by Amii Lorin
At the look of anxiety that had replaced the happy glow on her mother’s face, Tara caught herself up sharply. Marshaling her rioting emotions, she managed a shaky laugh.
“Of course not, Mama. I was just trying to chase Alek into the living room to Dad, so I can get on with the salad.”
Tara saw, but refused to let register, the small sigh Alek expelled before he turned a composed, warm face to her mother.
“Hello, Marlene. Happy Thanksgiving.” He had been using her parents’ Christian names, at their request, for several days now, yet each time he addressed one of them, Tara felt an uncomfortable twinge. He did it so easily, so effortlessly, as if he’d known and liked them for years.
“I suppose,” he went on teasingly, “that if I want to taste said bird in the oven, I had better retreat to the living room, and Herman, as graciously as possible. And you were right. The aroma is mouth-watering. If you’ve taught Tara all your little kitchen secrets, I’m afraid I’ll have to watch my waistline very carefully after we’re married.”
Tara’s fingers curled into her palms, the nails digging into her flesh as she watched her mother’s expression change from worry to flushed pleasure. He had completely captivated her mother. Had in fact captivated every member of her family. Betsy became all flustered and pink-cheeked whenever he favored her with one of his teasing, devastatingly gentle smiles. Her brothers trailed around behind him as if in the wake of some vaulted, invincible hero, their expressions bordering on awe. And her father! That was the kicker. Her father walked around with his chest expanded, eyes bright with pride, whenever Alek slipped and called him sir instead of Herman.
Their attitude, the whole situation, filled Tara with disgust. They act as if he were one of the lords of the earth, she had thought scathingly several times, rather man the devious, arrogant, tyrannical boss he in fact was. Not once did she question her own deeply ingrained opinion of him. He was the enemy. Period.
Tara spent the rest of the day in cold resentment; he had ruined the holiday for her. By the time they reached his parents’ home, her resentment had changed to simmering anger. His possessive attitude, his endearments, had her fighting the urge to hit him.
Alene had planned a casual evening and, after the cold buffet supper had been cleared away, they gathered in the living room. As there were more people than chairs, Tara sat on the floor between Alek’s and Peter’s chairs. The conversation ran the gamut from fashion to politics.
Tara was just beginning to relax and enjoy herself when Alek’s hand dropped onto her shoulder and his cool voice drawled, “I wonder if most women really know what they want?” His eyes rested briefly on his mother’s face, then he added, “The most contented women I know are the ones who realize then- happiness stems from being well cared for and cherished by the men they belong to.”
The obnoxious bastard! Red flares exploded inside Tara’s head. Trembling in anger, she turned her head to stare pointedly at his hand before lifting her head to give him the full blast of fury in her eyes. To keep from shouting Tara had to push her words through her teeth.
“If a slave is your secret desire, Alek, count me out. I will be a slave for no man.”
Alek’s face paled and, in soothing tones, he murmured, “Tara, I didn’t mean—”
“I have reason to know,” Tara interrupted bitingly, “you mean exactly what you say. Belonging to means ownership and ownership of a human being means slavery. I am, and intend to remain, my own person. With or without your approval. And will you please remove your hand.”
Tara’s last words were spoken so cuttingly, Alek snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. A tide of red crawled across his cheeks, and his eyes held an unfamiliar look of humiliation.
A deathly silence covered the room for some minutes, then Peter’s quiet voice eased the tension.
“You deserved that, son,” he said easily. “Strangely enough, your mother put me in my place much the same way forty years ago.”
“And hard as it may be to believe, Tara,” Alene chimed in laughingly, “Peter was even more cocky then Alek.”
Her teasing gibe relieved the strain in the room, and everyone began talking at once. Even so, Alek did not touch her for the remainder of the evening.
