No Red Roses

by Iris Johansen

  "No hurry, George," Rex said absently, as he took Tamara's arm and led her past two more security guards seated at a desk before the elevators. Noth­ing was said, but Tamara felt the guards' keen appraisal had cataloged everything about her including her shoe size.

  "The security in this building appears to be pretty tight," she commented.

  "Scotty found the apartment for me. Security was first on his list of priorities," Rex said, making a face. "You'll get used to it."

  Oliver joined them as they entered the elevator, and punched the button for the penthouse. He checked his watch and said, "It's almost four. I've told George to have the car ready at six. Would it be too much to expect you to be on time?"

  Rex grimaced, not at all offended. "Save the sarcasm, Scotty. Have I ever missed a show?"

  Oliver's lips twisted. "No. but then you've never skipped three days of rehearsals either. How the hell do I know what you're going to do these days." He glanced meaningfully at Tamara.

  "Relax," Rex said, with a careless shrug. "Most of the music I'm doing tonight is my own stuff. Who should know it better?"

  The elevator door whisked open and Rex escorted Tamara across an elegantly decorated foyer to the door opposite the elevator. "Welcome home, sweet­heart," he murmured in her ear, as he unlocked the door and threw it open.

  It couldn't have been less like her own home, Tamara thought wryly, as she preceded the men. The apartment was sleekly luxurious, as was to be ex­pected from the little she'd seen of the building. The huge, sunken living room was plushly carpeted in a rich cinnamon shade that contrasted beautifully with the creamy beige contemporary furnishings. The fo­cal point of the room was a wide, stone fireplace, fronted by a modular velvet-covered couch with oat­meal and rust throw pillows. The far end of the room was dominated by a lovely, mahogany, baby grand piano. Beyond it was a wall of sliding glass doors on which hung cream curtains with bold cinnamon stripes. There were a number of doors lead­ing off this central area.

  Not giving her a chance for a further appraisal of her surroundings, Rex half led, half pushed Tamara toward one of the doors to the left of the fireplace.

  "This is your room," he announced as he opened the door. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "It's a little small. The master suite is much more spacious and you'd find the master most welcoming. Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

  A fugitive smile tugged at her lips as her amused gaze drifted around the guest room. It was lavishly decorated in lavender and cream and was at least twice the size of her bedroom at home.

  "I think I'll be able to tolerate this without develop­ing too bad a case of claustrophobia," she said demurely.

  "I was afraid of that." He sighed. "Well, if you do change your mind, I'm right next door. Scotty is in the guest room across the living room."

  "He lives here?" Tamara asked, startled.

  Rex shook his head. "He's only staying here tonight. It's more convenient since we'll be leaving for Hous­ton early tomorrow morning. We won't have time to eat until after the show, so if you're hungry you'd better grab a sandwich in the kitchen." His lips curved. "I'd appreciate it if you'd try to be dressed by six or Scotty will be having kittens."

  She whirled to face him. "You expect me to go to the concert with you?"

  "Of course," he drawled. "From now on we're going to be as close as Siamese twins. Where I go, you go, pansy eyes. Besides, you've never seen me perform. I'm told I'm fairly fantastic in concert, and I'd be a fool not to take the opportunity to impress you." He made a face. "I'm obviously going to need all the help I can get."

  "You may be disappointed," she answered. "I'm not very fond of popular music."

  "I suspected that. What could I expect of a woman who was clearly born in the wrong century?" he asked gloomily. "I’ll just have to rely on my stupen­dous talent to bridge the gap." Before she could answer he leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her surprised lips. "I'll see you at six." He was gone before she could reply.

  She was standing in the doorway gazing bemusedly after him when Scotty Oliver's voice cut across her abstraction. "You must be a very clever young woman, Miss Ledford," he said, his lips twisting cynically. When he'd entered the living room, he'd thrown himself on' the couch in front of the fireplace and propped his feet on the ottoman. The laziness of his burly form was belied by the keen, narrowed eyes that were as alert and wary as a cat's.

  She half turned to face him, her expression as guarded as his own. "Clever?" she asked.

