Книга - Otherwise Engaged

Otherwise Engaged
Cara Summers


When Tyler Sheridan discovers through the personal ads that her groom isn't planning to show up for their wedding, she thinks it can't get any worse. That is, until she hooks up with seriously sexy P.I. Nick Romano to find her erstwhile fiance…and ends up wishing her had taken out his ad sooner…Nick Romano has had it–with the detective business and with women! But when gorgeous, desperate Tyler shows up at his door, what can he do but help her out? Only he'd never guessed how good they'd be together–in bed and out. But a future isn't in the cards for them. Especially since Tyler's still wearing another man's ring…









“What do you want?” Nick asked.


“You,” Tyler purred.

It was a word he’d have begged to hear in other circumstances. “Tyler, I…”

She moved toward him. “Please. Can’t we just pretend? I want to go back to the moment when I first walked into your office. Only you’re not the P.I. my grandmother sent me to. You’re just a man and I’m a woman.”

Nick sighed. If this was what Tyler needed right now, he couldn’t deny her.

She ran her hand along his chest. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first moment I saw you. I felt as if I’d die if I didn’t touch you. I felt I might die if I did.”

Her words had his mind clouding, his blood thickening. He wanted to reach for her but he wasn’t sure he could lift his arms.

“And then I would have done this.” Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips against his, then pressed tiny kisses against his neck, his chest. “Once I started, I wouldn’t have been able to stop.” She moved her mouth lower. “And I’m afraid I can’t stop now…”


Dear Reader,

What would happen if a happily engaged woman suddenly met Mr. Absolutely Wrong—at the right time? That’s what happens to my heroine, Tyler Sheridan, when she discovers through “The Personal Touch!” that her fiancé isn’t planning to make an appearance at their wedding.

Writing Otherwise Engaged was so much fun! First of all, it allowed me to create the Romano family. They’re fun-loving, hardworking and, with the exception of Nick, all great cooks. They remind me a great deal of the Italian side of my own family.

Secondly, it gave me the opportunity to write the kind of story I like best—where two people from very different worlds meet and can’t help themselves from falling in love. Nick is a street-smart New York P.I. Tyler’s a prim Boston socialite. They never should have met. And they wouldn’t have…if not for an ad in “The Personal Touch!”

I hope you have fun reading about Nick and Tyler’s romantic misadventures. I’d love to hear what you think. Write to me at P.O. Box 327, Dewitt, NY 13214.

Enjoy!

Cara Summers


Otherwise Engaged

Cara Summers






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With love to all my children:

Kevin, Brian and Mary, Brendan and Heather.




Contents


Chapter 1 (#u66c5249e-7478-5d7e-9175-42e7fe413151)

Chapter 2 (#u20b7cabe-b870-51eb-b58e-878c0bf7bca9)

Chapter 3 (#ua3872f0a-ea5d-5f32-acef-89828349e47c)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)




1


TMS—Sorry I’ll miss the wedding. I’ll be in touch.

Remember Scarlet and Annie. RJL

DISASTER. Tyler Sheridan’s fingers had started tingling the moment she’d read the ad. They always did when something bad was about to happen. And getting a Dear John letter from her fiancé in the Personals went way beyond bad!

Her first reaction had been to close her eyes and pinch herself. But when she’d finally steeled herself to look again, the ad was still there, the message still the same. That was when the rational part of her brain had kicked in. It had to be a mistake. It was someone’s idea of a joke. Richard couldn’t have placed the ad. She’d just call him and he’d be able to explain.

Sixteen hours later, she’d had to face the fact that Richard James Lawrence, prominent Manhattan accountant, the man she was supposed to marry in a week, couldn’t explain anything because he’d disappeared.

She had to get him back! Her whole future as CEO of Sheridan Trust, one of Boston’s most prestigious investment firms, depended on finding Richard and convincing him to go through with the wedding. A jilted bride was not going to inspire the confidence of her board of trustees—not when she was already on probation.

The panic bubbling up inside her had sent her to the special file her grandmother had given her just before she died. In it was a business card and a letter of introduction she was supposed to use in just such an emergency. Isabelle Sheridan’s exact words had been “If you want something done quickly and with the utmost secrecy, go to Manhattan and hire Nick Romano.”

But now that she was here and about to enter the offices of Romano Investigations, her fingers had begun to tingle again. Had she come to the right place? The neighborhood wasn’t quite as upscale as she’d expected, and the building was old. Seedy was the word that came to mind as she’d taken the elevator to the fifth floor, and nothing she saw as she started down the dim hallway dislodged it. Try as she might, she could not picture her grandmother, the strong-minded, impeccably groomed woman who’d ruled Sheridan Trust with an iron hand for thirty years, ever coming to a place like this.

Fishing the business card out of her pocket, she glanced down at the address and once more assured herself that she’d come to the right building, the right floor. No one had answered when she’d called from her hotel, but a recorded voice had informed her the office would open at nine. As she reached the end of the hall, she saw that it hadn’t lied. The bold black letters on the frosted glass read N. Romano, Private Investigations. And the door was wide open.

In the light filtering through the broken blinds, Tyler could make out a battered desk with a goose-necked lamp. The scene was suddenly very familiar. Hadn’t she seen it before in old movies where the desperate heroine sought out the help of a street-wise private eye? It certainly wasn’t a part she’d ever expected to play in real life. And she couldn’t imagine Isabelle Sheridan playing it, either.

But Tyler had to find Richard.

Ignoring the fresh wave of tingles in her fingers, she took a deep breath and walked in. A quick glance around told her the room was empty—

Except for the body sprawled full length on the couch. Curious, she moved forward to get a better look.

It was a nearly naked male body. Not able to tear her gaze away, she watched his bare chest rise and fall. Lean and muscled, it was sprinkled with dark hair that narrowed before disappearing beneath the waistband of his bicycle shorts.

She suddenly realized that her fingers had reached out, close enough to nearly brush against that smooth, tan skin, more than close enough to feel its warmth. Snatching her hand back, she fisted it at her side. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t go around touching strange men. Slowly she drew in a deep breath and let it out as she tried to gather her thoughts.

This couldn’t possibly be Nick Romano, could it? She tore her gaze from his body long enough to glance down at the card again. Below the name, she could just make out the words her grandmother had scrawled— “very discrete.” Frowning thoughtfully, Tyler let her eyes travel over him again, taking in the lean, roughly handsome face, then lingering again on the tanned skin stretched taut over long bones and muscle.

There was nothing discrete about this man. He had the kind of body Italian sculptors had captured over and over again in marble and bronze. Though she’d seen countless pieces in museums, she’d never had a desire to touch any of them.

And she certainly wasn’t going to touch this man, either. She was a nearly married woman. He was a nearly naked man. Forcing the wayward thought out of her mind, she curled her fingers into fists. It had to be the heat. Manhattan and most of the northeast had been suffering temperatures in the mid-nineties for almost a week, and the air-conditioning drifting in from the hall had lost its battle with the sun pouring through the tall glass windows. It was definitely the heat, she assured herself as a nasty drip of sweat made its way down her back. But she couldn’t seem to rid herself of the sensation that something about this man was reaching out to her, tugging at her….

She wanted to move forward almost as much as she wanted to run.

Sheridans never run. Drawing in a deep breath, Tyler repeated the words in her head and stood her ground. If this was indeed Nick Romano, she needed his help. If he wasn’t, he was the only person around who could tell her that. Either way she had to handle him. No, handle the situation. She’d solved worse problems in the Sheridan Trust boardroom, hadn’t she?

Suddenly, she had it! Every modern corporate CEO was trained in visualization techniques. She’d just put some clothes on him—a dark gray suit, white shirt, a deeper gray in the striped tie…Slowly the picture formed in her mind. Only then did she clear her throat and say, “Excuse me—”

He shot up and off the couch, his hand whipping around to his back. Tyler took one quick step in retreat before she could stop herself. He was reaching for a gun. She was sure of it, even though his hand came up empty. And a gun would have been easier to face than this man’s eyes. Dark and potent, they sliced into her and dried up her throat.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the fierceness faded. His gaze narrowed. In that same instant she became aware of how close they were standing. He was larger now that he was standing up. And somehow in that leap off the couch, the clothes she’d pictured him in had fallen off.

Sheridans never run. She clung to the thought while the two stood motionless, facing each other.

“You didn’t knock,” he finally said.

