Otherwise Engaged. Cara Summers

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