by Gale Storm
“Hadn't we better be going? I would hate to be late to my very first Hollywood party.” She was surprised she managed to make her voice sound so gay and carefree.
“Of course,” Jason took her arm and led her out of the house.
The beach house where Jason took her was magnificent. She was awed by the crisp contrast of seascape and plush, ultra-modern architecture. They were met at the door by a thin man who took one look at Tarry and expelled a low whistle.
“Hey, doll, where you been hiding all my life?” His eyes positively glowed as he eyed her admiringly. Jason explained reluctantly that this was their host and, to him, that Tarry worked at the studio.
“Tarry, meet Nick Hunt. Nick, this is Tarralee Roessel. You've seen her at the studio. She's the animal trainer and wildlife expert Tyrone brought in for his latest project."
“The animal trainer?” Nick looked puzzled. “You're that skinny kid everyone has been talking about? You don't look like a kid now. Come on in. Get her a drink, Jason. I'll introduce her around."
Nick threw his arm over her shoulders and went on to bewilder her completely as he introduced her to so many people that the names didn't mean a thing anymore. She looked through the crowd rather desperately for Jason, wishing he would appear and rescue her from the tight grip of Nick's overly familiar arm. When the doorbell buzzed, Nick pressed a glass of some unidentifiable liquid into her hand. He gave her a wet kiss and disappeared toward the door. She stood by herself in a sea of people, feeling more isolated than she had ever felt in her life. The guests were loud and over-bright. No one was interested in the shy dark-haired girl who stood in front of the bay windows. She wondered why she had thought it would be fun to experience a party.
The room held at least a hundred people, and she noticed as time went on that the crowd overflowed into the hall and bedrooms but the beach remained empty. She was appalled at the intimate touching and petting that seemed an accepted practice among the group. After an hour of searching for Jason, she gave up and quietly slipped out a side door and walked to the shore. She poured the iced drink into the ocean foam, having never tasted it, then smiled as a gull dove after her ice cube.
“Silly gulls.” She laughed at their squawking antics. The party sounds had receded in the background, and she drew a deep breath of relief. When she could find a phone, she'd call a taxi to take her home.
And then she cringed. If she came home too early, Tyrone would know that she hadn't enjoyed herself, and he would blame Jason. She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear the sound of footsteps, and it was the feel of strange arms locking around her waist that brought her back to her surroundings.
“Gotcha.” It was Nick Hunt, his lips nibbling at her creamy neck.
“Let me go!” Her voice was ragged in surprise.
“Not yet, doll, not till I sample a bit of that sugar you've been saving.” His lips were damp against her skin as she twisted in his embrace.
“Leave me alone. I don't want—” He was suddenly yanked backwards, thrown into the sand.
“You heard the lady. She isn't interested."
Nick jumped up, ready to fight until he saw who the intruder was. Tyrone's face was in shadow, and it was the commanding tone of his voice that stopped the other man in his tracks.
“You'll want to go back to your party with a pretty face, won't you, Nick? Your other guests are more agreeable than I am at this moment."
Nick shook his shoulders and laughed. “Sure thing, Tyrone. I didn't realize she was private property. Jason didn't seem interested, so...” Nick shrugged, laughing again. “Make yourself at home, Tyrone, Tarry. Anything either of you need..."
She watched as his shadow moved back toward the house. She was shivering now as she tried unsuccessfully to read the expression on Tyrone's face.
“Thank you, but did you have to be so violent?"
Tyrone growled. That was the only description she could give to the sound that came from his throat.
“Violent.” He repeated the word in disgust. “You're going to be the death of me, woman. No wonder your brothers kept you securely on a mountaintop your entire life.” He caught her arm, but she yanked away.
“Tyrone, what's wrong with you tonight, for heaven's sake? You're being totally unreasonable. This afternoon, then at your folk's home. I don't understand."
“Not unreasonable, just...” He paused, and she watched his hand run through his hair then touch his beard in a distracted way. “You're shivering. Where's your wrap?"
