No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) (11 page)

Rex watched his approach with a sparkle of mischievous amusement in his dark eyes. He bent close to Tamara’s ear and murmured, “Oops! Now I’m going to get it.”

He “got it” almost immediately.

“For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you cut it
really
close?” the man erupted sarcastically as soon as he was within earshot. “You have a whole four hours before you go on, and you haven’t even rehearsed for the past three days, damn it!”

“It’s good to see you too, Scotty,” Rex said solemnly, his lips twitching. Turning to Tamara, he said, “Tamara, this extremely surly individual is my manager, Scotty Oliver. This is Tamara Ledford, Scotty.”

Scotty Oliver raked her with icy gray eyes. “I hope she was worth it, Rex,” he said with insulting emphasis, his face still taut with annoyance. “There’ll be critics there tonight who would just love to see the golden boy fall flat on his face. You haven’t performed in concert for over three years, and you decide to spend the three days
before the show screwing some small-town groupie.”

Tamara could feel the hot, embarrassed color stain her cheeks as Rex’s hand tightened protectively on her arm. His face darkened and his eyes flickered dangerously. “Cool it, Scotty,” he said in a low voice. “You have a right to be upset, but keep it between us and leave Tamara out of it.”

Scotty Oliver growled a very explicit obscenity, then turned and stalked furiously to the waiting limousine.

“Sorry about that,” Rex murmured, a tiny frown wrinkling his brow. “Scotty’s been with me since I was a nineteen-year-old kid with just a beat-up guitar and a gigantic ego. He still tends to think of me in those terms at times. But his bark is worse than his bite.”

“And am I supposed to meekly accept his insults because he’s an old buddy of yours?” Tamara hissed. “It’s not enough that the general public will think I’m your latest mistress, you have to expose me to this!”

For a moment there was an odd vulnerability in Rex’s dark eyes and he flushed guiltily. Then
before she could decipher this reaction, his lips tightened and his expression regained its former impenetrability. “I said I was sorry,” he said tautly. “I can promise you it won’t happen again.”

“Won’t it? I’d like to know how you’re going to prevent it. Presumably your charming friend is going to accompany us on the entire tour, and he doesn’t appear to be the type of person who can be easily intimidated.”

“You’re right, Scotty is practically irrepressible. If he won’t muzzle that vitriolic mouth of his, I’ll just have to leave him in New York.”

Her gaze flew in startled amazement to his. “But won’t you need him?”

“You’re damn right I’ll need him,” Rex said moodily. “This tour will be pure hell without him along to smooth the way.”

“Then why?” she asked. “If one of us is to be left behind, surely it would be more practical to release me from our agreement.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “No way. You’re going, and if Scotty can’t be decent to you, he’ll be the one to stay behind.”

“That ought to make me really popular with the man,” Tamara said gloomily.

Rex ran his fingers through his dark hair and glared at her in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, give me a break. I told you I’d protect you and I will.”

“I don’t want your blasted protection! I want to go back to Somerset and forget you and your precious manager ever existed,” Tamara said stormily, her eyes suddenly suspiciously bright.

“Damn it, don’t you dare cry!” Rex practically shouted. “I’ve got enough on my plate without you tearing me up in that particular fashion.”

“I have no intention of crying on your shoulder,” Tamara said, haughtily lifting her slightly quivering chin. “I’m not in the habit of venting my emotions on all and sundry, no matter what you think. I’m merely very,
very
angry.”

Rex muttered an impatient curse. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “You’ve let me see beneath that glossy shell you wear, and I know just how vulnerable you are. You’ve no more real defenses than a babe in arms.”

She was prevented from answering by their arrival
at the limousine. The airport attendant had just finished stowing their luggage in the trunk, and she only had time to shoot Rex an indignant glance before she was forced to get into the car, followed closely by that infuriating individual.

As she settled herself on the plush gray seat between Oliver and Rex, she noticed that the manager’s expression was as forbidding as when he’d stomped angrily away. Well, in spite of what Rex believed, she wasn’t about to let this surly brute’s attitude bother her. She composedly looked around the spacious interior of the limousine, conscious all the while of Oliver’s sardonic eyes on her face. She was very careful not to let any of her admiration show as she noticed the built-in bar, the television set, and the smoked glass that separated the passenger area from the chauffeur.

“Impressed?” Oliver gibed, after he’d given the chauffeur orders to start.

