"Great!" he said. He handed the towel back to Scotty and gave her a breezy grin. "Wait until you see the second half. I've just been winding up!" He bent forward and gave her a quick kiss full on the mouth before he walked swiftly toward his dressing room.

Rex exploded into novalike brilliance the moment he stepped onstage after the intermission. He had, indeed, just been winding up during the first part of the show, Tamara thought breathlessly. He went from peak to peak and took the audience with him, until they were drunk and almost hysterical with emotion. He did three encores at the end of the show, and the roaring audience was on its feet demanding more when he raised both his arms and grinned beguilingly.

"I don't want to leave you, either," he said in a husky voice. "Will you let me sing one more song?"

The answer from the crowd probably shook the rafters of the stately old concert hall.

"Terrific," he said, as he settled back on the stool. "Because this is a very special song. It's brand new and it's for my lady."

Tamara's breath caught in her throat and she barely heard the first few chords of the guitar or the surprised murmur that ran through the auditorium.

Sweet my lady, weave your magic spell.

Bring me to your arms and let me love.

The throbbing, beautiful notes flowed out with a curious intimacy into the darkness, and Rex's face as he sang them had a sensual poignancy that was almost as moving as the song itself.

There were tears flowing down Tamara's face as the last note died away. "It's so lovely," she murmured.

"It's better than that," Oliver said, a trace of excitement in his gravelly voice. "It'll probably go platinum!"

With a wave of acknowledgement, Rex made his final exit from the stage. This time he didn't stop but continued straight, down the corridor to his dressing room, surrounded by musicians and technicians eager to congratulate him. Tamara felt an odd sense of desolation as he disappeared from view.

"Well, Miss Ledford, how does it feel to have the foremost pop composer in America write a song for you?" Oliver's voice cut caustically across the euphoric plane she'd been wafted to when Rex had announced his dedication.

But she wouldn't let Oliver's sarcasm destroy this moment. "It's the loveliest thing that's ever happened to me," she said with quiet sincerity.

There was a flicker of surprise in Oliver's gray eyes before he said, reluctantly, "If you can manage to inspire any more songs of that caliber, you may be an asset after all."

"That's very generous of you to say so," she said, her violet eyes twinkling. "Do you think I may even be worth the Lotus?"

"Rex told me you wouldn't take the car… or the necklace," he said gruffly. Then quickly standing up, he helped her down from the stool. "Come on, it's time we got moving. Rex is having a press conference in his dressing room, and I promised I'd deliver you when they were about ten minutes into the interview."

"Won't he be tired after the show?" she asked, accompanying Oliver obediently. "I'd think he'd be too drained to bother with the press."

"Not Rex. He's so full of adrenaline he's high as a kite after a performance."

They'd reached the dressing room and Oliver opened the door and aggressively pushed their way into the small room that was crowded with reporters. They were ignored by the press, which concentrated with single-minded attention on Rex's vital, magnetic figure, sprawled in a chair. Oliver and Tamara stood in the back of the room watching as he answered some questions and parried others good- naturedly.

Tamara was sure he hadn't noticed their presence until one reporter asked sharply, "Your last song came as quite a surprise, Rex. It's the first time you've ever dedicated a song to anyone. Who is 'my lady'?"

Rex smiled slowly. "I thought you'd ask that. Tamara!"

The crowd of reporters parted as Rex beckoned in Tamara's direction. Oh no, he wouldn't expose her to this, would he? It seemed he would. Oliver nudged her firmly in the small of her back, propelling her forward, and she reluctantly made her way to Rex's seated figure. She could feel the color flood her cheeks as he took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. "Gentlemen, this is 'my lady,' Tamara Ledford."

There was an immediate volley of questions that Rex deftly parried until one reporter queried if Tamara was an actress or in the entertainment field.

Rex's eyes lit with mischief as he continued to hold Tamara's hand firmly in his own. "I can see how you might think so," he drawled. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?" There was a murmur of laughing assent and he continued solemnly, "Actually, her occupation is slightly more bizarre. Tamara is a genuine, card-carrying witch. How else do you think she beguiled me into writing that song for her?"

There was a burst of laughter from the reporters and Tamara's embarrassment and annoyance increased tenfold. But Rex wasn't through. "I'm quite serious," he said, with a grin that belied his words. "It's the eye of newt keeping her complexion that satin smooth, and she can brew up a love potion that can lay any man low." He looked up and winked outrageously into her angry face. "She's a very dangerous lady."

Before she could make the indignant response this remark deserved, Rex quickly changed the subject and released her hand. Oliver was beside her instantly, adroitly extricating her from the crowd and out of the room. She soon found herself outside the concert hall and bustled into a taxi.

As they pulled away from the hall, Oliver turned to her with a frown. "Rex wanted to send you home in the limousine, but I talked him out of it. He's going to need all the protection he can get when he leaves the hall. That crowd at the stage door will tear him apart."

Tamara was still so annoyed at Rex's blatant ridicule of her before the reporters that she didn't answer. She was silently fuming during the entire drive to the apartment.

When Oliver had escorted her to the apartment door, he took a final look at her angry face and said dryly, "I have to make an appearance at a party the promoters of the concert are giving, since Rex is coming right home. You won't try to drown him again before I get back, will you?"

Her violet eyes flashed fire. "I might, Mr. Oliver. I just might!" She entered the apartment and slammed the door behind her.

She strode furiously into the bedroom, dropped the sumptuous cloak on the bed, stripped off the rest of her clothes, and stuffed her hair into a shower cap. She stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on full blast, letting the spray wash away a tiny amount of the irritation she was feeling toward Rex. What had possessed him to embarrass her in front of all those reporters, she wondered in exasperation. He'd known she preferred to keep her association with him as discreet as possible, and yet he'd deliberately made her the amused focus of the reporters from probably half a dozen newspapers.

By the time she'd finished her shower and slipped on her nightgown and tailored white satin robe, she'd worked herself into a fine state of indignation. She could hardly wait to confront Rex with her anger. After an hour's impatient pacing and aimless wandering about the living room, though, she decided to go to the kitchen and make herself that sandwich Rex had mentioned earlier.

She'd put on a pot of coffee, removed a plate of ham from the refrigerator, and was looking futilely for bread in the many walnut cabinets when Rex drawled from the doorway, "Ah, could any man ask for more? A gorgeous woman puttering happily about the kitchen and waiting for him to come home."

She threw him an icy glance. "I'm not puttering happily," she said, slamming another cabinet door. "I can't find the damn bread!"