Now she was glad she’d waited. She was sure her love for Rex was based on more than that magical desire he could provoke with only a long, slumbering look from those intense black eyes. The Rex Brody she had come to know in the past few days was a complex combination of tough, aggressive street kid, brilliant creative artist, and witty, cynical man of the world. Add a dash of mischievous little boy and that occasional, irresistible tenderness, and there emerged a man any woman would be proud to love. And love him she certainly did, she thought ruefully. He seemed to encompass everything she wanted in the world now, and she desired that final physical commitment as much as he. Not only for the wild pleasure she was sure he would bring to her, but for the possible bonds that pleasure might forge between them. She had less than a month to make him feel some of the love she felt for him, and she grew terrified at the thought of failure. She shook her head firmly. She wouldn’t fail. She would pursue this most important goal with the same perseverance and intelligence she’d demonstrated over the years and she would succeed. Heaven help her, she had to.
Tamara checked her watch and noticed with satisfaction that it was almost five. Rex had asked her to meet him back in the penthouse suite at five, and then left her to go off on some mysterious business of his own. She’d decided to spend the hours until she saw him again at the pool, but it had been a long four hours. She’d grown used to being with him constantly in the past few days and she felt strangely incomplete without him.
She stood up, slipped on a royal purple beach robe over her lavender bikini, and set off eagerly for the penthouse. Using the key Rex had given her, she entered the apartment and tripped through the foyer to the living room.
“Rex,” she called, “Are you—”
She stopped in the doorway, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. The woman in Rex’s arms was tiny but voluptuous, with dark hair flowing almost to her waist. Dressed only in a halter top and short shorts, she was embracing Rex with an enthusiastic fervor. But no more enthusiastic than the way Rex was holding her, Tamara noticed miserably.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, as the two looked up in surprise at her entrance. She ran blindly to the guest bedroom she’d been allotted, wanting only to get out of sight so she could release this agony. She slammed the door closed only to have it explode open behind her.
“Oh no you don’t!” Rex growled. “I’m not having you run in here and sulk, damn it! You’re coming back into the living room to meet Jenny.”
“I’m quite sure you’d rather be alone with her,” Tamara said huskily, not looking at him. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
Rex ran his fingers through his dark hair distractedly. “Listen, I’m sure as hell not going to risk any misunderstandings today so I’m going to explain very carefully. That lovely person out there is your hostess, Jenny Jason. She and her husband, Steve, are not only my best friends, but I’m godfather to their son, Sean. Now will you come back and act like a civilized human being?”
Sheer relief made Tamara light-headed. “She’s just a friend?” she whispered, her violet eyes starry with unshed tears.
“Scout’s honor,” he said, his own eyes twinkling. “Do you think I’d be crazy enough to risk tonight for a moment’s gratification? I’ve barely been able to hold out for the past three days. It seemed more like three years.”
“For me, too,” she said, and the glowing radiance in her eyes caused him to catch his breath.
“Don’t do that to me, babe,” he said huskily. “We’ve still got a few hours to get through before I can follow up on what those pansy eyes are saying.” He drew a deep breath and took her gently by the arm. “Come on and meet Jenny.”
Jenny Jason was even lovelier than Tamara had first thought. She had the most magnificent, silver gray eyes Tamara had ever seen, and certainly the warmest smile. She accepted Tamara’s shy apology with a friendly grin and wry grimace. “Actually, I was quite flattered,” she said breezily, flopping down into a burgundy velvet armchair. “It’s not often an old married woman like me is mistaken for a femme fatale. It was quite a boost for my ego.”
“Poor old lady,” Rex scoffed. “How old are you now, mermaid? Twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four,” Jenny corrected indignantly. “And I’m the mother of a very hyper two-year-old, so that ought to count double.” Her eyes were bright with curiosity as she appraised Tamara from the top of her head to her feet. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, you know,” she added approvingly. “And definitely not an Amazon.”
“I beg your pardon?” Tamara asked bewilderedly.
