A Tradition of Pride (15 page)

He was angry. Angry and a little bit uncertain that perhaps he had pushed her too far. His tight-lipped silence brought a measure of satisfaction to Lara, and the discovery that her reference to a divorce had not been an idle threat.

"Have you ever considered that I might be more of a husband if you were more of a wife?" he said finally.

"But I'm not interested in being more of a wife to you," she pointed out to him. "If I were, I would not look the other way when you carry on your flirtations right in front of me."

The song ended. As Lara turned out of Trevor's arms, she was facing Rans, his expression impassive as he met her startled look. Her gaze darted to the hand resting lightly and possessively along the blond-haired woman's wrist. A stab of envy pierced her midsection, remembering the firm touch of those large hands.

She would have turned and walked away, unable to bear the sight of the two of them together, if Trevor had not stepped forward.

"It's a good band, isn't it?" Trevor commented as the combo swung into a lively tune.

"Yes, it is," the blonde agreed enthusiastically, an added sparkle entering her blue eyes under the influence of Trevor's flashing smile.

"Lara doesn't care to dance to the faster songs. Would you like to dance, Ann? May I call you Ann?" Trevor tacked on with old-fashioned courtesy.

"Yes, please, call me Ann." Before she accepted his invitation, she glanced to Rans and received a curt nod of permission, accompanied by a smile to take away the abruptness of his action. "And I would like to dance, thank you. Rans claims not to know the new steps."

"You don't mind, do you, dear?" Trevor inclined his head toward Lara, a faint challenge in his dark eyes.

"No," she murmured.

The truth was she minded very much. She didn't want to be left alone with Rans. Her strained nerves were already raw and painfully sensitive to his presence. But a protest at this point was impossible, as Trevor very well knew.

Nervously Lara watched the two of them step onto the dance floor, one tall and darkly handsome and the other willowy slender and fair. Rans was aware of Trevor's reputation. A covert glance out of the corner of her eye noted the iron set of his jaw as he, too, watched the pair. She quickly eluded his gaze when he suddenly glanced at her, his brown eyes narrowing.

"You look in need of a drink. May I get you one?" Rans offered in a slightly forbidding tone.

"Please," she replied, grateful for any distraction, however brief.

Chapter Eight

WITHIN A FEW MINUTES Rans was back. "A Bacardi cocktail, sweet and on the rocks," he said dryly as he handed it to her.

"Thank you." Lara almost wished he had forgotten.

His gaze strayed to the dance floor, picking out Trevor and Ann among the couples. Their steps matched well together, as naturally as a couple who had danced together many times before. There was a grimness about Rans's mouth as he glanced at the whiskey he held in his hand. Lara could only guess at the anger he must be feeling at the way Trevor was making a play for his girl.

"I'm sorry, but Trevor has a penchant for blondes," she stated, gazing at the pair, her eyes darkening to a troubled green.

"Jealous?" came his soft, husky voice.

"Yes." The answer was instinctive; voicing the truth that she was jealous of the blonde because she was Rans's date.

It was only after the admission had been made that Lara realized Rans meant jealous because Ann was with Trevor. She could hardly correct her error so she let the answer stand.

As the music faded, the pair stopped dancing, yet didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave the floor as they talked and laughed. Another song began, a slower melody this time, and Rans turned to Lara.

"Shall we dance?" A challenging light glinted in his eyes.

Lara fought the impulse to accept wholeheartedly, glancing at her drink, intending to use it as an excuse not to have to endure the torture of being held in his arms. But his strong fingers closed around the glass and removed it from her hand, deliberately interpreting her silence as an acceptance.

"I—" Lara attempted a protest.

With the glasses set aside, his hand closed around hers and led her to the dance floor. Then Rans was pivoting her into his arms, a hand sliding around her waist.

"I guess I accept," she laughed, the sound brittle with tension.

"Did you want to wait there for them to come back?" Rans asked flatly.

Glancing to the edge of the dance floor, Lara saw Trevor eyeing her curiously. He knew she generally avoided dancing with anyone but older friends of her father's when they attended social functions. Her actions surprised him, but Trevor never let anything bother him too long. His dark head bent closer to the blond woman at his side. In the next moment they were returning to the floor.

"No, I didn't want to wait," Lara answered his question finally.

Her first few steps were awkward and uncoordinated as they began to dance to the slow music. She was trying desperately to control the desire to relax against Rans and let him lead her wherever he wanted to go. His physical attraction made such a desire too dangerous.

The stiffness of her limbs wasn't eased by the way he held her. His touch was hard and firm as though something inside him was tautly leashed. Lara stared at the knot of his tie, her heart hammering wildly, in her throat. Peering through the top of her lashes, she studied the strong line of his jaw and moved her gaze upward. Hard brown eyes were looking beyond her, a savage glitter in their depths.

Hesitantly Lara glanced over her shoulder, finding the target of his look. Ann Koffman was molded against Trevor's length, her head resting against his shoulder as they moved sinuously to the slow tempo. Trevor's dark head was bent toward hers, smiling as he murmured near her ear.

Sharply averting her head from the scene, Lara met the rapier thrust of Rans's eyes. She paled under his piercing regard and looked swiftly away.

"Is this his usual practice when you go out?" A dry sarcasm laced, his question.

"We rarely go out together," Lara corrected and paused nervously before answering. "If there is an attractive woman. Trevor usually pays attention to her. His ego can't tolerate it if a woman doesn't like him."

"Don't you do anything about it?"

"There isn't anything I can do." Or want to do, she could have added, but didn't.

"Isn't there?" He smiled crookedly, a wicked glint dancing roguishly in his eyes.

