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Mrs Tarawera had saved her from such an existence; when she saw Rick, as young and as frightened as she had been, her reaction had been instinctive.
Opening her mouth to tell Leo that his brother was not on the streets, she realised just in time how close she had come to betraying him. Thinking rapidly, she said, ‘You haven’t much faith in his basic strength of character, have you?’
If her recalcitrance irritated him he didn’t let it show. His handsome face stony and unrevealing, he said evenly, ‘So far he hasn’t given much indication of any character, except a talent for getting into trouble.’
‘Have you any idea why?’
‘Oh, I’ve no doubt it’s for the same reasons you left a perfectly adequate family. Unfocused resentment, a need to—where are you going?’
Tansy was on her feet. She had never come so close to hitting anyone in her life, and she had to get out. With a smile that showed small white teeth, she said sweetly, ‘I don’t have to listen to you rabbiting on about things you know absolutely nothing about. If you’d once climbed down off that pedestal and looked at real people for a change you might have been able to stop Rick before it was too late. Goodbye, Mr Dacre.’
He caught her up before she took two steps, his hand fastening on to her upper arm in a grip that almost numbed her wrist.
‘Let me go,’ she threatened beneath her breath, ‘or I’ll scream for help.’
His smile dazzled, a blatant contrast to the icy calculation that gleamed beneath thick lashes. ‘And if you do,’ he said just as quietly, ‘I’ll tell everyone here that we’re having a lovers’ quarrel.’
Tansy’s mouth turned down. ‘None of them would believe a word of it,’ she said tensely. ‘You and I don’t go together.’
Taunting green eyes travelled slowly from the tawny flames of hers to the too-controlled mouth, and then down the pale length of her throat. Wherever that experienced gaze rested tiny explosions of sensation left colour in their wake, stimulated shivers along her nerves. An odd heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach, a melting combination of heat and hunger.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said softly, the words overlaid with ridicule. ‘They see a young woman so vital that sparks seem to fly from her, and a man who would give anything to capture that passion for himself.’
The cold, cynical amusement in his tone hurt; it was like a slap in the face. She said clearly, ‘Let me go, or I’ll scream the place down.’
‘Go ahead,’ he said, urging her towards the door. ‘This is the second time you’ve walked away from me. I don’t like it.’
Opening her mouth, Tansy took in a deep breath. To her utter astonishment he swung her around, bent his dark head and kissed her.
His mouth was warm and compelling. Responses rioting into overload, unable to react because it was totally unexpected, Tansy gasped while he kissed her thoroughly and with flair, holding her so closely against his lean body that she could smell the faint but unmistakable tang of male, feel the hard, masculine contours against her.
She sagged, her slight body trembling. Instantly his arms contracted even further.
Through the ringing in her ears she dimly heard laughter and scattered applause, and then she was being picked up and he was carrying her through the door. She lifted weighted eyelids to stare witlessly at austere features emphasised by the taut skin across his cheekbones, an implacable mouth curved into a mocking smile.
When at last he stopped, she sputtered, ‘I’ll kill you,’ scarlet with temper and humiliation and confusion. Furious with him for doing such a thing, she was even more incensed with herself for responding so violently.
He set her on her feet. The amusement had gone from his face, leaving it tough and forceful. ‘Don’t ever dare me again,’ he said calmly.
‘I was not—’ Tansy’s hands clenched into small but serviceable fists.
‘Oh, yes, you were.’ There was a note beneath the cool insolence of his reply that stopped her from erupting into a tantrum. ‘I don’t take kindly to being manipulated.’
With colour still stinging her skin, she stepped back, making a sudden grab at her beret. That unrestrained embrace had knocked it askew, and now the wind levered it the last few centimetres and carried it triumphantly off. Freed at last, her hair sprang out around her head in wild, defiant exuberance.
She seized a couple of handfuls and dragged it back from her face, saying violently, ‘See what you’ve done!’
‘What amazing hair,’ he said in a constricted voice. Two vertical lines appeared between his brows as he scrutinised her. ‘It crackles. Why do you keep it covered all the time?’