“Not really,” Tamara replied coolly. “I’ve never cared for limousines. They always remind me of funerals.”

Rex made a noise somewhere between a snort
and a chuckle. “That’s what I’ve always told him, sweetheart, but he’s a hard man to convince.” He lazily stretched his jean-clad legs before him and put a casual arm on the back of the seat behind Tamara.

“You know damn well it’s necessary,” Oliver said, frowning. “This limousine is as solid as a Sherman tank, and just having George acting as chauffeur is a deterrent. Or have you conveniently forgotten that night in Dallas when we had to take you to Parkland Emergency with bruises and lacerations?”

“That was five years ago,” Rex scoffed. “So my fans were a little too enthusiastic. That’s no reason for you to go into a tailspin every time I take my own car out.”

“You’re too damn reckless,” Oliver said harshly. “There are too many crackpots out there to take the chances you do. Remember what happened to Lennon?”

Rex frowned. “We’ve gone into all this before, Scotty. I’m not about to live like a prisoner behind bars just because there’s a possibility some psycho may take potshots at me.” He grinned
crookedly and idly began to play with the wispy curls on the nape of Tamara’s neck. “Though perhaps, with Tamara along, I’ll give in to your paranoia on this tour. I wouldn’t want to chance even the tiniest bruise on this exquisite skin.”

Tamara paid no attention to Rex’s teasing remark, which was obviously meant to evoke an indignant response from her. Rex and Oliver’s almost casual discussion of wounds and fanatical fans and even the possibility of violent death had thrown her into semi-shock. It was the matter-of-factness of the remarks that struck her like a blow. Rex evidently accepted this aspect of his career with the same nonchalance he displayed toward the harvest of wealth and fame it had also brought. A shiver of fear ran through her as she thought of him so badly bruised and cut that he’d had to be taken to the hospital for treatment. The mere idea affected her so intensely she felt physically ill. Why did he continue with a career that could cause such things to happen?

She was grateful neither man noticed the paling of her cheeks and her sudden discomposure.
Rex’s teasing comment was met by a startled rejoinder from Oliver.

“You’re taking her with you on the tour!” he exploded. “You can’t do that, Rex. The arrangements are all made.”

Rex was now stroking the back of Tamara’s neck as if she were a favorite kitten. “Then make new ones,” he said with a lazy grin. “She’s going with us, Scotty.” Despite the quiet good humor of his expression, there was a thread of pure steel in his voice.

Oliver’s face turned ruddy with anger. “Good Lord, Rex, why do you want to take her with you? She’ll just get in the way.” He gave Tamara a brief, assessing appraisal, causing the color once again to rise to her cheeks. That contemptuous glare might just as well have stripped her naked. “I admit she’s a beauty, but you’ve never felt the need of a live-in woman before. Lord knows there are enough of them willing to tumble into your bed on the road.”

“That’s enough, Scotty,” Rex said, frowning. “I said she was going.”

“Okay! But I’ll lay odds you’re going to regret
it,” Scotty growled. “I’ll try to alter the arrangements.” His lips twisted cynically. “It shouldn’t be too difficult since you’ll be sharing a bed.”

This was too much! Tamara opened her mouth to tell this rude bastard what he could do with his arrangements, when Rex stopped her by placing a warning hand on hers.

“Easy, babe,” he said quickly, not looking at her. His dark gaze was fixed with flintlike hardness on Oliver’s belligerent face. “I’m going to tell you this once, Scotty, so I’d advise you to listen,” he said with dangerous softness. “I don’t want to hear you speak of Tamara in that tone ever again. You don’t have to like her, but you’ll treat her with courtesy and respect or I’ll take a great delight in punching your face in!” He suddenly relaxed and grinned with that irresistible, little-boy charm. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Scotty,” he continued coaxingly. “Don’t blow it!” He was idly playing with Tamara’s fingers. “And you’re wrong about the sleeping arrangements. I’d like to have her as close to me as possible, but Tamara will have her own bedroom.”

Anger, astonishment, and cautious speculation superseded each other on Oliver’s face. “Separate bedrooms?” he echoed. “She’s not your woman then?”

There was a curious expression in the midnight darkness of his eyes as Rex’s gaze shifted to Tamara’s face. It was a strange mixture of mischief, desire, regret, and something else that caused her breath to catch in her throat and her gaze to cling to his as if enthralled. “No, she’s not my woman,” he said gravely. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss in the palm. “She’s my lady.”

