No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Iris Johansen

  By the time she’d finished her shower and slipped on her nightgown and tailored white satin robe, she’d worked herself into a fine state of indignation. She could hardly wait to confront Rex with her anger. After an hour’s impatient pacing and aimless wandering about the living room, though, she decided to go to the kitchen and make herself that sandwich Rex had mentioned earlier.

  She’d put on a pot of coffee, removed a plate of ham from the refrigerator, and was looking futilely for bread in the many walnut cabinets when Rex drawled from the doorway, “Ah, could any man ask for more? A gorgeous woman puttering happily about the kitchen and waiting for him to come home.”

  She threw him an icy glance. “I’m not puttering happily,” she said, slamming another cabinet door. “I can’t find the damn bread!”

  “In the red bread-saver on the counter,” he said, strolling forward and seating himself on a high stool at the scarlet serving bar. “Is that coffee I smell?” he asked wistfully. “You wouldn’t want to give a poor entertainer a cup?”

  “No, I would not!” she said shortly, as she drew out two slices of bread from the red metal container and proceeded to build herself a generous sandwich. “I wouldn’t give you a glass of water if you were dying of thirst.” She noticed with annoyance that he was still wearing the dark suede pants, and his white corsair’s shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist now. Why must the man look so devastatingly attractive?

  He sighed resignedly. “I thought you were angry when you left the dressing room. What have I done now?”

  She whirled to face him. “What have you done?” she sputtered incredulously. “You’ve only publicized our supposed relationship before the entire world, besides spouting that absurd witch balderdash and making me look utterly ridiculous!”

  His lips tightened and his ebony eyes darkened stormily. “I did what I thought was best. There was no way to keep your presence in my life a secret, and I’ve found the best way of handling reporters is to give them a little so they won’t probe too deeply. I consider that bit about your being a witch something of an inspiration. They’ll be so busy writing titillating stories about my resident witch that they just may forget to check into your background.”

  She strode up to his stool and planted her hands on her hips. “And what if they don’t forget?” she asked belligerently. “What if one of them gets to Aunt Elizabeth?”

  Rex’s face clouded with answering anger. “Damn it, I did everything I could! I can’t perform miracles!” He grabbed her by the arms and gave her a little shake. “Give me a break, will you?”

  “That’s not good enough,” she bit out. “I won’t have Aunt Elizabeth upset by all this!” She struggled furiously to break his iron grip on her arms. Then as her struggles proved fruitless, she gave a little cry of frustration and pushed against his chest with all her strength.

  Rex’s grip on her arms loosened as the high stool he was sitting on toppled backward, and he hit the floor with a bone-jarring crash!

  Tamara gave a whimpering cry of horror. Rex’s limp form lay motionless on the floor, his face pale and his lids closed. She dropped to her knees beside him. He was so still. Suppose he’d hit his head when he fell? Suppose she’d killed him? A quiver of shocked panic ran through her and she felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her world, leaving only dark emptiness.

  She cradled his head on her lap. “No, you can’t be hurt,” she moaned frantically, tears pouring down her cheeks. “You’re not hurt!”

  A dizzying relief enveloped her as his absurdly long lashes fluttered and then his lids opened to reveal a wry flicker in the midnight dark eyes. “If you say so, sweetheart, but you could fool me,” he said huskily. “Remind me not to make you really angry, will you? I don’t know if I’ll survive the next time.”

  “I’m so terribly sorry,” she sobbed, hugging his head against her breasts and rocking him like a beloved child. “I didn’t mean it. Are you badly hurt? Shall I call a doctor?”

  He weakly shook his head. “I don’t think it’s anything serious,” he said soothingly, rubbing his cheek in sensuous enjoyment against the soft satin covering her breasts. “It hurt like hell when I hit the floor and I think it knocked the breath out of me, but I’m in no pain right now I assure you.” With obvious reluctance, he added, “I guess I’d better try to sit up and make sure.”

