Renegade (3 page)

Tippy was laughing too hard to talk at all.

Rory shook his head. “I almost had a snake once.”

“What happened to it?” Cash asked.

“She wouldn't let me out of the pet shop with it,” Rory sighed, pointing at his sister.

“Doesn't like snakes, hmm?” he drawled with a wicked glance at Tippy.

“It wasn't because I was afraid of it, it was because he couldn't take it to school with him and I'm not home long enough to take care of a pet. But if you really need a secretary, as soon as I finish this movie, I'll have my nose pierced and my hair spiked, first thing,” she said, tongue in cheek.

Cash's perfect white teeth flashed at her. “I don't know. Can you type and chew gum at the same time?”

“She can't type a word. And she
is
scared of snakes…” Rory began enthusiastically.

“Stop right there,” Tippy murmured with a quick look at her brother. “And don't you let him corrupt you,” she cautioned. “Unless you want me to tell him
your
fatal weakness!”

Rory held up both hands. “I'm sorry. I'm
really
sorry. Honest.”

She pursed her full lips. “Okay.”

“Look! There's the guy with the bagpipes! Give me a twenty, sis, would you?” Rory exclaimed, nodding to ward a man in a kilt standing just outside a hotel near the park with a set of bagpipes. He was playing “Amazing Grace.”

Tippy pulled a large bill from her fanny pack and handed it to Rory. “Here you go. We'll wait here for you,” she said with an indulgent smile.

Cash watched him go, his eyes sliding to the bag piper. “He plays well,” Cash said.

“Rory wants a set of bagpipes, but I doubt the commandant would be inclined to let him practice in his dorm.”

“I agree.” Cash smiled wistfully as he listened to the haunting melody. “Is he here often?” he asked her.

“We see him all around the neighborhood,” Tippy replied lazily. “He's one of the nicer street people. Homeless, of course. I slip him some money whenever I have a little
extra, so he'll be able to buy a blanket or a hot cup of coffee. A lot of us around here indulge him. He has a gift, don't you think?”

“He does. Know anything about him?” he added, impressed by her concern for a stranger.

“Not much. They say his whole family died, but not how or when…or even why. He doesn't talk to people much,” she murmured, watching Rory hand him the bill and receive a faint smile for it as the piper halted for a moment. “New York is full of street people. Most of them have some talent or other, some way to make a little cash. You can see them sleeping in cardboard boxes, going through Dumpsters for odds and ends.” She shook her head. “And we're supposed to be the richest country on earth.”

“You'd be amazed at how people live in third world countries,” he remarked.

She looked up at him. “I had a photo shoot in Jamaica, near Montego Bay,” she recalled. “There was a five-star hotel on a hill, with parrots in cages and a huge swimming pool and every convenience known to man. Just down the hill, a few hundred feet away, was a small village of corrugated tin houses sitting in mud, where people actually lived.”

His dark eyes narrowed. He nodded slowly. “I've been to the Middle East. Many people there live in adobe houses with no electricity, no running water, no indoor facilities. They make their own clothing, and they travel in pony carts pulled by donkeys. Our standard of living would shock them speechless.”

Her breath drew in sharply. “I had no idea.”

He looked around the city. “Everywhere I went, I was made welcome. The poorest families were eager to share the little they had with me. They're mostly good people. Kind people.” He glanced at her. “But they make bad enemies.”

Tippy was looking at the scars on his lean, strong face. “Rory's commandant said that they tortured you,” she recalled softly.

He nodded and his dark eyes searched her light ones. “I don't talk about it. I still have nightmares, after all these years.”

She studied him curiously. “I have nightmares, too,” she said absently.

His eyes probed hers, seeking answers to the puzzle she represented. “You lived for a long time with an older actor who was known publicly as the most licentious man in Hollywood,” he said bluntly.

She glanced toward Rory, who was sitting on a bench, listening as the bagpiper started playing again. She wrapped her arms close around her chest and wouldn't look up.