  "Well, you've obviously got Rex panting like a puppy dog over you, and Rex is a very experienced man where women are concerned. He's been able to have any chick he's wanted since he was a kid, and in all that time I've never yet known him to let a pretty face interfere with his career." He smiled unpleas­antly. "Yes, I'd say you're a very smart little cookie, Tamara Ledford."

  Tamara could feel her temper flare with the sheer injustice of Oliver's insinuation. "You couldn't be more wrong, Mr. Oliver," she retorted. "But if you think I'm such a threat, why don't you convince Rex to send me back to Somerset?"

  "Believe me, I’ll be working on it," Oliver assured her grimly. "So don't get too used to the fringe bene­fits of being Rex's latest toy, honey. Because it's not going to last."

  "Fringe benefits?" Tamara asked, puzzled.

  "Don't try on that innocent bit with me," Oliver said contemptuously. "One thing you'll learn if you're going to be around here for any length of time is that all of Rex's financial transactions go through me. He may have called his secretary yesterday to take care of the details, but she automatically passed on the bills to me."

  "Bills?" Tamara shook her head. "I don't have the slightest idea what you mean."

  Oliver pulled a small spiral notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "One complete designer wardrobe, expense no object. One Lotus sports car. One diamond and amethyst necklace." He closed the notebook with a snap. "The last item is obviously meant to complement your eyes. Not a bad haul for three days' work, Miss Ledford."

  "I suppose you have some idea what you're talking about, but I certainly don't," Tamara snapped.

  Oliver shoved the notebook in his pocket and, swinging his legs off the ottoman, stood up. "Come off it," he said, squaring his jaw belligerently. "Rex may let you get away with that wide-eyed act, but spare me, please. Rex has always been generous with his little playmates and I've always felt it was none of my business. But you've been a little too greedy for me to stomach." His words were shot at her with bulletlike hardness. "I'm not about to let you take him on a scale like that, and just so you know I mean what I say, I'm going to tell you something that will probably hand you a big laugh. I love that kid. I'd have been damn happy to have a son like him. Beneath all that cynicism and toughness he's the sweetest, most decent guy I've ever known." He drew a deep breath, and then continued. "The car won't be delivered until tomorrow, but the other items on the list were easier to obtain. They're in the bedroom. I hope they meet with your approval."

  Tamara stared at him in shock for a long moment before she slowly turned and moved like a sleep­walker into the bedroom. She dropped the jacket she was carrying on the bed and turned to the mir­rored closet, which occupied one entire wall of the room. She slowly slid back one of the doors.

  She gasped involuntarily, feeling vaguely as if she'd been hit in the stomach. The closet was crammed with clothing of all hues and descriptions. Sport things, day dresses, evening gowns, furs, lingerie . . . The list was endless.

  "The necklace is in the top drawer of the dresser," Oliver drawled. He was leaning against the door- jamb, watching her. "It wouldn't have done to have just left it lying around."

  Tamara slowly closed the closet door and walked numbly to the dresser, opened the drawer, and lifted out a black, oblong, leather box with a Tiffany label. She carefully opened the box and stared blankly at the necklace blazing in barbaric splendor against the black velvet interior. It was the most magnifi­cent piece of j
ewelry she'd ever seen. The large square- cut amethysts were interspersed with diamonds that were masterly cut and sparkled with a rainbow of colors.

  "Would you like to know how much it cost?" Oliver taunted. "I'd be glad to show you the bill. It would save you the trouble of having it appraised."

  "No!" Tamara choked. She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy with the tide of fury that was washing over her in red hot waves. Damn Rex Brody. How dare he put her in a position where she could be sneered at by the Olivers of this world? Did he actually think he could buy his way into her bed with these lavish offerings? She wouldn't even admit to herself that her rage was fueled by a queer, poignant pain that he'd thought so little of her he believed she could be bought like a call girl. He had offered her carte blanche that first evening, but their relation­ship had undergone so much in the past three days she'd honestly believed he'd begun to understand her. And to think she'd actually begun to like the man!

  She closed the jewelry box with a sharp click, whirled, and strode purposely to the door.