His forearm folded over hers, drawing her hand against the solid wall of his chest, her fingers clasped in the firm grip of his. The arm around her waist tightened to lull her closer until she was wrapped in a near embrace. Only a struggle would have freed her from his iron hold.

"Rans!" was her startled murmur of token resistance.

"Quiet," he ordered. "We are being observed so just listen to the music."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lara saw the frowning look Trevor was directing at them. Then the melody of the song captured her attention as she remembered a line from its lyrics. "My love, I've hungered for your touch a long, lonely time." With eyes closed, she surrendered to its truth and relaxed in Rans's strong arms.

It took all of her willpower to leave his arms when the song ended. Her ivory complexion was paler than normal, but her expression gave no indication of the withdrawal pains she suffered. It didn't falter under Trevor's scrutiny when they rejoined them.

Her father and Charlotte Thompson joined the four of them on the sidelines. Martin Alexander was in one of his garrulous moods, directing the conversation to his favorite topic—pecans. His presence in the group brought a continuous stream of guests stopping to chat for a minute or two before moving on to the dance floor or to the bar.

Rans had retrieved Lara's drink shortly after they had left the dance floor and had obtained one for Ann, who was now at his side. As much as she tried, Lara couldn't keep her attention focused on the conversation around her. She was too conscious of Rans.

He was listening to her father, nodding now and then to some statement, yet he seemed very aloof as if a large part of his thoughts were elsewhere. His glass was refilled for the third time and Lara knew something was eating away at him. She could only guess that it had to do with Ann, whose gaze kept straying to Trevor.

A hand gripped her elbow and Lara glanced at its owner with a jerk of her head. Trevor smiled at her—the smug smile of a cat licking the cream from its whiskers.

"Let's dance," he said.

If she had expected him to ask anyone, it would have been the willowy blonde with Rans. The invitation had been issued loud enough for the others to hear. Under the circumstances Lara didn't see how she could refuse, so she let him escort her onto the dance floor.

Slipping an arm around her waist, Trevor murmured complacently, "You seem very interested in MacQuade tonight. Is there anything I should know?"

Her poise cracked only for an instant. "I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about," An icy chill ran down her spine. If her preoccupation with Rans had been so obvious, perhaps others had noticed.

"Don't you?" he mocked. "I noticed you didn't object when he held you so closely while the two of you were dancing."

"Was there something wrong with that?" Lara remarked haughtily. "I don't believe the way we were dancing was much different from the way you and Miss Koffman were."

A dark brow arched in quizzical amusement. "Do I detect a note of jealousy in your tone? Maybe you aren't as indifferent to me as you like to pretend."

"You have a very vivid imagination, Trevor." She tipped her head back to glare at him with cold contempt.

"If it's not my attention you are trying to gain, then it must be MacQuade's," he pointed out with a speculative gleam in his dark eyes.

"Don't be absurd." But she had to look away.

"Why don't you be honest with yourself for once, Lara?" Trevor grinned mockingly. "I know MacQuade isn't your type, so why don't you simply admit that you are trying to make me jealous."

Lara sincerely doubted that anyone could possess an ego as big as Trevor's. He was so absolutely positive that no woman would want another man if she could have him that Lara nearly laughed in his face. The only thing that stopped her was the sight of Rans guiding his date onto the floor.

"You are mistaken," she shrugged eloquently.

"I didn't realize you were so adept at playing games, Lara," he commented after considering a moment. "I'm willing to prolong the chase if that's what you want. It tends to heighten the thrill of capture."

His hand slid suggestively downward from her hip. Her own hand quickly left his shoulder to check his caress. "Stop it," Lara warned beneath her breath.

And Trevor chuckled. "It's still too soon, is it?"

"It will always be too soon," she stated acidly.

"Whatever you say," he smiled confidently. "I'm willing to play by your rules, with a few variations of my own."

In the next few steps, his cryptic statement was explained when he paused alongside another couple. Lara's glance of vague curiosity encountered the sparkling blue lights of Ann's eyes. Suddenly wary, she looked back at Trevor. His dark gaze was directed at Rans.

"Shall we change partners?" Trevor suggested.

Lara sent up a silent prayer that Rans would refuse. He looked at her, the smoldering dark brown of his gaze almost curling her toes. Then it flicked arrogantly to Trevor.

"Permanently?" Rans questioned in a deceptively lazy tone.

Her heart leaped in spite of the common sense that told her it was only a joke. Trevor was momentarily disconcerted, too, but he recovered with a laugh.

"It's a thought, isn't it?" he replied in a humorous vein as he released Lara to Rans's waiting arms.

A tremor quivered through her at his firm touch. She had difficulty breathing when she felt the hardness, of his thighs against her legs. Weakly she swayed closer until she felt his smoothly shaven jaw against her hair. His head jerked back as if she had burned him.

"I'm sorry," Lara mumbled self-consciously, stiffening her neck to move away.

"No." His voice was hard, denying her the right to move away. His head bent slightly to rest alongside her face.

"Please," she swallowed. His breath was warm against her cheek, smelling of alcohol. A strong thumb was absently rubbing the inside of her wrist. "I think you've had too much to drink," Lara breathed, feeling the heady intoxication of his body molded against hers.

"Enough it would seem," Rans chuckled lowly, drawing back to gaze into the disturbed greenness of her eyes, "to dare your claws in hopes of making you purr the way you once did."

"Don't," she protested.

"Don't you want to make your husband jealous?" he mocked.

Lara shook her head, needing to escape. "Let me go," she insisted shakily.

"The song isn't over yet," he reminded her complacently.

Blindly she stared at a button on his shirt. "Let me go," Lara repeated desperately.