Cash moved in front of her, very close. Strangely, it didn't frighten her. She met his searching gaze. It almost winded her with its intensity.

“Tell me,” he said softly.

That softness was irresistible. She took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “I ran away from home when I was twelve. They were going to put me in foster care, and I was terrified that my mother might be able to get me out again—for revenge because I called the police on her and her boyfriend after he…” She hesitated.

“Come on,” he prompted.

“After he raped me repeatedly,” she bit off, and couldn't look at him then. “I wouldn't have gone back to her, not if it meant starving. So I went on the streets in Atlanta, because I had no way to earn money for food.” Her face clenched as she remembered it. Cash's expression was like stone. He'd suspected something like that, from the bits and pieces of her life that he'd ferreted out.

She continued quietly, “The first man who came up to me
was handsome and dashing. He wanted to take me home.” Her eyes closed. “I was hungry and cold and scared to death. I didn't want to go with him. But he had the kindest eyes…” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“He took me to his hotel. He had an enormous suite, luxury fit for a king. When we got inside, he laughed because I was nervous and promised he wouldn't hurt me, that he just wanted to help me. I was so scared, I spilled a glass of water down the front of my shirt.” She smiled. “I'll never forget the shock on his face as long as I live. I had short hair and I was never voluptuous, even back then, but the wet shirt…” She looked up at Cash, who was listening intently. “But of course, he wasn't interested in me in that way…”

Cash's lips parted on a soft explosion of breath. “Cullen Cannon, the great international lover, was gay?” he asked, astonished.

She nodded. “He was. But he hid it with the help of women friends. He was a sweet and gentle man,” she recalled wistfully. “I offered to leave, and he wouldn't hear of it. He said that he was lonely. His family had disowned him. He had nobody. So I stayed. He bought me clothes, put me back in school, shielded me from my own past so that my mother wouldn't be able to find me.”

Her eyes misted as she continued her story. “I loved him,” she whispered. “I would have given him anything. But all he wanted was to take care of me.” She laughed. “Perhaps later, when he'd put me in modeling classes in New York, he liked the image it gave him to have a pretty young woman living with him. I don't know. But I stayed there until he died.”

“The media said it was a heart attack.”

She shook her head. “He died of AIDS. At the last, his biological children came to see him, and they buried the past. They resented me at first, suspected me of trying to play up
to him for money. But I guess they finally realized that I was crazy about him.” She smiled. “They tried to make me take his apartment over, when he died, tried to give me a trust account out of their in heritance. I refused it. You see, I nursed him the last year he lived.”

“That's why you didn't model for a year, just before you were offered your first film contract. They said you were in an accident and had to heal,” Cash recalled.

She was flattered that he remembered that much when he'd literally hated her in Jacobsville. “That's right,” she said. “He didn't want anybody to know about him. Not even then.”

“Poor guy.”

“He was the best man I ever knew,” she said sadly. “I still put flowers on his grave. He saved me.”

“What about the man who raped you?” he asked bluntly.

She looked at Rory, who was talking to the bagpiper. Her expression was tormented. “My mother said he was Rory's father,” she managed.

Now his intake of breath was really audible. “And you love Rory.”

She turned to him. “With all my heart,” she agreed. “My mother's still with Rory's father, Sam Stanton, on and off. They are both drug addicts. Sam and my mother have fights and he beats her up and she calls the police. He always comes back.”

“How did you end up with Rory?” he asked.

“The police officer who saved me the last night I was at home—when Sam raped me—called me when Rory was just four years old. I was still living with Cullen and he was powerful and rich. Cullen went with me to see Rory in the hospital after he was severely beaten by his father. My mother was quite taken with Cullen,” she recalled coldly. “So after Rory was released she brought him to the hotel where we were
staying. Fishing, for money. Cullen offered to buy the child. And she sold him to us,” she added icily. “For fifty thousand dollars.”

“My God,” he bit off. “And I thought I'd seen it all.”

