Bride of the Tiger Read online

  “Two hours and the casino opens,” Mary said.

  “You and your one-armed bandits.” Ashley sighed. “We’ll meet out in the hall in ten minutes—okay?”

  It was agreed all around.

  Galliard’s party had a majority of the suites on the main deck—just perfect, in Ashley’s opinion, since they wouldn’t have to run up and down flights and flights of steps all the time. The two pools and two of the main lounges were forward and aft from their cabin; the casino was just below them, as were the two main dining rooms.

  She and Tara were in one suite together; Mary and Cassandra were sharing another. They were wonderful cabins, Tara thought, with two real full-sized beds separated by a dresser, a massive closet—necessary for them!—and even what was an extraordinarily large bath for a cruise ship. Across from the beds was a full-length mirror—another must, Ashley declared, quite pleased with it all.

  She spun around with pleasure before pouncing on her chosen bed. “I love it, I love it, I love it!” she declared ecstatically. “Why, Tara, anytime we want—anytime day or night!—we can pick up this wonderful little phone and a gracious room steward will come bearing a silver tray of anything we might want! Breakfast in bed, coffee brought right before my nose! I’m in love.”

  Tara smiled and dug through her luggage for a sunsuit in white knit. They didn’t eat until the late sitting, and she was determined just to sit out in the breeze until dinner. Even her sunsuit, she reflected, was George’s creation. They weren’t to appear in anything but his designs for the duration of the trip.

  She shed her heels, dress and stockings and slid into the little suit, then sank onto her own bed and smiled at Ashley.

  “Ash?”

  “What?”

  “You employ a full-time housekeeper. And she’s a love. She’d bring you breakfast in bed anytime you wanted.”

  “Oh, you’re missing the whole spirit of the thing!” Ashley sat up suddenly, eyeing her friend speculatively. “I know what your problem is. You’re upset—and you should be—because you left that man behind. You’re sitting there with your Galliard Girl smile in place, but underneath...” Ashley rose dramatically, walking to their little draped porthole to look out. “Underneath you’re dying. You’re wishing that I was nowhere near this room, that you were seated on a sumptuous king-sized bed and that at any moment the door would burst open and there he would be, dark, mysterious, exciting—”

  “Ashley, you’re getting carried away,” Tara said dryly.

  “Tell me it isn’t true.”

  “It isn’t true.” Tara lied, because it was—and it wasn’t. She was absolutely determined to be rational and careful about the whole affair. And yet...

  Ashley’s mere words had set her heart pounding. No, it wasn’t her heart. It was her blood. Pulsing, growing warm. It was her breath, catching as she remembered him.

  Ashley’s lips curled into a taunting smile. “You told us it was the best night you ever had in your entire life. That you’d never imagined people could be so intimate.”

  Tara flushed. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  Ashley laughed happily. “I’d never have let you! In fact, you did tell me dismally little. And you’re a liar. I saw it in your eyes. You’d love to have him sweep right in and—”

  “Ashley, I’m not denying a thing about the attraction. But I wanted some distance. That’s the truth.” She paused suddenly, looking curiously at Ashley. “Did you ever remember what it was that you thought seemed familiar about his stepmother?” Ashley had told her that Mrs. Tyler had been gracious and attractive and charming—and very quiet. And that there had been something familiar about her.

  Ashley shook her head.

  “I never did put my finger on it. Maybe she just reminded me of Donna Reed or Harriet Nelson or someone like that. I didn’t really speak with her, you know. George did a lot of finger snapping. I waltzed in and I waltzed out and he talked. I changed while they sipped champagne and she ordered. She was gone by the time I came out.”

  Tara laced her fingers behind her head and stared up at the ceiling. “I just wish I knew...”

  “Knew what?”

  “What the catch was!”

  “Oh, God!” Ashley exclaimed, tossing her glorious wealth of auburn hair over her shoulder. “When Prince Charming walks in, Tara, you’re not supposed to ask him about the state of the kingdom!”

