She was grateful neither man noticed the paling of her cheeks and her sudden discomposure. Rex’s teasing comment was met by a startled rejoinder from Oliver.
“You’re taking her with you on the tour!” he exploded. “You can’t do that, Rex. The arrangements are all made.”
Rex was now stroking the back of Tamara’s neck as if she were a favorite kitten. “Then make new ones,” he said with a lazy grin. “She’s going with us, Scotty.” Despite the quiet good humor of his expression, there was a thread of pure steel in his voice.
Oliver’s face turned ruddy with anger. “Good Lord, Rex, why do you want to take her with you? She’ll just get in the way.” He gave Tamara a brief, assessing appraisal, causing the color once again to rise to her cheeks. That contemptuous glare might just as well have stripped her naked. “I admit she’s a beauty, but you’ve never felt the need of a live-in woman before. Lord knows there are enough of them willing to tumble into your bed on the road.”
“That’s enough, Scotty,” Rex said, frowning. “I said she was going.”
“Okay! But I’ll lay odds you’re going to regret it,” Scotty growled. “I’ll try to alter the arrangements.” His lips twisted cynically. “It shouldn’t be too difficult since you’ll be sharing a bed.”
This was too much! Tamara opened her mouth to tell this rude bastard what he could do with his arrangements, when Rex stopped her by placing a warning hand on hers.
“Easy, babe,” he said quickly, not looking at her. His dark gaze was fixed with flintlike hardness on Oliver’s belligerent face. “I’m going to tell you this once, Scotty, so I’d advise you to listen,” he said with dangerous softness. “I don’t want to hear you speak of Tamara in that tone ever again. You don’t have to like her, but you’ll treat her with courtesy and respect or I’ll take a great delight in punching your face in!” He suddenly relaxed and grinned with that irresistible, little-boy charm. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Scotty,” he continued coaxingly. “Don’t blow it!” He was idly playing with Tamara’s fingers. “And you’re wrong about the sleeping arrangements. I’d like to have her as close to me as possible, but Tamara will have her own bedroom.”
Anger, astonishment, and cautious speculation superseded each other on Oliver’s face. “Separate bedrooms?” he echoed. “She’s not your woman then?”
There was a curious expression in the midnight darkness of his eyes as Rex’s gaze shifted to Tamara’s face. It was a strange mixture of mischief, desire, regret, and something else that caused her breath to catch in her throat and her gaze to cling to his as if enthralled. “No, she’s not my woman,” he said gravely. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss in the palm. “She’s my lady.”
There was a touching gallantry in the way he uttered “my lady” in that honey dark voice. Tamara was instantly reminded of their recent teasing raillery about knights and chivalry, and she felt oddly moved. She was unable to withdraw either her hand or gaze from his, so lost was she in the strangely timeless moment. She was abruptly brought back to earth when Oliver’s voice cut through the misty mood like a finely honed razor.
“Charming,” he said sardonically. “But not very explanatory.”
Tamara quickly withdrew her hand from Rex’s and glanced at Oliver. She was instantly suspicious of the change in his demeanor. Before there had been impatience, anger, and careless contempt in his attitude toward her, but this had undergone a transformation—and not for the better. She sensed not only a chilly wariness, but also an almost menacing calculation in him now. She had an uneasy feeling Oliver was going to prove to be a very dangerous antagonist.
Rex chuckled ruefully and shook his head. “You don’t have to understand it, you just have to accept it, Scotty. I’m having a hell of a problem understanding it myself.” His expression sobered. “Now tell me about that deal you made with HBO to film the show tonight.”
For the remainder of the drive, Tamara was completely excluded from the conversation as the two men discussed residual contract clauses and percentages. Despite her dislike for the man, she grudgingly had to admit that Oliver sounded like a brilliant businessman and exceptionally good at his job as Rex’s manager. In addition there seemed to exist a respect between the two that obviously was built on a long and mutually satisfactory relationship. As the discussion continued, Oliver appeared to forget his former displeasure with his client and relaxed. He even chuckled a time or two at Rex’s wry remarks, and Tamara was amazed to see a glint of warm affection in those icy gray eyes.
