No Red Roses: A Loveswept Classic Romance (Santa Flores)

Dear Reader,

Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet as Rex Brody? He may not quite be the Romeo that Tamara Ledford had always dreamed of, but he reveals himself to be charming in his own cocksure, irresistible way.

Rex Brody was first introduced in my novel
Return to Santa Flores
, and I was so swept away by his audacious spirit and larger-than-life personality that I knew I had to give him stage time in a book all his own. I had an equally wonderful time bringing to life Tamara Ledford, the only woman who could ever capture the heart of one of my most wily and untamable heroes. Hopefully you’ll enjoy spending time with her as much as I did. She is sunny and unassuming in many ways, but she knows her heart and sticks to her guns, even when temptation comes in the form of a sexy musician who’s used to having women fall at his feet. Add to that the magical world she lives in, imbued with a touch of clairvoyance and the heady, sensual undertones that come along with her interest in horticulture, and it’s easy to understand why Rex is so eager to wake up and smell these particular roses! I hope that you will be enchanted by this unlikely but lovable duo.

PRAISE FOR IRIS JOHANSEN

“Iris Johansen knows how to win instant fans.”
—Associated Press

“Iris Johansen is a powerful writer.”
—The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

“[Iris Johansen is] one of the romance genre’s finest treasures.”
—Romantic Times

“A master among storytellers.”
—Affaire de Coeur

“Johansen serves up a diverting romance and plot twists worthy of a mystery novel.”
—Publishers Weekly

“[Iris] Johansen has … a magical quality.”
—Library Journal

“[Johansen is] a consummate artist who wields her pen with extraordinary power and grace.”
—Rave Reviews

“Iris Johansen is a bestselling author for the best reason—she’s a wonderful storyteller.”
—C
ATHERINE
C
OULTER

“Iris Johansen is incomparable.”
—T
AMI
H
OAG

No Red Roses
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2013 Bantam Books Mass Market Edition

Copyright © 1984 by Iris Johansen

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

BANTAM BOOKS and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., in 1984.

ISBN 978-0-345-53959-5
eBook ISBN: 978-0-345-53960-1

Cover design: Eileen Carey
Cover photograph © Vladimir Piskunov / Getty Images

www.bantamdell.com

Bantam Books mass market edition: October 2013

v3.1

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Dedication

Other Books by This Author

O
NE

W
ITH A SIGH
of relief, Tamara Ledford pulled into the driveway of the roomy old Victorian house where she’d lived all her twenty-three years. The gracious, turreted white frame house exuded an aura of mellow serenity that seemed to wrap her in a comforting embrace, and she badly needed that comfort at the moment. She jumped out of her old Toyota, slammed the door, and walked swiftly along the flower-bordered path and up the four stairs to the frosted glasspaneled front door.

She paused for a moment and drew a deep breath, trying to cool the anger and tension that
had robbed her of her usual composure. There was no sense in disturbing Aunt Elizabeth over something as trivial as Celia Bettencourt’s bitchiness. And, if she didn’t calm down, her aunt would definitely notice how upset she was. Even if Aunt Elizabeth’s “gift” wasn’t fully operational at any given moment, like this one, she was always uncannily perceptive.

When Tamara opened the front door, she was immediately enveloped in a deliciously spicy aroma. Gingerbread, she identified with a sudden lift of her spirits, as she quickly made her way down the linoleum-covered hallway to the large old-fashioned kitchen at the back of the house.

Aunt Elizabeth was at the kitchen table spreading white sugar icing on the luscious sweet bread, and she looked up with a quick smile at Tamara’s appearance. “Hello, dear. Aren’t you home a little early?” she asked absently, as she turned the plate and dipped her spatula once more into the bowl of icing.

“A little. I came home early to dress for Mr. Bettencourt’s party,” Tamara replied, strolling
over to the table and dropping into a gingham-cushioned ladderback chair.

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten that was tonight,” Elizabeth Ledford said vaguely. She looked up, her blue eyes suddenly sparkling. “What are you planning on wearing?”