‘Because idiots like you feel obliged to comment on it,’ she snapped.
He grinned. ‘It’s hardly Titian red, is it?’
‘No, it’s ginger. Honest, unromantic, down-to-earth ginger. Why are we talking about my hair?’
It came out as a disconcerted wail. His gaze seemed to hold nothing but appreciation; it was as though those moments in the kiosk when he had kissed her had never happened. Except, she thought dazedly, a residue of the sensations his roving eyes and that firm, far too knowledgeable mouth had roused in her still seethed through every cell in her body, potent as cheap wine and just as bad for her.
‘It’s rather difficult not to talk about it the first time you see it uncaged,’ he said, his eyes still fixed on the riotous mass. ‘It appears to have a personality of its own.’
She flared, ‘Don’t you make fun of me.’
‘Tansy,’ he said with such relaxed assurance that she almost believed him, ‘that is the most glorious head of hair I have ever seen. I swear I’m not making fun of you.’
Her astonished eyes searched his face, finding nothing but a bewildering sincerity. The anger and excitement and tension faded, leaving her flat in the aftermath of an adrenalin rush. ‘You’ve got peculiar tastes,’ she grumbled, looking around for her beret.
It was snagged on a rose bush. Jerking it free, Leo said lightly, ‘I should throw the damned thing away. It’s a crime to keep hair like that covered.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ She almost snatched it from his hand, jamming it on to her head with defiant irritation, this time directed at herself. She had no idea what was happening to her, but she had the ominous feeling it was not going to be pleasant, and she wanted nothing more than to get out of there and away, back to her own life.
‘Come on,’ he commanded.
Tansy scowled suspiciously through her lashes.
‘I’ll take you home,’ he explained with the patient tolerance of an uncle for a rather dimwitted niece.
More than anything Tansy would have liked to tell him to go to hell, but she wasn’t in the business of cutting off her nose to spite her face. He had brought her here; he could do the decent thing and take her home.
‘Very well,’ she said ungraciously.
He didn’t speak until he had pulled up outside her flat. Then, when she went to open the car door he said absently, ‘It’s locked. Tansy, listen to me. I can see I’ve handled this all wrong. Will you come to dinner with me tonight and let me explain about Rick, and why I need to know where he is?’
Tension stiffened her jaw. ‘You’ve already done that and it doesn’t make any difference,’ she told him. ‘I can’t help you.’
His mouth compressed, but he said in the same moderate voice, ‘At least listen to me.’
‘All right.’ Her lashes flew up in shock. She didn’t intend to say that! A swift look at his hard, handsome face made her heart give a flip. Dicing with the devil was dangerous business.
‘Good,’ he said immediately, before she could take the words back. He did something on the dashboard and said, ‘The door’s open now. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Tough.’
Tansy’s face sharpened. She looked him straight in his alien’s eyes and said calmly, ‘Don’t threaten me.’
‘I’m not threatening you,’ he said, sounding odiously reasonable. ‘If you haven’t got any suitable clothes, don’t worry. I’ll bring dinner with me.’
Oh, but he was clever. Tiny flakes of apricot heated her cheekbones. Chin jutting, her eyes steady, she said, ‘Don’t bother. I won’t be here.’
‘Then I’ll come in now.’
Although he was smiling, Tansy sensed an unyielding determination to have his own way. He was going to say his piece sooner or later: accepting that, she accepted that it might as well be said on neutral ground.
Not that the kiosk at the rose gardens had inhibited him at all! However, if they went out to dinner he couldn’t let slip the leash of his temper when she still refused to tell him where Rick was.
And although she didn’t dare admit it, he fascinated her. When she was with him she felt more alive than she ever had before.
She said offhandedly, ‘Oh, don’t bother, I’ll go out with you tonight. I can see I’m not going to get any peace until I do. But McDonald’s will be all right. I haven’t any formal clothes.’
His smile was twisted. ‘Wear what you’ve got on now, except for that beret. People won’t be looking at your clothes when they can see your hair.’