She was so absorbed by the interaction between the two men that she scarcely noticed when the limousine turned into the underground parking garage of a towering modern apartment building. At the end of a ramp black wrought iron gates were electronically opened by a uniformed security guard, and the long, black limousine swept like a graceful bird into the parking garage, coming to a smooth halt a short distance from a row of elevators.
She had her first glimpse of the chauffeur when he jumped lightly from the front seat and opened the passenger door.
“How have you been, George?” Rex asked with easy camaraderie, as he got out and helped Tamara from the car. “This is Miss Ledford. She’ll be staying with us awhile. This is George Edgers, Tamara.”
“I’m very happy to meet you, Mr. Edgers,” Tamara said politely, as she took in the chauffeur’s massive proportions, curly, gray-flecked red hair, and wide, breezy grin.
“My pleasure, Miss Ledford,” he said with an admiring look. “I’ll bring the luggage right up, Mr. Brody.” He turned toward the trunk of the car.
“No hurry, George,” Rex said absently, as he took Tamara’s arm and led her past two more security guards seated at a desk before the elevators. Nothing was said, but Tamara felt the guards’ keen appraisal had cataloged everything about her including her shoe size.
“The security in this building appears to be pretty tight,” she commented.
“Scotty found the apartment for me. Security was first on his list of priorities,” Rex said, making a face. “You’ll get used to it.”
Oliver joined them as they entered the elevator, and punched the button for the penthouse. He checked his watch and said, “It’s almost four. I’ve told George to have the car ready at six. Would it be too much to expect you to be on time?”
Rex grimaced, not at all offended. “Save the sarcasm, Scotty. Have I ever missed a show?”
Oliver’s lips twisted. “No, but then you’ve never skipped three days of rehearsals either. How the hell do I know what you’re going to do these days.” He glanced meaningfully at Tamara.
“Relax,” Rex said, with a careless shrug. “Most of the music I’m doing tonight is my own stuff. Who should know it better?”
The elevator door whisked open and Rex escorted Tamara across an elegantly decorated foyer to the door opposite the elevator. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear, as he unlocked the door and threw it open.
It couldn’t have been less like her own home, Tamara thought wryly, as she preceded the men. The apartment was sleekly luxurious, as was to be expected from the little she’d seen of the building. The huge, sunken living room was plushly carpeted in a rich cinnamon shade that contrasted beautifully with the creamy beige contemporary furnishings. The focal point of the room was a wide, stone fireplace, fronted by a modular velvet-covered couch with oatmeal and rust throw pillows. The far end of the room was dominated by a lovely, mahogany, baby grand piano. Beyond it was a wall of sliding glass doors on which hung cream curtains with bold cinnamon stripes. There were a number of doors leading off this central area.
Not giving her a chance for a further appraisal of her surroundings, Rex half led, half pushed Tamara toward one of the doors to the left of the fireplace.
“This is your room,” he announced as he opened the door. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “It’s a little small. The master suite is much more spacious and you’d find the master most welcoming. Are y
ou sure you won’t change your mind?”
A fugitive smile tugged at her lips as her amused gaze drifted around the guest room. It was lavishly decorated in lavender and cream and was at least twice the size of her bedroom at home.
“I think I’ll be able to tolerate this without developing too bad a case of claustrophobia,” she said demurely.
“I was afraid of that.” He sighed. “Well, if you do change your mind, I’m right next door. Scotty is in the guest room across the living room.”
“He lives here?” Tamara asked, startled.
Rex shook his head. “He’s only staying here tonight. It’s more convenient since we’ll be leaving for Houston early tomorrow morning. We won’t have time to eat until after the show, so if you’re hungry you’d better grab a sandwich in the kitchen.” His lips curved. “I’d appreciate it if you’d try to be dressed by six or Scotty will be having kittens.”