“Rex has a positive antipathy for six-foot showgirls,” Jenny explained, her silver eyes dancing. “Once one of them got hold of the key to his suite and—”
“It’s an old private joke,” Rex interrupted hastily, and Tamara felt a twinge of envy at the obvious long-standing intimacy between them. “Where’s Steve, Jenny? Don’t tell me he let you come to Vegas by yourself?”
“He’s in San Francisco on business. I was with him, but I had to come back early to take Sean to the pediatrician to have his six-month checkup. After his appointment, I sent him back to the ranch with Mike and came on to the apartment to see you,” Jenny explained lightly. “Steve should be back by the weekend. He said to tell you he was sorry to miss your opening tomorrow night.”
Rex shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his dark eyes dancing. “I’ll be just as good the third night.”
Jenny chuckled and glanced at Tamara. “I hope you’ll work at ridding him of that terrible inferiority complex.”
“Are you going back to the ranch tonight?” Rex asked, then turned to Tamara. “When Sean was born,” he explained, “Steve and Jenny bought a ranch just outside Vegas. They only use the apartment occasionally now.”
“To answer your question,” Jenny said, “I have a meeting at the Chamber of Commerce tomorrow morning. I’ll probably be going back tomorrow evening.” She lifted an inquiring brow. “Am I to have the honor of your company at dinner tonight?”
Rex shook his head. “Sorry, mermaid, we’ve made other plans for the evening.” As Tamara would have protested, he went on quickly, “In fact, we have to get moving right away.”
“Breakfast tomorrow then,” Jenny insisted firmly. “Ten o’clock, and ask that nice Scotty Oliver, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rex said meekly, sketching a salute. “It shall be as you decree, mermaid.”
“Wretch,” she charged fondly. Then turning to Tamara, she said, “It’s quite unfair for him to whisk you away before I get to know you. We’ll have to make up for it tomorrow.”
“I’d like that,” Tamara said earnestly. She had a notion that Jenny Jason was a person she might like very much. They said good-bye, then as the door closed behind Jenny, Rex was suddenly pulling her across the living room toward her bedroom.
“What’s the hurry?”
“You have the nerve to ask me that?” Rex asked wryly. “Look, love, wear the crimson gown tonight, the one you wore that first night, okay? I have a special reason for asking.”
“If you like,” she said slowly.
“I like,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour.”
He was waiting by the elevator when she arrived in the lobby, looking wildly handsome in a black tuxedo and white, ruffled dress shirt that only served to accent his overpowering masculinity.
“You look as lovely as I remembered,” he said huskily. “Do you know that when I first saw you, you reminded me of a princess in a fairy tale?”
Her violet eyes twinkled. “So you immediately attacked me,” she teased. “Not very gallant, Rex.”
“Sheer self-defense,” he said with a breezy grin. “Come on, princess, I have some surprises for you.” He took her firmly by the arm and escorted her swiftly to the parking lot to his rented yellow Ferrari.
An hour later they pulled up before a gracious, rambling building that could have passed for an English mano
r house. Set incongruously in the desert, it was still very impressive.
“The Lennox Inn?” she asked, arching an eyebrow quizzically, as Rex helped her carefully out of the car and tossed the keys to a waiting, liveried bellhop.
“You can find anything in Las Vegas if you look hard enough,” Rex said, grinning.
The lobby was carpeted in rich crimson and the decor was strictly out of the eighteenth century. Expecting to go through the lobby to the dining room, she was surprised when Rex led her up a stately staircase to a carved oak door on the second floor. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened the door and gestured with a flourish.
“For my lady,” he announced grandly, bowing gracefully and stepping aside for her to enter. There was a mischievous grin on his face and his dark eyes were dancing.
“I think I’ve just stepped into the pages of Tom Jones,” Tamara said faintly, walking to the center of the room and looking around bemusedly.