Tyler swallowed. In a minute, just as soon as her system leveled, she was going to have to put those clothes right back on him again. “The door was wide open. I’m looking for Nick Romano.”

“Well, you found him, sugar—”

But it wasn’t until he glanced past her that Tyler let out the rest of the breath she’d been holding.

“And the only reason that door was open was because I was hoping that some of the air-conditioning would drift in from the hall.”

Tyler looked at the unit filling one of the windows. “Why didn’t you just turn yours on?”

“The electricity’s been shut off,” he said.

For the first time she noticed the file drawers, open and empty, the boxes stacked neatly against the wall.

“You’re moving?” she asked, turning back to him with a frown.

“That’s right.”

“That would explain your clothes, I suppose.”

He glanced down at himself, and when his gaze once more returned to hers, the amusement was clear. “Something wrong?”

Tyler’s brows rose. “You’ll have to admit, even for a dress-down Friday, they’re a little skimpy.”

Nick grinned. “Very funny. The truth is, I was thinking of taking a run, but it was hot and the couch called out to me.”

Tyler found herself staring as the warmth of his smile lit his face, transforming him into the antithesis of the warrior who’d sprung off the couch. She found herself wanting to smile right back at him. But the moment he took a step toward her, she drew herself up and focused. “The case I want you to take is urgent. In addition to your fee, I’ll cover whatever it will cost to reschedule the movers.”

“No.”

The grin had faded, but she still had the distinct feeling he was laughing at her. Moving to the desk, she took her checkbook out of her purse and uncapped her pen. “I’m not making myself clear. You can name your fee.”

“No.”

She jumped when he touched her. His grip was gentle, firm, and she was very much aware of the press of each one of his fingers on the inside of her arm. So aware that she didn’t realize her feet were moving until she found that he’d led her into the hallway.

“Look, lady, let’s start over.” His tone was patient, controlled, reminding her of any one of several nannies she’d had before she’d been shipped off to boarding school.

She wanted to slap him.

“Let’s pretend you’ve just come up in the elevator,” Nick continued, “and when you got here, the door was shut. You knocked, but there was no answer because Romano Investigations closed shop last night at 5:00 p.m. You missed hiring me by about fifteen hours. I can recommend my cousin Sam. He used to work for me, and he just got a job with a big security firm uptown. See—” he tapped a finger on the door “—I taped one of his business cards right here.” Ripping it free, he handed it to her. “He’ll be happy to take your money.”

Tyler watched, stunned, as he shut the door of his office in her face. She heard the lock click, then his footsteps growing fainter. She very much wanted to give the door a good, swift kick. But she didn’t. Sheridans didn’t kick doors. That had been drilled into her by the time she was three. She wanted to scream, too. That phase had lasted until she was five.

But worst of all, she wanted to cry. She could feel the hot needle-like pricks burning at the back of her eyes. She hadn’t cried since she was eleven. Not even at her grandmother’s funeral six months ago. Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the dampness. Nick Romano was not going to make her cry. So what if he’d closed shop. He could just open it up again. She had to get him to help her. There was no one else.

She had taken two steps toward the closed door, her hand raised to knock, when her cell phone rang. Only two people had her number: Naomi Prescott, her personal assistant, and Richard. Please, God, let it be Richard. Unsnapping her purse, she grabbed the phone and flipped it open. “Yes?”

“Tyler, Naomi gave me your number. She tells me you flew to New York last night. Is everything all right?”

Howard. Drawing in a deep breath, Tyler struggled to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Everything’s fine, Howard.”

Howard Tremaine was her mother’s fourth husband, the third that Claudia Tyler Sheridan had chosen to marry since Tyler’s father had died, and the only one who’d shown an interest in working at Sheridan Trust. He’d appointed himself her personal advisor ever since she’d stepped into her grandmother’s shoes.

“You’d tell me if something was going wrong with the Bradshaw deal? I could be on the next plane.”

“Everything is right on schedule.” Tyler sent up another quick prayer. Sheridan Trust had been pursuing Bradshaw Enterprises for months before her grandmother died, but Tyler had been the one to convince Hamilton Bradshaw to come aboard. The papers were to be signed at a family dinner at his Manhattan apartment on Sunday. Richard was supposed to escort her. Howard and her mother were to be there too, because Hamilton Bradshaw had a fondness for family-run companies.

“And you’re sure that everything is all right between you and Richard? He was supposed to fly in last night, wasn’t he?”

“Richard and I are fine, Howard. I just decided it would be easier to play hooky if I flew to Manhattan. Certainly a bride and groom have the right to do that eight days before the wedding.”

“Playing hooky?” He gave an audible sigh. “Well, I’m delighted to hear it. I think it’s great you’ve decided to relax a little. I was afraid that you might have had some kind of lover’s quarrel, or, worse still, that you’d decided to elope and cheat us all out of the elegant bash your mother has planned next Saturday.”

Tyler made herself smile, hoping it would show in her voice. “No, it’s nothing like that, Howard. Richard and I have never quarreled. And if I eloped, it would tarnish the image you’ve been helping me create for the board of trustees. They’d pull the plug on me even before my year’s probation is up. Besides, Hamilton Bradshaw is planning on attending the wedding. I wouldn’t want him disappointed in Sheridan Trust before he has time to settle in.”

Even as she spoke, a totally different image formed in her mind. It was a scene she’d watched hundreds of times in movies. Papers were rolling off the presses, the music was swelling, and there she was on the cover of the Boston Globe in her bridal dress and veil, waiting at the altar alone. Above her the headline screamed, Tyler Sheridan, Acting CEO of Sheridan Trust, Jilted!

“Tyler…are you still there?”

Tyler swallowed the tight ball of panic lodged in her throat. “Yes?”

“I thought I lost you for a moment. Tell Richard to give me a call later. I have some last-minute bachelor party things to go over with him. I’ll cover for you here.”

“Thanks, Howard. ’Bye.”

For just a moment, Tyler let herself lean against the wall. Howard was one of the few people at Sheridan Trust who had given her his unquestioning support since her grandmother’s death. And his interest in working at Sheridan Trust had brought her mother back to Boston. Tyler had begun to hope that the rift between her mother and grandmother would eventually heal. For fourteen years, ever since Tyler’s father had died, Claudia and Isabelle had blamed each other for his death.

Still, she couldn’t tell Howard, she couldn’t tell anyone yet that Richard was missing. The only person she could confide in was Nick Romano. If her grandmother said he could be trusted, he could. She had to believe that. There was no other choice. In a minute, just as soon as she was in control, she was going to make him help her.

WITH ONE QUICK SWEEP of his arm, Nick scooped everything on his desk into a box. He’d done the right thing. So why the hell did he feel like he’d kicked a defenseless puppy? Pulling out a drawer, he dumped it unceremoniously into the next box.

That woman was not defenseless. He knew the type—a spoiled rich girl, swimming in inherited wealth and certain that it could buy her anything she wanted. His sisters and his mother would have admired the style of that neat little suit she wore. His own taste ran to her legs. They were first class, just like the rest of her. And in spite of the heat, she’d looked picture perfect, not one strand of that pale-gold hair out of place, not one wrinkle in her clothes. Nothing loose, nothing unbuttoned. At any other time, he’d have been tempted to muss her up a bit. Just thinking about it made his lips curve.

Propping a hip against the side of his desk, Nick let his gaze return to the door. She’d been young too, not more than twenty-four or five. And there’d been that flash of fear he’d seen in her eyes when he’d leapt off the couch. In spite of it, she hadn’t run and she hadn’t screamed.

Courage. He’d always been a sucker for it. Nick glanced at the phone. She couldn’t have left the building yet. There was a chance he could still catch—

No. He stopped himself before he could start for the door. No way. Little Miss Picture Perfect was the last thing he needed right now. He was out of the PI business for good. After ten years, the cage door had finally swung open.

His job with a law firm in L.A. would finally allow him to achieve his dream of practicing law. Though he’d received his degree over a year ago, he had yet to put it to any use in Manhattan. There was always one last investigation to finish, one last favor to do before he could close his office. In California, no one need ever know he’d been a P.I. for ten years. No one would seek him out and beg him to take just one last case. Rising, he walked over to his computer and pulled the plug out of the wall, then out of the machine. As he coiled it and dropped it in an open box, he concentrated on the new life that was waiting for him out in California. His mother’s boutique was making a steady profit, and between that and what he’d be able to send her each month, his two sisters would make it through college. He was a free man!

