Tempting Tara Page 9

  Tara made use of the ladies’ room, then requested a diet soda in the restaurant. Blake ordered a towering ice cream, cake and fudge combination with a regular soda on the side. Tara watched in amazement as he put away the dessert, and remembered the bacon cheeseburger with fries he’d had for lunch. How on earth did he stay so lanky-slim if he ate this way?

  He grinned sheepishly when she finally asked the question. “Metabolism,” he replied. “I try to eat healthy most of the time, but every once in a while I gotta have a burger or ice cream.”

  Once again, she thought she heard a faint twang of Texas underneath his usually hard-to-place accent. “Where did you grow up, Blake?”

  He shrugged. “All over. My family traveled a lot.”

  “How long have you lived in Georgia?”

  He dipped a spoon into his dessert. “Who said I live in Georgia?”

  She blinked. “You mean you don’t?”

  “Only occasionally.”

  She thought of that old motel in Marietta. “Where do you live when you aren’t in this state?”

  “Here and there.”

  “You don’t have a permanent home anywhere?”

  “I work out of Texas fairly often. Got a little place in the Tennessee hills where I sometimes go between jobs.”

  It sounded to Tara like a lonely existence. “You have no family?”

  “I’m pretty much on my own.”

  There were so many more questions Tara wanted to ask him. Why he lived the way he did. Why he felt the need to have trucks stashed in used-car lots, motels booked under false names, why he apparently lived a footloose life with no ties to a home, a family or even possessions. But she knew those questions were none of her business, and that Blake would only tell her if he wanted her to know.

  So, instead, she frowned and adopted a lighter tone. “Blake, has anyone ever told you that you’re just a bit strange?”

  He grinned. “I believe ‘weird’ is the usual adjective.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “I’ve gotten used to it. You sure you don’t want any ice cream or anything?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Then we’d better be on our way.”

  The more she learned about Blake, the less she felt she knew him, Tara reflected as they climbed back into the black pickup. And the more he intrigued her.

  IT HAD BEEN YEARS since Tara had visited Savannah. She had almost forgotten how beautiful it was, with its cobblestone streets and spreading magnolia trees, its historic houses and abundantly blooming azaleas.

  She climbed out of the truck gratefully that evening, stiff from the hours on the road. She looked curiously around the beautifully landscaped grounds of the condominium complex in which Blake had parked. “Where are we?”

  “A friend owns a condo here. She travels a lot, and she’s out of town now, but I have her permission to stay here whenever I like.”

  She. Tara was a bit surprised by her immediate reaction to the pronoun. By the questions that flooded her mind. Questions that were absolutely none of her business.

  Concentrate on what you’re doing, Tara.

  “You, er, have a key?” she asked him a bit too casually.

  “Yes. She gave me one for emergencies like this.”

  Obviously, Blake didn’t lead quite as lonely a life as Tara had imagined. And, obviously, she’d been foolish to start weaving romantic fantasies around the things he’d said to her earlier. He certainly didn’t seem to have been pining for her!

  Fifteen minutes later, she and Blake entered a beautifully furnished condominium with a breathtaking view of the Savannah River. Through the glass wall at the back of the white-on-white living room, Tara could see the lights from boats reflecting off the water.

  “This is lovely,” she murmured.

  Blake looked very much at home as he tossed his cowboy hat on a low table. “Stephanie’s done all right for herself.”

  Stephanie. “It’s, um, very kind of her to let us stay here.”

  Blake nodded. “Listen, I’m going to take a shower and change before I start making calls. Make yourself at home, okay? I’m sure there are soft drinks and juice in the fridge. There’s a TV hidden in that cabinet if you want to put your feet up and catch the news.”

  Tara didn’t turn on the TV, nor did she raid the refrigerator after Blake disappeared somewhere into the condo. Instead, she unlocked and opened the glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony, where she could enjoy the rain-cooled evening and think about everything that had happened.

  She didn’t realize how much time passed while she stood there. She jumped when Blake spoke from behind her. “Nice out here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s...”

  She turned, and her words died in her throat when she saw that he was wearing a loose-fitting blue shirt, pleated gray slacks and gray suspenders. He’d even changed his shoes, from the pointed-toe cowboy boots he’d worn with his jeans, to black loafers. There was no doubt the clothes were his. And they hadn’t been in the duffel bag he’d brought with them.

  She twisted her hands in front of her and held on to her smile with a massive effort. “Yes,” she said again. “It’s lovely.”

  Blake leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. The soft light from a fixture beside the door illuminated him in a golden glow. Just looking at him made Tara’s pulse race.

  “I’d like to take you out to dinner,” he said.

  Her eyebrows rose. “That’s how I got into trouble the last time.”

  His smile was forced. “I know. And this is another working meal. We’re meeting someone.”

  “Another one of your strange friends?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Questions swirling in her head, she smoothed her hands over her discount-store jeans. “I hope we’re not going anywhere too elegant,” she murmured, feeling underdressed compared to Blake.

  “You’ll want to change.”

  “Well, I have the dinner suit I wore yesterday,” she said. “It’s badly wrinkled, but surely there’s an iron or a steamer here.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll find you something here. You and Stephanie are about the same size, though she’s probably a couple of inches taller.”

