No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores)

by Iris Johansen

  She wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t been pleased at the difference the beautiful ensemble made in her appearance, and that pleasure helped to alleviate partially the resentment she was feeling both at herself and Rex. The first flush of anger had gradually faded, but she was still filled with an odd hurt mixed with a distinct coolness toward him that she recognized as a bit unreasonable. He’d been perfectly honest about his intentions of luring her into an affair with him, and if she hadn’t been so foolish as to be swayed by that potent sex appeal, the episode in his bath would never have occurred. He’d said he wouldn’t take her until she was willing, and oddly she had complete trust in his word. She didn’t like to admit even to herself how close Rex had already come to reaching his objective. No one could have been more willing than she before he had dropped that remark that shocked her to her senses.

  She was a little amazed, though, that the realization that she was just one of a long line of women attracted to the dark fascination of Rex Brody had goaded her into such physical violence. She was discovering new and not altogether pleasant facets of her character since he had appeared in her life. She would never have believed a week ago anyone could so shake her cool control!

  Well, she might not have to worry about resisting his future advances. Not many men would still find a woman attractive after she’d not only rejected his lovemaking at a very sensitive point, but had physically humiliated him as well. She’d better prepare herself for a summary dismissal from his life.

  Promptly at six there was a brisk knock on her bedroom door and she opened it, bracing herself instinctively for the cold anger she was sure would be awaiting her.

  Rex’s eyes widened as he took in her dazzling beauty. “Lord, you’re gorgeous in that!” he said huskily. His coal dark eyes twinkled mischievously. “Would you accuse me of relegating you to the past again if I tell you that Esther must have looked like you when she first appeared before King Ahasuerus?”

  Tamara shook her head. “Actually, I find the biblical reference quite appropriate coming from a man who probably has had as many women as Solomon,” she replied tartly. She was experiencing a queer, breathless relief as she detected in Rex no trace of the anger or coldness she’d expected. The realization sent a jolt of panicky dismay through her that immediately brought her guard up.

  “Ouch!” Rex said, grimacing. “I don’t know if I should be flattered at your assumption of my sexual prowess or insulted you think me so lacking in discrimination. I might remind you that though Solomon had hundreds of women, there was only one Sheba for him.” He grinned boyishly. “While we’re speaking of biblical references, that was quite a baptism you gave me earlier.”

  She searched his face but could see nothing but a wry amusement. “You deserved it,” she said belligerently. Then, unable to contain her curiosity, added, “Why aren’t you angry with me?”

  “Believe me, sweetheart, I was furious when you marched out of that bathroom,” he said. “But then I realized what had turned you off and I admit to feeling pleased.”

  “Pleased?”

  He nodded. “Yep, I realized I’d evidently made more progress with you than I’d thought if you were showing signs of jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?” Tamara sputtered, indignant. “Rex Brody, I was not—”

  “Scotty is waiting downstairs in the car,” he interrupted soothingly, taking her arm and drawing her from the room. “We’ll talk about it later, babe.”

  But once they were in the limousine Scotty Oliver, looking surprisingly elegant in dark evening clothes, immediately engaged Rex in a business discussion that lasted the entire trip to Carnegie Hall. It wasn’t until they’d entered the stage door and Rex was about to go to his dressing room that either man again acknowledged her presence.

  “I’ve arranged for Miss Ledford to have a house seat in the third row,” Oliver said briskly. “I’ll have an usher escort her out front while you check with the orchestra about that change in the arrangement you mentioned.”

  Rex shook his head. “I don’t want her out front,” he said flatly. “I want her in the wings where I can see her. Get her a stool and put her someplace where she won’t get run over.”

  Oliver muttered something under his breath, casting Tamara a look of annoyance. “For pete’s sake, Rex, she’ll just get in the way,” he exploded. “Let her sit in the audience and I’ll have her brought backstage after the performance.”

