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

quite amused. He returned their gaze with a buccaneer’s secret smile, then returned his attention to the older man at his side.

“Whew!” Ashley whistled softly.

“What do you think?” Tara asked.

Ashley laughed. “If I had been alone in the same room with him, Tara, I sure as hell wouldn’t have run! Or maybe I would have. Ooh! Dangerous type. Hypnotic. You’d have to crawl through half a million singles bars to find something like him. No, you never would. He just wouldn’t be there. He’s—he’s incredible. Snag him, Tara!”

Tara shook her head in annoyance. “Ashley,” she whispered urgently. “I told you—I felt that he was watching me, homing in for a kill! And here he is again. Doesn’t that seem odd?”

“He’s eating lunch, Tara. The same thing we’re doing.”

“This is a huge city!”

“And coincidences do occur! I once had the same cabdriver twice in the same day. Now that’s odd!”

“Ladies, excuse me.”

Tara quickly looked up. She hadn’t seen their waiter approaching, and now he was setting down a silver tray that held fresh wineglasses, an ice bucket, and a bottle whose label made her certain that it was much more expensive than what they had been drinking.

“From the gentleman at the next table,” the waiter informed them.

“Oh, we can’t accept it!” Tara protested.

“But we will anyway!” Ashley exclaimed, laughing delightedly.

The wine was poured, and short of creating an embarrassing scene in the middle of the dining room, there was very little that Tara could do about it.

“Please thank the gentleman very much for us,” Ashley was saying quite cheerfully.

“Oh, hell!” Tara muttered as the waiter bowed and moved away. “Ashley, do you know what you’ve done?”

Ashley just laughed, her green eyes glittering like emeralds. “Tara, you’ve been in hiding too long. He’s got his eye on you, but if you’re not interested, I am!”

“Be my guest, then,” Tara murmured.

“Tara Hill, what do you want to do, shrivel up and die because of one unpleasant episode?”

“Unpleasant!” Tara exclaimed.

“All right, that’s an understatement. But you can’t give up on men just because of Tine Elliott! Oh, Tara, I was right all along. You’re taking this job because you can get to Caracas! You think you’re going to find him—”

“I don’t want to find him!” Tara cried.

“Tara, he made you too…aloof. Too hard, too cynical. Maybe if you did come across him again—”

Tara interrupted her with a soft groan. “Ashley, I’m not aloof. I just learned a lot about the male of the species from Tine.”

“Mmm-hmm. They amuse you these days. You don’t take a single introduction seriously. You meet charmers, rich men, handsome men. You smile at them over drinks and then politely slam the door in their faces. You’ve got to let one through that door.”

“Ashley, I don’t want to let anyone through—”

She paused suddenly with horror, aware that her tiger-man had come to their table, that he was, in fact, standing right behind her.

She looked up slowly, and saw his legs first, the way the black cords wrapped around his muscled thighs and lean hips.

Beneath his jacket, his shirt was a soft kelly silk. It clung nicely to his chest, delineating its sinews and muscular structure. The open jacket enhanced the breadth of his shoulders.

And then there was his face.

Handsome, bronzed features. Too dark, too rugged for New York City on a misty, overcast day. His manner was perfectly civilized; his presence was anything but.

Like a great cat, he belonged in the jungle….

“Excuse me, ladies. May I join you for a moment?”

Tara picked up her newly filled wineglass and drained it, eyeing him warily—and discouragingly, she hoped. The wine went down like velvet, and it did help. She quickly composed a courteous turndown.

“I’m sorry; this is a personal—”

“Please, sit down!” Ashley interrupted, awed.

“Thank you.” His eyes, topaz, sunny gold, fell upon Tara again.

He offered his hand first to Ashley.

“Rafe Tyler.”

“How do you do, Mr. Tyler,” Ashley murmured, adding a slight and very feminine Southern slur to her words. “I’m Ashley Kane, and this is Tara Hill.”

His pleasantly assessing gaze fell guilelessly on Tara. Yet for a second, she was convinced that he had seen or known of her before. Before the restaurant, before the museum.

“I hope you’ll forgive the self-introduction, but I couldn’t see another way.” He looked at Ashley. “I saw Miss Hill at the museum. And when she appeared again, just a table away, I was rather hoping that it might be fate.”

“Fate can be absolutely wonderful!” Ashley gushed. Tara kicked her under the table. Ashley, it seemed, was in no mood for finesse. “Ouch!” she complained loudly.

“Should you be leaving your companion to…flatter us?” Tara asked bluntly.

He just smiled and indicated the table behind them. “My uncle had some business to attend to. He’s finished his lunch and gone on to his appointment.”

Tara glanced at the other table and saw that the older man was indeed gone. She turned back just in time to see a busboy clearing away her untouched salad, as Ashley assured him that they were quite through with their meal.

The waiter poured more wine.

Tara felt her heart begin to beat too quickly, and she tried to quell her irrational fears, as well as the budding sense of excitement his presence brought—despite all her indignation and the inner knowledge that he was nothing more than a tiger on the prowl.

Yet he didn’t seem at all obnoxious, or even really interested in her. While she tried to unravel the web of emotions within her, he chatted easily with Ashley. He traveled frequently on business, it seemed, and they were discussing various countries and cities.

The Tylers were into a number of concerns, he said. Jewelry was their main interest, requiring most of his travel.

Ashley laughed, her eyes still bright while she sipped her wine. “Did you grow up in the family business, Mr. Tyler?”

“Rafe,” he corrected her softly.

“Okay, Rafe. The question still stands.”

“No,” he replied. “I’ve only been back with it about two years.”

He turned abruptly to Tara. “You’re not drinking your wine,” he said. “Isn’t it