The phone rang. Nick sent it a frown. He had a pretty good idea who it was. The smart thing to do was let it ring, let his answering machine pick it up. But he reached for it all the same. “Romano here.”

“You didn’t let me introduce myself. I’m Tyler Sheridan.”

Nick heard the warning bell ringing in the back of his mind. “So?”

“My grandmother was Isabelle Sheridan of Sheridan Trust in Boston. You did some work for her. She said I could trust you. I have a letter of introduction in my purse.”

Nick scowled first at the phone, then at the door. Why in hell had he left it open? Turning, he glared at the couch. If he hadn’t fallen asleep—

“Mr. Romano, are you still there?”

“Yeah.” A few hours later and he wouldn’t have been. He’d have missed Miss Tyler Sheridan completely. Why was it that today of all days, the past had to reach out and grab him?

“Could you please let me in? My business is private.”

Hanging up the phone, Nick walked to the door. The fact that she was Isabelle Sheridan’s granddaughter changed nothing, he told himself. The promise he’d made had concerned the old lady. Any obligation had ended when she’d died. Opening the door, he said, “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother’s death.”

“Thank you.”

She moved past him quickly, but not before he’d seen the pain flash into her eyes. Isabelle had died six months ago, but this woman was still grieving. With a silent sigh, Nick closed the door. He knew how hard it was to lose family.

“How much should I make the check out for?”

“Forget about the check.” Even as he said the words, he discovered that it was much easier to refuse the spoiled rich girl than the woman who’d lost her grandmother. He’d read about Isabelle Sheridan’s sudden death in the papers. And he’d also glanced through several profiles written about the young woman who was standing before him, the woman Isabelle had personally groomed to take her place at the head of a multibillion-dollar investment firm. Only, the old lady hadn’t planned on dying so soon, because Tyler Sheridan looked much too young for the job. “Look, I’m not in the PI business anymore. I have a new job in L.A that starts next week. The best I can do for you is escort you to my cousin Sam’s office and personally introduce you. He’s the best—”

“I want you. My grandmother said in an emergency to use you—no one else. I can’t afford to share any of this with a stranger.”

“Why don’t you use the security firm in Boston that your grandmother used?” Nick asked.

“Because my business is…personal, and my—This problem is here in Manhattan.”

Her voice had tightened slightly, and her knuckles had turned white where they were gripping her purse. Those were the only signs that beneath that cool, unflappable exterior, she was wound tight. Contrasts had always intrigued him. Once again Nick fought against his weakening resolve. “Let me see if I can guess. You want me to tail your boyfriend and see if he’s cheating on you?”

Two bright spots of color stained her cheeks. “I’m not going to discuss the case until you agree to take it.” Then suddenly her eyes widened. “That can’t be the only kind of work you do. I’m sure that’s not the kind of work you did for my grandmother—”

He saw the flash of doubt in her eyes and the curiosity.

“Was it?”

“I never talk about any of my client’s cases.”

After a second, she nodded. “Good. Okay. I have to trust you not to talk about mine.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. She might be young, but he was beginning to see how effectively she might operate in a board room, and he wished he didn’t admire her for it. “I haven’t agreed to take your case.”

Tyler met his eyes steadily. “Will you?”

“You’re as stubborn as your grandmother.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He grinned grudgingly. “She would have, too.”

Once again, he saw pain in her eyes, and his curiosity increased. “You mentioned a letter of introduction?”

Unsnapping her purse, she extracted it and handed it to him. Nick regretted asking for it the moment he read it: “‘Nicholas, if you read this, then it means that I am no longer here and my granddaughter needs your help. Your promise to your uncle ended with my death, but listen to what she has to say and don’t judge her by my mistakes. Belle.”’

“Damn!” He glanced up in time to see the corners of her mouth twitch. “Something funny?”

“No. My grandmother’s missives are seldom funny. ‘Damn’ usually sums them up quite well.”

He studied her for a moment, knowing that his decision had already been made. “I’ll take the case on one condition—if I can’t wind everything up by Tuesday, you’ll let me refer you to my cousin. I’m flying to L.A. on Wednesday morning.”

Tyler hesitated for a moment.

“Take it or leave it,” Nick said.

“Agreed.”

He walked to his desk and sat down on the corner. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

“I’m getting married next Saturday, and my fiancé has disappeared. I want you to find him.”

For a second, Nick said nothing. She was the coolest looking jilted bride he’d ever seen. He watched her as she unsnapped her purse.

“The last time I heard from him—”

“Wait. I can save us both some time here. If your bridegroom has bolted, don’t waste your money. Just let him go.”

Her eyes snapped up to his and narrowed. “I didn’t come here for advice. And he’s my fiancé. He won’t be my bridegroom until next Saturday.”

Nick waved a hand. “Fiancé, bridegroom. We could sit around and debate word choice all day but—” he lifted the clock off his filing cabinet “—the clock is ticking.”

“That one isn’t,” she pointed out.

Nick glanced down at it and frowned. “Damn. I forgot the electricity was turned off. No wonder it didn’t go off. If it had, you’d have missed me completely.”

“Must be my lucky day,” Tyler said.

Nick glanced at her. “Good one.” No, she definitely wasn’t a defenseless puppy. And he was becoming certain she wasn’t simply the spoiled rich girl he’d thought at first. That intrigued him even more than the fabulous legs. With some effort, he kept himself from looking at them again. “Okay, back to the missing bridegroom.”

“Fiancé. Words are important. I like to use them accurately.”

“Believe me, sugar, any man who is within a week of his wedding has started to think of himself as a groom. He can picture himself in that monkey suit, the tie cutting off his oxygen supply, and that ball and chain rolling inexorably toward him, ready to snap its jaws tight around his ankle. If your husband-to-be is missing, it’s more likely than not he’s got a classic case of cold feet and taken a powder. And with the divorce rate the way it is today, you don’t need a bridegroom who’s having second thoughts.”

Tyler strode toward him until they were standing toe to toe. “And I don’t need to hire a PI who’s going to waste my time. Is that all they taught you in detective school—to jump to conclusions and argue?”

“Jeez,” Nick said, putting a hand over his heart, “you really know how to hurt a guy.”

Tyler’s chin lifted. “My grandmother said you could be trusted. She didn’t say you were any good. Are you?”

“Sugar, I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes.” Reaching quickly, he snagged her hand. When she tried to pull away, he held tight. “That was a pretty direct challenge. Bear with me for a moment. This is your engagement ring?”

“Yes.”

“He chose it, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“No, don’t say another word. Let me show you what I learned in detective school. You would have chosen something a little smaller, more conservative, I think…perhaps something with a different stone in the setting, a sapphire to match your eyes.” He glanced up, saw that he had her attention, and went on. “The size of the stone tells me that he wanted to impress you or your family. That means the money he has is new, not the kind that’s been handed down to him. He wanted to make sure you knew he could measure up. He’s a little nervous about this wedding.” Nick paused, then asked, “How am I doing so far?”

“You’re guessing.”

Nick smiled. “Detectives have to make guesses. Good ones guess right. I’m also betting that he works in a business that your board of trustees would approve of—banking, the stock market…no, accounting. I’ll bet he’s an accountant.”

Her eyes widened. “How could you possibly know that?”

“From you. Seems to me that’s the type you’d go for, someone who would know all the facts, figures, the bottom line. Someone who could make everything add up right, just the way you add up nice and neat until I get to your eyes.”

It was a mistake to look into them for too long, Nick realized. The color reminded him of the glass bowl that sat in his mother’s china cabinet, hand blown by his father years ago in Venice—except her eyes were an even deeper blue, violet almost, contrasting sharply with the porcelain fairness of her skin. He felt a sudden urge to brush his fingertips along the curve of her cheek. Could she possibly feel as cool as she looked? If he touched her right now, could he make the fire leap back into her eyes?

The phone rang, and Nick dropped Tyler’s hand, then reached automatically for the receiver. Still, there was a tiny span of time when he couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from her, when his mind seemed to be completely blank. His mother was in mid-sentence before her voice finally penetrated.