  Rex’s lips tightened and his midnight dark eyes turned flint hard. “I want her in the wings,” he repeated distinctly. “And I want you to take care of her, Scotty.” Without waiting for an answer he turned and strode rapidly down the corridor, leaving a very disgruntled Scotty Oliver gazing after him.

  “If you’ll just show me where to sit, you can go about your business, Mr. Oliver,” Tamara said stiffly. “I assure you I don’t want or need either your care or your company.”

  Taking her by the arm, he propelled her swiftly down the hall. “You heard him,” he said tersely, a black scowl on his face. “I’m supposed to watch out for you. I know better than to argue with Rex when he’s in this mood.” He shot her a bitter, sidelong glance. “You may think you have him as tame as a pussy cat, but you’re in for a surprise, Miss Ledford. I’ve known Rex since he was a tough street kid and that easygoing façade is very deceptive. Beneath it you’ll find a layer of pure steel.”

  Pussy cat? Tamara almost laughed in his face. Of all the facets of his character that Rex had shown her in the past few days, she’d seen no signs of the indulgent tameness Oliver mentioned. Even in his gentler moods, he had the sheathed menace of a playful tiger cub.

  “You needn’t worry about my underestimating your client,” Tamara said dryly. “I assure you I know exactly how tough that street kid can be.”

  They’d reached the wings of the stage now and Oliver set about finding the required stool for Tamara as well as one for himself. It appeared he had been quite serious about obeying Rex’s injunction to take care of her. Tamara was interested in spite of herself in the whirlwind of activity that was taking place backstage. There seemed to be an incredible number of technicians and sound men bustling about, as well as a full orchestra tuning up their instruments onstage.

  “There seem to be quite a few people involved in his one-man show,” she remarked, as Oliver settled his impressive bulk on the stool next to her.

  He gave the scurrying technicians a cursory glance. “It’s expected that we provide a little window dressing,” he said with a shrug. “But none of it will matter once Rex walks onstage. The audience won’t notice anything but him.”

  “Don’t you think you may be a trifle prejudiced in his favor?” Tamara asked skeptically. “He can’t be all that good.”

  There was an odd flicker in Oliver’s ice-gray eyes. “Rex said you hadn’t ever seen him perform. I thought you were just conning him. But you really haven’t seen him, have you?”

  She shook her head impatiently. She was getting a bit tired of this incredulous response to her ignorance of Rex’s work. “I’m not interested in pop music,” she explained crossly. It seemed she’d repeated that quite a bit lately.

  Oliver arched a mocking eyebrow. “Tell me that after you see him in action. I’d like to get your reactions after the concert.”

  “You must be a very good agent, Mr. Oliver,” she said lightly. “You certainly believe in the product you’re selling.”

  “I don’t have to promote Rex, he sells himself. He’s probably the premier performer in the world today. I’ve never seen anyone generate as much electricity onstage. The man practically carries on a love affair with the audience.” As Tamara continued to stare perplexedly at him, he frowned in frustration. “Hell, there’s no way I can really define it. You’ll see what I mean.”

  And she did. By the time Rex was doing his last song before the intermission, Tamara was as dazed and enthralled as the wildly responsive audience.

  “My word, how does he do it?” she whisp
ered wonderingly, her eyes fixed on the vibrant figure in the center of the stage. He was sitting on a simple stool much like hers, his fingers rippling over the strings of his guitar while his rich baritone notes soared out over the breathlessly quiet audience. She could see what Oliver meant about Rex not needing props. They would only detract from the magnetism he exuded. Even his clothes were simple. His fitted, black suede pants hugged his muscular thighs and his white shirt with its long, full sleeves reminded her vaguely of a pirate’s romantic garb. The top few buttons of the shirt were left open to reveal the corded, hair-roughened muscles of his chest. “He’s practically mesmerizing them. How does he do it?”