She shot him a last, fulminating glare, then got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Unfortunately, it closed with the kind of solid heaviness that indicated excellent engineering and no damage done. Ignoring his laughter, Tansy stalked up the steps to her flat, her back held so stiffly her shoulders started to ache. Even safely inside she couldn’t relax until the car moved away.
She did have formal clothes, of a sort. When the music department at the university gave recitals of students’ work, each student conducted their own compositions. For those occasions she had assembled as near an approximation of conductors’ clothes as she could find. Several forays through charity shops had yielded an oldish but extremely well-cut dinner-jacket which she wore with a white shirt and tailored trousers.
At half-past six she gritted her teeth and began to dress.
The severe lines of the jacket and the ruffles down the front of the shirt camouflaged slightly too opulent breasts, and her one pair of court shoes added the extra inch and a half she needed to give her some degree of confidence. For a change she didn’t try to tame her hair. If Leo Dacre liked it so much, she thought, pushing a wilful tress back from her oddly flushed cheek, he could see it.
Except for a faint tinge of blusher along her high cheekbones and some gold eyeshadow, her skin and lips were as nature intended them. If she wore lipstick it made her mouth rather pouty and obvious. Her one luxury, the six-weekly dyeing of her pale lashes and brows, meant that her eyes were clearly defined. Fortunately they were large and dark enough to dominate a face that was too thin to be seductive.
Not, she assured herself as she turned away from the small mirror, that she wanted to be seductive. Not in the least. Brisk and businesslike—even formidable—was what she aimed for. Instead she looked short and slight and nondescript, except for her hair, which had enough character for ten people.
On the stroke of seven Leo’s knock sounded on the door, and if she had dressed to please him she would have been rewarded by his candid, unashamed survey, the slow kindle of flame in the green eyes, and the half-smile that tucked up the corners of the wide, mobile mouth.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You scrub up well, Tansy.’
The open laughter in his tone changed her initial reaction of fury and bleak resentment to a reluctant amusement. Stung because she was so easy to manipulate, she said, ‘So do you.’
In a leather jacket over superbly cut shirt and trousers, he looked relaxed and informal, yet he was marked by an inherent sophistication that made Tansy feel suddenly young and very gauche. She was streetwise, he was worldly; there was an immense gulf between the two. Why that should disturb her she didn’t know.
He opened the car door and held it with a teasing smile that invited her to comment. Tansy didn’t. Once in the car, however, he didn’t immediately start the engine.
Instead, scanning her profile, he said, ‘Why don’t we leave things as they are for the moment? I’d like to eat a meal without worrying in case you get up and storm away, or tip your plate over my head. I have to go back to Auckland the day after tomorrow; shall we go out to dinner tonight and tomorrow night, and after that I’ll talk to you about Ricky?’
Say no, her common sense commanded her. Say no right now and go back inside and take off your pathetic attempts to look sleek and fashionable, and never see him again.
But something more fundamental than common sense prevented her from such drastic action.
Aloud, slowly, because she knew she was being stupid, putting herself in danger, she said, ‘Yes, all right,’ and comforted her sensible self by remembering that he was going away soon.
Besides, she reminded herself with a certain tough practicality that came from years of watching every penny, the free meals were saving her money.
To make things absolutely clear, she said brusquely, ‘I’m only going out with you because you’re paying for my dinner.’
His smile was cold and fleeting. ‘I know,’ he said.
That smile and the dispassionate tone of his voice sent a shiver tiptoeing delicately along her nerves.
He took her to a restaurant Tansy had heard about but never expected to visit. It was very expensive—part club, part café, and entirely fashionable—and she realised immediately that the unwritten dress code stipulated only that clothes be worn with panache. After several minutes she relaxed. She certainly wasn’t the most outrageously dressed woman there by any means. In fact, she was one of the more conventionally garbed.
What she hadn’t expected was the attention. Leo was clearly as well known here as in his native Auckland. After the third expensively dressed couple had stopped at their table, been introduced, and bubbled with enthusiasm and very cultured vowels at seeing him, she looked at him, lean and assured, sexy in a way that undermined her carefully constructed defences, and asked on a light note of provocation, ‘Do you know everyone in New Zealand?’