“Rory's been with me ever since,” she told him. “He's like my own child.”

“You never got pregnant…?”

She shook her head. “I was a late bloomer. I didn't even have my first period until I was fifteen. Pretty lucky, huh?” She pushed back wisps of red hair. “Real lucky.”

“But your mother wants Rory back now.”

“The money ran out years ago. She's having to get her drug money by working in a convenience store, and she doesn't like it. Sam works when he feels like it, and I don't think he does anything legal, either. My attorney paid my mother off last year when she threatened to go to the tabloids about the brutal way I was treating her,” she scoffed. “Rich movie star allows poor mother to live in poverty while she rides in stretch limousines.” She smiled cynically. “Get the picture?”

“In Technicolor,” he agreed coldly.

“So now she's decided she wants Rory back. She sent Rory's father up to the military school and he tried to get him out. Rory told the commandant what his father had done to him—and to me—and the commandant called the police. The rat ran for his life before they got there.”

“Good for the commandant.”

“But that doesn't rule out kidnapping. I'd pay any thing to get Rory back, and they know it. I don't sleep very well these days,” she added. “Rory's father has a cousin who lives near here, in a really bad part of town. They're close, and the cousin has his dirty fingers in a lot of illegal pies.”

Cash was doing mental gymnastics. “Does Rory care for his father or his mother?”

“He hates our mother,” she replied. “And he doesn't know that Sam Stanton is his real father.”

“You haven't told him?” he probed.

“I haven't had the heart to,” she explained. “He took a real beating from Sam. The psychologist says he'll have mental scars for the rest of his life from that or deal.”

“How about you?”

“I've lived through enough to make me strong, with occasional lapses. But mostly, I'm tough,” she murmured.

“Not tough enough, just yet,” he commented. “But you will be, if you hang around with me long enough.”

She glanced at him with a teasing smile. “Am I going to?”

He shrugged. “It's up to you. I have a few quirks.”

“So do I. And a few hang-ups,” she added.

He put his hands in his pockets while he stared down at her, to the music of New York traffic. “I don't like ties very much. I'm making no promises. I want to see you while I'm here. Period.”

“You don't pull any punches.”

He nodded.

She searched his dark eyes. “I don't find you repulsive,” she said bluntly. “That's new. But I've got some terrible scars of my own. I can put on a good act as a vamp when I'm around men. But it's all a ruse. I haven't ever had consensual sex.”

He whistled. “That's a heavy load to put on a man.”

She nodded.

He smiled slowly. “So, it's back to Dating 101.”

She laughed. “I hadn't thought of it like that.”

“We'll go slow,” he said, noting Rory's sudden reappearance. “That took a while,” he commented when the boy came back laughing.

“He wanted to know about military school. Guess what?
He was a soldier in Vietnam.” Rory grimaced. “Sad, huh, that he'd end up like that.”

Cash's eyes were haunted as he studied the man, who lifted a hand and waved before he went back to his bagpiping. Cash waved back. “Too many veterans wind up like that,” he commented quietly.

“Not you,” Rory said proudly.

Cash smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “No. Not me. How about going to the Statue of Liberty? It's closed, so we can't go up in it, but we can see it. Are you game?”

“Lead me to it!” Rory laughed.

Cash took Tippy's slender hand and locked her fingers into his, noting their coldness and faint trembling. It was like electricity sparking between them. Tippy caught her breath audibly. She looked up with wide, fascinated eyes, feeling as if the ground had rocked under her feet. It was magic!

He searched her eyes. “Lesson One, Page One, Hand-holding,” he whispered as Rory paused to look in a store window.

She laughed breathlessly. It sounded like silver bells.

T
HE DAY SPENT SIGHTSEEING
with Cash was, Tippy thought later, one of the best days of her entire life. He seemed to know New York like the back of his hand, and he enjoyed sharing little-known bits of history with Tippy and Rory.