  “Ashley, you’re forgetting—I’ve been used once. By the best.”

  Ashley chuckled softly. “I imagine that you haven’t seen anything yet. Tine couldn’t nearly compare.”

  “Thanks a lot! So I am being used.”

  “No, no! That’s not what I meant. Oh, get up, will you? If I don’t get one of those piña coladas soon, I’m going to expire.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Right on top of you—and you’ll be sorry as hell!”

  Laughing, Tara rose, and she and Ashley slipped out into the hall, where they were joined a minute later by the others.

  Mary’s dreams of the slots and Tara’s wish to relax in the sun turned out to be just that—dreams and wishes. They were accosted from all sides by people—charming people, for the most part. Ashley did get her piña colada. It seemed that they spent hours answering the same questions, questions about fashion, about George, about the glamour of their lives, about color, makeup, exercise, and on and on.

  Tara discovered that she didn’t mind a bit. People already seemed to be different—something she had discovered before about cruise ships. It seemed that when you left dry land you left behind the belief that anyone might be a mugger, that being friendly might make you seem like a pervert. It was nice; it kept her mind occupied, and it made her feel great about the whole thing.

  Not one person asked her about her past. No one accused her of murder. No one...

  Until her friendly reporter “enemy” suddenly appeared at her side again.

  “Seems odd, Miss Hill, that you’re following your own footsteps. Same trip and all, two years later. What do you think you’ll find in Venezuela?”

  He was sandy-haired and freckled, with a boy-next-door type of face. Innocuous, friendly.

  Like hell.

  She smiled. “I’m expecting to find Caracas right where I left it.”

  He laughed; he didn’t redden this time. His smile tightened.

  “Some people think, Miss Hill, that you might be going back to look for your lover.”

  Tara felt her own smile tighten. She strove to remain expressionless—thanks to George’s training, it was possible.

  “Sorry. Tine and I were through a long time before any of that happened.”

  “Were you? Or maybe his smuggling really was successful. So successful that he’s hoping to find you and smuggle you away with him this time to some nice safe haven in South America. Are you sure you haven’t been in contact with the man, Miss Hill?”

  “No. I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  He was about to say more—another digging, wounding query, she was certain. But suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. It was one of the ship’s officers.

  The reporter’s eyes widened at the whispered message. “Excuse me!” he muttered excitedly, and Tara was reprieved.

  She stared blankly at Ashley. “Saved—by something.”

  “Another story,” Mary supplied ironically.

  “What could possibly best Tara?” Ashley demanded innocently. “Illicit love and murder.”

  “Ashley!”

  “Never mind,” Cassandra murmured nervously. “Let’s escape while we’ve got the chance. Dinner is in an hour and a half, and we have to go to the captain’s reception or cocktail party or whatever it is.”

  Tara agreed with Cassandra—it was time to escape.

  * * *

  She showered first. When she emerged, wrapped in her towel, she found Ashley studying a door next to the floor-length mirror.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, amused.


  “I wonder where it goes.”

  Tara shook her head, still smiling. “Ashley, it goes into the next suite. I’m sure it’s locked. See—there’s the closet, and there’s the bathroom. And that little door will go right into the next suite. Which will have a door to the closet and a door to the bathroom and another little—locked—door that goes into the next suite.”

  Ashley grinned secretively and shook her head vehemently. “Tara, it isn’t locked.”

  “Well, it should be,” Tara said, rubbing her wet hair with a second towel. “I’ll speak to the cabin steward about it. Someone has been lax.” She paused and shrugged. “Maybe it’s someone in our party. Maybe that’s why they left it open.”

  “No. We’re the tail end of our group.”

  “Then I’ll say something about it.”

  Ashley was still standing by the door.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Well—it is open.”

  “You shouldn’t have even tried it! That’s—that’s sneaking into someone else’s privacy!”