* * * *
By the Saturday before the wedding Tara was bewildered and near tears. She couldn’t or wouldn’t understand her own emotions any longer, and she felt depressed and somehow scared. That afternoon she sat doing her nails, nibbling at her lower lip. There was to be yet another party—the last of many—that night at the home of a lawyer friend of Alek’s. From what she had gleaned from Sallie, it was to be a large one, some forty or so guests. This was to be the first really formal party for them, and Tara had shopped for hours till she found the right dress. The fact that her beautiful future mother-in-law would be there was an added spur to her choice. Alene had exquisite taste and always looked as if she had just stepped out of the pages of a haute couture magazine. Also Alek had told her she’d be meeting his cousin Theo at this party, as he was arriving Saturday morning.
The dress she’d chosen was a beautifully cut, form-fitting lilac cocktail dress that fell to her delicate ankles. Elegant strappy evening shoes in a matching shade completed the outfit.
As she walked into the living room that evening, she was glad she’d taken more care than usual with her appearance. Alek, in black evening wear, was a devastating threat to any female’s senses, and Tara felt her heartbeat quicken. The glittering, sapphire gaze he slowly ran over her didn’t help her breathing any, and she drew a deep, calming breath when he murmured, “We had better be going,” and turned his eyes away from her to say good night to her parents.
In the car Tara was quiet, her mouth and throat felt dry as bone, and she admitted to herself that she was scared. Tonight, for the first tune, she would be meeting Alek’s more important friends, and she was naturally anxious.
As he turned the car into the private drive leading to his friends’ home, Alek slanted her a sharp glance, then, as if he had been monitoring her thoughts, said gently, “They’re only people, you know. Very little different from other people. Some may have more money, some more intelligence, and most, more ambition and drive. But people, just the same. I doubt there’ll be a woman there more lovely or poised than you. I wonder sometimes if you fully realize how beautiful and desirable you are.” He parked the car in the midst of dozens of others, then turned to face her fully. “Chin up, my sweet. Let’s have one of those heart-stopping smiles of yours,” he teased.
Feeling a soothing warmth flow through her, Tara did smile, if a little tremulously. Bending his head, he brushed his mouth across hers and whispered, “Now go in there and knock their socks off.”
The house was very large, very imposing, and more than a little daunting. As they entered the large, impressive hall, Tara unconsciously straightened her shoulders and lifted her head, completely unaware, as she walked into the room full of people, that she had the graceful bearing of a young queen.
Her first impressions were of lights and sounds and colors. The room was brightly lit, the light reflecting even more light as it struck fiery, rainbow-colored sparks off the jewelry that adorned the throats, wrists, fingers, and earlobes of the fashionably dressed women. The sound was a blend of laughing voices and muted background music coming from several speakers positioned at different spots in the room.
She was vaguely aware of Alek introducing her to her host and hostess, John and Adele Freeland, and they in turn were introducing her to the people standing closest to them. In amazement Tara heard herself responding in a tone of cool self-assurance. Then the press of people separated her from Alek, and what little confidence Tara had, left her completely. She was beginning to feel panic rise when, on a sigh of sheer relief, she saw Alek’s father making his way to her through the crowd.
“Good evening, my dear.” Peter Rykovsky’s voice was a warm caress to badly fraying nerves. Without so much as a by-your-
leave he took her cold fingers in his warm hand and said imperviously, “I’ve been ordered by my lady to bring this delectable young thing to her, and, as you know, Alene’s wish is my command.”
Warm laughter followed them as he led her adroitly through the milling people, not stopping until Tara stood directly in front of Alene. “Ah, there you are, darling,” Alene’s lovely voice greeted her. “Come meet my nephew Theo.”
Tara turned and felt the breath catch in her throat. Standing next to Alene was a young man who could easily have posed for at least a half dozen Greek statues. His face and form were classically beautiful; his dark, curly hair appeared sculpted to his head; and his eyes were clear and blue as a summer sky. Even, white teeth flashed as he smiled at her and in a voice that held only a hint of an accent he said, “All my life I’ve secretly thought that Alek was not only the shrewdest but also the luckiest devil alive. Now my beliefs are confirmed. I think I’ve fallen in love on sight. I don’t suppose, beautiful creature, you’d care to run away with me this minute and leave old Alek at the altar, would you?”