“Mama,” he said, finally shifting his eyes away from Tyler’s. “No, Rosa’s fiancé is not cheating on her. I hate to say I told you so, but I—How do I know? Because I’m the world’s best…”

Tyler tore her gaze away from Nick and focused on the door to the office behind him. As soon as she felt sure she wouldn’t stumble, she took two careful steps back from his desk. Pride prevented her from taking any more. But standing close to this man had the strangest effect on her senses. He’d only been holding her hand, but for a moment she’d imagined his fingertips brushing along her cheekbone, then down her throat to where her jacket buttoned, and she’d wanted…

Giving her head a quick shake, Tyler tried to get rid of the image of Nick Romano unbuttoning her jacket, slipping the sleeves down her arms. Ruthlessly, she pushed the picture out of her mind, but she could still feel the heat licking along her nerve endings before it arrowed deeper. What in the world was wrong with her? She’d never fantasized about a man touching her before. Not even Richard.

Richard. The heat inside her tightened into a cold ball of fear and settled in her stomach. It was Richard she should be thinking of. Not this dangerous half-naked man sitting in front of her. No, she had to stop thinking of him as half naked. Mentally, she began to dress him again. This time in brown oxfords, a tweed coat with a cape, and a hat. At the last moment she added a pipe, but he still didn’t look like any Sherlock Holmes she’d ever seen.

Nick jumped up, muttering something in Italian, then threw back his head and laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it to you straight. Carlo’s moonlighting, working a second job. How do I know? You’re tough, Mama. My paying clients don’t grill me like this. I tailed him all night long from one end of the Bronx to the other. I even followed him to his door this morning.”

Laughing with his mother, Nick Romano didn’t look dangerous at all. Had Sherlock Holmes ever laughed? Tyler wondered. Richard seldom did. She frowned at the thought, wondering where it had come from. Richard didn’t have to laugh. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband, and she had to find him. The fear in her stomach tightened again. Could Nick Romano be right? Could Richard’s disappearance merely be due to a bad case of wedding jitters? She really wanted to believe it could be that simple. But in the hours she’d spent searching for Richard, she’d become increasingly sure that something much worse was going on.

“Mama, I gotta go. No, I’m not entertaining a lady in my office. Well—” he glanced at Tyler “—she’s definitely a lady, but she doesn’t find me entertaining. She’s a client. It’s a long story, Mamma, longer than solving the case is going to take. No. Nothing has changed. I’m still flying to L.A. on Wednesday. Uh huh. Love you, too,” he added as he replaced the receiver. Then he turned to face Tyler. “Okay, tell me, when was the last time you saw your bridegroom?”

“When I drove him to Logan Airport last Sunday. He’s been flying into Boston every weekend to take care of last-minute details for the wedding. Everything was fine until yesterday afternoon.”

“Yesterday? You mean he hasn’t even been missing a whole day yet?”

“He was supposed to fly in to Boston last night. He was taking Friday off so that we could spend some time together that wasn’t focused on wedding preparations. I met every single plane that flew into Logan from Manhattan.”

“Maybe he had to work late. Have you checked at his office?”

“I called them yesterday afternoon. They said he was taking a few days off. I know how that sounds….”

“It sounds like there’s no panic on their part,” Nick said.

“No, but that doesn’t mean—” Stopping short, she narrowed her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be taking notes or something?”

Nick grinned at her as he tapped his temple with one finger. “No need. I have a superb memory.”

“Sorry. I forgot for a moment I was dealing with Sherlock Holmes.”

Nick bit back a laugh. Beauty, brains, great legs and a sense of humor. It was just too damn bad that her last name was Sheridan. “Look, maybe he’s just playing hooky by himself. Why don’t we check his apartment.”

“I did that on my way here, right after I checked into the Plaza.”

Nick listened as she detailed her search of her bridegroom’s apartment. She’d covered all the bases, even checking to see if he’d packed a suitcase. He hadn’t, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Nick was still convinced that Tyler Sheridan’s bridegroom had gotten a case of cold feet. The problem was that his thumbs had started to prick. They always did when something was wrong.

“I know what it all sounds like,” Tyler said as she opened her purse again. “And I know what this looks like, but—”

“Hold on. Before you write that check…have you stopped to consider that he might be with his family?”

“His family?”

“You know—Mom, Dad, siblings. Maybe he’s just gone home for the weekend.”

“Richard never talks about his family. He hasn’t seen them in years.”

“Well, it’s possible he’s decided to change all that. Weddings are a good opportunity to patch things up. Why don’t you give them a call?”

Tyler frowned. “I don’t know where they live.”

Nick’s brows rose. “You didn’t invite them to the wedding?”

“He said they wouldn’t come. I never thought…Maybe that is where he’s gone.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Lifting the receiver, Nick dialed a number. “My cousin Sam is a genius with computers. He can get into any database that’s been created.” He spoke into the phone. “Sam, I need a favor…Yeah, I know I’ve retired. But I’ve got a missing persons case and I need to trace his parents.” With a grin, he said, “Yeah, the client is a she, and she’s very pretty. Here, I’ll let you talk to her.” As he handed Tyler the phone, he said, “You can trust him.”

The moment she began to talk into the phone, Nick walked over to the window and tried to ignore a twinge of guilt.

It was possible that Richard had gone home to reconcile with his family. But Nick didn’t think so. Not that it would hurt to have Sam trace the parents. By the time, they discovered that Richard wasn’t with them, Tyler might be more accepting of the truth. And she’d find it out earlier than a lot of brides did—eight whole days before the wedding.

In the meantime, he could hold her hand, get her through a rough time. What could be the harm in that?

A lot, warned the nagging little voice in his mind. Turning back to her, Nick recalled the feeling he’d had earlier when he’d looked into her eyes, the almost overpowering need he’d felt to touch her. And he knew that he’d feel it again. Tyler Sheridan was…different.

She came from a different world, he reminded himself. Like her grandmother before her. The safest course would be to escort her back to her hotel and keep in touch by phone. Then Tyler turned back to him and looked into his eyes. He felt the punch right down to his toes. Hell, when had he ever taken the safe course?

“It’ll take Sam at least an hour or so,” he said. “Why don’t I pull on some clothes and I’ll take you to lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” Tyler said. “And there’s something that I haven’t shown you yet.” She unsnapped her purse. “This was delivered to my office late yesterday afternoon via special messenger.”

Nick glanced down at the glossy magazine she’d handed him. It was folded open to a page of personal ads. He read aloud the one that was circled: “‘TMS, Sorry I’ll miss the wedding. I’ll be in touch. Remember Scarlet and Annie. RJL.”’

“The magazine came out yesterday,” Tyler said.

“You think you’re TMS and Richard is RJL?”

“Yes. I know it’s from Richard. He’s sent me messages before using these Personals. I…it’s sort of a private joke. We never would have met if I hadn’t placed a personal ad in this magazine.”

“Wait. Time out. Are you saying that you got engaged to someone by running an ad in the—” he glanced down at the magazine again “—the Personal Touch column?”

“No. Not exactly. It’s a long story, and it hardly matters now. I know what the ad looks like. It looks like proof that he’s gotten cold feet.” She moved forward then to touch him, a hand on his arm. “I know it’s more than that. Something is wrong. I just feel it.”

Nick felt it, too. His thumbs were pricking like crazy. And then there was the fact that his skin had begun to heat beneath her hand. More worrisome was the ache, a very dull ache that was building right in his center. Stepping away, he grabbed a T-shirt and put it on, then pulled jeans on over his shorts. “C’mon,” he said, urging her toward the door as he slipped on his shoes.

“Where are we—”

“We’re going to see if we can find out who placed this ad and when. Then we’ll have lunch.”




2


TYLER WATCHED as the polar bear dove toward her, turned, planted its feet firmly against the pane of glass separating it from the crowd of onlookers and pushed itself back to the surface. Then it turned and dove toward her again. In the short time she’d been watching, it hadn’t tired of executing over and over the same set of incredibly graceful movements: plunging down to the glass, turning, pushing off, and shooting to the surface. She found the performance every bit as fascinating as did the children pressed against the guardrail.

When the bear finally took a break and joined its companion on the bank, Tyler glanced over her shoulder and checked on Nick’s progress at the vending cart. In the taxi on the way over, he’d informed her that they’d grab something to eat in the park. It would eliminate a wait for a table, and he wouldn’t have to worry about dress codes. Then, since he’d already canceled his service, he’d commandeered her cell phone so he could make it a working lunch. He was talking on it even now, as he pulled bills out of a worn-looking wallet.

