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

But then she spoke.

“He’s in his cabin, Tara. And I’ll bet that the connecting door is still open. I’ll lay odds that he’d be about the happiest man in the universe if you dropped in to, ah, say hi or something. In fact, I’m turning around now. I’m falling asleep. I’d never notice if you slipped through that door.”

Tara hesitated, remaining still.

“I’m going to sleep now!” Ashley repeated.

Tara felt her heart thump painfully. She hesitated, then threw off the covers and tiptoed across the room.

The connecting door was open.

She twisted the knob, hesitating again, then pulled the door open. There was no logic, no rhyme, no reason. She wanted, needed, to be with him.

The cabin was dark. For a moment she wondered if he was there, or if he wasn’t, perhaps, still in a lounge somewhere, in the casino, out walking the decks, watching the stars.

Gingerly, she made her way to the bed, and the moonlight betrayed his form. A shadow. He sat up, and in the darkness, she blushed.

He was waiting for her. She could almost see his smile, see the glitter of his eyes.

She curled up on the bed. His arms came around her.

“I looked for you,” she whispered.

“I looked for you.”

He took her hand, turning the palm up. He played over it with the tip of his tongue.

“I—I couldn’t find you.”

“You’ve found me now.”

His hand slipped beneath the hem of her sheer gown; he moved, swift, sleek, vital, like a tiger, and the gown was gone, swept over her head, tossed to the floor. His hands cupped her buttocks, bringing her beneath him, and his eyes glittered with a tender magic in the pale moonlight.

“You’ve found me now,” he repeated.

And with a little sigh she wound her arms around his neck, eager to meet his kiss and the excitement of his body melding with her own.

CHAPTER 10

Tuesday morning brought them to Martinique.

There were clear skies, a brilliant sun and a soft sea breeze. Rafe and Tara took off alone in a rented car, since he knew the island well. They climbed mountain trails in the little Toyota, stopped by roadside merchants, watched the sea and the harbor from the heights, and stopped at the small museum to see the relics of a time when the volcano had spilled out its wrath. They visited an old cathedral, walked along wet tropical paths and came back into town, where they wandered through the shops. The company had a jewelry store here, too, on a fashionable street. The manager and his assistant, aware that Rafe was coming, had planned a meal complete with French wine and a few of the island specialties. Tara admired a number of the pieces, but when Rafe told her softly that she was welcome to anything she liked, she shook her head with a rueful smile.

“Ashley’s morals seem to have remained undamaged by her necklace,” he reminded her. “I believe you told her it was all right, or else she wouldn’t have taken it.”

“It was all right for Ashley.”

“Ah. Because she and I aren’t involved.”

“Exactly.”

“Women.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Tara assured him. He didn’t press her. Outside the store, Tara found herself smiling, wondering if she hadn’t won the battle a little too easily.

“You didn’t insist,” she said teasingly.

“Was I supposed to? Would you have changed your mind?”

“No.”

He smiled and walked ahead. She caught up with him, laughing. It was amazing what the night had done—amazing how much of any situation was nothing more than a state of mind. Today, with the sun above them, with the wonderful, colorful people all around them, everything seemed right with the world. She knew him. She knew the emotion in his eyes, the timbre of his voice, and she felt that she must have been half mad to want anything other than to be with him.

Rafe took her arm. “Actually, Miss Hill, I did not insist because I have a very particular gem in mind for you.”

“Do you really?”

“Emeralds for a redhead, a diamond for a blonde.”

Tara had paused to smell a bunch of fresh flowers that were still a bit damp from the morning showers, radiantly fresh. She felt a little tremor sweep through her.

The shopkeeper said something in French; Rafe laughed and paid for the flowers.

“What did he say?” Tara asked.

“That nature seldom created anything more uniquely exquisite than a flower, but you put the most glorious rose to shame.”

“Oh.” Tara blushed and turned to the man. “Merci,” she said softly.

He bowed deeply, offering her a wide smile.

Rafe glanced at his watch. “We’ve still got time to stop for a quick drink. I have the perfect place in mind.”

It was perfect. It had a classic little balcony that sat high above the valley, looking over the town and the ships. It was open, and there were flowers everywhere. The umbrellas were candy-striped in a peach that was as soft as the fragrant air.

They sat there for a moment, sipping drinks the same shade of peach as the stripes in the umbrella. Then Rafe reached into his pocket and produced one of the little velvet-covered boxes with the Tyler insignia embossed in gold on top.

“This is the gem,” he said simply. He didn’t open the box; he pushed it across the table to her.

Curiosity won out over good sense. She opened the box and was not surprised to see that it was a solitaire. A beautiful stone, not huge and ostentatious, but certainly not small. Perhaps a carat, perhaps a little less. Size meant nothing with this diamond, though. It was splendid in the perfection of its cut, in the rainbow spectrum of bursting color created by the sun’s slightest caress.

Thoughtful, Tara closed the box, lowered her lashes, then pushed it gently back toward him. “Rafe—”

“Tara, I know you’re not sure. I know you feel that time is very important, that we don’t know each other well enough. I wish you would wear it anyway.”

She shook her head, confused. “Wear it anyway?