“In the house.” She was puzzled by his manner and attitude. How had he found her? Why was he here? He hadn't mentioned attending the party earlier. Before she could ask, he was shrugging out of his jacket.
“Put this on before you freeze. Don't you know that it's cool in the evening?” He held it on the tip of his fingers. She fought the urge to refuse him, but she was cold and could see no reason to act foolish.
“I didn't know you were planning to come here tonight.” She dropped the jacket over her shoulders. “You never said—"
Tyrone interrupted her. “I never intended to come here. I rarely come to any of these Hollywood parties. They're too often filled with the rejects of my profession. I don't see any reason to raise false hopes with my presence.” His voice was harsh, and she felt her stomach tighten.
“Then why did you come?"
“Why do you think?” he asked impatiently.
She was exasperated by his deliberate refusal to answer her direct question. Then, suddenly, she tilted her head, a sparkle coming into her eyes. This conversation sounded similar to another conversation they had shared earlier. Only it had been she who was angry and frustrated.
“I think we're beginning to repeat ourselves.” Her voice was light, and she waited for his reaction.
Tyrone seemed to straighten as he thought about her words. “I remember being as obtuse with you when we first met. Only I had a valid reason for being angry.” It was his turn to tip his head. She watched as he opened his mouth then closed it. “You're right. We're both stubborn and protective of those who require our protection. I'm not about to apologize."
Tarry laughed, a happy sound against the backdrop of ocean waves. “I wouldn't accept an apology even if you did. I'm happy you came."
“Are you really?” He hadn't moved toward her, but suddenly her breath caught in her throat. There was more to that question than she wanted to answer. But her natural honesty won out.
“Yes, I am. The party was terrible, a total disaster for me. I'm not cut out of the same fabric as these people. I stick out like a sore thumb."
He laughed at her imagery. “Actually, Tarralee, you shine with a brilliance none of these people know how to deal with. Hadn't you wondered why none of the real stars of Hollywood are ever at these parties? They, like you, are individuals. There is no need for them to be fawned over and falsely flattered. They know who they are, where they're going and what they're going to be in twenty years. All the media hype and fan clubs aren't what makes them stars."
She laughed at his comparison, not believing him for a moment that she in any way was comparable to the stars of Hollywood. With an impulsive move she stepped along the shore, making him follow her into the shadows.
“You, of course, would know all about that. I'll admit I'm amazed that you hardly notice the tours that come by the studio. You're professional all the way, aren't you?"
“So are you, Tarry. When you make a promise, you always deliver. You work untold hours to make sure everything is right before delivery. Part of professionalism is the trust that is put into the product. I knew as soon as I met you that you would do your very best if you chose to become a partner with me."
She stopped at a tide pool. There was a deep seriousness to his words that touched her. She didn't want to disappoint him.
“I'm sorry for the way I acted when you first came to the mountain. If I had known more about you, what to expect, I wouldn't have been so mean."
; For the first time all day Tyrone laughed, relaxing his dark expression.
“Mean. Tarralee you couldn't be mean, even if you took lessons. You had a valid reason for suspecting my motives, and I was too headstrong to even consider that. I'm sometimes ashamed of my lack of sensitivity. You, on the other hand, overflow with it."
She laughed, a lilting, lovely sound, at the light tone he used. He had forgotten he was angry with her, and that had been her purpose for strolling along the water's edge.
“Why, Mr. Shields, I think you're doing your best to be charming and turn the head of this backwoods girl,” she teased as she bent and scooped up a handful of water and tossed it at him playfully.
“And you, Miss Roessel, are becoming a tease."
He grabbed for her as she ducked and ran lightly along the shore. He was right behind her. She wasn't surprised when she felt his strong arm wrap around her waist and twirl her about to face him. They were both laughing. Her hands rested on his shoulders as she tasted the salty night air. One rose of its own accord and touched his groomed beard. So soft, and yet so masculine. He watched her as she touched his cheek and he pressed it into her hand. Her fingers trailed through the hair beside his ear. She stood on tiptoe, feeling his fingers tighten on her slender waist. He bent toward her, and the movement brought their lips within an inch of each other.