The man had contacts everywhere, it seemed—from a good buddy who just happened to head up security at the Plaza Hotel where she was staying, to an ex-girlfriend who had a contact at Attitudes Magazine where the personal ad had run.

She continued to study him as he shoved the phone in his pocket and began to chat with the woman running the vending cart. Richard would never take the time to do that. Nor would he ever have considered lunching on hot dogs in Central Park.

The two men were so different. Richard was meticulously groomed and very selective about his wardrobe, while Nick’s approach to both seemed haphazard, reckless even. Her gaze dropped to the jeans he’d pulled on, which were fraying at several strategic spots. Recklessness was something she’d avoided all of her life. That thought was still on her mind when she glanced up and met his eyes. For one full moment, she felt the same way she had in his office. The children’s laughter, the pungent smell of the animals, the sounds of the traffic—everything around her seemed to fade. All she could think of was him.

No, she thought as the quick skip of panic moved through her. She could not possibly be attracted to this man. He wasn’t her type. Richard was. And Richard would be good for her, she told herself again. His gaze slipped away from her then, as he pulled out her cell phone. A second later, he was gesturing dramatically with his hands.

Tyler drew in a deep breath and let it out. But she didn’t feel the relief she wanted. What was it about Nick Romano that he could pull a response from her she couldn’t control? If she was going to work with him, she would have to figure it out.

At the back of her mind the old questions hammered. Had her grandmother been right? Was Tyler her mother’s daughter, after all? Isabelle had always told her she had to fight against the passionate side of her nature that she’d inherited from her mother. And passion had definitely ruled Claudia. Otherwise, why would she have married again barely a year after Tyler’s father had died? And why would she have left Tyler with Isabelle, then flitted from one husband to the next?

Drawing in a deep breath, Tyler pushed the questions away. She wasn’t going to let the old self-doubts creep in. And she would figure out a way to handle Nick Romano…and find Richard.

Turning back to the polar bear, she made herself focus on the dive—down to the glass, then back to the surface; down to the glass, back to the surface. Gradually, the rhythm of the movements soothed her. She imagined herself diving with him, feeling the coolness of the water slipping over her skin, then hit the solid barrier of glass. Was he hoping to escape? Did he believe that perhaps this time it would give and he would be free?

“Well, what do you think of the Central Park Zoo’s main attraction?” Nick asked as he joined her.

“I think they should take him back to the North Pole and set him free,” she said without hesitation.

Nick studied her for a moment. “You surprise me, sugar. If it makes you feel any better, he probably wouldn’t survive if they did.”

He was carrying a loaded paper tray, and she grabbed for the napkins as they began to blow away. “Nobody should be trapped like that.”

“A few years ago, he might have agreed with you. All he used to do was repeat that dive, over and over and over. The zoo people finally called in a psychiatrist.”

Tyler looked at him. “You’re joking.”

“Absolutely not.” He nudged her toward a bench. “The big fella was diagnosed with one of those obsessive compulsive disorders. I swear,” he assured her when she shot him a skeptical look. “If I’m lying, may I never take a bite of my mama’s cooking again.”

“Can your mother cook?” asked Tyler as she sat down.

“Ouch. It’s a good thing I have a thick skin. I would never lie about my mother’s cooking.”

“All right. I’ll bite. What did the psychiatrist say?”

“Claimed our polar bear needed companionship,” Nick said as he joined her on the bench. “So they got him a girlfriend, and the big fella no longer devotes all of his time to diving.”

Tyler looked back at the exhibit. “It’s still a trap. The only difference is that two of them are in it now.”

Nick shook his head sadly. “A bride eight days away from her wedding, and she doesn’t believe in romance.”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Tyler insisted. “I just don’t believe in getting carried away by it.”

“Where’s the fun if you don’t get carried away a little?” Nick asked, then held out the tray. “Dig in. Yours is the naked one. Beats me how you can bear to eat a hot dog that way.”

“It’s an old habit.”

“Time to break it. The best thing about a hot dog is the toppings.” As he bit into his, chili splatted onto his jeans.

A laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. “Sorry,” she said, as he used a napkin to dab at his knee. “That’s why I eat them plain. Otherwise…” She glanced up and found her face close to his, their eyes and lips perfectly aligned. The rest of her thought slipped away as something moved through her to her very core, then tugged. It was what she’d felt before, when he’d been holding her hand in his office, and it took all of her control not to jerk herself back out of range. Slowly, carefully, she straightened.

“Otherwise…?” Nick prompted.

“Disaster,” she murmured as her fingers began to tingle.

“Disaster is a pretty strong word for a little spilled chili.”

Tyler forced her mind back to what they’d been talking about. “I’d never spill just a little. I’d be a mess.”

“It’s hard to imagine you any way but perfectly neat and tidy,” Nick said.

She smiled. “You should have seen me when I was younger. My grandmother would take me to a Red Sox game every summer when I would come to visit. By the seventh inning, I’d have more mustard and ketchup on me than there was on the hot dog. Then she’d lecture me on how Sheridans never spilled their food and never, ever appeared in public without being perfectly groomed. It was either give up the toppings or the Red Sox.”

“I’d have given up the Red Sox.”

Surprised, she looked at him.

“Now,” he continued, “if it was a choice between a chili dog and the Yankees, that would be a different story. Here—” He offered her his chili dog. “You’re a big girl now. Live dangerously.”

She found it was impossible to resist the challenge in his eyes. Leaning forward, she took a bite and savored the explosion of flavors on her tongue. “Mmm. Wonderful.”

“There you go,” Nick said. “You’ve sampled the forbidden and you’re none the worse for it. I’d say you’re pretty mess proof. In fact, you remind me of one of Hitchcock’s heroines. Even when they were whipping around in convertibles, their hair never got windblown.”

Tyler gave him a level look. “That’s because those scenes were shot in a studio. The cars never moved.”

“Safer, I suppose, but not nearly as satisfying.” Reaching over, he fingered the gold loop on her ear. “Wouldn’t you rather take a real ride in a very fast car?”

“No.” Not until now. Tyler frowned as the thought moved through her mind. It was as traitorous as the feeling that had moved through her when he’d touched her earring. And it wasn’t even true. She had her life just the way she wanted it. She didn’t want rides in fast cars. And she didn’t want the feelings that Nick Romano could trigger in her. “That’s not who I am. That’s not how I’ve achieved what I have. I’ve worked very hard to get where I am at Sheridan Trust. It means everything to me.”

Nick studied her for a minute. “It’s got to be hard filling your grandmother’s shoes. Even if she thought you could do it, I imagine there are some who doubt her judgment.”

At the understanding she saw in his eyes, panic moved through her. “Maybe you are a good detective,” Tyler said.

Nick sighed and shook his head. “I can see it’s going to be an uphill battle trying to impress you.”

“Believe it,” she said as she bit into her hot dog. For a few minutes they ate in silence. Tyler tried to ignore that hers tasted bland. Over the years, she’d schooled herself not to notice that. Swallowing, she wrapped what remained in a napkin and took a sip of her bottled water. “Did you find out if Richard placed the want ad?”

“It’s hard to say,” Nick said around a mouthful of chili dog. “According to the records, Richard placed the earlier ads over the phone with a credit card. The man who placed the one in this issue came to the magazine’s offices in person and paid cash. The girl who took the ad couldn’t recall much about his appearance. Medium height, medium build, brown hair.”

“That could be Richard.”

“And about one-third of all the other men who live in Manhattan, not to mention the tourists. The thing she was most sure about was that she took the ad on Monday. That was the deadline for placing anything in this month’s issue. The arrangements with the messenger service were made yesterday. That’s when the magazine gets mailed to subscribers.”

Tyler frowned. “But if he placed the ad Monday, then he knew four days ago that he was going to disappear.”

“Yeah. If Richard was the one who placed it.” Balling up the remnants of their lunch, Nick took aim and tossed it into the trash container.

“I know that Richard placed that ad. He’s the only one who could have composed it,” Tyler said. “No one else would know about Scarlet and Annie.”

“I was going to ask you about that. Who are they?”

“Scarlet O’Hara and Little Orphan Annie. Gone with the Wind is his favorite movie and Annie is his favorite musical. It was something we had in common.”

“He really liked Gone with the Wind?”

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it all the way through. It certainly wouldn’t make my top-ten list.” He turned to her then to study her. “So, Scarlet and Annie are your favorites?” Reaching over, he again fingered the loop of gold at her ear.

