever she went.

  “I’m fine, George. The police have been alerted. I don’t want to go.”

  “Bravo! We should end this thing, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I shall see you soon. I’m sure that you are as safe as you can possibly be, with Rafe Tyler at your side.”

  She didn’t glance Rafe’s way. “Yes,” she told George softly.

  George repeated that he would see her soon and rang off. Rafe silently took the receiver back from Tara and set it on its cradle.

  He gazed at her with arched brows, and she drew the covers up around her chest, hugging herself a little nervously.

  “He thinks I should leave.”

  His eyes moved from hers, and he spoke very quietly. “So do I. And then again, I don’t. I don’t like the idea of your being frightened for the rest of your life because Tine Elliott might reappear.”

  “It’s not just Tine,” Tara murmured. She lowered her eyes to her hands, nervously clutching the sheets. “I don’t think anyone ever believed me about Jimmy Saunders. No, I shouldn’t say that. George believed me, and the girls believed me. But—well, I wasn’t really that close to any of them. Not the way I’ve become now. I could only have lunch, shop and do that type of thing when Tine was off on business—smuggling, as it turned out. The fact that I met Jimmy, that he had become such a friend so quickly, was something I hadn’t told anyone about, and so of course it looked like I was making things up.”

  She looked up; Rafe had moved. His feet were on the floor; his naked back was to her.

  He seemed so stiff, as if all the muscles in his back and shoulders had tensed.

  “Rafe?”

  “I’m going to hop in the shower,” he told her.

  He stood, heedless of his naked state, entirely graceful and natural, and started for the shower. He disappeared into the bathroom, then paused a minute and turned back to her.

  There seemed to be a careful mask over his features. He smiled. “Are you going to join me?”

  Something in her expression must have given away her concern at his appearance. He came back to her and kissed her nose, then her lips.

  “Going to join me?” he asked more huskily.

  “Rafe?”

  “I love you,” he told her suddenly. He said the words with a vehemence and passion that was startling, then caught her chin in his palm, tilting her face to his and repeated his words more softly.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered. They stared at each other. The phone started to ring. Rafe swore softly and answered it.

  “Mary. Good morning. Yes, she’s absolutely fine. Yes, she’s coming down to work. Here, I’m sure you’ll feel better talking to her yourself.”

  With a grimace, he handed the phone to Tara. “I’ll start without you,” he told Tara in a mockingly aggrieved tone, clamping a hand over the receiver as he gave it to her. She laughed softly and told him she’d be there in just a second, covering the receiver herself to hide her own whisper.

  Tara watched him walk into the bathroom, her heart thudding harder with emotion. He was beautiful, she thought. A bit savage, a bit primitive, and completely sophisticated all in one. A very elite tiger, a totally unique and independent cat. She bit her lip softly, so glad that he existed, so glad that he had chosen to love her.

  Especially now. Any other man would have turned from her with all
of this hanging over her head, with an ex-lover who was a smuggler, possibly a murderer...

  And seeking some form of revenge, or something, from her.

  But Rafe loved her. And it was so easy to love him back. The attraction was as natural as breathing; the ecstasy that had been such a physical tie had become something so much more.

  She remembered that Mary was on the phone, and she jerked her hand off the receiver. “Mary!”

  “You okay?” Mary asked, although Tara was certain that Mary had already been informed that she was fine.

  “Yes, completely. Thanks for asking, though. Thanks for caring.”

  “Well, I suppose a person always wants to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

  “I look like a horse, huh?”

  “Sure. A Thoroughbred. Where’s Rafe right now?”

  “In the shower. Why?”

  “Good. I didn’t want your expression to change any. I have to talk to you, Tara.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t want to talk over the phone. You are coming down for the show, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t run off as soon as it’s over. I have something to tell you.”

  “About Rafe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mary...”

  She fought it; she fought the horrible sensation sweeping over her. She had been so in love. She was still in love, terribly in love, ridiculously in love. The fear didn’t change that. But it did make her skin damp and clammy, caused goose bumps to appear on her flesh.

  There just couldn’t be anything wrong about Rafe, about the depths of her feelings, the need, the desire.

  “Mary.” She forced herself to inhale smoothly. “Mary, should I be afraid of Rafe?”

  “Afraid of him? Of him harming you physically? Oh, no! Sorry, Tara, I forgot how sensitive you must be. No, no. That’s not what I meant at all. I just think there’s something you ought to know if you don’t already.”

  “Mary—”

  “I don’t want to talk on these phones. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  The phone clicked and buzzed. Mary meant it—she wasn’t going to talk on the phone.

  “Great!” Tara muttered. “Get me all upset and hang up on me! Just what I need!”