Kathryn Taylor - Taming The Tycoon

“Yes.”

“And does she have any interest in running the company?” Adam asked.

“Maybe in twenty years or so.”

“I don’t follow.”

“She’s two years old,” Ian muttered in distaste.

Adam frowned. “Now, that does surprise me.”

“Don’t look so worried. One way or another, I’ll be buying out her shares.”

“I’m only disappointed because I’d hoped she’d be more of a contemporary of yours. You need family. I’m not going to be around forever and you show no signs of settling down to have a family of your own.”

“I don’t need one.” Nor did he want the emotional roller-coaster ride that went along with any long-term relationship. Some women used sex to get what they wanted, and some withheld sex to achieve their goal. But in the end they all wanted the same thing—a ring on their finger and unlimited access to a credit line.

“Then why are you building yourself that freight empire? Who are you going to leave it to? Even Wesley, for all his faults, passed his possessions on to his children.”

Ian refrained from mentioning that his father’s will had been the final insult to a lifetime of injury. He had received the bulk of the cash assets, which he couldn’t have cared less about. Westervelt Properties, which he did want, went in equal shares, but he would be responsible for managing the company. If he were spiteful, he could run the company into the ground, but he would not destroy something that bore his grandfather’s name and was a source of pride to Adam. Also, taking an inheritance from a child would make him no better than his father.

His mind wandered to little Chelsea Moore. If Wesley had left his money to the child and the company to Ian, would he have been so quick to dismiss the blood bond between them? Probably not. She was his sister and no amount of denial would change that fact.

He thought about Shannon. If she did turn out to be like her social-climbing mother and her scheming sister, who would be there to look out for Chelsea’s interests?

Like it or not, he had to assume a role in his sister’s upbringing and keep an eye on Shannon Moore at the same time. When he remembered the golden-eyed woman who’d had the unmitigated gall to ask him to leave her house, he laughed. Did she always give as good as she got?

Ian grinned. This new position he had appointed for himself was beginning to appeal to him.

Three

Shannon made one more run through the house. Not a toy or an article of clothing was out of place. She checked her watch for the third time in as many minutes. Why was she working herself into a state over Ian’s visit? His crack about hiring a housekeeper had bothered her more than she’d realized. Keeping up with Chelsea while juggling her clients had taken a toll. If a few dolls and crayons didn’t get put back on a shelf, that didn’t make her a bad guardian.

Two months ago Ian hadn’t known about his sister. Two weeks ago he was still denying any relationship to her. Now he wanted to come over and discuss her upbringing? Who the hell did he think he was? For the past half year she had been raising Chelsea without financial or emotional support from the Bradfords.

With Chelsea at preschool for the morning, Shannon figured she wouldn’t have to mind her words when Ian invariably said something to tick her off. Why did she allow him to get to her?

She still had an hour left before he was due and, seeing a speck of lint on the gray carpet, she pulled the vacuum out again. Cranking up the volume on the CD player to be heard above the drone, she began her task. The sheer boredom of the chore made her look for ways to amuse herself while working.

The amplifiers blared with a classic disco song. Shannon bowed to her vacuum. “Would you care to dance?”

As a partner, Hoover was on the short side, but his powerful beater bar propelled him over the carpet with ease, if not grace. If she overlooked the fact that she had to lead, he did a mean hustle.

The music ended and she curtsied to her date. “Thank you, kind sir.”

A round of applause broke the silence. Shannon let out a yelp and whirled around. Ian filled the archway between the foyer and living room, his aloof grin mocking her. Her heart beat double-time, more from fright than physical exertion.

“The door was open. Had I known you were already entertaining, I would have waited outside.”

“You’re early,” she sputtered.

Once again Ian had caught her off balance with his brilliant sense of timing. Did he possess some kind of radar that allowed him to zero in on her at the worst possible moment?

“The traffic was light. I made good time.”

“Couldn’t you have stopped for coffee somewhere?”

“I didn’t realize your busy schedule was so inflexible.”

“Do you think I just sit around all day?”

He wasn’t in the house for two minutes and already he had her on the defensive. His tailored suit screamed “Power,” while her tattered Jeans and tie-dyed shirt said “Woodstock groupie.” More unsettling were the piercing blue eyes that appraised her with a scorching intensity.

After tucking the vacuum back into the closet, she gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”

“Where’s Chelsea?”

“School.”

He lowered himself into the plump cushion with lazy ease. “Isn’t she young for that?”

Shannon shrugged. “Nursery school.”

“Oh. What do you do while she’s in school?”

“I keep busy.”

“In this town?”

She planted both hands firmly on her hips. “What’s wrong with this town?”

“Nothing. Are we going to start with an argument or can we save that for the finale when you kick me out again?”

Was she being overly sensitive? She had decided to move Chelsea to Walton precisely because it was a small town. The quiet and safety had been the biggest drawing points. Sucking in a calming breath, she dropped into the chair across from Ian. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The company. Your offer. Mostly Chelsea’s future.”

Her eyebrow arched in question. “Why the sudden change of attitude?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Last time you were here I got the distinct impression you didn’t think Chelsea deserved anything.”

“I reacted inappropriately and I’m sorry.” His apology seemed out of character. She searched his face for some sign of emotion, either sincere or faked, but his features remained impassive.

“Forget it.”

“I brought you some information about the company.” He removed a thick envelope from his pocket and handed it across the table.

As she reached out, his calloused fingers brushed over hers. The physical reaction was swift and acute, causing her to gasp. Hoping to deny the tingling sensations running rampant, she retracted her hand and muttered, “Static electricity.”

“Right.” Ian stifled a chuckle. Her cheeks had turned the same red shade as his grandfather’s American Beauty. This was not the same woman he had met in Jenkins’s office, or even the one he had seen a couple weeks ago. Shannon Moore had many different facets.

He had deliberately arrived early to catch her off guard and his plan had paid off. The rigid armor of control she wore to keep people at a distance seemed to have deserted her. Her startled response to their accidental contact had been no more shocking to her than to him.

He, too, felt the seductive connection between them. And he, too, felt the need to deny it. “Anyway. If there’s anything there you don’t understand, I’d be happy to explain it to you.”

Shannon swiped her glasses off the coffee table and slipped them on. “I have no intention of interfering in the way you run the company.”