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

of the museum, with a plaque under it: Anonymous, A.D. 100, Black Marble.

Tara was still entranced by it.

Her life-size tiger, standing, watching. He was all power, all grace. There was nothing she wanted to study so much as the tiger.

Her back was to the doorway when she became aware that she was no longer alone. Someone had joined her in the tiger’s room. Watching the tiger? Or watching her?

She looked up. In the glass case around a majestic granite centurion, she could see the reflection of a man. He seemed as tall as the centurion in the display case, seemed to tower in the dooorway, blocking her way. He stood there, as striking and haunting as the ancient works of art on display.

She grinned and reached out as he came around to her. There was a simple gold band on her hand now, one that nicely complemented the diamond she had still never managed to take off her finger.

“Hi,” he said, slipping his arms around her to pull her against his chest so that they both stared at the sculpture. His chin nestled in her hair. “I thought you wanted to see the mask.”

“I did. I hate it.”

“It’s only a mask,” he murmured softly.

“Encased in glass,” she agreed, adding, “just like Tine and George are caged behind bars. I still can’t believe that George was involved.”

“George kept Tine’s business going once he couldn’t flit back and forth between the States and South America himself. One of us should have figured it out before.”

She didn’t answer. He knew that she was thinking of the years she had spent with such ruthless people, never suspecting. She shivered beneath the silver fox fur of her coat, and he hugged her more tightly.

“It’s all over now. And there were a few good things that came out of it. Jimmy would have never met Tanya, and they’re certainly happy. Ashley would have never started her own business—and Mary might never have run off to Italy with my ship’s captain.”

She turned around, meeting his dark eyes, smiling at last.

“Myrna thought I was a sleazy felon!” Tara laughed.

“No. A felon, but never sleazy. And you made her day when you told her you’d be pleased to death to have her take care of things. Jimmy and I in the same year, keeping her busy with weddings. And Sam was so proud to give you away.” He laughed happily. “And I’ve never seen such a beautiful wedding party—Ashley, Mary, Cassandra! And, of course, the bride. In silver that matched your eyes…”

She felt the golden warmth of his eyes, alive, tender and, as ever, hungry…like the tiger.

She lowered her eyes, staring back at the marble beast.

“The first time I saw you,” she murmured, “I was astonished by the similarities.”

“Yes?”

She laughed. “Between you and this tiger. I told you.”

“Oh, yes, the tiger.” Smiling, he moved around, surveying the sculpture. He gazed at her wryly.

“I’m not sure I find that terribly complimentary.”

Tara grinned, walking around to him, slipping her arm through his. “Oh, I thought you were gorgeous. Full of intrigue and sleek power and grace and…well, you were on the prowl. And you were damned well ready to pounce!”

He grimaced. “You promised to forgive me.”

“Oh, I have. And I meant to give you a compliment. The tiger may be dangerous, but he’s also totally fascinating. I was drawn to him. And I was drawn to you.”

He caught her hands, eyed the room, and saw that they were alone and pulled her close to him. “Was drawn?” he whispered in the tone that always sent her senses reeling.

She gave him a slow, enchanting smile. “Am drawn.”

“What time did you promise to meet Ashley for lunch?”

“One.”

“It’s only noon. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Time?” Tara said, startled.

“The apartment is close. Come on!”

“Rafe!” she protested, but she was laughing. He took her hand and they started toward the door. He paused, looking back at the tiger.

“Thanks, pal,” he murmured softly, winking.

Tara was almost convinced that the sculpture winked back.

They left the museum, ran down the steps, and hailed a taxi on the street. Sam was somewhere in the museum, but Tara would have been horrified if Sam had driven them. Rafe wondered what difference it would have made—Sam was surely old enough to know what went on in a marriage, but Tara would have blushed and objected strongly to being obvious.

That was one of the things he loved about her. She had the unique beauty and sensual appeal of a siren, but she had somehow maintained the innocence of an angel.

It was the siren who entered the apartment with him, though. She walked straight through to the bedroom, heedlessly shedding her coat.

He followed her, tearing off his jacket.

Then she was barefoot, curled up on the bed, smiling, as she awaited him. The sun fell through the glass overhead, catching her hair, making it a gold finer than any created by the earth.

He came over to her, and she rose to her knees, making a sensual act out of undoing his buttons, moving her fingers slowly, following each touch with a kiss, with the softest, hottest flick of her tongue. When she reached his belt buckle a sound rumbled in his throat, in his chest, and he caught her hair at the nape, raising her head to his, kissing her as sensation flamed higher and higher within him. She played her fingers against his chest and rubbed her hands down his torso, then caught the waistband of his pants. She broke the kiss and laid her cheek against the coarse hair on his stomach; with far less grace than she, he swore softly and tugged at her sweater, pushing her on the bed in his haste.

She laughed as he kicked away the remainder of his clothing and fell atop her, hands busy on the waistband of her slacks, eyes golden on hers.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you,” he murmured. “I’d heard that you were beautiful. I’d read that you were extraordinary…but none