No Red Roses

by Iris Johansen

  "The Lennox Inn?" she asked, arching an eyebrow quizzically, as Rex helped her carefully out of the car and tossed the keys to a waiting, liveried bellhop.

  "You can find anything in Las Vegas if you look hard enough," Rex said, grinning.

  The lobby was carpeted in rich crimson and the decor was strictly out of the eighteenth century. Expecting to go through the lobby to the dining room, she was surprised when Rex led her up a stately staircase to a carved oak door on the second floor. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened the door and gestured with a flourish.

  "For my lady," he announced grandly, bowing grace­fully and stepping aside for her to enter. There was a mischievous grin on his face and his dark eyes were dancing.

  "I think I've just stepped into the pages of Tom Jones," Tamara said faintly, walking to the center of the room and looking around bemusedly.

  The octagon-shaped chamber was straight out of the romantic past. A fire blazed in a huge fireplace at' the far end of the room. It was for romantic effect obviously and made possible by the labor of a powerful air-conditioning system. A white shag area rug cov­ered a vast amount of gleaming oak floor. Three shallow steps led to a massive canopy bed draped in a delicate, rose and cream tapestry print. There were flowers everywhere and of every description. There was a particularly lovely bouquet of lilacs in a grace­ful copper vase in the Sheraton commode; the heady fragrance pervaded the room.

  Rex followed her inside and shut the door, leaning against it indolently while he watched her with a curious tenderness. "I wanted my lady from another century to feel at home," he said softly. He straight­ened and moved forward, encircling her with his arms and bringing her gently into his embrace. "Just as I want you to feel you've come home when you lie in my arms tonight."

  "Oh, I will. I will," she promised fervently. Her own arms wrapped tightly around his lean waist and she struggled to fight back tears at this extravagantly touching gesture.

  A shudder rippled through his body as she pressed her soft curves against him. He put her firmly from him. "I've planned a terrific dinner that has an excel­lent chance of never being eaten if you don't get away from me, babe."

  "I'm not really hungry," she whispered, watching the flickering firelight play on the hard contours of his face, highlighting especially the beauty of his sensual mouth.

  "Get thee behind me, Satan," he quoted thickly. He moved purposely away from her. "Room service will be here any minute. Why don't you go into the dressing room and change. I'd like to wash up myself."

  "Is there a sunken tub in the bathroom?" she asked with a twinkle.

  "No." He walked to a door to the left of the massive bed. "But you can order a hip bath built for two to be set before the fireplace." He paused at the door and winked. "I left orders for that to be delivered after dinner."

  "Rex!"

  Ten minutes later she stood in front of an oval, full-length mirror and gazed at a woman who might well have stepped from the past. There had been no nightgown hanging in the small closet. The only garment Rex had provided was a long, full robe of rich, creamy satin that buttoned down the front. It had long, flowing sleeves and bared her golden shoulders, only hinting at the curves beneath. She felt as romantically lovely as a bride on her wedding night.

  When Rex first saw her, his ebony eyes blazed with sudden feeling and he moved across the room impulsively. He'd removed the tuxedo jacket and his ruffled shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist.

  Tamara felt a sudden longing to reach out and run her hands caressingly over that muscular, hair- roughened chest, but she didn't get the opportunity.

  Rex swiftly gathered her hands to his lips and, one at a time, kissed the fingers lingeringly. “‘She doth teach the torch to burn bright,' " he quoted huskily, then grinned mischievously. "Romeo and Juliet. I memorized that bit especially for tonight."

  Tamara shook her head bemusedly. He was as changeable as a chameleon. Would she ever be able to predict the directions that Rex's quicksilver per­sonality might take?

  "You're impossible," she said, chuckling.

  "Impossibly hungry," he returned promptly, turn­ing her toward a damask-covered candlelit table in the center of the room. "Let us feed the inner man, princess."

  Afterward Tamara could never remember what was said over that candlelit table, nor a morsel of what they ate. Her only memory was of sudden, breath­less silences, smoky dark eyes, and a low baritone chuckle that sent shivers down her spine.