  Oliver took one look at her flushed face and blaz­ing eyes and slowly straightened, his own expres­sion wary. "Where are you going?"

  She brushed by him as he instinctively drew away from the almost tangible aura of rage surrounding her. "I'm on my way to strangle that sweet, decent guy you're so fond of," she said furiously. "And if you're wise, you’ll stay out of my way or I just may start with you!"

  Ignoring his look of startled alarm, she marched through the living room to the door on the other side of the fireplace, through which Rex had dis­appeared. Without bothering to knock, she threw the door open and stalked into a room that was almost twice the size of hers. She received a fleeting impres­sion of midnight blue carpet and drapes, and a king- sized bed covered in a contrasting ice blue, before realizing that the room was empty. A door at the far end of the room was open, however, and the sound of a rich baritone voice singing cheerfully drifted from the room beyond. Without thinking, buoyed up by anger, she crossed the bedroom and marched belligerently through the door.

  The singing broke off abruptly as Rex looked up from the center of a huge, sunken, marble tub that might well have graced a seraglio. His dark eyes were twinkling mischievously as he drawled, "I know I said I was fantastic, but you didn't really have to rush in here to see for yourself. I'm really much better onstage than in the bath."

  At first Tamara was disconcerted at the sight of him lying languidly, like a sultan awaiting his favor­ite handmaidens, in the sybaritic blue-veined marble tub. She had only a moment to be grateful for the fact that only a disturbing portion of his copper brown, muscular chest with its curly dark hair was revealed above the mountain of suds, floating on the water, before she remembered why she was there.

  She impulsively took a step closer. "I won't be around to see you perform in or out of the tub," she said tightly, waving the black leather jewelry box in her hand. "I just came in here to return this."

  He picked up a loofa sponge and leisurely scrubbed his chest while his lazy appraisal took in her flushed face, blazing eyes, and general air of barely sup­pressed rage. "You're angry," he observed calmly, tilting his dark head to grin at her mockingly. "Now what could I have done to deserve that in the past ten minutes?"

  Tamara opened the jewelry box, took out the necklace, and held the beautiful thing outstretched before her as if it were a poisonous snake. "Was I supposed to be impressed by this little bauble?" she asked hotly. "Well, I find it as flashy and vulgar as the man who chose it. I have no use for it so I'd suggest you give it to one of your other women." With that she dropped the necklace into the sunken tub and tossed the leather case in after it. She whirled to leave with a feeling of grim satisfaction, only to feel one slender ankle grasped in an iron hand.

  "Oh no you don't, princess." Rex's voice was grim. "You're not going anywhere until I get to the bottom of this."

  Then, incredibly, she felt her other ankle similarly encircled, and then a strong jerk toppled her back­ward into the tub! Rex must have released her an­kles immediately after that initial yank, for his arms were there to cushion her impact if not her shock as she was immediately immersed in warm, soapy water.

  "You're crazy," she sputtered, as soon as she could get her breath back. "I'm fully dressed, for heaven's sake!"

  "So you are," Rex said, studying her now sodden, ruined outfit carelessly. "I'd have waited for you to get out of your clothes and join me, but I doubt if you would have accepted my invitation."

  "You're damn right I wouldn't!" she said furiously as she struggled to sit up and release herself from his hold. Rex foiled her attempts with effortless ease, and holding her wrists locked before her, he turned her so that her head was resting on the edge of the tub and her body was facing him in a reclining position.

  "Now," he said lazily, "isn't this comfy? So much better than you stalking off in icy disdain and me chasing after you, shivering in my birthday suit."

  "Will you let me out of here?" she grated between clenched teeth. She'd discovered in helpless frustra­tion that as long as she remained still her head stayed above water, but any sudden movement re­sulted in her mouth sinking below the surface.

  "Eventually," Brody said calmly. "But not until you tell me why I'm suddenly number one on your hit list. I gather it has something to do with the necklace. Didn't you like it?"

  "No, I didn't like it," she mimicked sourly. "And I didn't like the clothes and I'm quite sure I will detest the Lotus."