  “I used to wonder about that myself,” Oliver said, his thoughtful gaze also on Rex. “His voice is damn good, but I’ve heard better. He’s good-looking, but not fantastically handsome. I finally decided that it was sheer love. He’s so passionately in love with his damn music!” He shrugged. “I guess the audience feels it and responds. He should never have quit performing. It was a mistake. He needs it to complete him.”

  “But the songs of his I’ve heard tonight are so incredibly beautiful,” she protested. “Surely the creation of such music must give its own satisfaction.”

  “Maybe,” he said absently. “But look at his face.”

  Tamara could see what Oliver meant. Rex’s expression was lit from within in wild exhilaration, and he looked more vividly alive than anyone she’d ever seen. “Why did he give it up?”

  “He was tired. Being a superstar can be the most demanding and confining career in the world, and he’d been at the top of the heap since he was nineteen. He’d become so popular that the personal appearances were interfering with his composing. So he just threw in the towel and swore he’d never perform again.” Oliver smiled. “I knew he’d get bored eventually. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did.”

  Rex had finished his song and had risen to his feet, one arm raised to acknowledge the wild acclaim he was receiving from the audience. Tamara could almost feel the waves of emotion pouring out to surround his exultant figure. How incredibly heady to be the recipient of that overpowering adoration, she thought, awed. It would make one feel almost godlike to inspire such a response.

  Then he was running lithely offstage, his face dewed with perspiration, his dark eyes blazing with excitement. He paused beside them for a brief moment, accepting the towel Oliver handed him and patting his brow. “Well, am I fantastic or not?” he asked jubilantly, with the endearing egotism of a little boy begging for praise. “Did you like me, sweetheart?”

  Her lips curved in a teasing smile. “I liked you very much,” she assured him indulgently. “And yes, you’re utterly fantastic.”

  “Great!” he said. He handed the towel back to Scotty and gave her a breezy grin. “Wait until you see the second half. I’ve just been winding up!” He bent forward and gave her a quick kiss full on the mouth before he walked swiftly toward his dressing room.

  Rex exploded into novalike brilliance the moment he stepped onstage after the intermission. He had, indeed, just been winding up during the first part of the show, Tamara thought breathlessly. He went from peak to peak and took the audience with him, until they were drunk and almost hysterical with emotion. He did three encores at the end of the show, and the roaring audience was on its feet demanding more when he raised both his arms and grinned beguilingly.

  “I don’t want to leave you, either,” he said in a husky voice. “Will you let me sing one more song?”

  The answer from the crowd probably shook the rafters of the stately old concert hall.

  “Terrific,” he said, as he settled back on the stool. “Because this is a very special song. It’s brand new and it’s for my lady.”

  Tamara’s breath caught in her throat and she barely heard the first few chords of the guitar or the surprised murmur that ran through the auditorium.

  Sweet my lady, weave your magic spell.

  Bring me to your arms and let me love.

  The throbbing, beautiful notes flowed out with a curious intimacy into the darkness, and Rex’s face as he sang them had a sensual poignancy that was almost as moving as the song itself.

  There were tears flowing down Tamara’s face as the last note died away. “It’s so lovely,” she murmured.

  “It’s better than that,” Oliver said, a trace of excitement in his gravelly voice. “It’ll probably go platinum!”

  With a wave of acknowledgement, Rex made his final exit from the stage. This time he didn’t stop but continued straight down the corridor to his dressing room, surrounded by musicians and technicians eager to congratulate him. Tamara felt an odd sense of desolation as he disappeared from view.

  “Well, Miss Ledford, how does it feel to have the foremost pop composer in America write a song for you?” Oliver’s voice cut caustically across the euphoric plane she’d been wafted to when Rex had announced his dedication.

  But she wouldn’t let Oliver’s sarcasm destroy this moment. “It’s the loveliest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said with quiet sincerity.

  There was a flicker of surprise in Oliver’s gray eyes before he said, reluctantly, “If you can manage to inspire any more songs of that caliber, you may be an asset after all.”