The octagon-shaped chamber was straight out of the romantic past. A fire blazed in a huge fireplace at the far end of the room. It was for romantic effect obviously and made possible by the labor of a powerful air-conditioning system. A white shag area rug covered a vast amount of gleaming oak floor. Three shallow steps led to a massive canopy bed draped in a delicate, rose and cream tapestry print. There were flowers everywhere and of every description. There was a particularly lovely bouquet of lilacs in a graceful copper vase in the Sheraton commode; the heady fragrance pervaded the room.
Rex followed her inside and shut the door, leaning against it indolently while he watched her with a curious tenderness. “I wanted my lady from another century to feel at home,” he said softly. He straightened and moved forward, encircling her with his arms and bringing her gently into his embrace. “Just as I want you to feel you’ve come home when you lie in my arms tonight.”
“Oh, I will. I will,” she promised fervently. Her own arms wrapped tightly around his lean waist and she struggled to fight back tears at this extravagantly touching gesture.
A shudder rippled through his body as she pressed her soft curves against him. He put her firmly from him. “I’ve planned a terrific dinner that has an excellent chance of never being eaten if you don’t get away from me, babe.”
“I’m not really hungry,” she whispered, watching the flickering firelight play on the hard contours of his face, highlighting especially the beauty of his sensual mouth.
“Get thee behind me, Satan,” he quoted thickly. He moved purposely away from her. “Room service will be here any minute. Why don’t you go into the dressing room and change. I’d like to wash up myself.”
“Is there a sunken tub in the bathroom?” she asked with a twinkle.
“No.” He walked to a door to the left of the massive bed. “But you can order a hip bath built for two to be set before the fireplace.” He paused at the door and winked. “I left orders for that to be delivered after dinner.”
“Rex!”
Ten minutes later she stood in front of an oval, full-length mirror and gazed at a woman who might well have stepped from the past. There had been no nightgown hanging in the small closet. The only garment Rex had provided was a long, full robe of rich, creamy satin that buttoned down the front. It had long, flowing sleeves and bared her golden shoulders, only hinting at the curves beneath. She felt as romantically lovely as a bride on her wedding night.
When Rex first saw her, his ebony eyes blazed with sudden feeling and he moved across the room impulsively. He’d removed the tuxedo jacket and his ruffled shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist. Tamara felt a sudden longing to reach out and run her hands caressingly over that muscular, hair-roughened chest, but she didn’t get the opportunity.
Rex swiftly gathered her hands to his lips and, one at a time, kissed the fingers lingeringly. “ ‘She doth teach the torch to burn bright,’ ” he quoted huskily, then grinned mischievously. “Romeo and Juliet. I memorized that bit especially for tonight.”
Tamara shook her head bemusedly. He was as changeable as a chameleon. Would she ever be able to predict the directions that Rex’s quicksilver personality might take?
“You’re impossible,” she said, chuckling.
“Impossibly hungry,” he returned promptly, turning her toward a damask-covered candlelit table in the center of the room. “Let us feed the inner man, princess.”
Afterward Tamara could never remember what was said over that candlelit table, nor a morsel of what they ate. Her only memory was of sudden, breathless silences, smoky dark eyes, and a low baritone chuckle that sent shivers down her spine.
After the table had been removed, Rex threw down two enormous, scarlet-tassled pillows before the fire, and dropped down on the shaggy white rug. She came like a homing pigeon when he stretched out his arms invitingly, and he settled her beside him, spreading the shimmering blue black of her hair on the scarlet pillow. He poured her a glass of red wine from the bottle beside him and cuddled her close, fitting her cheek into his shoulder.
“Do you like your surprise?” he asked, stroking her silky hair gently.
“It is lovely,” she answered contentedly, watching the light of the fire turn the wine in her crystal glass to a glowing ruby.
“I wanted it to be perfect for you,” he said gravely. “No, that’s not quite true. I wanted it to be perfect for both of us.” He chuckled deep in his chest. “But I’m finding my patience is running out very quickly. Do you really want that wine?”
She went breathlessly still. “I never really cared for the taste of wine.”
“Thank the Lord!” he said fervently, taking her goblet and placing it carefully with his own on a silver tray. Then he bent over her, his dark eyes blazing hotly. “I’ve been very patient, for me. Now, sweetheart?”
