No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) (10 page)

Rex met her on the upstairs landing. “You’re five minutes late,” he said, as he took the bag from her. “I was hoping you’d changed your mind.” His eyes lingered caressingly on her flushed face. “Pity.”

She shot him a lethal glare and, tilting her nose in the air, sailed down the staircase. Aunt Elizabeth stood in the entrance hall at the bottom of the stairs and drew her into a loving embrace as she reached the last step.

Tamara clutched her aunt’s slender form in a tight hug, her eyes filling with tears. Aunt Elizabeth had such quantities of inner strength that no one ever thought of her as being old or fragile, but suddenly Tamara realized just how delicate and vulnerable an old lady she was. “Will you be all right?” she asked huskily. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Of course I’ll be okay, if you’ll just refrain from breaking my ribs,” Aunt Elizabeth said ruefully, unwinding Tamara’s arms from around her and pushing her gently away. She stroked
Tamara’s cheek gently. “Don’t you dare worry about me, Tamara Ledford,” she scolded with tender fierceness. “I won’t be alone. I have that nice Professor Billings to keep me company. I managed to take very good care of myself for quite a long time before you were born, and I’m entirely capable of doing it for some years to come.” One long finger touched Tamara’s wet lashes. “I was lucky to have you to myself for so long.”

She looked over Tamara’s shoulder at Rex coming with purposeful slowness down the stairs, and leaned forward to whisper mischievously, “You won’t miss me for long, dear. When I shook Rex’s hand, I realized the music was even stronger than I imagined.”

It was the second time Aunt Elizabeth had made reference to that mysterious music, but Tamara impatiently pushed the allusion aside. “I suppose I’m stupid to get so choked up over only a month’s parting,” she said. “I’ll be sure to call you often, love.”

Rex had reached the bottom of the stairs and
he grasped Tamara’s arm. “I’ll take very good care of her, Miss Ledford,” he promised.

“I know you will, Rex,” Aunt Elizabeth answered serenely. “You won’t forget to remind her to eat?”

“If necessary, I’ll force-feed her myself,” he said lightly.

Tamara felt maddeningly like a small child with all the grownups talking above her and about her but never to her. How dare Rex be so possessive in front of Aunt Elizabeth? And Aunt Elizabeth seemed to accept his assumption of responsibility as a matter of course.

She kissed her aunt on the cheek. “Good-bye, darling,” she said huskily. “Take care.” Her eyes were glistening with tears as she turned and hurried through the door that Rex was holding open.

Rex didn’t speak until he’d settled her in the Ferrari and slipped into the driver’s seat. He shot an exasperated glance at her shaking lips and her eyes that were brilliant with unshed tears. “Will you knock it off?” he growled, as he put the car
into gear. “I’m not carrying you off to a brothel, you know.”

“Aren’t you?” she asked shakily.

He glowered at her but didn’t respond verbally as the Ferrari roared into motion. Tamara stared blindly out the window at the passing scene and was conscious of a growing sense of unreality as they passed the well-tended grounds and large, red brick building of her old high school, the white steepled church she’d attended all her life. A little over an hour ago she’d been peacefully working with her plants, wrapped in the quiet security of the dear and familiar. Now she’d been ripped away from her old moorings and was caught in the whirling eddies generated by the enigma that was Rex Brody.

She was abruptly awakened from her abstraction when they reached the highway and instead of turning south, Rex headed north.

She sat up straight. “You’re going the wrong way,” she protested.

Rex shook his dark head as he turned right at a small blue sign lettered McCarthy Airport.

“It would take too long to drive to New York
now. I’ve lost too much time already so I arranged to charter a plane and have my car driven down later.” He made a face. “I had to settle for a prop job. The runways at this private field aren’t long enough to accommodate even a small jet.”

“What a pity,” Tamara murmured. The look Rex shot her, as he brought the sports car to a smooth halt beside a large hangar adjacent to the runway, was definitely intimidating.

As she climbed the steps and entered the cream and gold Beechcraft a few minutes later, Tamara thought a few people would have been quite happy to settle for the unobtrusive luxury of this plane. The passenger compartment seated eight, and the tan and cream tweed-covered seats were grouped for informal comfort, with a polished mahogany writing table between each pair of chairs. The plush rust carpet contrasted with the glowing mahogany paneling, and the small bar at the rear of the plane was built of the same beautifully textured wood.