“How do you know so much about this place?” Rory wanted to know when they were back in Tippy's apartment that evening.

“My best friend in basic training was from New York City,” he confided. “He was a gold mine of information!”

Tippy laughed. “I have a friend who's like that about Nassau,” she said. “She's on a modeling trip now, to Russia, of all places.”

“What is she modeling?”

Tippy gave him a mischievous look. “Swimsuits.”

“You're kidding!”

“I'm not! The powers that be thought it would be sexy to
have her pose with the Kremlin in the back ground, wearing fur boots and a fur coat.”

“She'll be pickled if she does that here, won't she?” he asked.

“It's fake fur,” she pointed out, laughing. “But it's very expensive fake fur, and it looks real.”

“How about a sandwich, Cash?” Rory called from the kitchen.

“Not for me, thanks, Rory. I'm going back to my hotel to unwind,” he added with a smile. “I had a great time today.”

“So did I, Cash,” Rory said sincerely. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Are you?” Tippy echoed.

He glanced from Rory's curious expression to Tippy's radiant one. “Why not?” he mused, smiling. “I can stand a tour of the museums if you can.”

“I love museums!” Rory enthused.

“As long as I don't have to pose in one.” Tippy sighed. “I have terrible emotional scars from posing with one leg up, leaning back, in front of a Rodin sculpture for four hours.”

“I wonder if it's the one I'm thinking of?” Cash drawled, chuckling when her cheeks went pink.

“I'm sure it was one that contained totally clothed people,” she lied.

He shook his head. “You wish,” he said. “What time do you people get up on a holiday week?”

“Eight,” Rory said.

Tippy nodded. “We're not big on late nights around here. One of us is used to military routine, which be gins at daylight, and the other one has to get up before daylight to work on films,” she said, tongue in cheek.

“Eight it is, then. I know where there's a bakery,” he told
them. “They have homemade cinnamon buns, bear claws, filled doughnuts…”

“I can't have sweets,” Rory replied sadly. He pointed at Tippy. “She has no willpower. If something sweet comes in the door, it will never leave.”

Tippy laughed delightedly. “He's right. I've spent most of my life fighting excess pounds. We have bacon and eggs for breakfast. Pure protein. No bread.”

“Shades of basic training.” He sighed. “Okay. Can we have breakfast here? But you'd better make coffee,” he added sternly. “I am not having breakfast without coffee, even if that means bringing it in a sippy cup.”

“A sippy cup?” Tippy teased.

“I look sexy holding a sippy cup,” he replied, and the smile on his lips was a genuine one. It had been a long time since he'd smiled at a woman and meant it. Well, except for Christabel Gaines. But she was married to his best friend now.

“Well, I'm having a sandwich before I go to bed,” Rory called. “Good night, Cash! See you tomorrow!”

“That's a deal,” Cash called back.

He caught Tippy's soft hand in his and tugged her to the door with him. “I'll check and see if there's anything good at the opera or the ballet, if you'd like…”

“I love either one,” she exclaimed.

“Symphony orchestras?” he asked, testing.

She nodded enthusiastically.

“I guess it won't kill me to wear a suit,” he sighed.

“You took Christabel Gaines to a ballet in Houston, I recall,” she said, with just a hint of jealousy that she couldn't disguise.

It surprised him. His dark eyes probed her light ones until she moved restlessly under the intensity of the gaze. “Christabel
Dunn, these days. And, yes, I did. She'd never been to one in her life.”

“I thought she was a spoiled little princess,” Tippy commented. “I was wrong all the way down the line. She's a very special woman. Judd's lucky.”

“Yes, he is,” he had to agree. Christabel was still a sore spot with him. “They dote on the twins.”

“Babies are nice,” she said. “Rory was precious even at the age of four.” She smiled wistfully. “Every day's an adventure with a child.”

“I wouldn't know.”

She looked up, surprised by the expression on his lean, hard face.

He averted his eyes. “I've got to go. I'll see you in the morning.”

