Bride of the Tiger by Heather Graham (best large ereader .txt) 📗

whispered softly, “you are not in the least observant!”

Now, he would come in now….

“You are beautiful,” he said simply, and added in a curious tone, “I think I’m falling in love with you. Do I have half a chance?”

“I—”

“Don’t answer. Wait. See you tomorrow night.”

He released her, stepping back. “Get in. Close and lock your door.”

He wasn’t going to budge until she did, but she wasn’t certain that she could move.

Eventually she did. She smiled and stepped into her apartment, and obediently closed and locked the door, and only then did she hear his light footfall down the hallway.

See you tomorrow night.

She hadn’t agreed. He hadn’t said when or where.

But she knew it would happen.

CHAPTER 6

Rafe stood by his bedroom window, staring out at the fountain, not seeing it, yet seeing it completely. In a different way. In his mind’s eye, she stood there. The perfect Galliard girl, soft and flowing, shimmering blond, subtly smiling, the silver light of the moon dazzling in her eyes.

He saw her everywhere he looked. At his dining-room table, in the foyer, before the fire. Seated at the piano, walking through the garden. In his kitchen, in his bedroom.

He had told her that she was beautiful. Any fool could see that; the harshest cynic would not deny it. He had said it; he had meant it.

He had told her that he was falling in love with her.

And that, too, had been the truth.

Fool! he raged against himself, and he turned from the window and padded naked back to his bed, throwing himself on it, twisting to stare up at the ceiling.

She had to be real. The real thing. He could not sweep her from his mind.

Well…she was supposed to be on his mind.

Ah, yes! He was supposed to be the great detective. Dispassionate, ruthless in this quest. God knows, such things happened. It had happened in Caracas. The day she had met Jimmy, Jimmy had disappeared. What had she done to him? What had she embroiled him in that he hadn’t been prepared to handle?

Rafe remembered Jimmy’s last communication—a postcard from Caracas. A postcard of the glass factory. Brief, in Jimmy’s scrawl, telling him that “things” were under control, but he had just met the most beautiful woman in the world and would stay to see her clear.

See her clear. Of what?

Had she been smuggling? Part of some larger scheme? That was Jimmy’s business. Locating lost and stolen treasures. Had Jimmy latched on to her because he knew something about her? Or had he been watching Tine Elliott—while Tine Elliott watched him?

Rafe sighed and gave up on sleep. He rose and slipped into a robe and walked out through his balcony window. He could see the fountain again from here, catching and reflecting the moonlight. He could see her there.

It was better than imagining her in his bed—beside him.

Fool! She was yours for the asking. Things could have been cemented in one night. An intimate relationship to bring you closer and closer, to win her confidence…

It hadn’t mattered. He’d forgotten his stepbrother; he’d forgotten half of what he’d set out to do that night at her apartment. She had smiled so wistfully during dinner, had kept her eyes on him so warily. And she’d sat before him in that lovely flowing gown, devoid of makeup, silver eyes huge and innocent, angel trails of hair spun upon her shoulders. And when she had been in his arms, he had felt the most urgent need to protect her.

And the most urgent need.

He groaned out loud again and murmured incredulously, “It’s as if I’d die if I thought I couldn’t have her in the end….”

He’d been in the most exquisite pain when he’d left her, he thought dryly, remembering her arms around his neck, her laughter, like a melody that crept under the skin, like a siren’s song that played throughout his entire body.

Jimmy! he reminded himself.

Had that same innocence captivated and swayed his brother? Young and idealistic, Jimmy might have touched her—and fallen for anything.

Just like I’m doing…

He stiffened, thoroughly aggravated with himself. The police had arrested her. The media had harpooned her. For God’s sake, she had been Tine Elliott’s protégée for seven years; she had lived with him for nearly four of those years. How could she be innocent?

Rafe leaned against the coolness of the wall. Jimmy had disappeared; Tine Elliott had disappeared. Had they died on the mountaintop? He couldn’t believe that Jimmy could be dead.

But he had to be. Otherwise he would have contacted them by now. And if he was dead, that death rested upon her elegant blond head. And here he was, falling in love with her, too….

He pushed himself away from the wall and gripped the wrought iron railing, staring out into the night, his face ravaged. She could be innocent. When she spoke to him, he believed every word she said. He wanted to promise that he was no Tine Elliott….

After two years, she was going back. Maybe it had all been planned. Maybe the rest had all been a charade. Tine Elliott might well have been on to Jimmy. He had used Tara to beguile and entice him. He had found Jimmy and found the mask. He had disappeared—Tara had faced the police and the press—and then he’d gone into hiding.

And now, two years later, maybe she was going back to him.

But maybe she was innocent.

He gritted his teeth harshly. He knew that he wanted her to be innocent.

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. Nothing could change his actions at the moment. He had to stay with her; he had to earn her confidence.

Damn it! He slammed his fist against the railing in sudden fury. He was thirty-seven years old, he’d been around the world and back a dozen times—and he was no high school kid, falling in love.

He could have been with her.

Should have been with her. Finding her, wooing her, seducing her—winning her complete trust. The golden opportunity had been there. And he had