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

really noticed the others. Once he had gazed at her and noted merely that she was beautiful. It had been with an objective, even cold, eye.

Had that ever really been so?

Each time she appeared now, his heart quickened. He couldn’t seem to breathe; his collar tightened. Whenever he saw her smile, he melted inside. Her hair trailed behind her in skeins of silk and gold, and he remembered how it felt to his fingers, when it brushed against his chest. Each time she turned his way, he recalled the way her eyes had glinted silver in the moonlight, silver with innocence, silver with trust, with passion, laughter.

He had to tell her. He had to get the words out now, before it was too late. If he lost her…

He swallowed, amazed at the pain that wrenched him. He had been so certain of himself, of his experience, of his immunity. He had told himself that she was just another beautiful woman. But she wasn’t. She was unique. She had held away from him; she had come to him. Slowly she had smiled, taken his hand, and still, to his once hardened amazement, he couldn’t quite believe that she was now more important to him than air, than water.

He had to make her understand.

But not tonight, he cried inwardly. The ring was on her finger. They would be with others, but then they would be alone, and he just couldn’t take the chance of giving up this night.

Rafe blinked suddenly; the lights had come up, the show was over. He stood there, feeling the heat that rushed through him.

No, he couldn’t tell her tonight. Tomorrow they would reach Caracas, and once they were there, he would find a way to tell her that Jimmy had been—was—his stepbrother.

He moved through the crowd, ready to wait in the hallway for the girls to appear.

He was still standing there when Sandy Martin, the ruffled, tawny-haired reporter from L.A. came upon him.

“Mr. Tyler!”

Rafe didn’t like the man—he was a sensationalist. Rafe quirked a brow, waiting for him to go on.

“You promised me an exclusive,” the reporter complained. “The whole ship knows that you and Tara Hill are engaged.”

“Sorry, Martin. I wasn’t really thinking about the press when I asked the lady.”

“Lady,” Martin said softly. It sounded a little bit like a sneer. Rafe’s fists tightened at his side, and he clenched his teeth, reminding himself to be civil.

“Excuse me, Martin. What was that?”

Martin backed away a little. “I didn’t say anything, Mr. Tyler. Nothing at all. But tell me, are you aware that she was accused of murder two years ago in Caracas?”

“I am aware of everything about her, Mr. Martin. And I believe in her innocence of any wrongdoing.”

Sandy Martin snickered. “Did you ever know Tine Elliott?”

“No, I did not. What’s your point?”

“Oh, nothing. He was as smooth as silk. Some people speculated that she’d bide her time and go back to him. It was supposed to have been a real hot and heavy romance. Which is easy to understand. I mean, Tara Hill has a lot more than beauty. She’s like a walking, uh—well, you know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Nothing bad.” He laughed a little awkwardly. “She just kind of makes a man think of the best time he ever had in his life, you know?”

If he clenched his teeth any tighter, they would crack. He reached deep within himself for every ounce of self-control.

“Martin, I can’t exactly ask you to leave my ship. I promised you an exclusive—you’ll get it. But until then, do us both a favor, huh? Keep out of my way. If I ever hear you so much as whisper her name in your leering little fashion, I don’t think I can be held responsible for my reaction. Now, if you’ll excuse me—there are a dozen other places where you could be on this ship.”

Sandy Martin didn’t hesitate. He paled enough so that his freckles stood out on his face, backed away a step or two and started stuttering. “I didn’t, uh, I didn’t mean anything. Just that you’re a lucky man. You know what I mean. Never mind.” He turned around and fled just as the doors opened and Tara came out.

Smiling. Her silver eyes were only for him. Rafe caught her against his chest for a second, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling her warmth, her heartbeat.

I’d throttle him if he touched her! he thought savagely.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, suddenly worried, and it touched him deeply that she could read all the subtle nuances of his body.

“Nothing. When I hold you, nothing in the world.”

They went downstairs, where Galliard’s party took up half of the smallest, most intimate lounge. A few of the ship’s officers occupied the remainder of the room.

The captain and Mary were together, Rafe noted, and he grinned, thinking that the man certainly seemed to have a bad case of infatuation.

George bought the first bottles of champagne, then declared that it was Rafe’s ship and Rafe’s engagement, and Rafe laughed and ordered the next round.

They danced beneath spiraling lights, oblivious of everyone else.

When the wee hours came, Rafe suggested that Tara retire with Ashley, then slip through to him.

She didn’t bother with any pretense; they said good-night to Ashley in the hallway.

And then they were alone, she in his arms.

“It’s amazing,” he told her. “George creates the most bewitching clothing. This gown is fabulous on you—and I can’t wait to get it off you.”

She laughed, a breathy, wonderful sound that mingled with the rest of her to arouse him to a fever pitch. Something on the gown ripped.

“I’ll buy it,” he groaned against her hair.

“You can’t. I own it.”

“Good.”

She fumbled with his tie, brushing his throat with the engagement ring. He carefully stepped out of his trousers, yelping slightly as she caught him again across the belly with the ring.

“Damn! Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on that thing!”

“It doesn’t come off.”

“From now on, it had better not.”

“Stop moaning,