He let go of her hand and left her standing. She divined that something in his past had wounded him deeply, something to do with children. Judd had told her that he thought Cash had been married once, but no more than that. He was a puzzle. But he appealed to her in ways no other man ever had.

 

C
ASH ARRIVED AT EIGHT SHARP
the next morning, carrying a silvertone coffee holder in one hand and a paper sack in the other.

“I made coffee,” she said quickly.

He lifted the holder. “Vanilla cappuccino,” he said, waving it under her nose. “My only real weakness. Well, except for these,” he waved the sack.

“What's in there?” Tippy asked, following him to the breakfast table she'd already set, where Rory was waiting to start eating.

“Cheese Danishes,” he said. “Sorry. I can't give up sugar.
I think it's one of the four major food groups, along with chocolate and ice cream and pizza.”

Rory burst out laughing. So did Tippy.

“Amazing,” she said, giving his powerful body a lingering scrutiny. “You don't look as if you've ever tasted fat or sugar in your life.”

“I work out every day,” he confided. “I have to. Those uniforms are sewn on us, you know,” he added deadpan, “to emphasize what nice muscles we have.”

Her eyes glanced off his biceps, very noticeable in the knit shirt he was wearing with dark slacks, as he swung his black leather jacket onto an easy chair on his way to the kitchen.

“No comment?” he taunted.

She sighed. “I was just noticing the muscles,” she murmured dryly.

Rory had excused himself to go to the bathroom. Cash caught Tippy's long skirt and pulled her close to his chair. “If you play your cards right, I just might take my shirt off for you one day,” he purred.

She didn't know whether to laugh or protest. He was so unpredictable.

“Not right away, of course,” he added. “I'm not that kind of man!”

Now she did laugh. Her eyes lit up, sparkling like emeralds. He grinned, too. “Here. Have a cheese Danish. I brought enough for all of us.”

She reached down into the bag, very aware of his dark eyes on her face.

“Your skin is beautiful, even without makeup,” he noted deeply. “It looks like silk.”

Her head turned. She met his eyes evenly and her heart jumped. He was very sexy.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured.

“I'll bet you know everything there is to know about women,” she confessed huskily.

His eyes narrowed. “And you know next to nothing about men.”

Her eyes misted. “I haven't wanted to,” she said softly. Her gaze fell to his wide, chiseled mouth.

“Careful,” he said quietly. “I've kept to myself for a long time.”

“You wouldn't hurt me,” she whispered daringly, meeting his searching gaze. “I wish…oh, I wish!”

“You wish…what?” he prompted, his jaw clutching as the fragrance of her body drifted down into his nostrils. She was so close that he could see her heart beating at the neck of her blouse. He wanted to jerk her down into his arms and kiss her until her beautiful mouth began to swell.

She was feeling the same hunger. She looked at his mouth and wondered how it would feel to kiss it in tensely, the way she'd stage-kissed her fellow actor in the movie they'd made at the Dunn ranch. She could al most taste Cash's hard mouth. Her body felt swollen, achy. It was like a thirst that no water would ever be able to quench.

Her breath caught noisily in her throat as her full lips parted. “I wish…”

The sound of the toilet flushing broke them apart. She stood up, forgetting the Danish, and went to the sink to wash her hands because she needed something to still them.

Rory came back, totally oblivious to what he'd interrupted, and helped himself to a Danish. After a minute, Tippy poured coffee for herself and orange juice for Rory, and sat down at the table as if nothing at all had happened.

 

T
HEY WENT TO THE
A
MERICAN
Museum of Natural History first, to see the renovated dinosaur exhibit on the fourth floor.
There was a long line because of the special exhibits, one that included a film and a shop concerned only with Albert Einstein. They stood in line for over an hour before they were able to get their tickets.

Rory went from one of the fossils to another, eagerly climbing a flight of stairs above the tallest skeleton so that he could look down on the massive shoulder blades and hip joints.