She whirled to face him. “You expect me to go to the concert with you?”
“Of course,” he drawled. “From now on we’re going to be as close as Siamese twins. Where I go, you go, pansy eyes. Besides, you’ve never seen me perform. I’m told I’m fairly fantastic in concert, and I’d be a fool not to take the opportunity to impress you.” He made a face. “I’m obviously going to need all the help I can get.”
“You may be disappointed,” she answered. “I’m not very fond of popular music.”
“I suspected that. What could I expect of a woman who was clearly born in the wrong century?” he asked gloomily. “I’ll just have to rely on my stupendous talent to bridge the gap.” Before she could answer he leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her surprised lips. “I’ll see you at six.” He was gone before she could reply.
She was standing in the doorway gazing bemusedly after him when Scotty Oliver’s voice cut across her abstraction. “You must be a very clever young woman, Miss Ledford,” he said, his lips twisting cynically. When he’d entered the living room, he’d thrown himself on the couch in front of the fireplace and propped his feet on the ottoman. The laziness of his burly form was belied by the keen, narrowed eyes that were as alert and wary as a cat’s.
She half turned to face him, her expression as guarded as his own. “Clever?” she asked.
“Well, you’ve obviously got Rex panting like a puppy dog over you, and Rex is a very experienced man where women are concerned. He’s been able to have any chick he’s wanted since he was a kid, and in all that time I’ve never yet known him to let a pretty face interfere with his career.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Yes, I’d say you’re a very smart little cookie, Tamara Ledford.”
Tamara could feel her temper flare with the sheer injustice of Oliver’s insinuation. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Mr. Oliver,” she retorted. “But if you think I’m such a threat, why don’t you convince Rex to send me back to Somerset?”
“Believe me, I’ll be working on it,” Oliver assured her grimly. “So don’t get too used to the fringe benefits of being Rex’s latest toy, honey. Because it’s not going to last.”
“Fringe benefits?” Tamara asked, puzzled.
“Don’t try on that innocent bit with me,” Oliver said contemptuously. “One thing you’ll learn if you’re going to be around here for any length of time is that all of Rex’s financial transactions go through me. He may have called his secretary yesterday to take care of the details, but she automatically passed on the bills to me.”
“Bills?” Tamara shook her head. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you mean.”
Oliver pulled a small spiral notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “One complete designer wardrobe, expense no object. One Lotus sports car. One diamond and amethyst necklace.” He closed the notebook with a snap. “The last item is obviously meant to complement your eyes. Not a bad haul for three days’ work, Miss Ledford.”
“I suppose you have some idea what you’re talking about, but I certainly don’t,” Tamara snapped.
Oliver shoved the notebook in his pocket and, swinging his legs off the ottoman, stood up. “Come off it,” he said, squaring his jaw belligerently. “Rex may let you get away with that wide-eyed act, but spare me, please. Rex has always been generous with his little playmates and I’ve always felt it was none of my business. But you’ve been a little too greedy for me to stomach.” His words were shot at her with bulletlike hardness. “I’m not about to let you take him on a scale like that, and just so you’ll know I mean what I say, I’m going to tell you something that will probably hand you a big laugh. I love that kid. I’d have been damn happy to have a son like him. Beneath all that cynicism and toughness he’s the sweetest, most decent guy I’ve ever known.” He drew a deep breath, and then continued. “The car won’t be delivered until tomorrow, but the other items on the list were easier to obtain. They’re in the bedroom. I hope they meet with your approval.”
Tamara stared at him in shock for a long moment before she slowly turned and moved like a sleepwalker into the bedroom. She dropped the jacket she was carrying on the bed and turned to the mirrored closet, which occupied one entire wall of the room. She slowly slid back one of the doors.
