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

rail with his arms about her, felt the sea breeze while returning his kiss, laughed and talked and looked at the stars far out on the ocean.

She had avoided him. Carefully, completely. He’d come after her at work; she’d slipped out the back. He’d come to her door. She’d ignored him. She’d answered the phone only once, to tell him quietly and determinedly that she was frightened of what was growing between them and that if the feelings were real, they would last. He had laughed and promised to be on the trip, and she had been glad to inform him that the cruise had been sold out for months and months and months—ever since the press had broken the news about Galliard’s showings aboard ship.

He had been strangely silent. She’d wished she could have seen his face, his eyes. Then he had spoken softly. “Tara.”

“Yes?”

“It’s important that you know this. The feelings—they are real. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’m just—afraid.” She inhaled sharply, held her breath for a second, then rushed on. “And you know why. You told me yourself. You know who I am—you know about my past.”

“Tara, take care.”

“I will.”

“I need to be with you.”

“Rafe, even if there were a way for you to get on that ship, I wouldn’t want you to come.”

“Unfinished business?” he queried softly, and she didn’t know if there was an ironic insinuation in the words or not.

“Because I’m afraid.”

“Maybe you should be. All right, take care, Tara.”

And he’d hung up. He hadn’t said that he’d call her as soon as she got back. He’d simply hung up.

Then, in a frenzy, she’d called the cruise line, checking to see if he’d obtained a reservation. No, he was not listed as a passenger. And no, there wasn’t a single booking left.

So she was alone. No, not alone—good heavens, not alone! George was with her, and Ashley and Madame and Cassandra and Mary, and five other employees who ran around and bowed down to George.

There was suddenly a smattering of applause. Ashley nudged Tara. “Move! This is it! We’re free! Piña coladas on the foredeck. Sun, wind, sand—”

“There’s not a grain of sand anywhere near us,” Tara interrupted her.

“But there will be!”

Tara laughed and started to follow her friend through the lounge, but just then she heard one of the reporters call out a question to George, and it was a query that stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I see that Tara Hill is back with you, George!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” George responded briefly.

“Going back to Caracas. Tell me—was Miss Hill ever cleared of all the charges?”

“Of course,” George replied.

Bless him, Tara thought, but she decided that she was tired of praying that the media would forgive her the past. This was one interview she wanted to handle herself.

“Tara!”

Ashley tried to stop her, but Tara swung around and moved to George’s side, linking an arm with him.

“You’re Sandy Martin—L.A.? Yes, I thought I remembered you!” She gave the man a bewitching smile. “Mr. Martin, all the charges against me were dropped.”

“What about the woman who was killed? You still claim that you didn’t know her?”

“I had never seen her before that night.”

“And what about the man? The man with no known identity—who you claim existed?”

She laughed, as if the reporter was missing something entirely.

“Mr. Martin, obviously you think that someone existed—you ran dozens of pictures of the back of his head!”

A ripple of laughter broke through the crowd. She felt a sway of warmth, as if she had brought this particular audience to her side. Martin had turned red—and for once he seemed to be out of words.

“Do excuse me,” Tara murmured.

George gave her a wink. She hurried off after the other girls; they hadn’t gone far. Linking arms, they hurried through the lounge, smiling at passengers who gave way for their group.

“Bravo,” Mary murmured.

“You think I’m off the hook?”

Ashley laughed. “No. You’ll never be off the hook. But you did real well back there, kid. Real well.”

“Oh, let’s forget that nasty man, shall we?” Cassandra pleaded. “There’s an absolutely beautiful-looking, tall, dark officer out there in the most becoming uniform. Let’s change and get back on deck, shall we?”

“Two hours and the casino opens,” Mary said.

“You and your one-armed bandits.” Ashley sighed. “We’ll meet out in the hall in ten minutes—okay?”

It was agreed all around.

Galliard’s party had a majority of the suites on the main deck—just perfect, in Ashley’s opinion, since they wouldn’t have to run up and down flights and flights of steps all the time. The two pools and two of the main lounges were forward and aft from their cabin; the casino was just below them, as were the two main dining rooms.

She and Tara were in one suite together; Mary and Cassandra were sharing another. They were wonderful cabins, Tara thought, with two real full-sized beds separated by a dresser, a massive closet—necessary for them!—and even what was an extraordinarily large bath for a cruise ship. Across from the beds was a full-length mirror—another must, Ashley declared, quite pleased with it all.

She spun around with pleasure before pouncing on her chosen bed. “I love it, I love it, I love it!” she declared ecstatically. “Why, Tara, anytime we want—anytime day or night!—we can pick up this wonderful little phone and a gracious room steward will come bearing a silver tray of anything we might want! Breakfast in bed, coffee brought right before my nose! I’m in love.”

Tara smiled and dug through her luggage for a sunsuit in white knit. They didn’t eat until the late sitting, and she was determined just to sit out in the breeze until dinner. Even her sunsuit, she reflected, was George’s creation. They weren’t to appear in anything but his designs for the duration of the trip.

She shed her heels, dress and stockings and slid into the little suit, then sank onto her own bed and smiled at Ashley.

“Ash?”

“What?”

“You employ a full-time housekeeper. And she’s a love. She’d bring you breakfast in