“He loves dinosaurs,” Tippy remarked, sauntering along beside Cash in her long green velvet skirt with boots and a white silk blouse under her black leather coat. Her hair was around her shoulders, and she was drawing attention from men as well as women, despite the very light touch of cosmetics she'd used.

Beside her Cash felt a surge of pride in her company. She really was beautiful, he thought, and it had so little to do with surface appearance. She was pure gold inside, where it counted.

“I like dinosaurs myself,” he commented. “I was here several years ago, but I missed the dinosaurs because this exhibit was being reworked. They're impressive.”

She leaned closer to a sign to read it.

“You aren't wearing your glasses,” he remarked.

She laughed self-consciously. “I'm a walking disaster when I have them on,” she said dryly. “I clean them with whatever's handy. The lenses stay scratched, and I've already had them replaced twice.”

“They have new lenses that don't scratch easily,” he pointed out.

“Yes, that's the kind I got. Sadly, they aren't fool proof.” She lifted a beautiful shoulder. “I wish I could wear contacts, but my eyes don't like them. I get infections.”

He reached out a big, lean hand and caught a strand of her hair in it, testing its softness and bringing her close up against
him in the process. “Your hair is alive,” he said quietly. “I've never seen this color look so natural.”

“It is natural,” she replied, feeling her knees go shaky at the unexpected proximity. He smelled of cologne and soap—clean, attractive smells. Her hands rested on his shirt, feeling the warm muscle and the faint cushiony sensation of hair under her hands. She wanted to pull the shirt up and touch him there with a fervor that made her breath catch. She'd never felt desire so torrid in her life.

“And nothing about you is artificial?” he probed.

“Nothing physical,” she agreed.

His dark eyes searched her green ones for longer than he meant to. His face seemed to clench. She knew he could probably feel her heart racing. She couldn't help it. He was a particularly masculine man. Every thing feminine inside her reacted to his touch. “I don't trust women.”

“You were married,” she recalled.

He nodded. His fingers curled around the strand of hair he was holding. His eyes were haunted. “I loved her. I thought she loved me.” He laughed coldly. “She certainly loved what I could buy her.”

She felt cold chills run down her spine. “There's so much in your past that you don't talk about,” she said softly. “You're very mysterious, in your way.”

“Trust comes hard to me,” he told her. “If people can get close to you, they can wound you.”

“And the answer is to keep everyone at arm's length?” she replied.

“Don't you?” he shot back. “Except for Rory, and briefly Judd Dunn, I don't recall ever seeing you keeping company with anyone. Especially a man.”

She swallowed hard. “I have horrible memories of men. Except for Cullen, and there was no physical contact there.
He liked women as friends, but found them physically repulsive.”

“Did you love him?”

“In my way, I did,” she said, surprising him. “He was one of two people in my entire life who were good to me without expecting anything in return.” Her smile was cynical. “You can't imagine how many times you get propositioned in my line of work. It took years to perfect a line that worked.”

“You can't blame men for trying, Tippy,” he said curtly. “You look like every man's dream of perfection.”

Her heart jumped. “Even yours?” she asked in a teasing tone. Except she wasn't teasing. She wanted him to want her. She'd never wanted anything so much.

He let go of her hair. “I gave up women years ago.”

“Aren't you lonely?” she wanted to know.

“Are you?” he retorted.

She sighed, studying his strong features with a vague hunger. “I've got cold feet,” she said huskily. “Once or twice over the years I took a chance on someone who seemed nice. But nobody wanted to talk to me, to get to know me. They only wanted me in bed.”

His eyes narrowed. “Can you…?”

Her gaze fell to his chest, where the muscles were outlined by the close fit of his knit shirt. “I don't know,” she replied honestly. “I haven't…tried.”

“Do you want to?”

She bit her lower lip and frowned, staring at the dinosaur without really seeing it. “I'm twenty-six years old. I don't risk my heart, and I'm happy enough. I have Rory and a career. I suppose I've got all I need.”