Tyler drew in a deep breath and let it out, trying to ignore her racing heart. “I want you to stop that.”

Nick dropped his hand. “It bothers you?”

“No, of course not. It’s just…that is…I don’t like people to violate my personal space.”

“Really?”

She couldn’t for the life of her figure out how he could have such a sober expression on his face, such a serious tone to his voice, and at the same time be laughing at her with his eyes. But she was not going to give in to the urge to punch him. “Really. Are we clear on that?”

“Absolutely. Hands off.” He raised both of his. “And I do approve.”

“Of what?” she asked suspiciously.

“Your personal favorites. Scarlet and Annie. You’re a little like both of them. They’re determined and they are both full of surprises.”

Tyler gave him another level look. “So are Hitchcock heroines, in spite of their perfect hairdos. While the men in those movies, as I recall, are always a bit befuddled.”

Nick threw back his head and laughed. The sound was so rich and free that several heads turned their way, and Tyler found herself wanting to join him.

“Good one,” he finally said. “Do you deliver zingers like that in your board meetings?”

“No,” she said.

“Well, you should. They’d start to think twice before they crossed you. C’mon,” he said, rising from the bench. “Let’s take a walk. I think better when I’m on the move.” He led the way, cutting a path between two women pushing strollers. To their left, a group of children stared wide-eyed at penguins, and the penguins stared right back. Farther ahead, seals clapped and preened themselves in an enclosed fountain while water shot high into the air.

“So, how about telling me the long story about why your bridegroom used the personal ads to send you little messages.”

When Tyler didn’t immediately reply, he continued, “Look, if you want my help, I need to know everything. It won’t go any farther. I never rat out my clients. Besides, I’m dying to know why someone like you would have to place an ad in the Personals?”

“I did it because my college roommate dared me.”

Nick stared at her. “Would you jump off a cliff on a dare?”

“No, but you don’t know Stevie. She was always after me to date. So was my mother. I figured the responses to an ad in the Personals couldn’t be any worse than the men my mother was always inviting to dinner.”

“So under pressure from your college roommate and your mother, you took out an ad in the Personals.” He studied her for a moment. “I can understand maternal pressure. So far mine has stopped short of encouraging me to advertise.”

When they reached the guardrail surrounding the seals, Nick paused and leaned against it. One of the seals was cleverly balancing a ball on its nose. Nearby, a toddler laughed delightedly.

“He should take that act on the road,” Nick said, slanting her a grin.

“Speaking of being on the road—shouldn’t we be going somewhere or doing something besides wandering through the zoo?” Tyler asked.

“We are,” Nick said. “We’re waiting for reports. Ten percent of PI work is setting things in motion. Eighty percent is waiting for the results.”

“And the other ten?”

Nick grinned. “Catching the bad guys.”

“I’d prefer to do something besides wait. Shouldn’t you make a plan?”

“I can’t until I have more information. And then there might not be time for one. A good PI has to live in the now.”

Tyler’s brows rose. “Is that what we’re doing right now?”

“Yep.” He tapped his temple. “Plus, we’re theorizing. Any thoughts on why your bridegroom used a want ad for sending a Dear John letter?”

Tyler shook her head. “How about you?”

Nick shrugged. “Phone calls and e-mails can be traced. So far we haven’t been able to trace the want ad. The question is—why is he being so secretive?”

Tyler searched his face. “Does this mean that you don’t think he’s a runaway bridegroom anymore?”

“Nope. It just means that I’m keeping an open mind and trying to explore all the possibilities. That’s another thing they teach us in detective school.” Suddenly his expression grew serious. “You ought to keep an open mind, too. Just in case my initial theory pans out.”

The concern in his eyes was genuine. It surprised her in much the same way his expression of sympathy about her grandmother had. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “I’ve thought about it, but I can’t believe Richard would just take off. I know—” she raised a hand to stop him from speaking “—you think I’m just being too stubborn to face the possibility, but it’s more than that. Richard was the one who pushed for an early wedding date. I wanted to wait until…until I was sure….”

When she paused, Nick said, “You weren’t sure of your feelings for him?”

She shook her head. “No, I was sure about wanting to marry Richard. I just wanted to wait until my future at Sheridan Trust was…settled.”

Nick studied her. “I thought you were the new boss.”

Turning, Tyler rested her arms on the guardrail and concentrated on keeping her tone even. “I have a year to prove myself to the board of directors. My grandmother’s illness was quite sudden, and she wasn’t sure that I was up to the job, so she gave the board the power to vote me out.”

“What happens if they do that?”

“I become a figurehead. Of course, I still collect a salary and a healthy share of the profits, but I’ll have no decision-making power.” She turned to face him. “I don’t intend to let that happen.”

“So Richard pushed to marry you while you were still at the helm of Sheridan Trust.”

“Are you insinuating—”

“I’m merely theorizing. If he did have a motive for marrying you quick, it makes it much less likely that he’s dumping you. Maybe something else is going on here.”

“I know there is. Sometimes, I get a feeling about things.” Pausing, she studied him for a moment. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“I get a sort of premonition when something terrible is wrong. It’s a tingling sensation in my fingers.”

Nick nodded. “Like the witches in Macbeth? ‘By the pricking of my thumbs. Something wicked this way comes.’ That kind of thing?”

“You promised not to laugh.”

Nick raised both hands, palms out. “Hey, I’m with you on this one. My thumbs prick every time something bad is about to go down.”

She couldn’t see any trace of laughter in his eyes. “My fingers have been tingling ever since I first read that ad. I’m sure that Richard is in some kind of trouble.”

Turning, Nick rested his arms on the railing. “Okay. Let’s shelve the runaway bridegroom theory and go with yours. He’s in trouble, so he goes into hiding. He wants to communicate with you in a way that can’t be traced. So he takes out the ad and makes sure it gets to you. ‘Sorry I’ll miss the wedding. I’ll be in touch. Remember Scarlet and Annie.’ So the trouble’s bad enough that he can’t make it to the wedding. And he’s going to contact you again. Is there any particular reason he used the names Scarlet and Annie?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are a lot of other things he could have said to let you know that the message could only have come from him. Why single out Scarlet and Annie?”

Tyler thought for a moment. “Of course. They’re the tomorrow girls. We talked about that once. Scarlet’s last words are ‘Tomorrow is another day,’ and Annie sings ‘Tomorrow’! They both believe that things just have to get better. He’s telling me not to give up hope!”

“Perhaps he’s being even more specific than that,” Nick said. “Maybe he’s going to get in touch with you tomorrow—which is really today since you got the message yesterday.”

Laying a hand on his arm, she said, “You really are good.”

It wasn’t until she touched him that he realized how close they were. Their bodies were nearly brushing. They would if he stepped away from the railing. Then all he would have to do was put his arms around her, and he would know exactly how her body fit against his. He’d been curious about that ever since she’d walked into his office. But the curiosity was changing to something more urgent.

If he took her into his arms, he could kiss her, too. Her lips were parted, moist, waiting. A stolen kiss in Central Park—what could be the harm in that? Still, he didn’t move. Oh, he could tell himself that the flush he saw in her cheeks, the excitement in her eyes was for another man, but that wasn’t what was stopping him. It was something within him that made him hesitate.

Caution. The word wasn’t foreign to him, but caution certainly wasn’t something he prided himself on. In fact, he’d never known himself to exercise it unless the stakes were very high. A bit shaken at the realization, Nick glanced down to where her hand still rested on his arm. When he met her eyes, he managed a smile. “I think you’re violating the personal space rule.”

Tyler snatched her hand away as if it had been burned. “I—I apologize.”

“No problem. I enjoyed it. And this way I figure I’ve got one personal space violation coming.”

Tyler opened her mouth to reply, when suddenly a ball grazed her shoulder, then bounced away. “Who—?”

The clapping and barking noises had her whirling around. She’d forgotten all about the seal. He didn’t have his ball anymore.

“He wants to play a little catch,” Nick said as he moved down the path to retrieve the ball. Tyler drew in a deep breath and decided that she was grateful for the interruption. Because she wasn’t sure what she would have replied to Nick’s comment.

