by Carol Devine
The tiger lowered her head during his little speech, though she still kept her gaze fastened on Amanda. Bram continued, a suspicion forming in the back of his mind as he divided his attention between her and Amanda.
"I first met Tasha at a casting call for movie extras. The movie was one of those low-budget exotic adventures, set in the jungles of India but filmed in the hills above Los Angeles. I was too tall to make it as one of the natives, but Sam thought my brawn would be an asset in his line of work. He trained animals for work in television and films. His favorites were the exotics. I was at loose ends at the time, wondering if there was life after football. I'd gotten a scholarship to UCLA, then busted my knee too badly to play. My family had financial problems, so I quit school and went to work for Sam.
"The training methods he used didn't seem cruel to me, at least not initially. I'd grown up spurring horses and branding cattle. When dealing with big cats, Sam lived by two additional rules. Number one, never turn your back. Number two, always carry a weapon, a whip, a club, a gun. Always.
"To be fair to Sam, he tried his best with Tasha. But he'd trained all his cats the same way for years. Show 'em who's boss was his motto. Tasha came to him already half-grown and spoiled. Sam couldn't change his ways. Neither could she.
"I could tell right away she was different from the other big cats. She had a unique personality and had imprinted on humans. She needed to be taught what was acceptable, not punished for doing what she'd already learned. But I was a twenty-one year old smartass with a big mouth. What I had to say went against everything Sam knew.
"As I mentioned before, Tasha had been raised in a regular household like a regular cat, with plenty of affection but little or no discipline. Sam changed all that. He cracked down on her hard, isolating her not only from the other tigers, but from people. He put her on a rigorous training schedule, hoping to make back his investment as soon as possible. But Tasha refused to cooperate. She'd never been alone before, never been caged before. She acted dazed, disoriented. When I told Sam she was exhibiting signs of depression, he laughed. Tigers can't be depressed, he said.
"After months under stress, Tasha took to chewing on her chains. When she broke one of her canine teeth, Sam was incensed. He ranted that she'd lost half her value, that she couldn't be used for close-ups or headshots. He vowed to teach Tasha a lesson she'd never forget." Bram paused, remembering the stink of her cage, how he had to pull her, broken and bleeding, from her own filth, and drag her to his car. He'd owned a beat up Toyota then, a wagon. She'd barely fit, even with all the seats folded down. He'd torn out the front passenger seat to make room for her head.
"What did he do to her?" Amanda asked.
"Let's just say Sam didn't leave her in the best of shape," he finished quietly.
She murmured and laid a sympathetic hand on his. Bram drew a deep steadying breath, appreciating her silent empathy.
Tasha snarled, loud and startling. Bram shoved Amanda forward, then cut off the tiger's lunge into the front seat with a shoulder block. "Hold on!" he yelled.
The car wobbled out of control. He hit the brakes. An exit loomed and he grabbed it, jerking to a halt on the road shoulder which overlooked an empty grass field. Twenty yards ahead, a lone street lamp cast a pinkish cone of light. Luckily, there was little traffic.
"Get out!"
Amanda didn't argue. Bram waited until she huddled under the lamp before turning toward the tiger. Now that Tasha had his full attention, she yawned.
"What is your problem? "
The tip of her tail curled up. She took his words as an invitation to crawl delicately into the front seat, rubbing her long flank against his arm. She must think she was no bigger than a Siamese, Bram thought, prodding her when she stepped on his thighs, trying to make room for herself. She weighed a ton. Another few minutes of this and he wouldn't be able to father children.
"Sit, you idiotic animal," he ordered. The signal was lost as he shoved her back. A deep satisfying rumble came from deep within her chest. Mystification turned to exasperation.
"Don't you dare start that, not after chasing the owner of this car right out the door," he admonished her. She pretended not to look at him and sat like a queen, head high and satisfied.
Lifting a front paw, she licked it and rubbed it all over her face.