Tarralee felt a heady power at his indrawn breath as her finger touched his lips. He opened his mouth and accepted the gift of her exploring finger, his tongue curving around the tip with sensual control. When he suddenly sucked it deep into his mouth, she moaned in helpless pleasure. She didn't remember collapsing into the sand, but the warmth of his hands as he rolled her on top of him and touched the low neckline of the dress made her open her eyes. The blue darkness of his eyes in the moonlight sent warmth to the pit of her stomach. The heady scent of his cologne made her gasp.
He kissed her cheek, her nose.
“Your beard's tickling me,” she complained in a throaty whisper. Her words were more of an invitation than a protest.
“If you only knew what I really wanted to do with you, you'd run like the wind.” His breath touched her ear; and she shivered, turning into the curve of his body, her arms wrapping around his neck.
“Show me, Tyrone, I want to...” His lips stopped her words. The kiss did not ignite sparks; it didn't have to. She was ready for his passion. She had been ready for what seemed forever. He turned so she was beneath him, and his hands woke every sleeping nerve in her healthy body as they brushed across her breasts, down her sides, touching her stomach. Their mouths welded together, deepening until kissing was no longer enough. His leg was between her thighs now, his lips making a path down her neck to the top of her outlined breasts. He lifted his head, and the sound of laughter suddenly penetrated Tarry's stunned brain. He moved his body from hers, turning to confront the newcomers.
There was a moment of silence as he was recognized; then Tarry saw Jason, and she realized she was sprawled on the ground. She pushed to her feet, feeling a hot flash of embarrassment as she brushed the sand from her skirt, avoiding looking at Jason.
What had happened to her logical mind and sense of self-preservation? She brushed sand from her skin, hoping she had not ruined the lovely dress. Tyrone suavely smiled at Jason and the woman who accompanied him.
“I'll be taking Tarry home now, Jason. Have a good evening.” Tyrone's voice was cool as he reached around behind and grasped her arm.
“See you Monday, Tarry.” Jason nodded at her, scrutinizing her appearance. She felt scandalized and humiliated. As Tyrone led her away, she wanted desperately to say something; but she knew she was not angry with him or with herself. She could not even be angry with Jason, for without his sudden appearance she didn't want to admit what would have happened in their blooming passion. She needed distance from Tyrone. Only, she knew as they reached the steps leading to the house she didn't want that, either.
He paused outside the main door. His hand wrapped around her wrist as he whispered, “Have you eaten?” The shake of her head was answer enough. “Good. Let's go find food."
He took her hand and led her to his sports car. Once they were both settled he turned and asked softly, “Do you like seafood, Chinese, Italian, or—?"
“I've never eaten Chinese food before. It might be fun.”
“Chinese it is, lady."
He drove slowly back into the city; they didn't speak during the drive. Only the soft music of his radio broke the silence. She knew both their minds were on the beach rather than food. She wondered if he was going to say anything about what had passed between them. Every time she saw him breathe, she felt an answering movement within herself. A forceful current of awareness flowed between them. Her eyes took in the way his muscles flexed as he shifted gears and made a turn. In the dim light of the dashboard she watched his left foot press in the clutch, and her nerves jumped as she watched the tension of his leg as he accelerated. She wet her lips, trying desperately to get her mind off his physical presence. She wasn't surprised when his hand searched out and grasped hers, resting it on his thigh as the drive continued.
When had this man grown to mean so much to her, she wondered Maybe tomorrow she'd think about that, but right now all she could concentrate on was his nearness and the gentleness of his warm fingers. She couldn't stand the silence one more minute.
“Tyrone..."
“Tarralee...” They laughed together. He squeezed her hand.
“You first, Tarry."
She felt him look through the darkness into her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the heat of desire emanating from their blue depths.
“I was just wondering where we're going?"