It wasn’t often that someone left her nonplussed, but Nick Romano had a real knack for doing it. For a moment there, she could have sworn that he was going to kiss her. But he hadn’t. And she certainly hadn’t wanted him to, because it would have been a mistake. It was relief she was feeling. Tyler frowned. Why did she even feel the need to tell herself that? She watched him pick up the ball, then turn back to her. He was the most…

Once more she found herself searching for a word to describe Nick Romano. If she could just pigeonhole him, she could handle him. The clapping and barking behind her made her turn around again. The seal had climbed onto a rock that was catching a steady spray from the fountain. He barked twice, then clapped his fins together.

“He wants his ball back,” Nick said, handing it to her.

Taking careful aim, Tyler tossed it in a high arc, then laughed delightedly when the seal waddled back a little, bounced it off its nose once, then twice before he had it balanced. It was her turn to clap. “Clever,” she said.

“Very. He’s got the best spot in the park right under that cool spray. I’m tempted to join him.”

Something in his tone made her glance quickly up at him. “You’re joking.”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. If I did, would you join me?”

She glanced quickly around. “No. I can’t. You can’t, either. You could get arrested.”

“Probably. But I have a few friends on the force. Haven’t you ever done something on impulse, just for the fun of it, consequences be damned?”

“No. Well, almost. Once.”

Nick smiled. “What?”

“It was…nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Shortly before I graduated from school in Switzerland, I was in Rome with two of my friends. Our parents weren’t going to make it to the graduation ceremony and so we were having our own celebration. They wanted to go wading in the Trevi Fountain. So did I, but I didn’t. I knew if I got caught…”

“Your grandmother would lecture you?”

“I wasn’t so much worried about the lecture. I just didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“You should have gone wading in that fountain,” Nick said. “If you want to make up for it, I’ll give you a boost over this guardrail.”

Smiling, Tyler shook her head. “It turned out for the best. When my two friends were arrested, I was able to follow them down to the station and pay the fine to get them out.”

Nick studied her for a moment. “Always responsible. That’s got to be a drag.”

“No. Not—”

The ringing of the cell phone cut her off.

“I’d better answer it,” she said. “It could be Richard.”

Nick handed her the phone, then watched as the tension came back to her shoulders.

“Yes?” Glancing at Nick, she shook her head. “Yes, Howard, Richard is with me, and no, I can’t put him on the phone…because…because he’s busy right now.” Two men on in-line skates roared by. “He’s in-line skating, and I can’t possibly run fast enough to catch him.” Stepping away from the guardrail, she began to pace. “We’re in Central Park. Today?” She stopped short and spun to face Nick. “The board of trustees want to meet later this afternoon? What on earth for?”

Moving forward, Nick covered the phone with his hand. “What’s up?”

“He wants me to fly back to Boston so the board of trustees can meet.”

“Tell him you can’t get away. You have an in-line skating lesson scheduled.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “He’ll never buy that.”

“Then make up a lie he will believe,” Nick said.

Taking a deep breath, Tyler spoke into the phone. “Howard, I can’t make a meeting today. I ran into Hamilton Bradshaw. He was at the Plaza for lunch, and I promised Richard and I would meet him for a drink later.” The minute the lie was out, she saw a smile of approval on Nick’s face. “Yes, I think they’ll understand. And no, I can’t promise that Richard will get back to you later. The whole idea of playing hooky is that you don’t have to get back to people.”

Closing the phone, she handed it back to Nick.

“Who’s Howard?”

“He’s my mother’s latest husband, number four, the only one my grandmother felt was capable of handling a job at Sheridan Trust. He’s been in my camp since she died.”

“But you don’t trust him enough to let him know the truth about Richard.”

She shook her head. “It’s best if I don’t trust anyone with that until we know what the truth is. But I won’t be able to put him off much longer.”

“Maybe you won’t have to. C’mon, let’s walk.” As he led the way down the path, he said, “This probation thing has you tied up in knots, doesn’t it.”

“I can handle it.”

“But you can’t even go in-line skating.”

His tone had her smiling. “I don’t know how. Besides, don’t you think that’s the least of my problems?”

“Maybe. But it’s still a shame. They’ve really got you dancing to their tune. This bridegroom of yours—I’ll bet your grandmother handpicked him.” As soon as he spoke, he saw her stiffen.

“I think she would have liked him.”

Nick glanced at her in surprise. “She never met him? How long have you known him?”

“Four months this week.”

“And you met when he answered your ad in the Personals.”

“No. I never did go out with any of the men who answered the ad. Richard and I met through an Internet dating service.”

Nick stared at her. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“It was a perfectly legitimate—”

“Do you have any idea how many psychos there are out there using computers?” he asked. “What ever possessed you to be so stupid?”

Her chin shot up as she glared at him. “Stupid? Maybe if you listened instead of jumping to conclusions, Sherlock. I didn’t say I met him in a chat room. I went through a very legitimate on-line dating service. Personal Connections. They responded to the ad I placed in Attitudes. Once I read their brochure and investigated what they could offer, I decided to use them, instead.”

“Are they connected to the magazine?”

“No. But they respond to personal ads in a lot of magazines and newspapers as part of their marketing campaign. I had the security people at Sheridan Trust check it out, and I had them check Richard out, too.”

“And you can bet he did the same to you. Is that when he told you that his favorite movie was Gone with the Wind? After he found out you were Tyler Sheridan?”

“No!” She moved closer until they were standing toe to toe. “He had no way of knowing who I was. Personal Connections guarantees complete anonymity. It was Richard who insisted on giving me his full name the first time I e-mailed him. He also insisted that I have him checked out. And he never asked who I was.”

Rolling his eyes, Nick said, “How long do you think your anonymity lasted? Once I had an e-mail from you, I could trace you in a few hours at the most.”

“He couldn’t have traced me that way. Personal Connections relayed all my e-mails for me. He could only have traced them back to the dating service. And I’m not stupid!” She poked him in the chest. “Take it back or I’ll—”

“Way to go, gal!”

Tyler whirled to face the speaker and found to her horror that a small crowd had gathered. An older woman sitting on a nearby park bench called, “You tell him!”

The man next to her laughed, while a mother urged her toddler and two teens down an adjacent path. All four were craning their necks to keep her in view.

“Show’s over, folks,” Nick said, taking her hand and hurrying her away across the grass.

She had to almost run to keep up with him, but she didn’t complain. Only when she was sure that they could no longer be seen or heard by their audience did she speak. “I never do that.”

“What? Lose your temper?”

“No. Make a scene in public.”

Nick smiled at her as he slowed his pace. Her cheeks were flushed and some of her hair had fallen loose. He very much wanted to run his hands through it. “You should do it more often.”

“No. Sheridans never—”

“Have any fun,” he finished for her, nudging her down onto a bench.

“We do, too,” she said, the anger bubbling up fresh in her.

Nick barely managed to control a laugh. Instead, he tapped his chin. “Go ahead. Take a swing. We’re all alone.”

She curled her hands into fists, but she kept them in her lap and frowned at him, instead. “You…stir me up.”

He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then let his fingers trace lightly along the curve of her jaw. It was a mistake, but hell, he’d made them before.

“Don’t—”

“I’ve got one of those personal space violations coming, remember?” Beneath his thumb, he felt her pulse jolt and then begin to race. “The problem is that you stir me up, too.”

“It’s just chemistry,” Tyler said.

“You got that right. The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“I don’t…we can’t.”

“Normally, I’d be very tempted to just concentrate on the now. But I know you’re big on plans, and it’s always good to have as much information as possible before you make one. So let’s just see what we’re up against, sugar.” He knew how to move quickly, so when he felt her stiffen, he settled his hand at the back of her neck. Then, keeping his eyes on hers, he brushed his lips over hers once, twice, then moistened them carefully with his tongue. Drawing back slightly, he felt her breath mingle with his as her lashes fluttered. The need within him grew sharper as he nipped along her jaw, then lingered to taste the soft, secret spot behind her ear.

She shouldn’t be doing this. The thought drummed through her mind like a chant, but she suddenly lost track of the words making it up. His mouth was impossibly soft when it returned to hers. His taste so different, so sweet. Gripping his shoulders tightly, she pulled him closer and nipped at his lips, then sighed as their honeyed warmth poured through her. It was melting her. Oh, she really shouldn’t be doing this. But she wanted to. In some part of her mind that could still function, she was dimly aware that she was losing parts of herself, parts that she’d taken years to carefully build up. Drawing him closer, she used her teeth and tongue to deepen the kiss. She heard his moan, felt his heart speed up against hers. The need filled her so quickly, fully.

