Rex Brody didn't make his appearance for another forty-five minutes, and in that time Tamara had consumed two more martinis. Unaccustomed as she was to liquor, she found the drinks had the beneficial effect of loosening the cold knot of tension in her breast and replacing it with a bittersweet recklessness.

She was dancing with Marc when she heard a stir and then a low rustle of whispering that ran through the room like wind through a wheat field. She didn't even have to look toward the door to realize what had caused the stir. When she did glance over Marc's shoulder, she could only glimpse Brody's raven head because of the crush of people that had surged forward to surround him.

She was conscious of a feeling of relief when she realized she wouldn't have to confront him immediately. From the look of the crowd around him, it would be impossible for him to break free for some time.

"Pardon me, Marc, may I cut in?" The voice was deep and mocking, and Tamara jerked her head up in surprise.

"Hello, Todd," she said coolly, as Marc politely relinquished her and left the dance floor. She was glad now she'd had those martinis. Todd Jamison, Celia Bettencourt's fiancée, was looking down at her with an openly hungry look that was mixed with active dislike. As they began to dance, Tamara noted how attractive Todd's tall, athletic form was in evening clothes. His carefully styled blond hair and classical features, together with that intriguing cleft in his chin, had always been devastatingly appealing to women. It was no wonder he was spoiled. His good looks and his father's money had always gotten Todd exactly what he wanted.

No, not always. He hadn't gotten what he wanted that night at O'Malley's Roadhouse, and his malice had marred Tamara's relationships in all the years since.

"Lord, you're gorgeous tonight," he breathed hoarsely, as they moved slowly around the floor. "You're like a flame burning out of control in that gown."

"I assure you I'm quite in control, Todd," she said icily, looking up at him. "Which is the only reason I'm dancing with you now. You knew I wouldn't want to cause a scene in the middle of the dance floor."

"You always were a bright girl, Tamara," he said, his lips tightening. "I knew you wouldn't be too crazy about dancing, with me, but I didn't give a damn." His arms tightened around her as he dragged her closer.

"You've got to be either drunk or crazy, Todd Jamison," she hissed straining to get away from him. "Let me go! I've had enough problems with that charming fiancée of yours today without your adding to them. Go dance with Celia, for heaven's sake!"

"I've had a few drinks," he admitted, burying his face in her hair. "You always smell like gardenias," he said thickly.

He'd had more than a few drinks, Tamara thought grimly. As monumentally self-centered as Todd was, he was usually more discreet in his advances. She should know; she'd been fending them off for years.

"Why don't you give up, Todd?" she said, trying to keep her voice even. "You know I can't stand you. I despise you more than anyone I've ever known. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Do you think I don't want to?" he asked bitterly.

"Sometimes I think I really hate you, but it doesn't seem to matter. I've wanted you so long that it's become like a sickness. Half the time I want to strangle you, and the other half I want to drag you off to bed."

"That's hardly new, is it, Todd?" she asked caustically. "Since when have you ever wanted to do anything else? You always did reach out to grab what you wanted, and you never gave a damn who you hurt. I learned that lesson a long time ago."

An angry flush stained Jamison's face and he frowned sulkily. "How many times do I have to apologize for that night? So I got a little carried away and got a little rough. I told you I've always been crazy about you. What could you expect when you led me on and then turned me down at the last minute?"

Despite her resolve to retain her composure, Tamara could feel a swift surge of rage electrify her. "I was sixteen years old and green as grass. I hadn't a clue about what it even meant to 'lead a boy on, she flared, her violet eyes flashing fire. "And if you call attempted rape 'a little rough,' I'm afraid I can't agree with the euphemism."

"Everyone at school knew what went on at O'Malley's," Jamison said belligerently. "Yet you agreed to go there that night without even an argument. Naturally I expected you to put out."

"I didn't know what kind of place it was, and you knew very well I didn't." Her lips curved in a bitter smile. "All I knew was that the wonderful, popular football hero, Todd Jamison, had asked me for a date." She shook her head wonderingly, her eyes sad as she looked back on that naive, starry-eyed teenager. "Green as grass."

There was a flare of hope in Todd's eyes. "You admit you had a yen for me once," he said eagerly. "I can teach you to feel like that again. Let me take you home tonight, Tamara."

Her eyes widened. "Do you really think I could forget everything you did to me?" she asked. "There's a remote possibility I may be able to forgive you for attacking me, but not for what you did afterward. Do you know what misery you caused me with all those lies? You nearly destroyed me, damn it!"'

"You hurt my pride," he defended, with the arrogant egotism of a spoiled child. "All the guys were hot for you, and when I told them you were going with me to O’Malley's, they were jealous as hell. I couldn't tell them you'd run out on me. They'd have laughed at me."

"So instead you made me out to be the hottest lay in town and certainly the most promiscuous," she said scornfully. "You must have been very convincing, Todd. I couldn't even go to the malt shop with a boy without him trying to drag me to the nearest motel. It became the thing for every boy I dated to claim he'd slept with me."

"And did they?" Jamison asked hoarsely, his arms tightening around her. "It used to drive me crazy listening to them bragging about all the things they'd done with you, and not knowing whether they'd really scored when I couldn't."

"You've got to be the most contemptible lowlife on the face of the earth," Tamara said. "Doesn't it even matter to you that you're engaged to Celia?"

He shook his head. "I told you that you were almost an obsession with me," he said huskily. "If you crooked your little finger, I'd drop her in a minute and come running. Do you know that I dream about you at night?"

"I can imagine what kind of dreams," she said disgustedly. "Well, don't be in any hurry to sacrifice that Jamison-Bettencourt merger, Todd. It will be a cold day in July when I encourage you to do anything but leave me alone."

There was a touch of cockiness in Jamison's smile as he drawled insolently, "If I'm patient enough, I'll get what I want. You won't hold out forever, Tamara.

Anyone can tell by just looking at you what a hot number you are. Do you think anyone's been fooled by that demure air you put on? They still remember those stories you're so eager to live down. You should hear them talk about you in the locker room at the country club. Every man in town knows you're just playing it cool until you nab Marc Hellman." He pulled her still closer. "You'll get tired of Hellman. And when you do, I’ll be there waiting."

Before she could reply to this outrageous statement, the music ended. She broke away from Todd's hold and stalked away feeling as if she were aflame with rage.

"Tamara?"

She whirled to face Marc Hellman, her face stormy, her violet, eyes shooting sparks. Gazing challengingly into his thin face, she asked tersely, "Marc, what do you see when you look at me?"

He stared at her blankly. "I beg your pardon?" He frowned worriedly. "Tamara, I think I'd better take you home. You've been quite unlike yourself this evening."