Her Tycoon to Tame. Emilie Rose

lab opened abruptly on Saturday morning, startling her. Wyatt stalked in as if he owned the place…which he did, technically. But this was her domain—the only place that remained orderly and tranquil no matter what chaos reigned in other parts of her life.

      Her muscles snapped taut and the hair on her nape sprang to attention. She’d never experienced such instant antagonism toward anyone before, and the strength of the emotion roiling inside her now surprised her.

      “You said twelve. You’re early.” She tried to keep her tone polite, but judging by his scowl, she failed.

      His dark eyes panned the spotless room as if inventorying each piece of equipment before returning to her and examining her as thoroughly. “The rain is predicted to worsen. I want my tour now.”

      Rain? Hannah blinked and listened. Sure enough, rain snare-drummed on the barn’s metal roof. She’d been so engrossed in her tasks and her troubles that she hadn’t even noticed the rat-a-tat-tat before now. Usually the sound relaxed her. But not today, thanks to the irritant in front of her.

      She stood her ground and returned his appraisal. The hard line of his jaw gleamed from a recent shave and his hair looked damp—either from the weather or a recent shower if he were the type to waste a morning lying in bed. A picture of him on twisted sheets popped into her head.

      Where had that come from? She kicked it away.

      A black cashmere sweater stretched across his broad shoulders, the white of a T-shirt showing in the V-neck, and faded jeans clung to his hips and long, muscled thighs. Something—most likely aggravation—quickened her pulse. It couldn’t be anything else. She didn’t like him or his arrogant attitude.

      “I still have orders to process before the courier service arrives. Come back at twelve. Please,” she added. She wasn’t going to let him disrupt her schedule and thereby give him grounds to fire her.

      “Reviewing employee performance is part of any new business venture. I’ll start with yours. You work. I’ll observe.”

      Anxiety tangled with the coil of exasperation snaking through her. She couldn’t throw him out. “Then at least close the door. This is a controlled environment. The room needs to remain dust-free, and the temperature as constant as possible.”

      “Is it that important?”

      “Considering I handle thousands of dollars’ worth of product every day, yes, quality control is important.”

      Curiosity sharpened his eyes. He strolled toward her, encroaching on her personal space, but she kept her boots planted, refusing to surrender her spot by the microscope despite an almost visceral urge to back far, far away.

      “What are you working on, doc?”

      An odd question from the man who owned everything in front of him. Everything except her, that is. “I’m confirming the viability of the sample before I chill and ship it.”

      “Sample of what?”

      He was kidding. Right? But if so, he did so with a straight face. Hey, she could play along. “Sperm. Want to take a look?”

      His short, thick lashes flickered, then he moved forward, calling her bluff and forcing her to yield territory to avoid contact. He bent over the microscope. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

      Unsure whether he was testing her knowledge or simply being a pain in the rear, she scowled at the thick, dark strands covering the back of his head. “You’re checking to see whether the sample has enough potency to get the job done.”

      He straightened. Their gazes collided unexpectedly and held. Her thoughts scattered like bowling pins. Tension crackled between them.

      “And the answer?”

      She inhaled slowly, trying to remember his question, but a trace of his cologne—something hinting of patchouli, sandalwood and cypress—distracted her. He smelled good and looked good. Too bad he was a jerk. She’d dealt with enough overinflated egos over the years to know bad attitude cancelled out any positives.

      “Yes, this is a fertile stud, and a good thing, too, since Commander is Sutherland Farm’s top moneymaker.”

      Determined to get back to business, she waved him out of the way and bent over the eye pieces, but his presence disturbed her. She could feel him dissecting and cataloging her every action as if he were waiting for her to make a mistake. When she adjusted the focus her hands weren’t as steady as they’d been before his arrival, and it annoyed her that he could rattle her so easily.

      “What’s the purpose of all the equipment and charts?”

      Another odd question from Sutherland’s new owner. She lifted her head and put down the pencil she’d been using to make notes. “If I explain, will you go away and let me finish my job?”

      “I’m not leaving until you’ve given me a satisfactory tour.”

      Not what she wanted to hear. “Are you completely ignorant of the business into which you’ve invested millions?”

       Whoops. Not nice, Hannah. What happened to killing him with kindness and not making waves?

      “You mean the business I own, the one that pays your salary?”

      He had her there. And if she wanted to continue receiving that paycheck so that she could care for her horses and put food on her table, she’d better dam the resentment pouring from her mouth. “I apologize. The clock is ticking and I really need to get this order ready before the sample is ruined.”

      “Answer my question, Hannah.”

      “The shelves are filled with the collection equipment we use. Each stud has his own—” Her cheeks warmed and her tongue tangled. Oh, for pity’s sake. Reproduction was her job. Discussing it was routine. So why did explaining it to him make her uncomfortable? They weren’t discussing her personal sexual preferences.

      Or his.

      An image of him bare-chested, braced on his forearms above her and with passion instead of irritation tightening his features flashed in her mind. Her womb clenched. She inhaled sharply.

      Girl, you have been too long without a man’s attention.

      She cleared her throat and, trying to ignore the unwelcome warmth seeping through her, carefully chose her words. “Stallions have likes and dislikes that could interfere with or assist in production and collection. We get our most successful outcomes when the positive elements are in place, and we keep track of each stud’s preferences with the charts.”

      His eyes narrowed and for a moment the air seemed to hum with tension. “Sutherland Farm has two veterinarians on staff. Your position seems redundant. Why should I continue paying your salary?”

      Alarm froze any lingering awareness faster than a liquid nitrogen dip. “You’re asking me to justify my job?”

      “Correct. Convince me nepotism wasn’t a factor in your hiring.”

      She dampened her suddenly dry lips. “Our staff vet oversees general animal health. I oversee breeding.”

      “Something animals have managed without assistance or all this equipment since the beginning of time.”

      “Breeding is Sutherland Farm’s bread and butter. Without the raw material, our trainers can’t produce champions. We continue to make money off successful mares and studs for years, sometimes even decades, after they leave the show ring.”

      “And why can’t the staff vet oversee that?”

      “Developing a winning bloodline is far more complicated than randomly pairing animals and hoping for a pretty foal. It’s an intricate mix of genealogy, genetics, biology and veterinary science aimed at producing an animal with optimal traits and minimal deficiencies. It’s a science—one at which I happen to excel.”

      He didn’t look impressed.