Bride of the Tiger by Heather Graham (big screen ebook reader txt) 📕

“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