  “Blake, I am not raiding your friend’s closet.” Tara was appalled at the very idea.

  “She won’t mind.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Blake reached out, took her hand, and threaded their fingers together in that cozy, intimate, enticing way that he had. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go find you something to wear.”

  “Really, Blake, I—”

  But he was already moving, dragging her with him, talking nonstop with teasing nonsense intended to keep her off balance. He steered her through a frilly, peach-and-mint bedroom and into a closet that was bigger than Tara’s entire bedroom in Atlanta. She stopped in her tracks, her jaw dropping.

  She’d never seen so many clothes in her life. Silks, satins, sequins. Casual clothes, sporty clothes, evening clothes. What appeared to be hundreds of pairs of shoes neatly arranged in a wall full of cubicles. Clear plastic drawers stuffed with scarves and other accessories. Hatboxes stacked on the upper shelves.

  “Your, er, friend likes clothes,” she said weakly, aware of the inanity of her understatement.

  Blake was already rummaging among the racks. “Comes with the career. She’s a model.”

  Of course she was, Tara thought grimly. “Still, Blake, we can’t just help ourselves to her clothing. That’s going beyond the bounds of simple hospitality.”

  “Trust me, she won’t mind. Would you like me to call her and let her tell you personally?”

  “No! I mean—”

  He turned away from the clothing and took both her hands, held them in front of him and gave her a melting smile. “Sweetheart, I really don’t have time to go shopping again right now. Just wear something of Stephanie’s th
is evening and we’ll try to pick you up some more things tomorrow, okay?”

  He made it sound so logical. As if it would be completely childish and unreasonable of her to refuse. And the way he was holding her hands and looking so deeply into her eyes scrambled all her mental circuits, making it impossible to remember her reasons for arguing with him.

  Tara sighed. “All right. Just for tonight.”

  He brushed his lips across her knuckles, sending a tingle all the way to her toes. Their gazes locked over their linked hands, and Tara’s breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted involuntarily, waiting for a kiss that seemed inevitable.

  And then Blake dropped her hands and turned briskly back to the clothing. “Okay, we’re looking for something nice but not overly dressy. A pantsuit is probably out, considering that her legs are about a mile longer than yours—”

  Still breathless from that moment of purely sexual awareness, Tara winced at this reminder of where they were, and why.

  Blake extracted an emerald-green knit dress from the crowded rack. It would probably be a mini on longlegged Stephanie, but it looked to be about average length for Tara. And the stretch-knit fabric made size less important.

  She nodded reluctantly. “It’s pretty.”

  “Steph wears a lot of green. It looks good with her red hair.”

  Tara told herself it was incredibly petty, catty and immature of her to dislike a woman she’d never even met. Especially one who had opened her home to them and was sharing her wardrobe—whether she knew it or not. The fact that her dislike was caused by the undisguised affection in Blake’s voice every time he mentioned the woman only increased her self-disgust.

  Blake was already rummaging among the shoes. “You wear a seven-and-a-half, right?”

  He should know, since he’d bought the sneakers she was now wearing. She nodded.

  “Hmm. Steph’s got a big foot. A ten.”

  “I have my own shoes,” Tara said quickly. “The black pumps I wore last night are in your truck.”

  “I’ll get them while you change. Take a shower if you like. Everything you should need is in the bathroom.”

  When she stepped into the peach-and-mint bath attached to the master bedroom a few minutes later, Tara was overcome by a sense of rather reckless expectation that startled her. Who’d have thought she could actually be excited about going out in borrowed clothes to investigate an art theft that might be connected to a murder?

  Living on the run, cut off from her friends, family and all her possessions, never knowing what was going to happen next—she should be hating every minute of this. It surprised her that she wasn’t She felt more alive than she had since she’d been cut adrift from the law firm where she’d expected to be until retirement. And she knew that at least part of that exhilaration was due to Blake.

  She wondered half-seriously if everything she’d been through lately had affected her reasoning. Because where Blake was concerned, it was becoming increasingly difficult to be the cautious and sensible woman she’d always considered herself to be.

  7

  WEARING the borrowed green knit dress and her black pumps—without stockings, since hers had been ruined and she’d refused to delve into Stephanie’s lingerie—Tara followed Blake into a small, but expensive-looking Italian restaurant later that evening. He still hadn’t explained exactly who they were meeting. When she’d pressed him, he’d said only that it was an old friend who might have some information for them.

  Blake’s friend wasn’t there when they arrived, so he obtained a table for them in the very back of the dim, candlelit room, informing the hostess that they were expecting someone to join them. He ordered white wine while they waited.

  “Just so you’re prepared, my friend is a bit...odd,” Blake said when the wine had been delivered, sampled and approved. He grinned as he spoke, letting her know that he was intentionally repeating his earlier warning about Spider.

  Tara made a face. “At least we’re meeting in nicer surroundings this time.”

  Blake smiled, then narrowed his eyes. “Here’s Perry now.”

