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

I know you don’t get much liberty. But I’m not interested. I’m not—”

From behind, another hand grasped her shoulder, sweeping her around against something very hard.

She knew the scent; she knew the touch. Rafe.

He said something in Dutch, low, easy, but it was something the sailor understood. He blushed and bowed slightly. “Sorry. Enjoy the island, miss.”

He turned and walked away. His friends waved a little uncertainly and followed him.

“Rafe! Bless you!” Ashley declared.

He was still touching Tara, who remained silent.

“They were just a little overzealous with their freedom.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Just that you were spoken for.”

“You didn’t threaten them?” Tara muttered.

His hand moved away from her shoulders. “No, I didn’t.”

Ashley laughed, completely comfortable once more. “Well, whatever you did, it worked. Thanks! Do you speak Dutch?”

“No, only a few words.”

“Why not?” Tara whispered. He ignored her, and she knew that she was being ridiculously rude. Absurdly, she felt close to tears. Could it really be that easy? Could she just smile and admit that she had been a fool and then everything would just be fine? It was easy to wish when he was touching her.

What in God’s name held her back?

“Where were you going?” Rafe asked Ashley.

“Window-shopping,” Ashley replied. “Want to join us?”

“Well, I have to go that way.” He pointed.

“That way is fine.”

They moved along the street. The shops had opened now. Ashley paused to buy T-shirts for her niece, nephew, sister and brother-in-law, and a little wood carving of a Dutch house for her parents.

Tara didn’t know if she wanted any souvenirs or not, and she continued to feel tongue-tied. It didn’t matter—Ashley and Rafe kept up a conversation easily.

They were in front of a dazzling window when Ashley suddenly stopped dead still.

“Ooh! Oh, Tara! Look at those emeralds! Have you ever seen such a beautiful necklace!”

Tara gazed into the window. The necklace was all alone, displayed on black velvet. There was one large stone in the center of a delicate gold filigree; it was surrounded by an elegant spray of diamond chips. It was simple; it was elegant. It was one of the most beautiful pieces she had ever seen.

“Do you really think it’s good?” Rafe asked her seriously.

“Wonderful,” Ashley replied. “Why?”

He smiled and pointed at the sign overhead.

“Oh! This is one of your stores!” Ashley said.

He arched a brow. “You knew?”

“No, no. I mean, not that you had one here. We did know that your family was in jewelry.” She blushed. Her words betrayed the fact that one of them had done some research on the Tylers.

“Come on in. Try it on.”

He stepped ahead of Ashley and opened the door. Tara wanted to remain in the street. Ashley hesitated just a second, then pulled Tara in with her.

Rafe was in white shorts and a navy polo jacket; somehow, he still seemed to fit the old-world refinement of the shop. There was a young girl behind a glass counter in which other gems were artfully displayed. She saw Rafe, smiled with pleasure and came out to greet him. He took both her hands and pressed a little kiss on her cheek.

Tara hated herself for the familiar jealousy that washed through her. But she found herself wondering about his wide-ranging life. He had been so many places. Would she always wonder about his past? Always feel these little twinges?

Always? There could only be an always if she gave in.

He spoke to the girl for a moment; she answered him cheerfully. He turned back to them.

“Would you excuse me for just a second? I want to look in on our bookkeeper. Frieda will bring you whatever you would like.”

He disappeared toward the back. Frieda gave them a sweet, earnest smile and asked if they would like coffee or tea or something stronger.

Tara asked for coffee, just for something to do with herself. Ashley did the same.

But when they were seated in cushioned oak chairs around a small oak table, Frieda returned to them, the emerald necklace in her hands.

“You wished to see this, madame?”

Ashley almost choked on her coffee. Their incomes meant that their lives were definitely comfortable, but the size and perfection of that emerald put the necklace’s cost into more digits than either of them could easily handle.

Rafe suddenly reappeared. On the soft carpeting, his footsteps had made no sound. He watched Tara, and he watched Ashley, and he smiled a little secretively. The necklace might well have been made for Ashley—sweet Ashley who had been in his corner through blind faith all along. He realized two things; he wanted Ashley to have the necklace because he was so genuinely fond of her, and he wanted her to have it because it was perfect for her. She appreciated its beauty with evident pleasure.

“Here, let me, Ashley.”

He stepped behind her, clasping the emerald with its beautiful filigree and diamonds around her neck. Tara felt a twinge as his fingers brushed her friend’s neck.

Frieda brought a mirror. Rafe stood back, surveying the necklace.

“It’s perfect. A redhead in emeralds.”

“It’s stunning,” Tara agreed, her heart aching a bit. It was. The necklace fell just above Ashley’s breasts in a subtle brilliance. And Rafe had put it there.

“You make beautiful things, Rafe,” Ashley murmured.

He laughed. “I don’t make them. My jewelers do. But I’m glad you like it. After all, I hire the jewelers. And I’m convinced that you have impeccable taste.”

Frieda handed him a memo board with a paper on it. He signed it.

Ashley stared at him suddenly, mischievously. “If emeralds are for redheads, Rafe, what about blondes?”

He looked straight at Tara.

“Diamonds. Nothing less,” he said softly.

Again he turned to Frieda, exchanged a few words, then turned back to them. “Shall we go?”

“Wait!” Ashley said desperately. “I’ve still got the necklace on.”

“Oh, yes. Frieda, could you get the lady a box, please.”

“Oh, Rafe,” Ashley gasped, her jaw dropping as she realized his intention. “I couldn’t. Really, I couldn’t. It just wouldn’t be—I can’t. I—”

He smiled with mild amusement while she faltered. “Ashley, if I were a florist, you