‘A lot,’ he returned, his tone as casual as hers. ‘I think I’m probably related to most of them. Both my parents came from very large extended families, so I’ve got cousins all over the place. As well, my father was active in public life. And I come to Wellington quite often.’
Which made it surprising that Rick had come here. Unless, of course, he had wanted to be found. More than once he’d admitted that he was very dependent on his brother, so perhaps unconsciously he’d been waiting for Leo to rescue him.
Instead, he’d decided to rescue himself. It had taken courage, and he should have his chance to ‘find himself’, as Leo so sneeringly put it.
‘That’s a very stubborn look,’ Leo said softly.
Tansy’s long lashes quivered. ‘I’m a very stubborn person,’ she returned.
‘But not tonight. Tonight you don’t have to be stubborn. Do you want to dance?’
A sudden deliquescence at the base of her spine warned her that dancing with him wouldn’t be a good idea. ‘Not just now,’ she said. ‘Tell me what it’s like being a barrister.’
He looked surprised. ‘Stimulating,’ he said after a moment’s consideration. ‘Exhausting. It ranges from intense satisfaction to times when the world seems a wholly negative place. I wouldn’t be anything else.’
Apart from her foster-father, whose only aim in working seemed to be the desire to make enough money so that his wife could buy the things she wanted, Tansy had little experience with men. Neither Les O’Brien nor the men she studied with at university were anything like Leo Dacre, who had a compelling magnetism that was unique.
From behind the menu she said, ‘It sounds unsettling.’
‘Don’t you find life like that? Days when you think you can conquer the world, and other days when life puts you neatly back into your insignificant place?’
She was startled. It was difficult to imagine such a self-assured man feeling insignificant. ‘Yes, of course, but I didn’t think you would.’
‘Why not?’ Straight dark brows rose. He smiled at her swift colour and asked, ‘Stereotyping me, Tansy?’
‘I suppose I was,’ she agreed reluctantly.
‘I’m a man, like all other men. If you cut me, I bleed.’
A harsh undertone in his voice made her wince but she returned robustly, ‘You don’t have to convince me.’
‘No?’ He paused, his expression unreadable, then said abruptly, ‘Tell me what you’re doing studying composition in the music department at the university here.’
She shrugged. ‘I think I was born making music. When I was a toddler I sang instead of talking. My foster-parents aren’t at all musical, so it was lucky for me that Pam, my foster-mother, used to clean house for an old lady who lived not far from us. She’d been a music teacher, and I think she missed it.’
She had shown Tansy how to play, and, when she realised how fascinated the child was, had begged to be able to teach her. Pam O’Brien had refused, citing lack of money, so Miss Harding had contacted the social welfare department. Some understanding person there had thought it a wonderful idea and organised the payments.
That had been the beginning of Tansy’s double life. At home she had been the odd one out. At Miss Harding’s she learned to round her vowels, discovered a whole new set of rules to govern her behaviour, listened with tears running down her face to the great composers, been made over for the best of motives into her mentor’s image. But Tansy’s happiness there, her sense of fulfilment, her eagerness to learn and desire to copy her mentor, set up tensions that eventually led to her flight from home.
‘When I had piano lessons,’ she went on, ‘I spent most of my time trying to work out the theory rather than actually play the piano. I knew right from the start that I wanted to write music.’
Although forbidden to, she’d written at night, waiting until her older sister was asleep to work by the light of a torch. Of course, the inevitable happened; she was discovered. Angry with her for her disobedience, Pam had burned six months’ work, so from then on Tansy had become even more secretive, losing herself for hours at a time in the special world she shared with Miss Harding.
Scrawny, intense, prone to temper tantrums and obstinacy, unable to compromise, she had been difficult. Like all creative people, she thought mockingly, she had suffered for her art. And so had her foster-parents. They hadn’t been actively unkind; they had simply not understood her. Part of Pam O’Brien’s resentment was due to the fact that she couldn’t afford such lessons for her own children. It had been with a certain suppressed satisfaction that she had told Tansy one day in her fourteenth year that the old lady was dead.
