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

A fragile door separated them.

She stood still.

“Tara,” he said very softly, “I’m here because I’m worried about you—I’m worried about this trip. I’m here for your safety and your well-being. You want time. I’ll give you all the time in the world—once this trip is over.”

He was here for her safety.

Then he must think that there was something that she should fear. Something from the past. She wanted to believe him—she also wanted desperately to know what secret it was that he held, why he, too, should feel that this trip might be dangerous.

“I’ll see to it that the dividing door is locked,” she told him stiffly.

“Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, but I’ll feel better if I handle the situation myself.”

She fled through the doorway at last. She did brush his jacket. And she felt his scent, with which she had become so achingly familiar, touch her, enwrap her…seep into her.

She almost turned around. She almost slipped her arms around his neck to tell him that she loved him, that she was grateful that he was near, that she would gladly pass through that dividing door every night and sleep in the comfort and excitement of his arms.

The door closed behind her. She heard the bolt slide home.

And then she felt like kicking the door. It seemed that it locked easily from his side—but what about from hers?

Hurriedly, feeling ridiculously naked now that she knew Rafe was less than thirty feet away, Tara swept through her gowns until she found the oriental silk she was to wear that evening. Ashley emerged from the shower just as her friend slipped into the dress and looked at her anxiously.

“My God—you look like a thundercloud.”

“I specifically asked him not to come!”

“I wonder how he got the cabin.”

“God knows. It seems he can get anywhere he wants to go.”

“Well, he is frightfully rich.”

Tara didn’t say anything. She sat in a huff to pull on her nylons, eyeing the door now and then.

Ashley sat down beside her. “Tara, I don’t understand you. He’s fabulous. You told me so yourself! A man like him comes along once in a lifetime. If you’re lucky, that is!”

“Ashley, that’s just the point.”

“Oh, God!” Ashley moaned. “He’s perfect—so ditch him?”

Tara shook her head. “Ashley, come on! He’s mysterious. He’s not telling me the whole truth.”

“All right. He’s a modern-day Bluebeard. He has his last six wives locked up in his mansion out on Long Island.”

“Ashley!” Tara sighed.

“Tara!”

“Oh, I give up on you!” Tara moaned. “I’m just trying to protect my heart and soul, okay?”

“Well, thank the Lord you haven’t got your virginity to add to that!” Ashley laughed. “I’ll take odds that somewhere along the line on this trip I’m going to be the one sleeping alone on this side of that door.”

Tara clenched her teeth and shot Ashley an evil stare. Ashley didn’t even notice.

“Tara!”

“What?”

“I’ll lay you a bet.”

“On what?”

“I’ll bet anything that Rafe was the one who somehow managed to get our reporter friend—the old inquisitor—out of your hair.”

A shiver rippled through Tara.

She was convinced that Ashley was right.

CHAPTER 9

The cocktail party was a fun affair that everyone enjoyed—everyone but Tara.

The captain was a charming, handsome Italian, the purser was a charming, handsome Dutchman, and the various other chief crew members were also pleasant. As Tara noticed before, people in general were simply happy to be aboard. They talked, laughed—they relaxed. She wasn’t as besieged now by questions as with dance partners, and under normal circumstances she would have been happy just because it was so nice to see so many people so comfortable and at ease.

Except that Rafe walked in about fifteen minutes after they arrived.

She was determined to ignore him. A difficult feat, for as soon as he walked through the doorway, she experienced the whole gamut of emotions that he always elicited. Longing…no one could ever forget being held in those arms. It wasn’t even something in the mind; it was miserably physical. A trembling in her limbs, the feeling that the place had grown warm, that she was flushed…

Which she was, she thought, lowering her eyes from those of her dance partner, one of the distinguished, middle-aged chefs. Rafe’s very presence was a call to her senses so blatant that it was embarrassing. If she saw him, imagined his scent, heard his voice—she instantly felt a weak shivering inside her, a heat that came straight from her core.

She ached to lie down with him again.

Don’t look at him! she commanded herself. But it didn’t matter; she knew he was in the room.

Everyone knew he was in the room. She had seen eyes turn when he entered. He had that quality. A presence, strong, hypnotic, fascinating.

Beautifully powerful, like a tiger…

The chef said something to her; she stumbled, stepped on his foot and apologized profusely, and heard his assurance that she could tread on him any time she chose.

She kept dancing with the chef until the charming Dutch purser broke in. But even as she chatted with him about Curaço, their first port of call, where his native tongue was spoken, she thought about Rafe and could not resist the temptation to glance at him again.

He was dancing with Ashley, whose head was cast back as she laughed delightedly at something he had said.

Jealousy—that evil demon—slipped into Tara’s heart again. Ashley was exotic, beautiful, blazing with vitality, sweet and warm. Surely she was the better choice for any man.

Tara lowered her eyes again. She gave the purser a dazzling smile, then felt like a fool, because she realized that she was trying to make Rafe jealous while neither Rafe nor Ashley was attempting any such thing—they were just dancing and enjoying each other.

She stepped on the purser’s foot, too, and imagined a little bleakly that if they all got together to discuss the Galliard girls, they might shake their heads sadly and agree that the blonde had been a terrible klutz.

At last the cocktail party came to an end. They moved