In speechless confusion Tara heard Alene’s laughing comment and Peter’s dry retort. This guy is almost as outrageous as Alek, Tara thought. What surprises would the rest of the family have for her?
She was saved from answering him as Sallie joined their small circle, and once again she was being led away. They had taken only a few steps when she had to stop short, her path being barred by an exotically lovely woman whose black eyes glittered maliciously at her. In a tone of barely controlled fury, she purred icily, “I haven’t yet met the bride-to-be, Sallie.”
A flicker of alarm touched Tara’s spine at the hostility underlying the woman’s tone, and she looked at her sharply. She was of average height, voluptuously built, with full breasts, a small waist, and full hips that tapered to long, slender legs. Her skin was olive-toned, and right now a dusky pink tinged her cheeks. Hair as shiny black as sealskin lay smooth and sleek against her head in a short cap-cut. Beautifully arched black brows set off snapping black eyes, which were surrounded by long black lashes. The almond shape of her eyes added to the exotic look of her. The feeling of alarm grew stronger at Sallie’s obvious reluctance to introduce them. After what seemed like a long pause Sallie said hurriedly, “Tara Schmitt—Kitty Davenport.”
Kitty! More like the jungle cat, Tara thought as she acknowledged the introduction. Her thought was proved correct with the woman’s next words: “I hope you’re enjoying yourself now,” she purred. “It won’t be long before the novelty of innocence wears off for Alek, and then your nights will be very cold and long.”
“Kitty!” Sallie’s voice held shocked reproof, even though she’d managed to keep it at a normal tone. Grasping Tara’s arm, she drew her away from the nasty laugh that broke from Kitty’s dark-red lips. When they were a few feet away from her, Tara whispered, “What was that all about?”
Sallie began to shake her head, then paused and finally said, “I may as well tell you. You’ll find out sooner or later anyway.” Still grasping her arm, she drew her into a relatively quiet corner, glanced around, then said softly, “Until a few months ago Kitty was Alek’s—uh—girl friend. She has been vocally bitter about their breakup. I can’t imagine why she was invited to this party.”
The searing stab of pain that tore through Tara at Sallie’s words stunned her, and she turned her head to hide her pain-filled eyes. She was jealous! Fiercely, hotly jealous, and the knowledge of it frightened and confused her. As if looking for a lifeline, she glanced around the room frantically, and her glance was caught, held by a glittering blue one. Even across the width of the large room Tara saw Alek’s eyes grow sharp, questioning. As her eyes stared into that sapphire blaze, a small voice cried out inside, Dear God, no. No, no, no. I can’t, I won’t be in love with him.... But you are came a silent taunt.
Remember how he’s hurt you, what he is, she told that silent voice, then she deliberately turned back to Sallie and said coldly, “Girl friend? You mean mistress, don’t you? Did he pay for an apartment for her in his building or did she just share his?” It was a futile effort to reject her emotions. The pain and humiliation grew to the dimensions of torture, and she was only vaguely aware of the concern in Sallie’s voice. “Oh, Tara, does it really matter? It was over months ago.”
Yes, Tara thought. But for how long? How long would it be before Alek, once having acquired the one thing he’d been denied, became bored and began looking around for a diversion. And Kitty would be there in his sight; of that Tara felt quite sure.
Chapter Eight
Tara opened her eyes the morning of her wedding and closed them again quickly, tightly. The weather matched her emotional condition. The sky was weeping hard, and although Tara’s eyes were now dry, inside her heart the tears fell as swiftly as the raindrops. The days she lived through since the party—a week ago tonight—had been pure hell.
Vainly and painfully she had fought against the realization of her love for Alek. She had spent as little time with him as possible, telling him she had too much to do. His skeptical eyes questioned her, although he didn’t voice his doubts. She went to her apartment several evenings, ostensibly to pack her things for removal to Alek’s apartment, only to pace from room to room crying bitter tears. She didn’t want to love him. She didn’t even want to like him.