“Sit down and fasten your seat belt,” Rex said as he entered behind her. He turned to the door
leading to the cockpit. “I’ve had the pilot standing by since nine this morning. We should be taking off any minute. I’ve got to check our ETA in New York and then radio ahead to arrange for us to be picked up at the airport on Long Island and driven into Manhattan.” Without waiting for her to reply, he disappeared into the cockpit.

Tamara sat down, opting for an aisle seat rather than a window. The one time she and her aunt had flown from Boston to New York, she’d gotten a bit queasy looking down at the patchwork terrain below. She was fumbling with her seat belt when Rex returned. He brushed her hands away and deftly fastened the belt before dropping into the seat across the aisle from her.

“Take off your jacket and get comfortable. It will be about an hour and thirty minutes before we arrive in New York.” Then to her surprise he drew a crumpled sheet of paper and a stub of a pencil from the back pocket of his jeans and proceeded to ignore her. Whatever he was working on, it was receiving his complete attention, Tamara noted, as she slowly pulled her own
notebook out of her bag and put it on the table in front of her.

It wasn’t until they’d been in flight over an hour that Rex looked up, his face intent and abstracted, to meet her puzzled gaze. The absorption gradually faded and he grinned with an appealing boyishness. “Sorry, I just wanted to polish these lyrics while I had the chance. It’s going to be pretty frantic once we reach New York.”

“It’s a new song?”

He nodded. “I did most of it last night when I was holed up in that motel outside Boston, after I’d contacted Billings and wrapped him up in pink ribbons for you.” He made a wry face. “It kind of reminded me of the old days when I was on the road and the only spare time I had to do any composing was either after the show or while I was traveling. Only then I usually went by bus, not plane.” He smiled reminiscently. “My first single that went platinum was written on a paper towel from the washroom at the Greyhound bus station in Milwaukee.” He
folded up the paper he’d been working on and stuffed it carelessly back into his pocket.

“How are you able to compose music without an instrument?” Tamara asked, interested in spite of herself at this glimpse of Rex’s colorful past.

He chuckled and reached across the aisle to flick her nose with a playful finger. “You don’t, sweetheart,” he answered, his dark eyes twinkling. “Even
I’m
not that good. I never travel without my guitar, though I prefer a piano for composing if one is available. My guitar is stored with the rest of the luggage in the cargo compartment.”

“I see,” she said a trifle crossly, feeling a bit of a fool. How did she know how pop singers composed their songs? Judging by the cacophony of discordant notes that were produced by some of the more famous groups, their music might well be composed on a rusty washboard. She huffily turned her attention back to her own work with the firm intention of ignoring him.

Rex evidently had other ideas, though. He checked his watch, then rose to his feet, stretching
lazily. “How about a cup of coffee?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he strolled to the bar in the rear of the plane and poured two coffees from a large thermos on the counter. He added cream to one, then returned and offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, gazing at him curiously. “How did you know I took cream in my coffee?”

“Your aunt mentioned it this morning when she was stuffing me with coffee and sugar doughnuts,” he said with a shrug, half sitting on the arm of his chair, his long legs stretched out before him in the aisle. “She seemed to think it was an insult to her coffee-making expertise to dilute the flavor with milk.”

Tamara took a sip of the aromatic coffee. “Yes, she would. Aunt Elizabeth is a purist where cooking is concerned,” Tamara replied absently. “But isn’t that a rather unusual thing to remember about a comparative stranger?”

“Is it?” Rex took a sip of his coffee before looking up, his face surprisingly serious. “But then I don’t intend that you remain a stranger,
Tamara. Before I’m through I’m going to know everything about you. I want to know what you love and what you hate and all the in-betweens. I want to know not only what pleases that gorgeous body, but what’s hidden behind the mask on that very beautiful face.” He reached over to tap her notebook with a forefinger. “For instance, I want to know about this. Is this the book your aunt mentioned you were writing?”