  “That’s very generous of you to say so,” she said, her violet eyes twinkling. “Do you think I may even be worth the Lotus?”

  “Rex told me you wouldn’t take the car … or the necklace,” he said gruffly. Then quickly standing up, he helped her down from the stool. “Come on, it’s time we got moving. Rex is having a press conference in his dressing room, and I promised I’d deliver you when they were about ten minutes into the interview.”

  “Won’t he be tired after the show?” she asked, accompanying Oliver obediently. “I’d think he’d be too drained to bother with the press.”

  “Not Rex. He’s so full of adrenaline he’s high as a kite after a performance.”

  They’d reached the dressing room and Oliver opened the door and aggressively pushed their way into the small room that was crowded with reporters. They were ignored by the press, which concentrated with single-minded attention on Rex’s vital, magnetic figure, sprawled in a chair. Oliver and Tamara stood in the back of the room watching as he answered some questions and parried others good-naturedly.

  Tamara was sure he hadn’t noticed their presence until one reporter asked sharply, “Your last song came as quite a surprise, Rex. It’s the first time you’ve ever dedicated a song to anyone. Who is ‘my lady’?”

  Rex smiled slowly. “I thought you’d ask that. Tamara!”

  The crowd of reporters parted as Rex beckoned in Tamara’s direction. Oh no, he wouldn’t expose her to this, would he? It seemed he would. Oliver nudged her firmly in the small of her back, propelling her forward, and she reluctantly made her way to Rex’s seated figure. She could feel the color flood her cheeks as he took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. “Gentlemen, this is ‘my lady,’ Tamara Ledford.”

  There was an immediate volley of questions that Rex deftly parried until one reporter queried if Tamara was an actress or in the entertainment field.

  Rex’s eyes lit with mischief as he continued to hold Tamara’s hand firmly in his own. “I can see how you might think so,” he drawled. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” There was a murmur of laughing assent and he continued solemnly, “Actually, her occupation is slightly more bizarre. Tamara is a genuine, card-carrying witch. How else do you think she beguiled me into writing that song for her?”

  There was a burst of laughter from the reporters and Tamara’s embarrassment and annoyance increased tenfold. But Rex wasn’t through. “I’m quite serious,” he said, with a grin that belied his words. “It’s the eye of newt keeping her complexion that satin smooth, and she can brew up a love potion that can lay any man low.” He looked up and winked outrageously into her angry face. “She’s a very dangerous lady.”

  Before she could make the indignant
response this remark deserved, Rex quickly changed the subject and released her hand. Oliver was beside her instantly, adroitly extricating her from the crowd and out of the room. She soon found herself outside the concert hall and bustled into a taxi.

  SEVEN

  AS THEY PULLED away from the hall, Oliver turned to her with a frown. “Rex wanted to send you home in the limousine, but I talked him out of it. He’s going to need all the protection he can get when he leaves the hall. That crowd at the stage door will tear him apart.”

  Tamara was still so annoyed at Rex’s blatant ridicule of her before the reporters that she didn’t answer. She was silently fuming during the entire drive to the apartment.

  When Oliver had escorted her to the apartment door, he took a final look at her angry face and said dryly, “I have to make an appearance at a party the promoters of the concert are giving, since Rex is coming right home. You won’t try to drown him again before I get back, will you?”

  Her violet eyes flashed fire. “I might, Mr. Oliver. I just might!” She entered the apartment and slammed the door behind her.

  She strode furiously into the bedroom, dropped the sumptuous cloak on the bed, stripped off the rest of her clothes, and stuffed her hair into a shower cap. She stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on full blast, letting the spray wash away a tiny amount of the irritation she was feeling toward Rex. What had possessed him to embarrass her in front of all those reporters, she wondered in exasperation. He’d known she preferred to keep her association with him as discreet as possible, and yet he’d deliberately made her the amused focus of the reporters from probably half a dozen newspapers.