A Tradition of Pride (16 page)

There was an expressive shrug of his wide shoulders as his hold slackened. Unmindful of the curious looks, Lara walked unhurriedly from the dance floor, aware that Rans was following with leisurely strides. She knew he didn't intend to let her escape completely. She supposed that Rans was flirting with her to get revenge on Trevor for flirting with his date. And Lara didn't like being used that way, not when she was trying to control her own wayward emotions.

There was one place Rans couldn't follow and she slipped into the ladies' powder room. She took her time applying fresh lipstick and patting the smooth coiffure of her hair. When she peered out the door into the hall, there was no sign of Rans.

Cautiously she stepped out, avoiding the door leading into the private banquet room in favor of a rear exit door opening to the outside. The night was languidly still, a few crickets chirruping in the landscaped bushes. Lara stepped farther into the cool darkness, wrapping her arms around her middle in an attempt to ease the aching emptiness in her midsection. She silently wished for a cigarette to calm her jangled nerves, but had none in her small evening purse.

"Would you like a cigarette?"

At the sound of the familiarly husky voice, Lara jumped, pivoting sharply in alarm. A tall figure disassociated itself from the concealing shadows.

Light from a three-quarter moon touched Rans MacQuade's face.

His rugged features were twisted in a cynical smile. "I've been waiting for you."

A cigarette burned in his hand as he placed a second between his lips and snapped a lighter flame to the end, handing it to Lara after an initial puff.

"I…I needed some fresh air," Lara faltered.

"That's what I thought," he responded dryly.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you are."

Lara turned away, unable to endure the lazy thoroughness of his gaze. "Why don't you leave me alone?" she murmured in despair. "Your Ann will be wondering where you are."

"And so will Trevor. Isn't that the whole point of this?" inquired Rans, moving forward into her line of sight and glancing casually skyward at the stars overhead.

"Trevor won't care," Lara replied tightly.

In fact, he would probably find the whole thing amusing. It would reinforce his opinion that Lara was attempting to make him jealous—which was preposterous and impossible since he felt no deep emotion for her—and it would give him a clear field with Ann Koffman.

"You have forgotten" Trevor's ego." He studied the burning tip of his cigarette and the smoke curling in a gauzy gray ribbon from its tip.

"What do you mean?" she frowned, eyeing him uncomfortably.

"He isn't going, to like it if he thinks his wife finds another man more attractive. If nothing else, curiosity will make him come after you."

"I don't particularly care." She stared stonily into the night, knowing that what, Rans was really hoping was that Trevor would leave Ann alone.

"Don t you?" His cigarette was ground out beneath the heel of his shoe.

"No, I don't."

"You went along very willingly with the idea of making him jealous of you tonight," Rans pointed out. "You even admitted you were jealous when he was dancing with Ann. Is it pride that's making you say that you don't care?"

"I wasn't jealous!" Lara protested with irritation, and realized that she didn't want to explain that statement.

"Will you please go away and leave me alone?" she demanded.

"I swear half the time you don't know what you are saying or doing!" he muttered, his hand snaking out to seize her wrist. "You are a complete contradiction with your flaming hair and marble pale complexion." Lara twisted her arm, straining against his grip to no avail. "You swear you can't stand to be touched when the actual truth is just the opposite."

"Let me go, please." She was breathing quickly, and unevenly, seeing the light in his eyes and knowing she didn't have the strength nor the desire to fight him off.

"No." He shook his sun-streaked head, a hand gripping her waist to draw her toward him. "We're going to see this thing through to the end."

His mouth closed over hers in hard possession, parting her unresisting lips for the exploration of his searching tongue. An explosion of fire raged through her veins. She didn't need the molding caress of his hands as she willingly arched her body against his solid outline, her fingers clutching the material of his jacket at the waves of weak submission that flowed through her muscles.

Lara's hungry response released a torrent of kisses that rained over her eyes and cheek and neck. Each one jolted her to her toes. She tried to return his passion and thrilled when she felt the trembling of his muscles. A large hand roughly cupped itself under the swelling curve of her breast as his mouth blazed a fiery trail to the shadowy cleft at the V neckline of her dress.

The outside door swished shut, bringing Lara partially to her senses, enough to realize that someone had seen them. Her hands pushed against his jacket.

"Rans, please," she begged for him to stop, while every fiber of her being pleaded with him to continue, to not stop until they were both satisfied.

It was the latter that he listened to, laughing huskily as he nuzzled the side of her throat, nibbling sensuously at her earlobe until she moaned with the erotic mastery of his touch.

With the last ounce of her will, Lara protested sharply. "Stop." Rans started to ignore her again and she added, "You are drunk, Mr. MacQuade."

"Drunk?" Harsh laughter erupted from his throat as he drew his head back, his chest rising and falling in deep, disturbed breaths that didn't help Lara's emotions. "I am drunk. With liquor or with you, I don't know. They both burn and make me lose my head."

But he was in control of himself, Lara could see that in the piercing hardness of his eyes. His arms fell to his sides, leaving her skin cold where his touch had burned her minutes before. Inside she was crying, wanting him more than she had ever wanted him.

Everything had gone wrong. She hadn't wanted to come tonight. Now she regretted bitterly that she had. Instead of remembering Rans with another woman, the memory of what had happened this moment would be forever with her.

"Someone saw us," she breathed shakily.

"So?" Rans taunted. "Are you worried about your reputation?"

She turned abruptly away, his jeering words slashing at her heart, "No," she shook her head, her chin dipping downward in defeat.

"Don't worry," he mocked. "I doubt if it was anyone other than your husband. I know you'll excuse me now. Good evening, Mrs. Cochran."