Her mouth was so avid, so greedy. Whatever he’d expected, whatever he’d fantasized about, Nick found it had little to do with what he was experiencing. One taste—that’s what he’d promised himself. Now he wondered if he’d ever have enough. She was softer than he’d thought, incredibly so. Her hair was like warm silk against his skin as he ran his hands into it, scattering the pins. And she was anything but cool. He’d seen the temper, had known there’d be passion, but he’d never anticipated this incredible heat that radiated from her to him and back again. Dragging her closer, he suddenly changed the angle of this kiss and plunged them both closer to the fire.

This was so different. He’d never before felt the dizzying sensation that was spiraling through him, draining his control. Nor had he ever known the edgy hunger that was building within him. He had to have more. He might never get enough. The thought burned through him even as a warning bell clanged loudly in his mind. Greedily, he ignored it and took them both deeper. But it continued to ring.

The cell phone. The realization hit him like a spray of ice water and he drew back quickly. What was he doing? He’d forgotten where they were and he’d damn near pulled her to the ground in the middle of Central Park. As the phone rang again, he thrust it into her hand. “You’d better answer it.”

For a moment she simply stared down at it.

“Answer it, Tyler.”

Lifting it, she said, “Yes?” After a moment, she held it out to him. “Sam.”

Two words, she thought as she watched him talk to his cousin. Her head was still reeling so she hadn’t been sure she could get them out, but she must have. She hadn’t known a kiss could do that. Fill you and drain you so completely at the same time. There was only one thing she was sure of. She couldn’t possibly let it happen again. But how in the world, now that she’d experienced it, was she supposed to forget it?

“So much for your faith in Personal Connections,” Nick said as he snapped the phone shut and jammed it into his pocket.

Tyler frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Sam just learned that your bridegroom is a fake.”




3


FAKE. Even as the word spun through her mind, Tyler said, “Richard is most certainly not a fake.”

“Richard James Lawrence was the third son born to Anita and Robert Lawrence of Louisville, Kentucky, and he died in an auto accident twelve years ago.”

“That’s impossible.” Even as she spoke, an image had slipped into her mind: she was standing at the altar alone, her dress flowing around her. Fear twisted in her stomach.

“The numbers don’t lie,” Nick said. “Sam traced him back to his birthplace using the social security number you gave. Whoever this guy is that Personal Connections hooked you up with, he’s not the Richard James Lawrence who belongs to that social security number.”

Her fingers were tingling again. Curling them into fists, Tyler fought off a wave of panic. It couldn’t be true. Think! “Then who is the Richard James Lawrence who’s been working as an accountant for Cramer, Brooks and Stapleton for the past six years?”

“Whoever he is, the scam he’s been running is about to come crashing down around his ears,” Nick vowed.

When he started to rise from the bench, Tyler grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “I had Richard checked out. If he was dead, Sheridan’s security people would have found it out.”

“Not if they didn’t check back far enough.”

“Well, my roommate from college can tell you he’s real. She took a course with Richard at Columbia just two years ago.”

“Is that the same roommate who dared you to run an ad in the Personals?”

“Yes.”

“I want to talk to her,” Nick said.

“Fine. She has an office on Wall Street.”

IN SPITE OF THE air-conditioning, the inside of the taxi seemed stuffy and warm. And silent. Tyler was grateful for that. She needed a moment to focus. To think of some explanation for what Nick had discovered about Richard.

There had to be one. But she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it could be. Because the man sitting only a foot or so away from her was distracting her. That kiss they’d just shared…the heat that had flowed through her, the wanting that it had left in its wake—No, she wasn’t going to let herself think about it now. She had to concentrate on Richard, the man she’d agreed to marry in eight days. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and tried to center herself. In a moment, the weakness would pass. She’d worked hard to develop willpower and control, and it would serve her now.

The driver leaned on the horn as he aimed the taxi suddenly into the left lane. When he slammed on the brakes, Tyler made a quick grab for the handle, but she wasn’t in time to keep herself from sliding against Nick. She planted both hands against his chest just as he gripped her arms, and they were in the same position they’d been in when he’d kissed her in the park. Her response was immediate; she felt the heat pour through her, along with the knowledge. All either one of them had to do was close the small distance, and it would happen again. That sharp bright whip of desire, the dazzling spiral of pleasure. She knew now what was waiting for her. And she felt the pull, strong and steady, to move forward, just a little, and take—

“No,” she said as she made herself draw back. “I can’t…I won’t.”

“You already did, once,” Nick said as he leaned back against the door. If he could have managed to get farther away, he would have. Because for a moment there, he hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer. And he’d always been able to before. It was more evidence for his theory that Tyler Sheridan was different for him. And that made her dangerous.

“Kissing you was a mistake. I won’t make it again.”

He studied her for a moment. Her hair was still mussed from his hands, her cheeks were flushed, and the pulse at her throat was beating fast. She had to be thinking of what they’d shared, what they could share again, just as he was. “You’re wrong. We’re both going to make that particular mistake again.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You said it yourself. It’s just chemistry.”

“But it could be passion.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Chemistry burns out quickly. True passion just grows more intense with each indulgence. Of course, we’d have to experiment a little, find out exactly what it is between us.”

Tyler stared at him. Did the man ever take anything seriously? But beneath the teasing light in his eyes, she could see something else, something that reached out to her. And she could feel deep within herself the desire to reach out to him, too. It was something she’d struggled all her life against. Something she’d wished all her life for? No, that couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t let it be true. “Passion or chemistry. I don’t care to indulge. It can’t, and it won’t, lead anywhere for either one of us.”

“I’m not sure all the facts are in on that.”

Chin lifted, Tyler met his eyes squarely. “I don’t intend to investigate it any further. I’ve seen where passion leads, and I promised myself that I would never travel down that path.”

It was the bleak look in her eyes that kept him from reaching out to her, pulling her close and proving her wrong. There was a secret there, and he vowed he’d learn it. But he could wait.

“So your relationship with this bridegroom of yours is devoid of passion?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Nick’s brows rose. “It’s certainly what you implied.”

“It’s true that I didn’t want my relationship with Richard—or with any man—to be based merely on passion. That’s why I decided to use Personal Connections, so that I could make sure before we ever met in person that Richard—or whoever he is—and I were compatible on more important levels.”

“Ah,” Nick said.

The look she shot him was pure ice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grinning, Nick shrugged. “Just ‘ah.”’ We detectives say it a lot. It’s our most frequently used expression after ‘aha!”’

“This the place?” the driver asked as he rammed the taxi into the curb.

Tyler glanced out the window. “Yes.” Raising a hand to automatically smooth her hair, she suddenly remembered that it was down, and that the pins were scattered somewhere on a path in Central Park. “Wait. I can’t go in there looking like this.”

“You look fine to me.”

“I look like a ragamuffin.” Unsnapping her purse, she drew out a brush.

“Here, let me,” Nick said, taking it from her. “Turn around.”

“No, I can—”

“It’ll save time. You can check your makeup while I take care of this.”

For one second, Tyler weighed her options. Wrestling with Nick Romano for her hairbrush or giving in and preserving her dignity. She did what a true Sheridan would do and turned to dig in her purse for her compact.

“I’ve got two younger sisters,” Nick said as he drew the brush through her hair. “For years my mom and I had to get them ready for church on Sunday….”

Whatever he was saying had become an unrecognizable buzz of sound in Tyler’s ears. It had been a mistake to allow him to touch her. And she’d only made it worse by opening her compact. Because now she could see as well as feel his hands on her. She discovered it was incredibly erotic to watch his fingers move from where they rested lightly on her shoulder to draw her hair back over her ear, then brush across the nape of her neck. The flames started there, then fanned out quickly until her blood turned thick and warm. An image filled her mind of those fingers stroking softly, surely, all over her body. Her nerve endings began to throb with just the thought of it, and it was all she could do not to lean back against him. She wasn’t aware of letting the compact slip through her fingers, only of the sudden weight when it landed on her lap.

“You two done back there?” the driver asked, twisting in his seat. “I got another fare waving at me on the corner.”

Tyler snatched up her compact, shoved it into her purse and pushed open the door of the taxi. Only by summoning up all her control did she prevent herself from running into the lobby of the glass-and-steel building. Instead, she pushed through the revolving door, then cut a neat path through the crowd of conservatively dressed men and women milling around her, while she tried to gather her thoughts.





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