"Believe me, sweetheart, I was furious when you marched out of that bathroom," he said. "But then I realized what had turned you off and I admit to feeling pleased."

"Pleased?"

He nodded. "Yep, I realized I'd evidently made more progress with you than I'd thought if you were showing signs of jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Tamara sputtered, indignant. "Rex Brody, I was not-"

"Scotty is waiting downstairs in the car," he interrupted soothingly, taking her arm and drawing her from the room. "Well talk about it later, babe." ' But once they were in the limousine Scotty Oliver, looking surprisingly elegant in dark evening clothes, immediately engaged Rex in a business discussion that lasted the entire trip to Carnegie Hall. It wasn't until they'd entered the stage door and Rex was about to go to his dressing room that either man again acknowledged her presence.

"I've arranged for Miss Ledford to have a house seat in the third row," Oliver said briskly. "Ill have an usher escort her out front while you check with the orchestra about that change in the arrangement you mentioned."

Rex shook his head. "I don't want her out front," he said flatly. "I want her in the wings where I can see her. Get her a stool and put her someplace where she won't get run over."

Oliver muttered something under his breath, casting Tamara a look of annoyance. "For pete's sake, Rex, she'll just get in the way," he exploded. "Let her sit in the audience and I’ll have her brought backstage after the performance."

Rex's lips tightened and his midnight dark eyes turned flint hard. "I want her in the wings," he repeated distinctly. "And I want you to take care of her, Scotty." Without waiting for an answer he turned and strode rapidly down the corridor, leaving a very disgruntled Scotty Oliver gazing after him.

"If you’ll just show me where to sit, you can go about your business, Mr. Oliver," Tamara said stiffly. "I assure you I don't want or need either your care or your company."

Taking her by the arm, he propelled her swiftly down the hall. "You heard him," he said tersely, a black scowl on his face. "I'm supposed to watch out for you. I know better than to argue with Rex when he's in this mood." He shot her a bitter, sidelong glance. "You may think you have him as tame as a pussy cat, but you're in for a surprise, Miss Ledford. I've known Rex since he was a tough street kid and that easygoing facade is very deceptive. Beneath it you’ll find a layer of pure steel."

Pussy cat? Tamara almost laughed in his face. Of all the facets of his character that Rex had shown her in the past few days, she'd seen no signs of the indulgent tameness Oliver mentioned. Even in his gentler moods, he had the sheathed menace of a playful tiger cub.

"You needn't worry about my underestimating your client," Tamara said dryly. "I assure you I know exactly how tough that street kid can be."

They'd reached the wings of the stage now and Oliver set about finding the required stool for Tamara as well as one for himself. It appeared he had been quite serious about obeying Rex's injunction to take care of her. Tamara was interested in spite of herself in the whirlwind of activity that was taking place backstage. There seemed to be an incredible number of technicians and sound men bustling about, as well as a full orchestra tuning up their instruments onstage.

"There seem to be quite a few people involved in his one-man show," she remarked, as Oliver settled his impressive bulk on the stool next to her.

He gave the scurrying technicians a cursory glance. "It's expected that we provide a little window dressing," he said with a shrug. "But none of it will matter once Rex walks onstage. The audience won't notice anything but him."

"Don't you think you may be a trifle prejudiced in his favor?" Tamara asked skeptically. "He can't be all that good."

There was an odd flicker in Oliver's ice-gray eyes. "Rex said you hadn't ever seen him perform. I thought you were just conning him. But you really haven't seen him, have you?"

She shook her head impatiently. She was getting a bit tired of this incredulous response to her ignorance of Rex's work. "I'm not interested in pop music," she explained crossly. It seemed she'd repeated that quite a bit lately.

Oliver arched a mocking eyebrow. "Tell me that after you see him in action. I'd like to get your reactions after the concert."

"You must be a very good agent, Mr. Oliver," she said lightly. "You certainly believe in the product you're selling."

"I don't have to promote Rex, he sells himself. He's probably the premier performer in the world today. I've never seen anyone generate as much electricity onstage. The man practically carries on a love affair with the audience." As Tamara continued to stare perplexedly at him, he frowned in frustration. "Hell, there's no way I can really define it. You'll see what I mean."

And she did. By the time Rex was doing his last song before the intermission, Tamara was as dazed and enthralled as the wildly responsive audience.

"My word, how does he do it?" she whispered wonderingly, her eyes fixed on the vibrant figure in the center of the stage. He was sitting on a simple stool much like hers, his fingers rippling over the strings of his guitar while his rich baritone notes soared out over the breathlessly quiet audience. She could see what Oliver meant about Rex not needing props. They would only detract from the magnetism he exuded. Even his clothes were simple. His fitted, black suede pants hugged his muscular thighs and his white shirt with its long, full sleeves reminded her vaguely of a pirate's romantic garb. The top few buttons of the shirt were left open to reveal the corded, hair-roughened muscles of his chest. "He's practically mesmerizing them. How does he do it?"

"I used to wonder about that myself," Oliver said, his thoughtful gaze also on Rex. "His voice is damn good, but I've heard better. He's good-looking, but not fantastically handsome. I finally decided that it was sheer love. He's so passionately in love with his damn music!" He shrugged. "I guess the audience feels it and responds. He should never have quit performing. It was a mistake. He needs it to complete him."

"But the songs of his I've heard tonight are so incredibly beautiful," she protested. "Surely the creation of such music must give its own satisfaction."

"Maybe," he said absently. "But look at his face."

Tamara could see what Oliver meant. Rex's expression was lit from within in wild exhilaration, and he looked more vividly alive than anyone she'd ever seen. "Why did he give it up?"

"He was tired. Being a superstar can be the most demanding and confining career in the world, and he'd been at the top of the heap since he was nineteen. He'd become so popular that the personal appearances were interfering with his composing. So he just threw in the towel and swore he'd never perform again." Oliver smiled. "I knew he'd get bored eventually. I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did."

Rex had finished his song and had risen to his feet, one arm raised to acknowledge the wild acclaim he was receiving from the audience. Tamara could almost feel the waves of emotion pouring out to surround his exultant figure. How incredibly heady to be the recipient of that overpowering adoration, she thought, awed. It would make one feel almost godlike to inspire such a response.

Then he was running lithely offstage, his face dewed with perspiration, his dark eyes blazing with excitement. He paused beside them for a brief moment, accepting the towel Oliver handed him and patting his brow. "Well, am I fantastic or not?" he asked jubilantly, with the endearing egotism of a little boy begging for praise. "Did you like me, sweetheart?"

Her lips curved in a teasing smile. "I liked you very much," she assured him indulgently. "And yes, you're utterly fantastic."