Her chin was lifted and a hard kiss was branded on her mouth. Before her hands could touch him—to protest or deepen the kiss—he was gone, striding away toward the building. Lost and alone, Lara remained outside for several more minutes, wishing she didn't have to go in and face Rans again or argue with Trevor.

There wasn't any choice. Soon someone would come looking for her, more than likely Trevor if he had seen her locked in that embrace with Rans. She didn't want to see him alone yet, not until she had better control of herself.

Lara delayed rejoining the party by slipping into the powder room. Her eyes were red and swollen from unshed tears. While she was rinsing them with cold water, one of the dinner guests, Nora Evans, walked in.

"Oh, hello, Lara," she greeted with only mild surprise, "That smoke in the room really burns your eyes, doesn't it? It's almost a relief to get out of there."

"Yes, it is," Lara agreed, drying her eyes and reaching for her evening purse on the counter top. Quickly she reapplied her makeup, finishing as the woman was about to leave, and walked with her into the party room.

Trevor was at her side immediately, his dark eyes glittering with a knowing look leaving Lara with little doubt that he had seen her with Rans.

"There you are, darling." His arm circled her shoulders in seemingly affectionate possession. "I was beginning to worry about you."

The woman, old enough to be Trevor's mother, smiled with a trace of envy at the romantically handsome man and moved off in search of her balding husband. Lara remained rigidly erect against his touch.

His dark head bent to whisper mockingly in her ear. "MacQuade returned sometime ago. What took you so long?"

"That's none of your business," she murmured shortly.

He clicked his tongue in mock reproval. "You forget, my love, that I'm your husband?"

Lara flashed him a cold look. "I try."

Black fires burned in his eyes at her rejection, his nostrils flaring in anger. Then, slowly, a cunning light entered his dark gaze.

"It was all part of your game, wasn't it?" Trevor smiled. "You surprise me Lara. I always thought you had too much moral pride. It seems I don't know you as well as I thought."

"You don't know me at all, Trevor. You never will. You are too egotistical and self-centered to bother about anyone but yourself," she retorted cuttingly. "Let's rejoin the others."

Trevor laughed softly and guided her toward the group dominated by her father. He was too arrogantly sure of his own attraction to believe there was any truth in her words, and he was making his own interpretations of her actions.

Covertly Lara searched the faces in the room. None belonged to Rans or Ann Koffman. Had they left? She longed to ask yet knew she didn't dare if she wanted to avoid more of Trevor's disgusting comments.

The pounding in her head that had been with her all evening in various degrees of discomfort began to increase. The steady chatter of voices, the loud music of the band and the smoke-filled room didn't help her headache. Overriding all of those was the tension.

A half an hour later, when Trevor suggested they leave, Lara could have cried with relief. She didn't even care why he wanted to leave the party so early. But Martin Alexander objected to their departure.

"Lara, you are the hostess. You can't leave," her father protested.

"I have terrible headache, daddy. Besides," she cajoled desperately, "you are the guest of honor and your friends will be less inhibited if we youngsters leave."

"You do have a point there." His eyes twinkled merrily and Lara knew she had won.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, daddy," she murmured. "And give our goodbyes to the others."

Minutes later she was relaxing against the plush upholstery of Trevor's Seville. Closing her eyes, she listened to the silence, the powerful motor sounding as only a contented purr inside the car. Pine trees crowded the sides of the road, serrated silhouettes against a moonlit sky.

The car made a turn and slowed to a stop. Lara opened her eyes, expecting to see the lighted entrance of her home. There wasn't a building in sight, only the forests and the tan ribbon of the dirt road. Her gaze swung warily to Trevor. He was sitting sideways in his seat, quietly watching her.

"Why have we stopped here?" Lara was instantly on guard.

His hand moved toward the dashboard of the car. There was a click, then soft music caressed the night. Trevor took his time in answering.

"Do you remember when we were dating?" he mused. From the shadowy darkness of his side of the car, Lara could feel his gaze roaming over her smooth features. "We used to park along some isolated stretch of the road, listen to music and talk…and kiss."

"I remember." Wondering how she could have been so naive to believe all the lies and romantic compliments he had made then. "It was all very long ago, Trevor." There was a hint of acid distaste for the subject in her tone as she leaned her head against the raised seat back. "Please take me home now."

Not a sound betrayed his movement. The spicy scent of his cologne warned Lara of his nearness an instant before his lips pressed against hers. Repulsed, she twisted her mouth away, her hands raising to push against his chest.

"Stop it!" she snapped angrily, hunching her shoulder against his attempt to bury his mouth along her neck. "I'm not in the mood for a wrestling match with you. I have a headache and I want to go home!"

Trevor simply laughed, pressing her back against the seat with his weight. "That's a very unoriginal excuse, my adoring wife."

Sickeningly, Lara realized that he was not going to be put off, with mere words. He had seen the way she had responded to Rans and intended to penetrate her glacial coldness. She fought his mouth and roving hands that left her feeling dirty and unclean. The more she struggled, the more excited he seemed to become.

The nightmare grew to terrifying proportions as Lara felt the fragile material of her dress ripping at the shoulder. The moistness of his mouth nibbled at her bared skin, sending shudders of revulsion down her spine. She freed an arm from the pinning weight of his chest and raked her fingernails across his face.

With a yelping curse, Trevor moved away, a hand instinctively cupping his wounded cheek. He held it away, staring at the traces of smeared blood in the palm with disbelief. A black rage distorted his handsome features.

Lara didn't wait for the explosion. With wrenching sobs of panic, she pushed open the door, her legs quivering with fear. Trevor reached for her, his fingers closing over the skirt of her dress. She tore it away, uncaring of the second rip that ruined the expensive dress.