"This is your room," he announced as he opened the door. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "It's a little small. The master suite is much more spacious and you'd find the master most welcoming. Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

A fugitive smile tugged at her lips as her amused gaze drifted around the guest room. It was lavishly decorated in lavender and cream and was at least twice the size of her bedroom at home.

"I think I'll be able to tolerate this without developing too bad a case of claustrophobia," she said demurely.

"I was afraid of that." He sighed. "Well, if you do change your mind, I'm right next door. Scotty is in the guest room across the living room."

"He lives here?" Tamara asked, startled.

Rex shook his head. "He's only staying here tonight. It's more convenient since we'll be leaving for Houston early tomorrow morning. We won't have time to eat until after the show, so if you're hungry you'd better grab a sandwich in the kitchen." His lips curved. "I'd appreciate it if you'd try to be dressed by six or Scotty will be having kittens."

She whirled to face him. "You expect me to go to the concert with you?"

"Of course," he drawled. "From now on we're going to be as close as Siamese twins. Where I go, you go, pansy eyes. Besides, you've never seen me perform. I'm told I'm fairly fantastic in concert, and I'd be a fool not to take the opportunity to impress you." He made a face. "I'm obviously going to need all the help I can get."

"You may be disappointed," she answered. "I'm not very fond of popular music."

"I suspected that. What could I expect of a woman who was clearly born in the wrong century?" he asked gloomily. "I’ll just have to rely on my stupendous talent to bridge the gap." Before she could answer he leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her surprised lips. "I'll see you at six." He was gone before she could reply.

She was standing in the doorway gazing bemusedly after him when Scotty Oliver's voice cut across her abstraction. "You must be a very clever young woman, Miss Ledford," he said, his lips twisting cynically. When he'd entered the living room, he'd thrown himself on' the couch in front of the fireplace and propped his feet on the ottoman. The laziness of his burly form was belied by the keen, narrowed eyes that were as alert and wary as a cat's.

She half turned to face him, her expression as guarded as his own. "Clever?" she asked.

"Well, you've obviously got Rex panting like a puppy dog over you, and Rex is a very experienced man where women are concerned. He's been able to have any chick he's wanted since he was a kid, and in all that time I've never yet known him to let a pretty face interfere with his career." He smiled unpleasantly. "Yes, I'd say you're a very smart little cookie, Tamara Ledford."

Tamara could feel her temper flare with the sheer injustice of Oliver's insinuation. "You couldn't be more wrong, Mr. Oliver," she retorted. "But if you think I'm such a threat, why don't you convince Rex to send me back to Somerset?"

"Believe me, I’ll be working on it," Oliver assured her grimly. "So don't get too used to the fringe benefits of being Rex's latest toy, honey. Because it's not going to last."

"Fringe benefits?" Tamara asked, puzzled.

"Don't try on that innocent bit with me," Oliver said contemptuously. "One thing you'll learn if you're going to be around here for any length of time is that all of Rex's financial transactions go through me. He may have called his secretary yesterday to take care of the details, but she automatically passed on the bills to me."

"Bills?" Tamara shook her head. "I don't have the slightest idea what you mean."

Oliver pulled a small spiral notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "One complete designer wardrobe, expense no object. One Lotus sports car. One diamond and amethyst necklace." He closed the notebook with a snap. "The last item is obviously meant to complement your eyes. Not a bad haul for three days' work, Miss Ledford."

"I suppose you have some idea what you're talking about, but I certainly don't," Tamara snapped.

Oliver shoved the notebook in his pocket and, swinging his legs off the ottoman, stood up. "Come off it," he said, squaring his jaw belligerently. "Rex may let you get away with that wide-eyed act, but spare me, please. Rex has always been generous with his little playmates and I've always felt it was none of my business. But you've been a little too greedy for me to stomach." His words were shot at her with bulletlike hardness. "I'm not about to let you take him on a scale like that, and just so you know I mean what I say, I'm going to tell you something that will probably hand you a big laugh. I love that kid. I'd have been damn happy to have a son like him. Beneath all that cynicism and toughness he's the sweetest, most decent guy I've ever known." He drew a deep breath, and then continued. "The car won't be delivered until tomorrow, but the other items on the list were easier to obtain. They're in the bedroom. I hope they meet with your approval."

Tamara stared at him in shock for a long moment before she slowly turned and moved like a sleepwalker into the bedroom. She dropped the jacket she was carrying on the bed and turned to the mirrored closet, which occupied one entire wall of the room. She slowly slid back one of the doors.

She gasped involuntarily, feeling vaguely as if she'd been hit in the stomach. The closet was crammed with clothing of all hues and descriptions. Sport things, day dresses, evening gowns, furs, lingerie… The list was endless.

"The necklace is in the top drawer of the dresser," Oliver drawled. He was leaning against the door- jamb, watching her. "It wouldn't have done to have just left it lying around."

Tamara slowly closed the closet door and walked numbly to the dresser, opened the drawer, and lifted out a black, oblong, leather box with a Tiffany label. She carefully opened the box and stared blankly at the necklace blazing in barbaric splendor against the black velvet interior. It was the most magnificent piece of jewelry she'd ever seen. The large square- cut amethysts were interspersed with diamonds that were masterly cut and sparkled with a rainbow of colors.

"Would you like to know how much it cost?" Oliver taunted. "I'd be glad to show you the bill. It would save you the trouble of having it appraised."

"No!" Tamara choked. She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy with the tide of fury that was washing over her in red hot waves. Damn Rex Brody. How dare he put her in a position where she could be sneered at by the Olivers of this world? Did he actually think he could buy his way into her bed with these lavish offerings? She wouldn't even admit to herself that her rage was fueled by a queer, poignant pain that he'd thought so little of her he believed she could be bought like a call girl. He had offered her carte blanche that first evening, but their relationship had undergone so much in the past three days she'd honestly believed he'd begun to understand her. And to think she'd actually begun to like the man!

She closed the jewelry box with a sharp click, whirled, and strode purposely to the door.

Oliver took one look at her flushed face and blazing eyes and slowly straightened, his own expression wary. "Where are you going?"

She brushed by him as he instinctively drew away from the almost tangible aura of rage surrounding her. "I'm on my way to strangle that sweet, decent guy you're so fond of," she said furiously. "And if you're wise, you’ll stay out of my way or I just may start with you!"

Ignoring his look of startled alarm, she marched through the living room to the door on the other side of the fireplace, through which Rex had disappeared. Without bothering to knock, she threw the door open and stalked into a room that was almost twice the size of hers. She received a fleeting impression of midnight blue carpet and drapes, and a king- sized bed covered in a contrasting ice blue, before realizing that the room was empty. A door at the far end of the room was open, however, and the sound of a rich baritone voice singing cheerfully drifted from the room beyond. Without thinking, buoyed up by anger, she crossed the bedroom and marched belligerently through the door.