"Oh, you're fat and happy all right," Bram said, struck by her expression. She'd won a battle, he thought, and was preening herself because of it. "Think you got rid of a rival for your master's attention, do you?" he asked. "Well, don't be too sure." He signaled her to stay put as he got out of the car.
"Are you okay?" Amanda called. She waited a good twenty yards away, skittish as a new colt.
"Fine," he replied, studying her speculatively. At least the lady wasn't prone to hysterics. "We've got a little problem, though."
"Are we talking grand theft auto here? I hope so, because I'd rather not explain to the cops how a tiger confiscated my car in the middle of the Boulder turnpike."
He admired the attempt at levity but didn't smile. The situation was too serious. "Tasha's jealous of you."
She paced a few tentative steps forward. "Jealous! Why?"
"She seems to think you're horning in on her territory, namely me." He unbuckled his tooled leather belt and pulled it from the loops. "She needs to be taught a lesson."
"NO!”
Cold fingers closed over his wrist. Bram looked up, astonished. She'd moved like a dervish and stood with her feet braced, doing a death grip on his arm, those violet-blue eyes glittering in the darkness. She truly thought he was about to take the belt to Tasha. Unbelievable. Bram came up with a curse so vile, the devil himself would applaud.
"Damn me to hell and back, I don't care!" she shouted. "I won't let you hurt that animal."
She tried to steer him sideways. He refused to budge and stood gauging her strength, amazed that she'd even try to challenge him physically. Dropping the belt, he allowed her to push him back, resisting only enough to provide a target for her anger.
"Enough, Mandy," he said when they reached the road. She let go of him then, making sure her body was between him and the car. Like a tigress protecting her cub. The analogy didn't make him feel better however. Very quietly, he said, "After the story I just spilled in the car, do you really think I'd ever raise a hand to Tasha?"
When she didn't answer he got directly in her face.
"Do you?"
"I don't know," she answered.
He kept at it, a disturbing knot twisting his stomach. What did she think he was, a monster? He began to describe his feelings for Tasha, something he'd never before put into words. His voice turned rough, but he continued on with a vengeance thinking that if he didn't fully explain it, she'd never understand. He spoke of how he nursed Tasha back to health, about the times he went hungry in order to buy her meat, about the long days of training and going on the road, getting ready for the nights she lived for, performing in spotlit arenas. His tone was raw and finally Amanda looked away, her gaze on the ground.
"Bram, I'm so sorry. I didn't think."
"Damn right you didn't," he affirmed, stalking forward to scoop up the belt. He slid it through his hands in short, jerky movements, afraid suddenly that he'd said too much.
He heard her blow her nose and walk forward, her spiky heels crunching on the roadside gravel. She halted next to him and touched his sleeve.
"Bram?"
"Now what?"
She met his gaze, sorrow in her expressive eyes. "Most people look at me and see the daughter of a famous and beloved man, a daughter raised in a rich and privileged family. They think they know who I am, but they don't." She brushed his arm, her fingers like a feathery wing on the rough denim of his jacket. "I made some assumptions about you, based on what little I knew of your life. That was wrong of me. Doubly wrong because I know how stupid those kind of assumptions can be. I'm sorry."
He searched her face, looking for falseness or worse, ridicule.
What he recognized was humility. His hands stopped their restless snapping of the belt. "Folks stopped talking back to me when I hit six foot three. All of us can stand being taken down a peg or two once in awhile, myself included." He nodded toward the car. "Tasha, too."
"What are you going to do?"
Bram didn't want to tell her. Animals, especially wild ones, were not predictable, and it would be misleading to give her the impression that he had Tasha all figured out. On the other hand, he thought he knew what was wrong and had a good idea about how to solve it. Trouble was, the solution required Amanda's unquestioning cooperation and cooperation was not one of her strong suits. Experience told him the less she knew about what he planned to do, the better.
"Watch me," he said. She nodded and stayed where she was while he strode to the car and opened the passenger door.