  With painstaking slowness, he levered himself to a sitting position, though not without a few muttered curses. When he was upright, there was a white line of pain about his lips. “Nothing’s broken,” he said, as he sank back onto her lap. “It’s probably just severe bruising.” He looked up into her anxious face and smiled. “I’m going to be sore as hell for a few days.”

  She lovingly held him and his expression became suddenly thoughtful as he took in her brimming violet eyes and quivering lips. “What can I do for you?” she asked. “Shall I try to help you get up?”

  “I’m very comfortable as I am,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I wouldn’t think of moving at the moment.”

  “My Lord, what’s happened here?” Scotty Oliver roared from the kitchen doorway. His incredulous appraisal took in the overturned chair, Tamara’s tear-streaked face, and Rex’s supine body. He came swiftly forward and knelt beside Rex, his face almost as pale and worried as Tamara’s.

  Rex said casually, “We had a little accident. I fell out of a chair. I’m okay, just a little sore. Don’t fuss, Scotty.”

  “Fell out of a chair!” Oliver repeated skeptically. He cast one look at Tamara’s flushed, guilty face and said grimly, “Well, I only asked you not to drown him.” He looked back down at Rex. “We’d better get you to the emergency room.”

  “No way. It’s nothing. Only some bruises.”

  “He can hardly sit up,” Tamara said tremulously, smoothing Rex’s shining dark hair tenderly.

  “That’s great, absolutely great.” Oliver shook his head with disgust. “How the hell are you supposed to give a three-hour concert in Houston tomorrow night? You’ll be in agony the entire time.”

  “I’ve done shows with a 104-degree fever. I can muddle through this one,” Rex said stubbornly. “No hospitals!”

  Oliver ran his hand through his hair distractedly. “Okay. I’ll get hold of a doctor and get him to prescribe some painkillers. I guess Houston will think a doped-up Brody is better than no Brody at all.”

  “No!” Tamara broke in fiercely. “You’re not pumping him full of drugs and pills! I’ll take care of him.”

  “And how do you expect to accomplish that?” Oliver asked caustically. “You said yourself he could barely sit up.”

  “I have some herbs that will help,” she answered. At Oliver’s derisive snort, she added heatedly, “They were using herbs for healing and for killing pain thousands of years before modern medicine developed penicillin and Valium, and in many cases they’re still a good deal healthier. I told you, I’ll take care of him!”

  Her arms tightened possessively around Rex, and he looked up at her with his lips twitching in amusement. “You heard her, Scotty. She’ll take care of me.”

  Oliver gave her a black scowl. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Rex.”

  “I have absolutely no intention of doing anything at all. I’m just going to lie here and let Tamara take care of me.” He sighed contentedly. “And I expect to enjoy every moment of it. Bring on your herbs and ointments, my lady. I’m completely at your disposal.”

  A frown creased Tamara’s brow. “I have the ingredients to blend the liniment, but it needs heat to be really effective. Do you have a heating pad or an electric blanket?”

  “Better than that,” Rex replied promptly. “My bathroom has a built-in sauna. Will that do?”

  She nodded, relieved. “As you say, it will be much better. Do you think you can make it to the sauna if we help you?”

  He nodded. “You run along and mix up your magic ointment. Scotty can help me undress and get me into the sauna before he goes to bed.”


  Tamara smiled eagerly, and placing his head with tender care on the floor, leaped to her feet and hurried from the kitchen.

  Her herb bag was lying beside her unpacked suitcases in a corner of the room, and she snatched it up and rifled through it quickly for the ingredients she needed. She frowned as she noticed she was low on benzoin, but perhaps if she added extra bay leaf it wouldn’t matter. She hurried back to the kitchen and blended the herbs carefully, adding a bit of cooking oil she found in a cabinet, and then heated the mixture slowly over a low flame.

  After pouring the warm ointment into a bowl, she grabbed several clean dish towels from a drawer and hurried quickly through Rex’s bedroom into the bathroom. She’d been so furious and upset when she entered the room earlier that she hadn’t noticed anything but the sunken tub. Now she realized the huge room contained not only a shower stall but also a small birch compartment that must be the sauna.