What was she to do? The corrosive desire to make him pay for what he’d done to her had been cauterized by that searing knife of jealousy on Saturday night. She hurt badly yet she knew, somehow, that the pain she now knew was nothing to what would come later. Twice she had left the apartment to go back to her parents, firmly determined to tell them she could not go through with the wedding. Both times the words died on her lips at the sight of her mother’s face.
The rehearsal last night had been an ordeal that was not helped by Theo’s light banter. When it had finally been over, Alek had led Tara outside to his car, brushing aside her protested “Alek, my car,” with a curt “I’ll bring you back for it.”
He had not driven far, parking the car again on a dimly lighted street. Resting an arm on the steering wheel, he slanted a long look at her before asking tightly, “Last-minute jitters, Tara? You’ve been withdrawn and jumpy all week. Is something wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I feel fine,” she murmured, twisting her hands in her lap. “I’m a little tired, that’s all.”
He turned to face her fully, his one long hand covering hers, stilling their agitated movement. Head bent, Tara studied his slim-fingered hand, felt its warmth seep into her cold skin. A small shiver rippled along her spine as his hand moved, slid up her arm to grasp her shoulder. “Look at me, Tara.”
When she didn’t comply at once, he released her shoulder and caught her chin in his fingers, lifting her head and turning her face to his descending mouth. She forced herself to remain passive, silently fighting down the tingling in her fingers, the warmth spreading through her body. Feeling somehow that if she didn’t break contact with his persuading mouth, she’d be lost forever, she pulled her lips away from his with a small sob.
“Alek, please take me home. I’m very tired, and isn’t Theo having a bachelor party for you tonight?”
“Yes he is, but there’s no hurry.” His fingers caressed her cheek, brushed lightly at the few strands of silky hair that had fallen across her face. His mouth followed the progress of his hand and, as his fingers slid into the deep waves of her hair, his lips, close to her ear, whispered, “Only one more day, pansy eyes, and this mad rushing around will be over. You can rest then, and I’ll help you. The medicine I’ve got for you works better than any tranquilizer ever made.” Then his mouth found hers again, hard, demanding a response from her.
Trembling, breathless, she could feel her resistance slipping away, and in desperation she brought her hands up to his head and pushed him away. “Alek, don’t.”
He flung himself back behind the steering wheel, breathing hard, smoldering, darkened eye
s roaming her face.
“You’re right,” he rasped. “I’d better take you home before I decide the hell with the party and take you to my place.” He paused then added roughly, “I want you badly, Tara. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”
Now, lying in her bed, Tara groaned aloud at the memory and turned her face into the pillow. Why hadn’t she backed out of this days ago, as soon as she’d felt that soul-destroying stab of jealousy? She wanted to run away and hide, and it was too late. Within a few hours she would be his wife. His words, like a scratched record, kept repeating in her head. “I want you badly.” I want you. Want. Want. Want.
The rain still poured from leaden skies when Tara, pale, ethereal, and unknowingly beautiful, was dressed and ready to leave for the church. A bubble of hysterical laughter caught then lodged in her throat at the incongruity of tugging clear plastic boots over her white satin slippers and carefully catching her long, full skirt around her knees, under the protective rain cape her father placed around her shoulders. From house to car, from car to church, George held a large golf umbrella over her.
The feeling of unreality that had gripped Tara from the minute she’d begun dressing mushroomed and grew until now, poised, ready to follow Betsy down the aisle, she felt cold, numb. The signaling organ chord was struck, her father’s shoulder nudged hers, and she moved in measured step beside him, unaware of the several small gasps or open stares of admiration that greeted her appearance.
The gown Tara had chosen was of white satin, starkly beautiful in its simplicity. It fit snugly from the high collar that encircled her throat to the nipped-in waist, and from her shoulders to where the sleeves ended in a V point on the back of her hands at the middle fingers. From the waist the skirt belled out full and voluminous, ending in a short train in back. It was completely without adornment of either fabric or jewelry.