Looping the belt around Tasha's neck, he drew the loose end through the buckle, leaving a foot lead. He hoped it was enough. He could get both hands around it, but barely. He glanced up to check Amanda' s position before guiding Tasha out, a firm grip on her makeshift collar. "Look straight into her eyes," he ordered without preamble.
"You told me she'd take that as a sign of aggression."
"Tasha's got to learn that I won't tolerate this kind of behavior. Whatever she does, stand your ground. Don't show that you're frightened."
"Easy for you to say."
"Pretend she's me. That should make it easy."
Amanda chuckled. The sound was low, musical and made him want to hear it again. Bram shook his head, braced himself and focused on the tiger. Tasha had a hundred and fifty pounds on him. If training a big cat with love and affection had an ultimate test, this could very well be it.
Chapter Eight
"Should I try to call her?" asked Amanda.
Bram kept his eyes and concentration on Tasha, although he wasn't immune to the anxiety in Amanda's voice. She'd been working to make friends with the tiger by talking to her for the past twenty minutes, without success. He kept his tone light. "Nope. Just bare your teeth in one of those rare pretty smiles of yours."
She must have obeyed because Tasha tensed. Bram knelt to whisper in her good ear. He ordered Amanda to approach gradually, rewarding the tiger with soft words, treats and strokes whenever she relaxed, even slightly. "Put your hand on my shoulder," he told Amanda when she got close enough.
"Don't you think this is a bit ridiculous?"
"It's working, isn't it?" Bram reached up and grabbed her hand. Tasha crouched, her snarl full of menace. Bram released the hand and she immediately eased her stance. He glanced at Amanda. "I'd like to try that again, only without my holding her."
"Are you crazy?"
"Don't worry. I'll put her in the car.” He rose, urging the tiger forward.
Amanda followed from a safe distance. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"Tasha's problem isn't with you, it's with me. Whenever you come in contact with me, she throws a fit."
"Has she done this before?"
He thought of all the times Tasha had seen him with women, the autograph hounds, the groupies, the occasional one night stand. Even his ex-wife. "No, never."
"Then how can you be sure what her problem is? For all we know, she could have gas pains or something."
"I've lived with this animal for almost twelve years. I know her better than I do myself. Tasha considers you a threat. She must be shown you're not the enemy. In the animal world, actions speak louder than words." He directed Tasha into the car and slammed the door.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll explain in just a minute." He circled the car, checking doors and windows. "The only thing I'm worried about is when she sees us together, she might hurl herself against a window hard enough to break it."
"She can't. The glass is bullet-proof. Even if it shatters, it won't break."
Bram lifted his head, his interest sharp. "Is bullet proof glass a standard feature on Cadillacs these days?"
"My family is understandably security conscious. When I moved out to Colorado, my mother wanted to hire a bodyguard and a chauffeur to drive me around in a limousine. A large car with numerous safety features was our compromise."
"What about the bodyguard?"
"I grew up with them dogging my every move. It wasn't something I enjoyed. I take the necessary safety precautions but I refuse to have someone guarding my every step or driving me around as though I was the Queen of Sheba."
"Lucky for us," Bram observed, his tone preoccupied. He checked the car once more, then walked toward her. "Okay, I'm ready. Come here and take my hand."
"I've seen that look before, Masterson. Sorry, but I won't agree to anything physical."
"Is a handshake innocent enough for you?"
"What more do I have to do?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don't move, talk, anything, unless I say so. Understood?"
"Yes." Amanda didn't like the terms, but there weren't a whole lot more appealing choices. She didn't have a clue about how to handle Tasha. Bram was the expert and she was willing to give him some latitude. The feel of a warm, hard palm circling her hand intruded on her thoughts. But only some.
He jerked her forward, closer to him.
"What?" she asked.
"Hush!" His grip tightened in warning.
She started to protest but he wasn't paying any attention to her. His head was turned toward the car, his eyes darker than the gloom surrounding them. She didn't have to turn to know that Tasha gazed at him with the same intensity.