  "I see Scotty has been his usual verbose self." Rex sighed. "I'd wanted to tell you myself, in my own time."

  "I just bet you did," she muttered, her eyes blaz­ing violet fire. "No doubt you thought I'd be so grate­ful I'd jump immediately into your bed. Well, I'm not quite the tart you think me, Rex Brody. You can take your gifts and stuff them!"

  Rex's forehead knotted in a frown, his lips tighten­ing ominously. "You know, I'm really tempted to drown you," he said conversationally. "What thor­oughly unpleasant ideas you get in that beautiful head of yours. I do not think of you as a tart, and those little gifts were not meant as bribes."

  "And how did you expect me to react?" she asked sharply. "Presents on that scale are fairly self-explanatory. You might even say they're traditional."

  "So you immediately assume I'm trying to buy your favors like some villain in an old-time melo­drama," he growled. "I expected you to have the sense to know I'd never pull a dumb stunt like that. I admit that at times in my past relationships there has been a mutually agreed exchange of commodities, but give me credit for a little insight into your character, Tamara."

  "Then why?" she asked, lifting her chin belliger­ently. "I hardly think Mr. Oliver is correct and you bought that exorbitantly expensive necklace to go with my eyes!"

  There was a curiously sheepish look on Rex's face as he guiltily admitted, "Well, actually that comes pretty close. The necklace was something of an afterthought. I got to thinking how your eyes looked that night on the terrace after your tears had made them sparkle like jewels. I just thought amethysts would look sort of pretty with them."

  Tamara's mouth dropped open in amazement. There could be no doubt of the sincerity of Rex's answer. There had been an almost childlike simplic­ity in his reply. "And the sports car and the new clothes?" she asked faintly.

  He shrugged. "I wanted you to feel comfortable. You're an exceptionally lovely woman, but the circles you'll be moving in for the next month are fairly affluent." His lips twisted cynically. "There will be plenty of women who'll have their little hatchets sharpened to take the scalp of a gorgeous thing like you. I just thought I'd give you a little extra am­munition. As for the car, it was a form of insurance."

  As she continued to gaze at him uncomprehendingly, he sighed and his dark eyes flickered rest­lessly. "Look, I know how confining it can be to be in the public eye all the time. Sometimes the restric­tions it puts on your personal life are enough to drive you bananas. Your own car gives you at least the
illusion of freedom. I was afraid if you didn't have some outlet, you'd be more likely to cut and run."

  "I see," she said slowly, biting her lip in perplexity. Incredibly, she did understand Rex's rather strange reasoning. Looking back at what she'd recently learned of his lifestyle, it would seem perfectly logical to him that she would be as upset by the lack of freedom as he was himself. "But isn't this particular insurance a trifle extravagant?"

  "Perhaps," he said simply, "but I like giving presents. When I was a kid, we were so dirt poor that neither giving nor receiving presents ever came into the picture. Lord knows I have plenty of money these days, so why shouldn't I give you something?"

  Tamara felt a treacherous ache somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, and she found it hard to swallow. Rex's simple words evoked a picture of his deprived childhood and for a moment she experienced an almost maternal tenderness. "But you can't go around giving away sports cars," she said. "It's just not done."

  "I was afraid you'd say that," he said gloomily. "I suppose you won't take the necklace, either?"

  Tamara shook her head silently, her lips curving in a gentle smile. He looked like a disappointed little boy who didn't understand the insane reasoning of grownups.

  "You've got to take the clothes," he argued aggres­sively, his dark eyes gleaming triumphantly through those almost girlishly long lashes. "How can you protect me from other women if you don't feel per­fectly confident and self-assured?" She shook her head doubtfully and Rex pursued coaxingly, "Besides, I bought them all on sale. The stores won't take them back."

  Tamara threw back her head and laughed out loud at this outrageous lie. He spoke of the Diors and St. Laurents as if they'd been picked up at a bargain basement jumble sale.

  "Lord, but you've a lovely throat," he said sud­denly in a husky voice. Reluctantly pulling his gaze away, his eyes lit mischievously. "I've got you, haven't I? You're going to accept the clothes?"