Her Tycoon to Tame. Emilie Rose

furniture and classic urns overflowing with spring flowers. The sight drove home the reality that this wasn’t her father’s house anymore, and she didn’t have the right to casually enter through the kitchen and feast on Nellie’s delicious cooking.

      Ten yards away the patio door leading to the office opened, and Wyatt Jacobs’s tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the gap. His dark gaze pinned her like a thumbtack stabbing into a bulletin board.

      “Come in, doc.” He gestured with a sharp beckoning motion of his hand—the same way he would order a dog.

      Her hackles rose. Everything about him made her want to snarl and growl and that surprised her. Who was this strange woman with the bad attitude who had taken over her body? It certainly wasn’t her. She preferred gracious smiles, gentle persuasion and Southern charm. Kill ‘em with kindness, Nellie had always said, and the strategy had worked for Hannah thus far.

      Wyatt Jacobs brought out her witchy side. Her churning stomach warned her to handle this encounter with care. Jacobs, the one man she didn’t know and didn’t care to know, held her future and that of her horses and the rest of the staff in his hands. Being cooperative was imperative.

      She’d be damned if she’d let him know how afraid she was of losing everything.

      “I’d rather talk out here.” Even though she delivered the words with a civil smile, Hannah Sutherland bristled with visible animosity. She pointed to her dust-covered black low-heeled boots. “Since I wasn’t expecting your call this late in the day, I’ve brought barn with me.”

      Her boots weren’t all that was dirty. He noted the smudge filling the hollow beneath one high cheekbone, then a stain on her white Sutherland Farm logo polo shirt drew his eyes to the curve of her breasts. Another dirty streak on her khaki pants ran down the inside of her lean, taut thigh. Her current garb was a far cry from the designer duds she’d been wearing the day they’d met, but she still wore the pricey watch and ice-cube-size earrings.

      He caught a subtle whiff of the stables on the breeze. But along with the smell of horses, wood shavings and hay another scent—something feminine and alluring like expensive French perfume—snagged his attention. His heart inexplicably and annoyingly pumped faster.

      He’d studied her résumé and bio the way he would a blueprint, searching for flaws and weaknesses, and he’d found nothing to like in her privileged, worry-free upbringing. She’d apparently been given everything she’d ever wanted on a silver platter.

      “Other than your years at college you’ve never lived away from dear old dad or his checkbook, have you?”

      Her slender frame stiffened and her smile faltered. “No.”

      “You never held a job, before waltzing into this one.”

      “I didn’t waltz in. I earned my degree. And I gained experience by volunteering at the university’s stables. I wasn’t on the payroll because I didn’t need the money. I didn’t think it fair to take it from someone who did.”

      Even with, or possibly because of, Sam’s help, Wyatt had worked his ass off to get where he was today. Sam might have paid the tuition, but he’d made Wyatt prove himself every step of the way. He’d learned the business from the ground up, and Triple Crown Distillery’s distribution and profit margins had increased by sixty percent since he had taken control after Sam’s “retirement.”

      But Wyatt’s bitterness and resentment over Hannah’s worry-free life didn’t stop the spurt of energy racing through his veins when Hannah glared at him.

      “I’m off the clock, Mr. Jacobs. Was there something you needed that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

      The setting sun highlighted the streaks of gold in her brown wavy hair—streaks probably applied by an overpriced hairdresser. Her blue eyes showed no mercy, no interest and no feminine softness. She didn’t want him here, and her attempt at hiding her feelings failed miserably.

      “Meet me in the stable’s business office tomorrow at noon.”

      “Why?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

      “You’re going to show me around the farm.”

      Her stiff shoulders snapped back, becoming even more rigid. She hit him with that hoity, looking-down-the-nose appraisal that reminded him of his first love, first heartache and first betrayal by a woman.

      “I can’t drop everything to play tour guide for you. Sir,” she tacked on at the last minute.

      He wasn’t used to openly antagonistic females. He would have to be an idiot not to realize his looks and money made most of her gender eager to please. But from the tension and displeasure radiating from her, he would hazard a guess that she didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought of her and her disheveled state. Or maybe she’d dirtied up intentionally to make it look as though she worked hard. Yeah, that was probably the case. He doubted Ms. Perfect Manicure ever got her hands dirty.

      “You’ll report at noon if you value your job.”

      “I have a full schedule tomorrow. This is the busy season.”

      “Why?”

      She blinked, revealing long, thick lashes he hadn’t noticed before. “Why what?”

      “Why is this the busy season?”

      A pleat formed between her eyebrows. “Not only do we have a lot of boarders showing up to ride on Saturdays, I shouldn’t have to tell you we’re preparing for the breeding season.”

      His knowledge of horse breeding was limited. Sam had always given Wyatt more menial jobs—the kind that built character as well as muscle and calluses. Or so Sam had insisted. “Noon, Dr. Sutherland.”

      “I’ll find someone else to show you around, someone who has the time.”

      “Your father claims you know more about Sutherland Farm than any other employee. I don’t want someone else. I want you. That’s not negotiable.”

      “Of course I know the most about the farm. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve covered every inch of the property. But as much as I’d love to show you all the wonderful things about Sutherland Farm, I have a production schedule to maintain.”

      Something—maybe a primitive urge to knock her off the pedestal she’d put herself on—made Hannah’s resistance both challenging and a turn-on.

      That makes you one twisted fool, Jacobs.

      A nerve at the corner of his mouth twitched as he fought to conceal his irritation with her and himself. “You’re not going to make it that easy for me, are you, Hannah?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Per your contract, if you fail to meet my expectations you’ll be fired. Make time to show me around or pick up your final paycheck.”

      Her lips flattened into a thin line and anger flagged her cheeks with red. “You like the power of holding the contracts you made us sign over our heads, don’t you? We’re all here on a trial basis even though we’ve been successfully doing our jobs without your interference for years.”

      “I’m the boss. Your boss. That’s the way it works.”

      Her irritated gaze snapped up and down his Armani suit without the admiration he usually received. She heaved an aggravated breath. “I’ll be there, but leave the fancy duds behind unless you plan to stay in the golf cart.”

      She pivoted on her heel with military precision then marched off the patio, her firm, round bottom swishing with each long, angry stride. He couldn’t peel his gaze away and his body reacted with unexpected and unwanted appreciation.

      Oh, yeah, he’d called it right. Hannah Sutherland with her expensive jewelry, highlighted hair, manicured hands and entitled attitude was going to be nothing but trouble.

      Until he got rid of her.

      And