Sandra Marton - The Taming Of Tyler Kincaid

Tyler’s green eyes grew cool. “There is no next phase, Adrianna.”

“Of course there is. All this nonsense, not letting me leave some of my things here, not ever spending the whole night at my place…” Her chin rose. “Acting as if letting me know those silly gate and door codes would violate national security.”

His gaze went from cool to frigid. “I told you, right upfront, how things were going to be.”

“No commitment. No forever-after.”

“The no forever-after was your contribution.”

“Maybe so. That was the way I felt, at the time—but I changed my mind.”

“That’s not my fault, baby,” Tyler snapped. “I kept my end of the deal.”

“And you’re known for that, aren’t you? For always keeping your end of the deal. Cool-headed Tyler Kincaid, never undermined by sentiment, in business or in his dealings with women.”

Tyler puffed out a breath in exasperation. “Look, there’s no point to this. I don’t want to quarrel with you—”

“No. You just want to tell me I overstepped my bounds, that I had no right to waltz into your house, into your life.”

“Dammit!” Tyler threaded his hand through his hair again. “Look, if I’d wanted a birthday party, I’d have thrown one for myself.”

Adrianna rolled her eyes. “Good God, what a sin! Arranging a party—”

“Don’t you get it? I didn’t want a party.”

“A party to which I invited a bunch of your friends—”

“They’re not my friends.”

“Of course they are!”

“They’re people I know, that’s all. They only bother with me because of what I can give them.”

“Which is precious little, Tyler.”

Tyler’s mouth thinned. “What in hell is that supposed to mean?”

Adrianna swung away from him and stalked into the bathroom. “That magazine article the other week called you ‘brilliant.’ Figure it out for yourself.”

He strode after her, watched as she stripped off the gown, pulled a T-shirt and jeans from her nightcase and put them on.

“I’ve set up deals for half the men who were here tonight,” he growled, “and the other half wishes I would. You think that’s giving them precious little, huh?”

“Is that what you think people want from you? Deals? Money? Power?”

Tyler stared at his mistress. She was fully dressed now, still wearing those high heels. Now, strangely, they struck him not as sexy but sad.

“Look,” he said, struggling to sound calm, “it’s late. We’re both tired. I think it’s best if I drive you home.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself home, thank you.”

She was, and he knew it. Tyler shrugged his shoulders, folded his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Suit yourself.”

“I intend to.” Adrianna shot him a glittering smile. “It would never have worked, Tyler. I guess I always knew that, in my heart. After a while, whenever I looked at you, I’d see the look in your eyes that says ‘Keep Out,’ and it would have killed me.”

Her words drained the anger from him.

“It isn’t you,” he said softly. “Despite anything I said, it isn’t you.”

“Sometimes…” She drew a deep breath. “Sometimes, I wonder if there’s anybody inside you, Tyler. If you feel things, like the rest of us.”

“Adrianna…”

“The thing is…” she said, with a little laugh. “The thing is, I fell in love with you. And I know you could never fall in love with me.”

He thought of lying to her, of softening the blow, but he knew, too, that the one thing he could give her now was the truth. He reached out, tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

“No,” he said gently, “I couldn’t. I wish it were different. I really wish—”

Adrianna put her hand lightly over his mouth. “Don’t lie to either of us, Tyler. That isn’t your wish. We both know that I’m not the woman for you. I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

Tyler gave a mocking laugh. “I’m not looking for a woman. Not now, not ever.”

“Everyone’s looking for someone, whether they know it or not.”

“You’re wrong.”

Adrianna smiled gently, rose on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his mouth.

“Goodbye, darling,” she whispered.

Tyler watched her walk from the room. He sank down on the edge of the bed, listened to the distant click-click of those ridiculous high heels fading, then to the even more distant sound of her car. At last, he stood and walked slowly to the window.

The moon was setting, dipping into the branches of the old oak just outside his bedroom.

There was nobody inside him, Adrianna had said, but she was wrong. Tyler smiled bitterly. The boy named John Smith was still there, whether he liked it or not. There was an emptiness in his heart, a yearning sometimes that he couldn’t put a name to or get rid of by burying himself in his work, or even by pounding his gloved fists against the body bag at his gym.

She was wrong about him looking for a woman, too. How could a man look for a woman when he was still searching for himself?

He stood at the window for hours, watching as night gave way to dawn. At six, exhausted, he fell on his bed and slept. When he opened his eyes, it was after nine.

Tyler reached for the telephone.

“Carol,” he said, when his secretary answered, “you remember that private detective we used last year? The one who found out who was selling our research plans to our competitors? I’d like his name, please, and his phone number. No, no that’s fine. I’ll call him myself.” A moment passed. Then Tyler scrawled down the name and number his secretary gave him. “Thank you,” he said.

He disconnected, took a deep breath and dialed.

CAITLIN MCCORD had a passion for horses, dogs and kittens but, because she was a reasonably sane woman, she didn’t like them all in one place at the same time, especially if the dog was barking, the horse was rolling its eyes and the kitten was hissing like a rattlesnake.

The horse, a chestnut mare with the unlikely name of Charlotte, was beautiful, terrified and new to Espada. Caitlin had spent the best part of half an hour rubbing her velvet nose and feeding her carrots while she told her they were destined to be friends. When the mare nuzzled her shoulder, Caitlin smiled, led her from the stables to the paddock and saddled her.

That was when the dog, a black-and-tan hound with a clever nose and a foolish disposition, came wandering by.

“Woof?” said the dog.

The mare rolled her eyes and danced backward. Caitlin held firmly to the bridle, calmed the horse, shooed the dog and devoted another five minutes to telling her life was not as awful as she imagined. When the horse nuzzled her again, she decided it was time to ease herself gently into the saddle.

That was the moment the dog reappeared, this time in hot pursuit of a ball of hissing orange fluff.

Caitlin felt the mare’s muscles bunch beneath her thighs. The animal whinnied, reared and pawed the air before she brought it under control again.

Abel Jones, Espada’s foreman, had been watching the goings-on from his window at the eastern end of the stables. He stepped out the side door into the paddock and spat a thin stream of tobacco juice into the grass.

“Ornery critter, that horse.”

“She just needs to run off some steam.”

“Manuel ain’t doin’ nothin’ much this mornin’.” Able spat another stream of juice down toward his boots. “He’ll take her out, if you like.”

Caitlin shot a grin in Abel’s direction. “And spoil my fun?” She leaned forward, ran a gloved hand over the chestnut’s quivering, arched neck. “I’ll do it. Just toss me my hat—it fell off when this little girl tried to make like Trigger.”