“Now.” She barely had time to murmur the word before his lips closed on hers in a kiss that seared through her like a lightning bolt. His hard body pressed down on her with hot urgency as Rex began to unleash his pent-up desire.
“Lord, you’re so soft.” He groaned. “I want to bury myself in you and never come out! Touch me, love.”
Her hands reached out tentatively to stroke his solid muscular chest, then began an eager caressing motion. She loved the firm, masculine feel of him, she thought, excitement turning her eyes to deep purple. She began to rake her nails lightly over his hard nipples.
Rex’s hands were busy with the multitude of buttons that closed her cream satin robe and when the last one was vanquished, he opened the robe wide, revealing her gold-silk beauty in the firelight.
The expression in his eyes deepened to a glazed intensity as he rubbed a gentle hand over her firm belly. “I wish I’d saved that line from Romeo and Juliet,” he said thickly. “You’re a miracle, sweetheart.”
“So are you,” she murmured, as he stripped the white shirt off and threw it carelessly aside. He was all clean, bronze lines and compact, glowing muscle in the firelight. His lean face was taut with need as his head bent slowly to take one hard nipple in his mouth.
Then, with an almost guttural cry, he fell on her, kneading and caressing her breasts with eager hands, while he bit and teased at her engorged nipples with teeth and tongue. His tormenting lips moved down to the smooth curve of her belly, and he tongued her navel with light, sensuous strokes until she was shuddering and writhing beneath him, arching to meet that teasing tongue and running her hands feverishly over his back and shoulders.
With a low groan of frustration, Rex gathered her in his arms and strode swiftly to the canopied bed, laying her down on the delicate rose and cream of the coverlet. She held her arms out to him yearningly, but he shook his head. “Not yet, sweetheart,” he said huskily.
He left her for a brief moment and she heard rustling sounds as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. There was another pause and when he returned, his arms were filled with flowers. “I never imagined when I reached this particular surprise it would be so difficult to execute,” he said wryly, running h
is gaze lingeringly over her naked golden curves and valleys. “I studied your notebook. I hope I got it all right.”
He drew a golden bloom from the bouquet. “Chrysanthemum means truth.” He tossed the posy onto her stomach. “Salvia—wisdom; orchid—beauty; jasmine—sensuality.” With each definition he placed a flower on her body. “Lotus—eloquence.” He paused as he came to the last flower, a magnificent golden iris with scarlet markings. “This one is the most appropriate at the moment. Do you remember what it means, love?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
She shook her head, staring up at him in bemusement.
“It means ‘flame—I burn.’ ” He tossed the last brilliant blossom onto her breasts and then followed it down on the bed. He picked up the iris, idly stroking her breasts with its velvet petals. “Oh, yes, I definitely burn,” he said thickly, and the flower was crushed between them as he kissed her shoulders and the sensitive cord of her neck before making a passionate pilgrimage to the honey sweetness of her lips.
One hair-roughened leg parted her own and while his tongue jousted and played with hers, his hips rubbed sensuously against her in an erotically intimate caress that caused her to arch frantically against his warm hardness.
“I can’t wait any longer, sweetheart,” he groaned. “I’ve got to have you!”
When he reached that final barrier, at first he couldn’t believe it. “Relax, sweetheart,” he said huskily. “Don’t fight it. Let me love you.” Then he looked down into her flushed, glowing face, her eyes darkened purple with desire, and saw absolutely no fight there … only a reflection of his own need. He stiffened slowly above her, and an expression of incredulous amazement crossed his face. “Good Lord,” he said blankly. He instinctively made a motion of withdrawal.
“No!” Tamara gasped, her arms tightening about him. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’ll hurt you,” he said, his eyes closing and his breath coming in little gasps. “Let me go. I don’t want to hurt you, love. I don’t know anything about—” He suddenly broke off. “Oh Lord, I can’t stop!” His hips surged forward and her shocked cry was drowned by his groan of savage satisfaction as he buried himself in her warmth.
No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) Page 13