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

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Come on.”

Outside the dressing room, George was indeed trying to talk everyone into staying together for lunch. He was still concerned about Tara.

She struggled to stay calm, a difficult task, for as soon as Rafe touched her she wanted to scream, to burst into tears, to beat her fists against him.

She smiled. “George, I’ll have to pass on lunch. I’m exhausted.”

Rafe looked at her curiously but didn’t dispute her decision.

“You’ll be with her?” George asked.

“I’ll be with her.”

Tara smiled. She kept smiling as they moved away. She kept her head high, her hand lightly on Rafe’s arm.

They entered the elevator and went up to his room. He opened the door, then closed it, standing behind her.

“What’s the matter?”

She turned around and smiled at him, then sat on the foot of the bed and patted the spot beside her. “Come here.”

He raised one dark brow high. He came to her.

She gazed at him, and stroked his cheek. “I’m still amazed,” she murmured softly.

He caught her hand and kissed her fingers.

She shivered. With love, with hate that he could have used her so well.

“Amazed at what?”

She lifted her shoulders, still half smiling. “That you saw me in that museum. That you were so taken—with me!—that you followed me. That you fell in love with me. That you’re with me now, when I have a cunning criminal after me.”

He didn’t reply.

She twisted slightly, aching. He leaned back, bringing her with him, half atop him on the bed. Ragged, jagged edges of agony scraped at her heart, stopped her breath.

“Love is amazing,” he told her softly, his fingers moving into her hair in a soft caress.

“Yes, when it happens so quickly.”

One last time. One last time, she had to stroke his face. Give him a wistful and alluring smile. Ease her fingers over the tautly muscled breadth of his chest. Hear the sharp intake of his breath. Know that he wanted her.

That had been real, at least. The passion. The physical thing that had sprung up between them.

In that he hadn’t lied. He had wanted her. Still wanted her.

Just as she wanted him…

“Tara…”

His body tensed and tightened beneath her, his flesh heating. The touch of his fingers betrayed the urgency he felt. His lashes were low over the glimmering fire in his eyes, and by God, she wanted her revenge, something to still the anguish that twisted and burned inside her.

“You were just captivated by me, weren’t you, Rafe?” she whispered softly.

“Yes. God, yes.”

“And it really is…love.”

“Yes. You know how I love you.”

She pushed against his chest, wrenching his hands from her body, slamming them away from her.

“You filthy liar. You’re looking for your brother.”

Amazement lit his eyes; then they turned hard, as hard as flint.

But she knew. She knew from that one second that it was true, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out.

“Tara, you don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly well. And I never want to see your face again, as long as I live.”

She tried to move. He caught her, shifting his weight with startling agility. She was pinned down, a powerful thigh thrust between hers, an arm around her waist.

“Damn you—”

“Well, Tara. That was charming. Tease the man to death, then deliver your blow. But it’s not that simple.”

“Stop it!” she cried out. She was trapped. The fear was rising again. The panic. This was force, and she was overwhelmed. “Rafe! You know how I feel about—”

“Any feminine ploy in the book, huh? It won’t work, Tara, because you know I’d never hurt you. I’d never force you.”

She closed her eyes in absolute misery—but not fear. It was true! True, and horrible. She wasn’t afraid. Not of his strength, nor of the power that held her there. It was different. She hated him; she had to hate him. But she didn’t. She wanted to cry. She wanted to reach up and touch his cheek and feel all his wonderful fire. It was still there, the tension, the wonderful, explosive tension between them. The absolute dizzying need to touch him when he was near, and then, after that touch, to explore the simmering fire…

“Rafe, it’s all a lie! I want to go; I don’t ever want to see you again. I don’t want you touching me.”

What a lie. But he had to believe her. Because if he didn’t, she would burst into tears of fear and uncertainty and misery. She would throw her arms around his neck. She would want him to comfort her, to soothe her, to make love to her….

How she wished there had been no past.

But there had been. And that was the only reason for the present.

“Rafe, let me out of here,” she managed to whisper coolly.

“Not until you’ve listened to me!”

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“You’re going to hear it! And with your eyes open. Look at me, Tara!”

She did. She felt the warmth of his hand just below her breast. The power of his thigh cast over hers. The tension in his face, the vibrance of his eyes.

“Tara! Yes! I looked for you because of Jimmy. He’s my brother—”

“Stepbrother, I understand,” she interrupted blandly.

“Brother—we were raised together. God, what difference does it make? I loved him. I had to find him, for myself, for his mother. Is that such a horrible thing?”

“You seduced me—used me—to find him. You lied. God alone knows what you’re really thinking or feeling.”

“I’m trying to tell you! I do love you, Tara. I think it happened the first night we were together. Before we were together, even. Tara, forgive me! Maybe I was wrong, horribly wrong, to begin with, but that changed, and I couldn’t just tell you then, because—because there was someone else involved. His mother was desperate. I was at my wit’s end. If you’d turned away from me, I’d have lost her last chance. I’d have let Myrna down. In love or not,”