  After the table had been removed, Rex threw down two enormous, scarlet-tassled pillows before the fire, and dropped down on the shaggy white rug. She came like a homing pigeon when he stretched out his arms invitingly, and he settled her beside him, spreading the shimmering blue black of her hair on the scarlet pillow. He poured her a glass of red wine from the bottle beside him and cuddled her close, fitting her cheek into his shoulder.

  "Do you like your surprise?" he asked, stroking her silky hair gently.

  "It is lovely," she answered contentedly, watching the light of the fire turn the wine in her crystal glass to a glowing ruby.

  "I wanted it to be perfect for you," he said gravely. "No, that's not quite true. I wanted it to be perfect for both of us." He chuckled deep in his chest. "But I'm finding my patience is running out very quickly. Do you really want that wine?"

  She went breathlessly still. "I never really cared for the taste of wine."

  "Thank the Lord!" he said fervently, taking her goblet and placing it carefully with his own on a silver tray. Then he bent over her, his dark eyes blazing hotly. "I've been very patient, for me. Now sweetheart?"

  "Now." She barely had time to murmur the word before his lips closed on hers in a kiss that seared through her like a lightning bolt. His hard body pressed down on her with hot urgency as Rex began to unleash his pent-up desire.

  "Lord, you're so soft." He groaned. "I want to bury myself in you and never come out! Touch me, love."

  Her hands reached out tentatively to stroke his solid muscular chest, then began an eager caressing motion. She loved the firm, masculine feel of him, she thought, excitement turning her eyes to deep purple. She began to rake her nails lightly over his hard nipples.

  Rex's hands were busy with the multitude of but­tons that closed her cream satin robe and when the last one was vanquished, he opened the robe wide, revealing her gold-silk beauty in the firelight.

  The expression in his eyes deepened to a glazed intensity as he rubbed a gentle hand over her firm belly. "I wish I'd saved that line from Romeo and Juliet," he said thickly. "You're a miracle, sweetheart."

  "So are you," she murmured, as he stripped the white shirt off and threw it carelessly aside. He was all clean, bronze lines and compact, glowing muscle in the firelight. His lean face was taut with need as his head bent slowly to take one hard nipple in his mouth.

  Then, with an almost guttural cry, he fell on her, kneading and caressing her breasts with eager hands, while he bit and teased at her engorged nipples with teeth and tongue. His tormenting lips moved down to the smooth curve of her belly, and he tongued her navel with light, sensuous strokes until she was shuddering and writhing beneath him, arching to meet that teasing tongue and running her hands feverishly over his back and shoulders.

  With a low groan of frustration, Rex gathered her in his arms and strode swiftly to the canopied bed, laying her down on the delicate rose and cream of the coverlet. She held her arms out to him yearningly, but he shook his head. "Not yet, sweetheart," he said huskily.

  He left her for a brief moment and she heard rustling sounds as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. There was another pause and when he returned, his arms were filled with flowers. "I never imagined when I reached this particular surprise it would be so difficult to execute," he said wryly, run­ning his gaze lingeringly over her naked golden curves and valleys. "I studied your notebook. I hope I got it all right."

  He drew a golden bloom from the bouquet. "Chry­santhemum means truth." He tossed
the posy onto her stomach. "Salvia—wisdom; orchid—beauty; jas­mine—sensuality." With each definition he placed a flower on her body. "Lotus—eloquence." He paused as he came to the last flower, a magnificent golden iris with' scarlet markings. "This one is the most appropriate at the moment. Do you remember what it means, love?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

  She shook her head, staring up at him in bemusement.

  "It means 'flame—I burn.' “He tossed the last brilliant blossom onto her breasts and then followed it down on the bed. He picked up the iris, idly stroking her breasts with its velvet petals. "Oh, yes, I definitely burn," he said thickly, and the flower was crushed between them as he kissed her shoul­ders and the sensitive cord of her neck before making a passionate pilgrimage to the honey sweetness of her lips.

  One hair-roughened leg parted her own and while his tongue jousted and played with hers, his hips rubbed sensuously against her in an erotically inti­mate caress that caused her to arch frantically against his warm hardness.