Tamara nodded, her lips curving wryly. “I hardly think you’d be interested in this particular subject. I’m well aware my interest in herbs is definitely esoteric in this day and age. Though, actually, the book also is going to be a sort of potpourri of all the fascinating little tidbits of information I’ve picked up along the way.” Her face lit up with enthusiasm as she warmed to her subject. “The chapter I’m working on now is a complete dictionary of the language of flowers.”

Rex grinned. “You mean like giving someone red roses denotes true love?”

“That’s probably the best-known one,” Tamara agreed with a smile. “But each flower has its own meaning, and some of them are far
from complimentary. For example, if someone gives you a horseshoe leaf geranium it means you’re stupid, and a hydrangea is a deliciously subtle way of calling you a boaster.”

“Ouch!” Rex said with a comical grimace, his ebony eyes dancing. “I can see I’m going to have to pay more attention to the flowers my fans send to my dressing room. They may be trying to tell me something.” His gaze fixed on her glowing face. “What other subjects are you going to broach in this masterpiece?”

“Well, I thought I’d throw in a few magical recipes,” she said demurely, her violet eyes sparkling. “Like the preparation of an A-one love potion, and an ointment to rub on your broomstick to make it fly.”

“Ah-ha, you
are
a witch! I knew when I saw you work on those poor cretins at the party that you were an enchantress. What love potion did you beguile them with, Morgan le Fay?”

“I seem to be steadily going down in your opinion,” she protested. “First I was Guinevere and now I’m demoted to the wicked sorceress. In no time at all I’ll be kicked out of Camelot.”

Rex bowed with panache. “Not as long as I have my sword and mace to defend you, my lady.”

“You’re doing it again,” she said crossly. “What do I have to do to convince you I’m not a throwback to another time?”

“Sorry,” he said with an unrepetant grin. “You’ve got to admit not many modern young women can discuss knowledgeably the language of flowers or know how to brew up a love potion. Since I can’t seem to think of you in any other context, I’m afraid you’ll just have to resign yourself to accepting me as your knight, pretty lady.”

“My black knight, perhaps,” she answered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Your actions toward me to date haven’t been guided by any code of chivalry that I’ve ever read about.”

“You haven’t been reading the right books,” he drawled. “I’m sure in-depth research would reveal those knights in armor were far from reluctant about carrying off a sexy wench across their saddle bow.”

“Then I’m sure you’d have been right at home,” she said dryly.

A red light suddenly lit up over the cockpit, and a melodious chime sounded.

“You’ve just been saved by the bell, sweetheart. That’s the seat-belt signal. We’re starting our descent.” He dropped down into his seat and fastened his own seat belt. “Buckle up, honey.”

Tamara absently obeyed his instructions after carefully returning her notebook to her bag. She leaned back in her seat, her gaze fixed in surreptitious fascination on Rex’s bold profile. Why couldn’t she maintain her usual cool air of reserve around the man, she wondered helplessly. One moment she was furiously annoyed and indignant. The next instant she found he’d somehow gotten under her guard and she was not only physically attracted to him, but mentally stimulated by him too. She couldn’t deny that in the last thirty minutes he’d completely disarmed her with that puckish humor and his frank interest in her work.

What was even more worrisome was the
vague, insidious pleasure she was beginning to feel in his affectionate protectiveness. Though she’d never lacked for love, thanks to Aunt Elizabeth, Tamara had been taught by both word and example to be strong and independent. This being the case, Rex’s unshakable belief that she was a person to be meticulously cared for should have annoyed her. Instead she was finding it very comforting to know she could not only lean on his virile strength, but that she was actually expected to.

The more she learned of the myriad facets of Rex’s personality, the more convinced she became that the superstar would prove to be infinitely dangerous. She could guard herself against the sheer sexual impact of his virility, but how could she prevent this strange surge of warm contentment that often flowed through her in his presence?

F
IVE

T
HE PRIVATE AIRPORT
where the Beechcraft landed was much larger and busier than the one outside Somerset, Tamara noted, as she watched two uniformed attendants roll metal stairs up to the cabin door.

A long, black, chauffeured limousine was parked several yards away. As Rex ushered her leisurely down the steps, the car’s rear door opened and a large, burly man in his late forties climbed out. Though impeccably dressed in an obviously expensive, steel gray business suit, his bearing was that of a marine drill sergeant as he
strode toward them. There was a frown of exasperation on his blunt jowly face.