  “How do we know that they haven’t snuck into ours?”

  “Oh, Ashley!”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “No!”

  Tara watched her friend. Ashley’s fingers were still on the knob. “Ashley.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “Ashley—all we would see is a bunch of luggage! Or worse—what if someone is in there? We could get nice jabs right in the nose, and we’d deserve it.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Ashley said.

  “Go take your shower.”

  “Oh, I can’t stand it!”

  And Ashley threw the door open.

  “No one is in there,” she whispered. “We won’t get our noses smashed in, which is probably good.” She started to giggle. “Could you imagine having to model George’s fashions with black eyes? He’d have to make shiners the rage of the season!”

  “Get out of there!” Tara warned her.

  “Whoa!”

  Ashley moved on into the cabin. Tara followed her.

  “I wonder who this is for!” Ashley exclaimed.

  All the suites had offered a welcoming bottle of champagne and platter of fruit. All the suites were nice.

  This one was...

  Well, the champagne was Dom Perignon. Tara had never seen half the exotic fruits before. And there were cheeses and pâtés and caviar.

  The carpeting was deeper, and there was a single large bed with a soft crimson comforter that matched the full-length drapes.

  “We’ve just got little curtains!” Ashley murmured. “I wonder who is in here? Oh—look! Luggage. Let’s read the tags!”

  “No,” Tara protested—but she was the one approaching the luggage.

  Before she could reach it, though, they heard a key turning in the hallway door. Ashley let out a little squeak; she grabbed Tara’s arm and they started to race back to their own cabin.

  Ashley grabbed at the connecting door. Panicky, she pushed it the wrong way.

  “Damn you, Ashley! Open it!” Tara hissed.

  “I’m trying!”

  “Someone’s coming in.”

  “I know!”

  “We’re going to get caught!”

  “We’ll talk our way out of it.”

  “Talk our way out of it! Ashley—you’re dressed. I’m wearing a towel! I swear I’m going to kill you if whoever is in this cabin doesn’t decide to shoot us both!”

  “It’s going to be all right—”

  “Ashley! Don’t you ever listen? I don’t even have any clothes on!”

  Someone—a male someone—cleared his throat behind them.

  Guilty as sin, they spun around—just as Rafe Tyler spoke, leaning back comfortably against the wall, watching them with golden amusement.

  “I rather like you that way myself. Ashley, what do you think? George Galliard would be horrified, of course, but Tara has such a wonderful way with a towel, she could probably pass one off as his latest in casual wear.”

  “Oh!” Ashley breathed, and she was so relieved that she started to laugh nervously.

  Tara wasn’t amused at all. She was horrified, confused—and frightened.

  The way that he was looking at her...

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

  “That should be my question. After all, ladies, this is my cabin.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, we’re so sorry—” Ashley began.

  “What are you doing on this cruise!” Tara interrupted. “I specifically told you not to come!”

  He arched a brow. “You told me? This is a cruise ship—a public cruise ship. Not your private property.”

  “The door wasn’t locked.” Ashley began to offer excuses, smiling away. “And it just seemed so intriguing. Come on, Rafe, you understand. A woman’s curiosity and all that—”

  “I don’t want to see you,” Tara interrupted again.

  He lifted a hand. “This is my cabin,” he reminded her.

  Ashley looked from one of them to the other. “Listen, I really think I should be going now—”

  “Ashley, stay!” Tara commanded.

  “Ashley, I would like to speak with Tara alone.”

  “Don’t you dare leave me standing here alone with him in nothing but a towel!”

  “Tara, come on!” Ashley pleaded. “Be serious! Let me out of this. I mean, after all, the man has seen you in much less than a towel—oops, I mean—oh, please! Let me out!”

  She tugged furiously at the door, which still didn’t give. Rafe started toward them. Tara clutched her towel and backed away. Ashley smiled nervously and stepped aside.