  The man was tall and quite thin, with shaggy, sandy hair and deep-set eyes. He wore a short-sleeved black shirt, black jeans and scuffed black boots. Something about him made Tara’s mental warning systems sound...the systems she’d developed during her years working with the IRS.

  She’d met more than a few con men in her life. And her gut instinct told her that she was about to meet another one.

  Blake stood and stuck out his right hand. The other man gripped it warmly. It was obvious that there was a bond between them.

  The men exchanged rapid greetings, indulged in a few moments of conversation that seemed to consist primarily of obscure references and impossible-tofollow half sentences, then turned to Tara.

  “Tara, this is Perry.” Blake didn’t add surnames, but seemed to think his introduction sufficient.

  Tara held out her right hand. Perry lifted it to his lips, the gesture reminding her of Blake, though her reaction to it was entirely different. If she’d had her purse with her, she’d have pulled it a bit closer to her.

  “Blake told me he had a lady friend with him, but he didn’t mention how beautiful she was,” Perry drawled in the accent of the deepest South. An accent Tara knew well from her childhood in tiny Honoria, Georgia. She’d made a halfhearted effort to lessen her own while she’d studied at Harvard, having learned early on that a Southern accent was often mistaken for an intellectual deficiency.

  She murmured something noncommittal in response to his balderdash and glanced at Blake for a due about how to handle the guy.

  “Have a seat, Perry,” Blake said. “Would you like some wine? Are you hungry?”

  Draping his long frame into a chair, Perry gave Blake a lazy, one-sided grin. “Son, you know I’m always hungry. I’ll just about eat anything that don’t bite me first.”

  He seemed determined to prove his words when he placed his order. It was all Tara could do not to react when Perry practically read the entire menu to the young man who waited on their table. He began with a large appetizer, moved on to soup, ordered an entrée with several side dishes, and then announced that he would choose his dessert later. From the way Blake winced each time Perry made another extravagant selection, Tara assumed that her partner would be picking up the check.

  Perry, it turned out, wasn’t one to talk while he ate. He gave his entire concentration to his meal, leaving small talk to Blake and Tara while he shoveled food into his thin body with an enthusiasm that left Tara amazed. Apparently aware of his friend’s habits, Blake didn’t even try to engage the other man in serious conversation until Perry’s plates had been emptied, dessert served and coffee poured. Only then did Perry seem to relax enough to be talkative.

  “So, Perry, how’ve you been?” Blake asked.

  “Fair to middlin’.”

  “Still working the circuit?”

  “Now and again.”

  “Circuit?” Tara looked curiously from Blake to Perry. “Rodeo?”

  Perry chuckled. “Not exactly.”

  Blake cleared his throat.

  Her earlier suspicions kicking in again, Tara frowned.

  “I’m what some folks might call a grifter, ma’am,” Perry said unapologetically.

  “A con man,” she said with a sigh.

  “That’s another term for it,” he agreed.

  “Tara,” Blake murmured, “is a lawyer.”

  Perry’s eyebrows rose in interest. “Yeah? I’ve had some dealings with lawyers. You might say we’re in the same line of work, I reckon.”

  Tara’s eyes widened. She was getting rather tired of Blake’s questionable friends casting aspersions on her profession. “I would certainly not say that.”

  Blake’s grin made her long to kick his shin beneath the table.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t take the life savings of senior citizens,” Perry offered. “A little three-card monte, a few vari
ations on the shell game, but mostly I make my living hustlin’ cards and pool.”

  “Perry’s a good friend, Tara. I’d trust him with my life,” Blake added simply.

  She softened. “I’m not presuming to judge you, Perry. You’re here this evening to help us, and I appreciate that.”

  “No offense taken, Miz Tara,” he assured her, stretching the syllables as far as they’d go.

  Blake nodded and got down to business. “I told you a bit of our situation on the phone this afternoon,” he said to Perry.

  Perry nodded. “Sounds like y’all’ve got yourself into a heap of trouble.”

  Tara was beginning to wonder if Perry used that Southern accent like a disguise, hiding his real thoughts behind platitudes and clichés. She’d like to know how he and Blake had become such good friends.

  Something told her there was an interesting story behind that meeting.

  “What can you tell me that I don’t already know about Jack Willfort?” Blake asked Perry.

  Perry shrugged. “Rumor has it that he’s planning a run for office during the next election.”

  “I’ve heard that one.”

  “Rumor has it that he’s going to play heavily on his rep as a solid family man, a rock of the community, a real straight arrow.”

  “C’mon, man, I need something I don’t already know.”

  “Rumor has it,” Perry murmured, stirring his coffee, “that he’s been bangin’ a rich, married society lady in Atlanta for more’n a few years.”

  Blake’s left eyebrow shot upward. “Is that so?”

  “Like I said, that’s the scoop.”

  Blake’s eyes met Tara’s across the table.

  “Liz Pryce?” she whispered.

  Blake looked to Perry, who shrugged. “Don’t have any names, bud, just talk.”

  “Any more where that came from?”

  Perry cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

  Grinning wryly, Blake slid something across the table to his friend, who picked it up and pocketed it without glancing at it “I’ve heard there’s a couple of paintings in his collection that shouldn’t ought to be there.”