She gasped involuntarily, feeling vaguely as if she’d been hit in the stomach. The closet was crammed with clothing of all hues and descriptions. Sport things, day dresses, evening gowns, furs, lingerie … The list was endless.
“The necklace is in the top drawer of the dresser,” Oliver drawled. He was leaning against the doorjamb, watching her. “It wouldn’t have done to have just left it lying around.”
Tamara slowly closed the closet door and walked numbly to the dresser, opened the drawer, and lifted out a black, oblong, leather box with a Tiffany label. She carefully opened the box and stared blankly at the necklace blazing in barbaric splendor against the black velvet interior. It was the most magnificent piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. The large square-cut amethysts were interspersed with diamonds that were masterly cut and sparkled with a rainbow of colors.
“Would you like to know how much it cost?” Oliver taunted. “I’d be glad to show you the bill. It would save you the trouble of having it appraised.”
“No!” Tamara choked. She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy with the tide of fury that was washing over her in red hot waves. Damn Rex Brody. How dare he put her in a position where she could be sneered at by the Olivers of this world? Did he actually think he could buy his way into her bed with these lavish offerings? She wouldn’t even admit to herself that her rage was fueled by a queer, poignant pain that he’d thought so little of her he believed she could be bought like a call girl. He had offered her carte blanche that first evening, but their relationship had undergone so much in the past three days she’d honestly believed he’d begun to understand her. And to think she’d actually begun to like the man!
She closed the jewelry box with a sharp click, whirled, and strode purposely to the door.
Oliver took one look at her flushed face and blazing eyes and slowly straightened, his own expression wary. “Where are you going?”
She brushed by him as he instinctively drew away from the almost tangible aura of rage surrounding her. “I’m on my way to strangle that sweet, decent guy you’re so fond of,” she said furiously. “And if you’re wise, you’ll stay out of my way or I just may start with you!”
Ignoring his look of startled alarm, she marched through the living room to the door on the other side of the fireplace, through which Rex had disappeared. Without bothering to knock, she threw the door open and stalked into a room that was almost twice the size of hers. She received a fleeting impression of midnight blue carpet and drapes, and a king-sized bed covered in a contrasting ice blue, before realizing that the room was empty. A door at the far end of the room was open, however, and the sound of a rich baritone voice singing cheerfully drifted from the room beyond. Without thinking, buoyed up by anger, she crossed the bedroom and marched belligerently through the door.
The singing broke
off abruptly as Rex looked up from the center of a huge, sunken, marble tub that might well have graced a seraglio. His dark eyes were twinkling mischievously as he drawled, “I know I said I was fantastic, but you didn’t really have to rush in here to see for yourself. I’m really much better onstage than in the bath.”
At first Tamara was disconcerted at the sight of him lying languidly, like a sultan awaiting his favorite handmaidens, in the sybaritic blue-veined marble tub. She had only a moment to be grateful for the fact that only a disturbing portion of his copper brown, muscular chest with its curly dark hair was revealed above the mountain of suds, floating on the water, before she remembered why she was there.
She impulsively took a step closer. “I won’t be around to see you perform in or out of the tub,” she said tightly, waving the black leather jewelry box in her hand. “I just came in here to return this.”
He picked up a loofa sponge and leisurely scrubbed his chest while his lazy appraisal took in her flushed face, blazing eyes, and general air of barely suppressed rage. “You’re angry,” he observed calmly, tilting his dark head to grin at her mockingly. “Now what could I have done to deserve that in the past ten minutes?”
Tamara opened the jewelry box, took out the necklace, and held the beautiful thing outstretched before her as if it were a poisonous snake. “Was I supposed to be impressed by this little bauble?” she asked hotly. “Well, I find it as flashy and vulgar as the man who chose it. I have no use for it so I’d suggest you give it to one of your other women.” With that she dropped the necklace into the sunken tub and tossed the leather case in after it. She whirled to leave with a feeling of grim satisfaction, only to feel one slender ankle grasped in an iron hand.
No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) Page 9