  Rafe twisted the knob—and the door obediently opened without a sound.

  “Thank God!” Ashley breathed a sigh of relief and whisked through.

  Tara tried to follow her. The door closed before she could do so.

  She backed away from him, staring, trying to remain calm. Trying to remain...unaffected.

  It wasn’t easy; she had fallen in love with him. She should have thought she was in seventh heaven, on a ship with him, sailing away into the horizon, alone, laughing, touching...

  But love was a frightening emotion—just as he could be a frightening man. A tiger in the jungle, with golden eyes that seemed to see everything and betray nothing.

  “Let me out of here, Rafe,” she said flatly.

  “Tara—”

  “I don’t want to discuss it. I told you why I needed to get away, but you’re here anyway. You’re right—if you managed to book on the cruise, I have no right to want you off. But I don’t need to be near you, either. So if you’ll excuse me...”

  “Tara, damn you!” he said irritably. “I’m here because I love you.”

  “If you meant that, you’d have given me the time I asked for.”

  “Tara—”

  “Let me out of here! Please!” Her voice rose in desperation. She didn’t dare give in; if he touched her, she would be lost. She would be with him again, and she would forget that she had been burned badly once, that there were still several good reasons why she shouldn’t trust him.

  He moved, opening the door for her. She wanted to rush past him, but she stood still, because she would have to touch him, brush by his windbreaker, to reach the sanctuary of her own cabin.

  Sanctuary! A fragile door separated them.

  She stood still.

  “Tara,” he said very softly, “I’m here because I’m worried about you—I’m worried about this trip. I’m here for your safety and your well-being. You want time. I’ll give you all the time in the world—once this trip is over.”

  He was here for her safety.

  Then he must think that there was something that she should fear. Something from the past. She wanted to believe him—she also wanted desperately to know what secret it was that he held, why he, too, should feel that this trip might be dangerous.

  “I’ll see to it that the dividing do
or is locked,” she told him stiffly.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll feel better if I handle the situation myself.”

  She fled through the doorway at last. She did brush his jacket. And she felt his scent, with which she had become so achingly familiar, touch her, enwrap her...seep into her.

  She almost turned around. She almost slipped her arms around his neck to tell him that she loved him, that she was grateful that he was near, that she would gladly pass through that dividing door every night and sleep in the comfort and excitement of his arms.

  The door closed behind her. She heard the bolt slide home.

  And then she felt like kicking the door. It seemed that it locked easily from his side—but what about from hers?

  Hurriedly, feeling ridiculously naked now that she knew Rafe was less than thirty feet away, Tara swept through her gowns until she found the oriental silk she was to wear that evening. Ashley emerged from the shower just as her friend slipped into the dress and looked at her anxiously.

  “My God—you look like a thundercloud.”

  “I specifically asked him not to come!”

  “I wonder how he got the cabin.”

  “God knows. It seems he can get anywhere he wants to go.”

  “Well, he is frightfully rich.”

  Tara didn’t say anything. She sat in a huff to pull on her nylons, eyeing the door now and then.

  Ashley sat down beside her. “Tara, I don’t understand you. He’s fabulous. You told me so yourself! A man like him comes along once in a lifetime. If you’re lucky, that is!”

  “Ashley, that’s just the point.”

  “Oh, God!” Ashley moaned. “He’s perfect—so ditch him?”

  Tara shook her head. “Ashley, come on! He’s mysterious. He’s not telling me the whole truth.”

  “All right. He’s a modern-day Bluebeard. He has his last six wives locked up in his mansion out on Long Island.”

  “Ashley!” Tara sighed.

  “Tara!”

  “Oh, I give up on you!” Tara moaned. “I’m just trying to protect my heart and soul, okay?”

  “Well, thank the Lord you haven’t got your virginity to add to that!” Ashley laughed. “I’ll take odds that somewhere along the line on this trip I’m going to be the one sleeping alone on this side of that door.”