  She quickly stripped off her robe and nightgown and wrapped a huge, white bath towel sarong-like about her body. Carefully balancing the bowl and towels, she opened the heavy birch door and entered, pausing just inside the door while her eyes adjusted to the dimness. The sauna was lit by a single red bulb that cast a rosy glow and she could see only dimly the benches bordering the birch walls. In the center of the room was a large metal container filled with white-hot coals and a small regulator faucet that sent waves of dry heat through the small compartment.

  “Over here!” Rex called, and she followed his voice to the far side of the room. As she drew within a few feet of him, she stopped abruptly. He was lying full length on his stomach on one of the wide benches, and he was totally nude!

  She supposed she should have expected it. It would obviously be more practical if she were to treat him, and she’d realized this afternoon that Rex had no inhibitions regarding nudity. It was just that it hadn’t occurred to her. She allowed her gaze to trail lovingly over long, muscular legs dusted lightly with dark hair, to the tight buttocks and slim, taut waist and then up to the broad, powerful shoulders. How beautiful he was, she thought dreamily.

  “Tamara?” Rex turned his head to look at her, and she came immediately to her senses. She moved forward briskly and seated herself beside him.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you,” she said quietly, setting the towels on the floor and dipping her hand in the oily liniment.

  For long, silent minutes she soothingly massaged the ointment into the muscles of his shoulders and upper back. Then she started on his lower spine and the hard, corded muscles of his buttocks. She derived an almost sensual pleasure out of the play of muscles between her fingers, and the occasional low grunt of contentment that Rex emitted when she managed to ease a particular pain.

  She finally reached down for a towel to wipe her hands and said, “We’ll let that ointment bake in for ten minutes and then I’ll do it one more time.”

  His eyes opened lazily. “This bench is damnably hard,” he said. “Would you hold my head on your lap?”

  She drew a deep breath and felt a sudden, fluid languor in every limb. “Of course.” She moved to the end of the bench and took his head on her lap.

  He moved his head uncomfortably and then swiftly rolled over on his side to bury his face in her belly. “That’s better,” he said contentedly. “You smell so sweet. I don’t think I know that perfume.”

  She could feel his warm mouth move through the towel across her stomach, and she found it hard to answer. “I blend it myself,” she said faintly. “It’s a combination of gardenia and distilled cinnamon.”

  “I like it,” he muttered, his teeth nibbling delicately at the soft flesh of her thigh where the towel ended.

  She gave a shaky laugh. “I’m glad you approve.”

  He suddenly stopped his playful nibbling and turned his head to look up into her face, his dark gaze holding hers effortlessly, his face almost solemn. “It’s happening, isn’t it?” he asked quietly. “You’re going to let me love you.”

  She looked down at him tenderly, noting the shadows his lashes made on his strong, masculine face. The rosy lighting turned his silky hair an even darker shade. The mint-scented heat, the intimate silence broken only by the occasional hiss of water on the hot coals, the glow that turned the room into an erotic other world, all combined to bring about a dreamy lassitude that completely banished her defenses.

  “Yes, I think I am,” she said huskily, leaning her head back against the birch wall.

  “Tonight?”

  She chuckled. “No, not tonight. You can barely move.”

  “Tomorrow?” His lips were once more brushing lazily against her belly and a flash of fire shot through her.

  “Three days,” she said firmly. “You need to rest.”

  He sighed. “If you think I’ll be able to sleep for the next three nights, you’re insane.” He looked up with little-boy wistfulness. “You’re sure you won’t change your mind?”

  “I’m sure,” she said with a low laugh.

  Abruptly a dark frown clouded his face. “Why now?” he asked. “Are you feeling sorry for me?”

  “No, I don’t feel sorry for you,” she said softly.

  “Then why?”

  Because I love you, she thought. Because when I looked at you lying on that kitchen floor white and hurt, I knew I’d love you for the rest of my life.

  “Why do you think?” she parried evasively.

  His eyes danced with mischief. “Because you suddenly realized how utterly irresistible I am?”