  "I can't wait any longer, sweetheart," he groaned. "I've got to have you!"

  When he reached that final barrier, at first he couldn't believe it. "Relax, sweetheart," he said huskily. "Don't fight it. Let me love you." Then he looked down into her flushed, glowing face, her eyes dark­ened purple with desire, and saw absolutely no fight there . . . only a reflection of his own need. He stiff­ened slowly above her, and an expression of incredu­lous amazement crossed his face. "Good Lord," he said blankly. He instinctively made a motion of withdrawal.

  "No!" Tamara gasped, her arms tightening about him. "Don't leave me."

  "I'll hurt you," he said, his eyes closing and his breath coming in little gasps. "Let me go. I don't want to hurt you, love. I don't know anything about—" He suddenly broke off. "Oh Lord, I can't stop!" His hips surged forward and her shocked cry was drowned by his groan of savage satisfaction as he buried himself in her warmth.

  He was absolutely still for a long moment, his eyes closed, an expression of almost unbelievable plea­sure on his face. "So good," he said thickly. "How can anything feel this good?" He flexed suddenly and she gave a little gasp. His lids lifted slowly and he was looking down at her, his gaze smolderingly intense. "I'll make it good for you too, babe."

  "I know you will," she said, smiling up at him lovingly. He felt an unfamiliar lump in his throat. "It's good now, Rex." She was telling the truth. After the first shock of pain had come this lovely stretching fullness.

  He shook his head wonderingly. "You're easily pleased," he said raggedly, and suddenly there was that flicker of mischief that was never far away from him. "You offer no challenge to my expertise at all, love. I can see now that I'm going to have to expand your horizons." He flexed again and there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as a tense little shiver ran through her. "Among other things."

  His hands went slowly to her breasts, pulling and pinching gently at the taut tips while he looked down at her flushed face with its expression of glazed pleasure. "Such pretty pink nipples," he said softly. "But I like them even better like this. So ruby red and begging to be suckled. Do you want my mouth on you, Tamara? Do you want to feel my tongue on those lovely nipples?"

  "Oh yes," she moaned, and watched in a haze of hot, languid need as his dark head slowly lowered to her breasts. His lips brushed teasingly against her hard nipple and a ripple of heat surged through her. His tongue darted out and slowly outlined the en­gorged areola and she almost cried out at the tin­gling shock that went through her. Both of his hands reached out and closed on her breasts, cupping them.

  "Fantastic," Rex breathed. His mouth suddenly enveloped one breast with a suction that was both strong and gentle. At the same time he began to move within her in tempo with the suction of his lips. The sensation was so incredibly intense that for a moment it took her breath away.

  But she couldn't remain still for long. She found she had to move. Her hips instinctively started to match Rex's magical rhythm with an even more ex­plosive one of her own.

  Rex lifted his head, a flush on his cheekbones and an expression of heavy sensuality on his face. "Easy, sweetheart," he said huskily. "I want to make this last a long time."

  "I can't," she cried, her head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. Her hips increased their rhythm and her hands closed desperately on his shoulders. "Oh Lord, Rex, I need ..."

  "It's all right, babe," he crooned soothingly, his hands gently stroking the hair at her temples. "Easy now, I'll give you everything you need."

  And he did. His movements took on a fiery, force­ful rhythm that snatched her breath away and caused her to arch into his thrusts with an answering tension that mounted by the second. Her nails bit into his shoulders as she strived desperately to break that tension. "Rex, why can't ..."

  "Shh, sweetheart," he gasped, his hands reaching beneath her to cup her buttocks and draw her closer to his thrusting body. "Don't reach for it. Just let it happen."

  Then it was happening and she cried out as her body convulsed, her legs tightening around Rex in a grateful embrace. He was still moving, she noticed dazedly, and he lifted her in a final deep thrust, then uttered a wild, guttural groan that sent an odd, primitive thrill through her.

  He collapsed against her and she could feel the mad thunder of his heart as he clutched her to him. He was trembling, and his chest was moving with the harshness of his breathing. Her arms closed around him with an age-old instinctive protectiveness.