“I haven’t decided,” Tamara said evasively, then knowing the suggestion that was coming, she went on hurriedly. “I see you have on your Madame Zara outfit.” Her violet eyes twinkled. “Who have you been peering into your crystal ball for now?”

Her aunt looked down with serene satisfaction at her midnight blue caftan that was extravagantly embroidered with silver stars and crescent moons. She always claimed the rather bizarre outfit inspired her clients with confidence, despite her great-niece’s constant teasing raillery. “Mildred Harris’s Pekingese ran away last night. She was most upset.”

Tamara dipped a finger into the mixing bowl and scooped a bit of icing off the side. She grimaced, as she slowly licked her finger. “I’d run
away too, if I were as smothered with attention as that poor animal. Did you locate him?”

Her aunt shook her head reprovingly. “You should be a little more understanding, Tamara. That Pekingese is the only living creature that Mildred has to care about since her husband died. She can’t help it if she goes a bit overboard at times. After all, she
is
getting older.”

Tamara smothered a smile at that last remark. Elizabeth Ledford at seventy-three was at least six years older than Mildred Harris, but she never seemed to be conscious of the fact that she might be considered a senior citizen. She certainly didn’t look anywhere near her age, Tamara thought idly. Aunt Elizabeth’s slim, athletic body was as straight and lively as ever. Her face was as unlined and smooth as a woman of forty, and her sparkling blue eyes were constantly dancing with enthusiasm and humor. Though her hair was snow white, it curled in a riot of tight shiny curls around her face, increasing the aura of youthfulness.

“Sorry,” Tamara said solemnly. “Did you find the Peke?”

“Of course,” her aunt said serenely. “He got locked in the fruit cellar by mistake when Mildred was fetching some peach preserves. He didn’t really run away. When I told Mildred where he was, she hurried right home to let him out.”

“I wonder if she’ll be able to coax him out. He’s probably enjoying his vacation from that eternal fussing,” Tamara said with a grin.

She never doubted for an instant that the dog would be exactly where Aunt Elizabeth said he would be. As a child she’d accepted as a matter of course that her aunt could
see
where she’d misplaced her doll or lost her favorite hair ribbon. Aunt Elizabeth had once explained to Tamara that she would break her arm in the next few days, but that she mustn’t be frightened and would be quite well again in a few weeks. Tamara hadn’t even been surprised when the rope on her swing had broken and she’d had to be rushed to the hospital with a fractured radius.

She’d thought all grownups possessed these powers until she’d started school and been rudely disillusioned. She’d discovered that Aunt
Elizabeth was “different.” When a bully called her aunt a witch, Tamara had socked him so hard his nose began to bleed copiously and he’d run crying to the teacher.

Tamara had learned soon, though, that she couldn’t fight
all
the kids who taunted her. So she’d come to behave with a cool reserve that had been her armor ever since. She’d cared much more passionately when the other children had hurled insults at Aunt Elizabeth than when they’d jeered at her for her illegitimacy. Aunt Elizabeth, in her infinite wisdom, had prepared her for the latter possibility. But because she’d lived with her own strange powers so long that they’d become second nature, it never occurred to her to warn Tamara against the venom of those who were frightened or skeptical of her gift. For years Tamara had been silently, yet fiercely resentful of the condemnation of her aunt by her peers, until she’d come to realize just how unusual a gift Elizabeth possessed.

Her aunt’s blue eyes were keen as she looked up now and smiled gently. “Are you going to tell me now why you really came home early, dear?”

“I told you I had to dress …” Tamara’s voice trailed off. “Well, it was partly true,” she said sheepishly. She ran her hand through her shining blue-black hair and with a rueful shake of her head met her aunt’s steady gaze. “I’m just being stupidly emotional over something I should have learned by now to ignore. Celia Bettencourt was a little too much to put up with today.” Tamara made a face. “I wish to heaven her father had seen fit to place her in someone else’s department to learn the ropes.”

Her aunt turned the plate again and started icing the other side of the gingerbread. “It was perfectly natural for him to want her to learn from you,” she said calmly. “Every father wants what’s best for his children and he knows your Perfume and Herb Boutique is the best run department in his entire chain of department stores.”