He hesitated for a heartbeat. Then his voice filled the car as he replied in a commanding tone, “To my apartment. We'll order out, unless you object, of course."
“I'd like that.” She felt herself relax. She didn't think she could stand to share him with anyone now, much less a restaurant filled with curious people. Without realizing what she was doing, Tarralee drew in a deeper breath. Her nipples hardened noticeably through the soft material she wore as Tyrone looked at her again. He wrenched his gaze back to the road, his hand gripping the steering wheel as he swallowed. Carefully, he wove his fingers through hers again, lifting her hand to his lips. She closed her eyes.
Chapter Seven
The inside of Tyrone's apartment was everything she expected it would be and more. It was hopelessly modern and impersonal. It sprawled across the top of one of LA's luxury condominium complexes. Thick white carpets swept toward walls of tinted glass. Ultra-contemporary pieces of smoked glass and shining chrome accented the clean lines of the white custom-designed couches. The room had a stark beauty to it that was offset by a mélange of bronze pillows and chaise lounges. Artful splashes of color were provided by a multitude of landscape paintings and posters. There was little about it that was cozy, no plants or pets to mess up the tidy floor or tabletops. She knew that it reflected his personality in its controlled sophistication. There were piles of manuscripts on a low desk and coffee table against one wall, several pens were scattered beneath it. A typewriter and computer sat near the window ready for the hand that would press the keys.
“You're working on another project?” She asked conversationally as she lifted a page so she could read it.
“Mm...” he agreed, walking to the phone and dialing, effortlessly giving an order to the person on the other end. She skimmed the paper and discovered it was an outline of a screenplay. She didn't hear him come across the white carpet, but as his hands touched her shoulders she leaned back and shivered.
“Would you like to see the rest of the apartment?” His breath touched her neck and she felt a thrill fill her. The paper fluttered out of her hand to join the others on the desk.
“No.” She turned in his arms, lifting her face to his. There was no need to continue. He read the hot message in her eyes and dropped
his head to claim her willing lips. Compulsively, she ran a trembling hand over the rough texture of his beard, dropping it to the opening of his silk shirt. He carefully pulled his jacket from her shoulders letting it drop carelessly to the floor. He lifted her in his arms, following her down onto a chaise lounge that sat beside the window. Her hand toyed with the buttons of his shirt as he lifted his head to stare at her.
“I'll never know how I've kept my hands off you for the past few weeks.” His husky admission thrilled her.
“Why did you try?"
His palm rested on her small breast. “Why?” A silent laugh made his eyes twinkle. “Because if I had touched you before now, woman, I couldn't have stopped. You need more than that and I know it.” She felt the buttons of his shirt come free at last, and she dropped her gaze to stare at the fine hair of his chest. She touched it lightly, and heard his indrawn breath as she felt his male nipples swell and harden under her unknowing caress.
“God!” He kissed her lips, “Are you deliberately trying to drive me mad? I can't give you more than this, Tarralee, no matter that I may want to."
She was puzzled by this admission, but as her lips parted his hungry ones trapped them, effectively stopping any question. He played with one hard nipple beneath the silk; then her bodice ties came undone and he exposed the silk bra that covered her breasts. With gentle pressure, he exposed the pink flesh as his mouth fondled the mound. “I want you completely ... Tarralee, say you want me."
The desire within her was overpowering; and she met his intense gaze, seeing a smile of love in his eyes. “Oh, Ty, please, you know how much, how long I've wanted you."
He smiled as he pushed her skirt up then slowly stripped the silk from her body. He took in her small, compact body. He gently pried her legs apart. Tarry moaned in need. Her lips found the budding tip of his male nipple as he stripped off his shirt. She was too crazed by the desire he created in her to have any modesty. She squirmed against him invitingly, her passion natural and uncontrolled.
“You're so tiny,” he whispered as he gathered her close to his chest, “so small and fragile.” He touched the scab on her side with caution, looking into her eyes for reaction. “I'm so sorry about this, Tarry. I can still see the blood flowing from your side."