  It seemed like a long time before he stirred against her. He raised his head to look down at her, his dark face curiously enigmatic. Then he was abruptly rolling over and sitting up. "Stay there," he ordered as he swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet. "I'll be right back."

  She couldn't have moved if she'd tried, Tamara thought wryly. Every muscle in her body felt like warm butter, yet there was an incompleteness, an emptiness she'd never known before. Would it always be like this now when she wasn't a part of Rex?

  He returned carrying a moist washcloth and sat down beside her on the bed. "Spread your legs, love." Then he was gently wiping her thighs and between her legs. "Are you sore?" he asked, frowning.

  The warm, damp cloth was deliciously soothing and the tenderness in Rex's face as he performed that intimate service was almost unbearably moving. "Not at all," she assured him softly.

  He tossed the cloth aside and one hard, warm hand immediately began to massage the tight, black curls he'd just cleansed. "You're so pretty," he whis­pered wonderingly. "You're like an ebony velvet or­chid with a lovely pink heart." His fingers touched that heart with gossamer-light tenderness. "So pretty."

  Tamara inhaled sharply. "Come up to me, Rex," she murmured. "I want to hold you."

  "Now there's crystal dew on my exquisite orchid," he murmured, his eyes still caressing her. "Do you know how it makes me feel to know I can make you do that?"

  "Rex, please!"

  He pulled his gaze away from her with obvious effort and shook his head as if to clear it. A deep shudder rippled through his body. "No!" He stood up abruptly and moved hurriedly away from the bed. He'd forgotten the three steps leading up to the canopy bed and she heard a small thud as he fell to his knees on the hard oak floor.

  Tamara sat up, bewildered by the sudden change from passionate togetherness to this chilling loneli­ness. "Rex," she called hesitantly, then heard his furious cursing as he pulled on his clothes. "Rex, what is it? What's wrong?"

  Then he was back at the bed, tossing her the cream satin robe that he'd removed so hurriedly only a short time before. "Put it on," he said. "I won't have you lying there teasing the hell out of me as we talk."

  She gazed at him in bewilderment as she obediently slipped on the robe and buttoned the first few buttons. She ran her fingers distractedly through her hair and the motion pulled the satin material taut over her breasts, causing him to start mutter­ing obscenities again.

  He plopped down on the bed and fixed dark, accus­ing eyes on her.
"You were a virgin."

  She nodded slowly, her gaze fastened on his scowl­ing face. "Yes."

  "Why the hell didn't you tell me? Don't you think I had a right to know?" he asked tightly.

  She shook her head helplessly. "I didn't think it was that important."

  "Not important? Tamara, damn it, it's important," he growled. "What about Todd Jamison and all those other guys he told me about? What about Walter Bettencourt?"

  Tamara couldn't understand why he was so upset. With one finger tracing idle patterns on the tapestry spread, she haltingly told him the truth of the lies that had been spread about her.

  The explanation didn't appear to lessen Rex's ire. "That's great, absolutely great," he muttered with profound disgust. "Not only a virgin, but a victim as well."

  She felt a shiver of pain run through her at the roughness of his tone. "I don't know why you're so angry," she said huskily. "What difference does it make if I was a virgin?"

  "It makes a hell of a lot of difference! I've never had a virgin before."

  "And I've never had a lover before," she retorted. "You're not making sense. Why does it even matter?"

  "Because it's a heavy responsibility, damn it! What if I'd done something to turn you off for good? And what's more it's clear now that you've let yourself be so hurt by Jamison and those small-town tattle- mongers that you've kept all that warmth and pas­sion in deep freeze for years." He ran his hand through his hair. "For heaven's sake, I didn't even protect you! I didn't think it would be necessary."

  "But I wanted you to make love to me," Tamara protested, and two crystal tears flowed slowly down her cheeks.

  Rex jumped off the bed like a scalded cat. "Don't do that!" he growled fiercely. "You know damn well what that does to me. In two seconds I'll have you in my arms, and in ten seconds you'll be in exactly the same position you were in ten minutes ago!"

  "I don't see what would be so bad about that," she said huskily, her gaze running lovingly over his wide, muscular shoulders under the open white shirt.