He caught her other hand, enfolding both of hers into both of his, together between them. The stark line of his jaw gleamed in the moonlight. She concentrated on that rather than the calloused press of his fingers and comforted herself with the knowledge he touched her only to reassure the tiger.
"Hold still," he whispered. His large hands circled her wrists and skimmed up her arms. At her shoulders he stopped and began to knead the tense knot at the base of her neck. A tremor started there and widened, like a ripple caused by a stone throw into a pond.
"Uh, Bram?"
"Relax," he said, echoing the order by working magic with his blunt fingers. "Trust me."
No wonder she felt apprehensive. For all she knew, he'd commanded Tasha to misbehave so he would have an excuse to carry out this little demonstration. Maybe he had a cameraman hidden in the bushes. But doubts about his motives couldn't dent the lassitude she experienced under his hands. She released a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
He spread his fingers, mantling the collar of her blouse in heat. "Unbutton your suit coat," he ordered.
"But--"
"Do it."
She did. His palms slipped beneath her jacket. It lifted and fell down her arms, encouraged by a flip of his wrists, to land with a whisper on the ground. The cool night air strengthened the contrast between her apprehension and a newer fear. Something about the way he touched her caused her heart to beat. Hard. His hands returned to her neck, cupping the sweep from her ear to the ruffled collar at her throat, his thumbs stroking the underside of her jaw.
She raised her chin sharply but he didn't appear to notice. His focus remained on Tasha. She bit her lip when his fingers explored the ridge of bone behind her ears, just under the hairline. In any other circumstance, it would have been an intimate touch, fraught with pleasure and taken as such. Even impersonal as it was, she had a hard time holding herself rigid. The inclination was to relax her neck and let her head fall back. Not exactly a position of authority.
He still wasn't paying attention to her, so she allowed herself one small concession and closed her eyes. The tingling caused by his fingers intensified, and a lethargy crept down her spine, much appreciated in her current tense state. She swayed ever so slightly, assuring herself it was not obvious.
His breath warmed the shell of her ear. "Now comes the true test," he whispered. "Touch me."
She suddenly had a picture of his naked
chest, all golden skin and corded muscle, and innate caution made her open her eyes. She expected a leering wink; what she got was a look of eloquence, pure and primal, directed at Tasha. The connection between man and beast held her breathless, her heart pounding in her ears. Slowly she raised her hands and placed them on his denim covered arms. Heat shot through her palms .
"Take off my jacket."
It cost her the rest of her caution, but she obeyed, reasoning she'd rather help than hinder him. Still, her hands were shaking as she burrowed beneath the denim covered shoulders and lifted the jacket the same way he had lifted hers.
Unfortunately his arms were bulkier and to get the coat off, she had to peel it down his biceps, dragging her hands over ridges of muscle. Her mouth dried. Visual memory had not done him justice .
She shut her eyes but that just heightened the experience.
Within her mind she could see precisely what she touched, how he looked, where he tensed. A play of light and shadow, flexing, creating a warmth which fired her clammy fingers. His scent, now familiar, teased her nose. If this hadn't been an exercise in calming Tasha, she would have pulled away, disturbed by the implications of what undressing him did to her. She couldn't afford to lose control with anyone, much less a man as unpredictable as this one. Her personal reputation was too important.
The jacket dropped to the ground and she slowly returned her hands to his arms. The only thing that could worsen this situation was if he guessed the why behind her reluctance.
"Hug me."
Prudence dictated she say no. Instead she went up on tiptoe and felt the muscles of his cotton-covered shoulders brand the underside of her arms as she looped them around his neck.
Her head fit the hollow beneath his chin. The warm cotton of his t-shirt tickled her nose, smelling of fabric softener.
He wrapped her waist and she thought of her father then, of how she used to feel safe when he was alive and how all that changed when he died. Here was safety of another kind, yet she couldn't fathom it, not when her heart beat as though she'd run a five minute mile.
