Her gaze flew in startled amazement to his. "But won't you need him?"
"You're damn right I’ll need him," Rex said moodily. "This tour will be pure hell without him along to smooth the way."
"Then why?" she asked. "If one of us is to be left behind, surely it would be more practical to release me from our agreement."
He shook his head stubbornly. "No way. You're going, and if Scotty can't be decent to you, he’ll be the one to stay behind."
"That ought to make me really popular with the man," Tamara said gloomily.
Rex ran his fingers through his dark hair and glared at her in exasperation. "For heaven's sake, give me a break. I told you I'd protect you and I will."
"I don't want your blasted protection! I want to go back to Somerset and forget you and your precious manager ever existed," Tamara said stormily, her eyes suddenly suspiciously bright.
"Damn it, don't you dare cry!" Rex practically shouted. "I've got enough on my plate without you tearing me up in that particular fashion."
"I have no intention of crying on your shoulder," Tamara said, haughtily lifting her slightly quivering chin. "I'm not in the habit of venting my emotions on all and sundry, no matter what you think. I'm merely very, very angry."
Rex muttered an impatient curse. "Don't lie to me," he said. "You've let me see beneath that glossy shell you wear, and I know just how vulnerable you are. You've no more real defenses than a babe in arms."
She was prevented from answering by their arrival at the limousine. The airport attendant had just finished stowing their luggage in the trunk, and she only had time to shoot Rex an indignant glance before she was forced to get into the car, followed closely by that infuriating individual.
As she settled herself on the plush gray seat between Oliver and Rex, she noticed that the manager's expression was as forbidding as when he'd stomped angrily away. Well, in spite of what Rex believed, she wasn't about to let this surly brute's attitude bother her. She composedly looked around the spacious interior of the limousine, conscious all the while of Oliver's sardonic eyes on her face. She was very careful not to let any of her admiration show as she noticed the built-in bar, the television set, and the smoked glass that separated the passenger area from the chauffeur.
"Impressed?" Oliver gibed, after he'd given the chauffeur orders to start.
"Not really," Tamara replied coolly. "I've never cared for limousines. They always remind me of funerals."
Rex made a noise somewhere between a snort-and a chuckle. "That's what I've always told him, sweetheart, but he's a hard man to convince." He lazily stretched his jean-clad legs before him and put a casual arm on the back of the seat behind Tamara.
"You know damn well it's necessary," Oliver said, frowning. "This limousine is as solid as a Sherman tank, and just having George acting as chauffeur is a deterrent. Or have you conveniently forgotten that night in Dallas when we had to take you to Parkland Emergency with bruises and lacerations?"
"That was five years ago," Rex scoffed. "So my fans were a little too enthusiastic. That's no reason for you to go into a tailspin every time I take my own car out."
"You're too damn reckless," Oliver said harshly. "There are too many crackpots out there to take the chances you do. Remember what happened to Lennon?"
Rex frowned. "We've gone into all this before, Scotty. I'm not about to live like a prisoner behind bars just because there's a possibility some psycho may take pot shots at me." He grinned crookedly and idly began to play with the wispy curls on the nape of Tamara's neck. "Though perhaps, with Tamara along, I'll give in to your paranoia on this tour. I wouldn't want to chance even the tiniest bruise on this exquisite skin."
Tamara paid no attention to Rex's teasing remark, which was obviously meant to evoke an indignant response from her. Rex and Oliver's almost casual discussion of wounds and fanatical fans and even the possibility of violent death had thrown her into semi-shock. It was the matter-of-factness of the remarks that struck her like a blow. Rex evidently accepted this aspect of his career with the same nonchalance he displayed toward the harvest of wealth and fame it had also brought. A shiver of fear ran through her as she thought of him so badly bruised and cut that he'd had to be taken to the hospital for treatment. The mere idea affected her so intensely she felt physically ill. Why did he continue with a career that could cause such things to happen?
She was grateful neither man noticed the paling of her cheeks and her sudden discomposure. Rex's teasing comment was met by a startled rejoinder from Oliver.
"You're taking her with you on the tour!" he exploded. "You can't do that. Rex. The arrangements are all made."
Rex was now stroking the back of Tamara's neck as if she were a favorite kitten. "Then make new ones," he said with a lazy grin. "She's going with us, Scotty." Despite the quiet good humor of his expression, there was a thread of pure steel in his voice.
Oliver's face turned ruddy with anger. "Good Lord, Rex, why do you want to take her with you? She'll just get in the way." He gave Tamara a brief, assessing appraisal, causing the color once again to rise to her cheeks. That contemptuous glare might just as well have stripped her naked. "I admit she's a beauty, but you've never felt the need of a live-in woman before. Lord knows there are enough of them willing to tumble into your bed on the road."
"That's enough, Scotty," Rex said, frowning. "I said she was going."
"Okay! But I’ll lay odds you're going to regret it," Scotty growled. "Ill try to alter the arrangements." His lips twisted cynically. "It shouldn't be too difficult since you’ll be sharing a bed."
This was too much! Tamara opened her mouth to tell this rude bastard what he could do with his arrangements, when Rex stopped her by placing a warning hand on hers.
"Easy, babe," he said quickly, not looking at her. His dark gaze was fixed with flint like hardness on Oliver's belligerent face. "I'm going to tell you this once, Scotty, so I'd advise you to listen," he said with dangerous softness. "I don't want to hear you speak of Tamara in that tone ever again. You don't have to like her, but you'll treat her with courtesy and respect or I'll take a great delight in punching your face in!" He suddenly relaxed and grinned with that irresistible, little-boy charm. "We've been friends for a long time, Scotty," he continued coaxingly. "Don't blow it!" He was idly playing with Tamara's fingers. "And you're wrong about the sleeping arrangements. I'd like to have her as close to me as possible, but Tamara will have her own bedroom."
Anger, astonishment, and cautious speculation superseded each other on Oliver's face. "Separate bedrooms?" he echoed. "She's not your woman then?"
There was a curious expression in the midnight darkness of his eyes as Rex's gaze shifted to Tamara's face. It was a strange mixture of mischief, desire, regret, and something else that caused her breath to catch in her throat and her gaze to cling to his as if enthralled. "No, she's not my woman," he said gravely. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss in the palm. "She's my lady."
There was a touching gallantry in the way he uttered "my lady" in that honey dark voice. Tamara was instantly reminded of their recent teasing raillery about knights and chivalry, and she felt oddly moved. She was unable to withdraw either her hand or gaze from his, so lost was she in the strangely timeless moment. She was abruptly brought back to earth when Oliver's voice cut through the misty mood like a finely honed razor.
"Charming," he said sardonically. "But not very explanatory."
Tamara quickly withdrew her hand from Rex's and glanced at Oliver. She was instantly suspicious of the change in his demeanor. Before there had been impatience, anger, and careless contempt in his attitude toward her, but this had undergone a transformation-and not for the better. She sensed not only a chilly wariness, but also an almost menacing calculation in him now. She had an uneasy feeling Oliver was going to prove to be a very dangerous antagonist.