  “Right the first time.” She smoothed the dark satin of his hair with a tender hand. “You’ve completely swept me off my feet.”

  “Did you like your song?” he asked lazily, his hand reaching up to toy with the tuck of the towel across her breast.

  “I loved my song,” she said throatily, her eyes misting. “It was the most beautiful gift anyone could ever receive.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t take the necklace.” He looked up, his dark eyes hopeful. “Will you …?”

  “No, I will not take the necklace,” she said firmly.

  “Oh, all right,” he grumbled. “You’re certainly a stubborn wench.”

  His toying hand suddenly gave the towel a tug that brought it slipping to her waist, baring her breasts. Tamara gave a cry of surprise. She felt his upper body rise and then looked down to watch him nip at her pink nipple.

  “I guess you’ve noticed that I’m a breast man.” Rex chuckled mischievously, and quickly suckled at one breast, while toying with the other nipple until it was a hard button beneath his fingers. She moaned, a little breathless.

  His voice was hoarse and shaking as his lips left her breast and he muttered, “I’m suddenly feeling much stronger, sweetheart.”

  Tamara looked down into his face, which was tautened into a beautiful sensuality. He rested on his elbow. She drew a shuddering breath and, grabbing her towel, stood up. “You’ll feel even better after I apply this second treatment,” she said briskly. “Now roll over!”

  He obediently rolled over onto his stomach, but when she pulled the towel up over her breasts again, he protested.

  “Don’t! I like to look at you.”

  She was still for a long moment, then dropped the towel and fastened it about her waist. She decided she liked him to look at her, too. She began the gentle massage of his lower back as he continued to study her.

  “Not tonight?”

  “Not tonight,” she answered quietly, dipping her hands into the ointment again and going to work on his shoulders.

  “Tamara?”

  She looked up inquiringly.

  “You’re sure, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “In three days you’ll let me love you?”

  She tore her eyes away from the deep intensity of his. “I’m sure.”

  “In three days we’ll be in Las Vegas,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes on her face. “I’m playing the Pagan Room at the Santa Flores, and I don’t have a show the evening we arrive there.”

&
nbsp; Her hands paused an instant in their massage. Despite her acknowledgement of her desire to belong to Rex, his persistence caused her a moment of panic. Then her hands resumed their gentle kneading motion.

  “In Las Vegas,” she assented slowly. “At the Santa Flores.”

  EIGHT

  TAMARA LAZILY ROLLED over on her back, adjusted her sunglasses carefully, and gazed at the exotic landscaping around the Olympic-sized pool. She sighed in contentment. The Santa Flores was a truly beautiful hotel casino, with an island motif and sumptuous air of quiet luxury that was unique in a town like Las Vegas. The penthouse apartment that had been lent to Rex by the hotel’s owner was also exceptionally lovely. She was going to like it here, she thought dreamily. But then she would like it anywhere with Rex.

  The last three days had passed with lightning rapidity and, despite the mad pace set by Rex and Oliver, she’d thoroughly enjoyed them. She’d found the companionship bred by being on the road was unique and intimate and had even extended to her relationship with Scotty Oliver. If not exactly on cordial terms, they at least had developed a mutual respect which might eventually lead to friendship.

  As for Rex, it seemed with the winning of her promise he’d decided he could relax, and the tempo of their relationship eased to a warm, friendly camaraderie. Not that there hadn’t been moments that had sparked into near-flame. Their physical chemistry was too strong not to generate its own fireworks. She was conscious that Rex was carefully damping down the blatant sexuality that was a natural facet of his makeup, but she could still detect a virile magnetism that was very disturbing.

  There had been many moments when she’d wanted to give in and tell him three days was a lifetime too long to wait. Particularly since her herbal ointment had worked so beautifully that he was almost back to normal by the end of the Houston concert. It wasn’t shyness that made her hesitate but caution. They needed the time to probe each other’s minds and personalities before entering into a physical commitment she had an idea would eclipse every other facet of their relationship, at least temporarily.