There was a touching gallantry in the way he uttered “my lady” in that honey dark voice. Tamara was instantly reminded of their recent teasing raillery about knights and chivalry, and she felt oddly moved. She was unable to withdraw either her hand or gaze from his, so lost was she in the strangely timeless moment. She was abruptly brought back to earth when Oliver’s voice cut through the misty mood like a finely honed razor.

“Charming,” he said sardonically. “But not very explanatory.”

Tamara quickly withdrew her hand from Rex’s and glanced at Oliver. She was instantly suspicious of the change in his demeanor. Before there had been impatience, anger, and careless contempt in his attitude toward her, but this had undergone a transformation—and not for the better. She sensed not only a chilly wariness, but also an almost menacing calculation in him now. She had an uneasy feeling Oliver was going to prove to be a very dangerous antagonist.

Rex chuckled ruefully and shook his head. “You don’t have to understand it, you just have to accept it, Scotty. I’m having a hell of a problem understanding it myself.” His expression sobered. “Now tell me about that deal you made with HBO to film the show tonight.”

For the remainder of the drive, Tamara was completely excluded from the conversation as the two men discussed residual contract clauses and percentages. Despite her dislike for the man, she grudgingly had to admit that Oliver sounded like a brilliant businessman and exceptionally
good at his job as Rex’s manager. In addition there seemed to exist a respect between the two that obviously was built on a long and mutually satisfactory relationship. As the discussion continued, Oliver appeared to forget his former displeasure with his client and relaxed. He even chuckled a time or two at Rex’s wry remarks, and Tamara was amazed to see a glint of warm affection in those icy gray eyes.

She was so absorbed by the interaction between the two men that she scarcely noticed when the limousine turned into the underground parking garage of a towering modern apartment building. At the end of a ramp black wrought iron gates were electronically opened by a uniformed security guard, and the long, black limousine swept like a graceful bird into the parking garage, coming to a smooth halt a short distance from a row of elevators.

She had her first glimpse of the chauffeur when he jumped lightly from the front seat and opened the passenger door.

“How have you been, George?” Rex asked with easy camaraderie, as he got out and helped
Tamara from the car. “This is Miss Ledford. She’ll be staying with us awhile. This is George Edgers, Tamara.”

“I’m very happy to meet you, Mr. Edgers,” Tamara said politely, as she took in the chauffeur’s massive proportions, curly, gray-flecked red hair, and wide, breezy grin.

“My pleasure, Miss Ledford,” he said with an admiring look. “I’ll bring the luggage right up, Mr. Brody.” He turned toward the trunk of the car.

“No hurry, George,” Rex said absently, as he took Tamara’s arm and led her past two more security guards seated at a desk before the elevators. Nothing was said, but Tamara felt the guards’ keen appraisal had cataloged everything about her including her shoe size.

“The security in this building appears to be pretty tight,” she commented.

“Scotty found the apartment for me. Security was first on his list of priorities,” Rex said, making a face. “You’ll get used to it.”

Oliver joined them as they entered the elevator, and punched the button for the penthouse.
He checked his watch and said, “It’s almost four. I’ve told George to have the car ready at six. Would it be too much to expect you to be on time?”

Rex grimaced, not at all offended. “Save the sarcasm, Scotty. Have I ever missed a show?”

Oliver’s lips twisted. “No, but then you’ve never skipped three days of rehearsals either. How the hell do I know
what
you’re going to do these days.” He glanced meaningfully at Tamara.

“Relax,” Rex said, with a careless shrug. “Most of the music I’m doing tonight is my own stuff. Who should know it better?”

The elevator door whisked open and Rex escorted Tamara across an elegantly decorated foyer to the door opposite the elevator. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear, as he unlocked the door and threw it open.

It couldn’t have been less like her own home, Tamara thought wryly, as she preceded the men. The apartment was sleekly luxurious, as was to be expected from the little she’d seen of the building. The huge, sunken living room was plushly carpeted in a rich cinnamon shade that
contrasted beautifully with the creamy beige contemporary furnishings. The focal point of the room was a wide, stone fireplace, fronted by a modular velvet-covered couch with oatmeal and rust throw pillows. The far end of the room was dominated by a lovely, mahogany, baby grand piano. Beyond it was a wall of sliding glass doors on which hung cream curtains with bold cinnamon stripes. There were a number of doors leading off this central area.