No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores) by Iris Johansen Page A

her parted lips as if they were starved for the taste of her. He coaxed her lips open and captured her tongue in his mouth, sucking at it for a long, breathless moment with a hunger that caused her to melt against him with a little moan of sheer animal desire.
    Then, before she could recover from this blinding attack on her senses, he put her away from him. His breathing was hoarse and ragged as he opened the door behind her, pushed her inside with a playful swat on her derrière, and said thickly, “I can’t take any more right now. You not only go to my head but to other portions of my anatomy that have a decided will of their own. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”
    Without waiting for a reply, he turned and ran lithely down the porch steps, leaving her to gaze after him.
    By the next morning Tamara had firmly convinced herself that Brody’s mesmerizing effect on her had been engendered purely by the bizarre combination of events and emotions of the evening. She’d obviously been shaken to the point that her imagination had magnified both his powerful charisma and her own response to it. In the clear light of day, when she had time to assess the violent changes that her calm, orderly existence had undergone, she was quite sure she would regain her cool, businesslike reserve and be able to deal with him in her usual efficient, emotionless manner.
    She’d reached this conclusion in the wee hours of the morning after lying in bed mentally berating herself for the docile way she’d accepted both Brody’s so-called bargain and his lovemaking.
    Why had she let him bluff her as he had done?Now that she was away from that bold, magnetic charm, she could see he had no real weapon to use against Aunt Elizabeth. She had no doubt Margaret Bettencourt would vouch for her aunt’s integrity if it came to a confrontation. Though Brody might cause a little unpleasantness if he chose to go to the authorities, she was sure no criminal action could come of it.
    No, she’d been so upset by the events of the evening that she’d let him bulldoze her into a commitment that was totally unnecessary. In the morning she’d tell him what he could do with his threats and his blackmail, she thought crossly. With this grim resolve, she forced herself firmly to fall into a sleep that was both restless and short-lived.
    She finally admitted that her nerves were too on edge for her to rest properly and dragged herself out of bed and into the shower when the clock on the nightstand read only eight. The cold needlepoint spray brought her to life with shocking rapidity, and she was soon feeling alert and much like her usual cool, confident self as shedressed in her favorite old faded jeans and a lavender cotton shirt.
    She made her way briskly downstairs and into the kitchen, only to find a note from Aunt Elizabeth on the kitchen table, propped against an enormous ebony bowl full of golden irises.
Darling,
I thought I’d let you sleep in after your late night. Mabel asked me to breakfast before church, and I’ll be having lunch with Reverend Potter afterward. There’s tuna salad in the refrigerator for your lunch. Have a good day.
    E.
    Tamara touched one of the blooms with a delicate finger while she toyed with the idea of going on to church herself, ignoring that the arrogant Mr. Brody had stated he’d arrive at eleven without even asking if it would be convenient for her. No, she would wait for Brody to put in an appearance and give herself the pleasure of telling him off.
    She had opened the refrigerator door and was reaching for the pitcher of fresh orange juice when she heard the front door buzzer. With a puzzled frown she closed the refrigerator and hurried down the hall. This couldn’t be Brody yet. It was only eight-thirty and he’d clearly said he’d arrive at eleven.
    Celia Bettencourt was standing on the top step dressed faultlessly as usual in designer jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. She started speaking as soon as Tamara