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

opened the door. “I know you have the right to be angry. If it were I, I’d probably slam the door in my face,” she said desperately. “But I’m asking you to listen to me. Will you do that?”
    “I don’t think we really have anything to say to each other,” Tamara said coldly. “You made yourself more than clear last night.”
    Celia moistened her lips nervously and Tamara noticed she didn’t look at all well. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her mouth was taut and strained. “I want to apologize for that,” she said haltingly. “I know my behavior was unforgivable.” She grimaced. “Even if I wasn’taware of it before, I assure you my father let me know in no uncertain terms how disgracefully I’d treated you.”
    “I’m not in the mood to be very forgiving at the moment, Celia,” Tamara said. “There are some things that take a good deal of time to forget before—”
    “Look, do you think this is easy for me?” Celia burst out. “Do you think I’d be here if there were any way I could get out of it? I have to talk to you, damn it!”
    So much for Celia’s abject apology, Tamara thought grimly. “You might as well come in,” she said, moving aside reluctantly. “Though I don’t agree we have anything to talk about now that you’ve done your duty. I promise I’ll let your father know you’ve done the proper thing.”
    “My father doesn’t know I’m here,” Celia said, stepping hurriedly into the hall as if she were afraid Tamara would change her mind. “I left before breakfast this morning. I wanted to try to see you before my father called you with his own apologies.”
    Tamara shook her head doubtfully but turnedand preceded her into the living room. “Sit down,” she invited curtly, gesturing to the couch while she dropped into the pale blue armchair.
    Celia gazed curiously about the room, and she looked no more at home than Brody had with the mellow period furnishings. Tamara stiffened defensively, expecting some caustic comment, but she was startled to see a curiously wistful expression on the other woman’s face. “This is nice,” Celia said softly. “It’s almost like a Norman Rockwell print.”
    “You like Norman Rockwell?” Tamara asked, surprised. She wouldn’t have thought a woman as worldly-wise as Celia would embrace Rockwell’s down-to-earth hominess.
    But Celia was nodding. “I have several in my room,” she said absently. Then she sat up arrow-straight, her thin figure tense. “I want you to go away,” she said abruptly.
    “I beg your pardon?” Tamara’s eyes widened in shock.
    “I have some money I inherited from my mother’s estate,” Celia said, moistening her lips nervously. “It’s not a great deal but it’s enoughfor you to resettle comfortably in another town. Perhaps if you’re careful you’d even have enough to open your own boutique.”
    This was the second time in twenty-four hours she’d been offered a shop of her own, Tamara thought wryly. If it hadn’t been so insulting, it would have been a little amusing. “I think you’d better leave, Celia,” she said, a thread of steel in her voice.
    Celia ran her hand through her hair, disturbing her elaborate crown of curls. “Oh damn, I knew I’d make you angry,” she said and, incredibly, her brown eyes were glistening with tears. “Look, I know you must hate me as much as I do you, but you’ve got to listen to me. Can’t you see what an opportunity this would be for you?” She bit her lip as Tamara continued to gaze at her without speaking. “All right, give me just a year. Go away for a year and you can still have the money.”
    “I don’t want your money, Celia,” Tamara said, shaking her head in bewilderment. “And I don’t hate you.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “Afterlast night, I can’t say you’re on my list of favorite people, however.”
    “I went a little crazy last night,” Celia admitted hesitantly. “I saw you dancing with Todd and the way