The Taming Of Tyler Kincaid. Sandra Marton

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СКАЧАТЬ privacy, too—meaning he wanted none of her makeup left in his bathroom, nor would he leave his shaving things in hers. There’d be no mutual exchange of house keys or security codes—she’d laughed when he’d said that, in that husky voice that had, in those first weeks, made his blood hum.

      “Darling, you’re just the sort of man that turns me on. A gorgeous rogue, lover, that’s what you are. Why would a woman be foolish enough to want to tame you?”

      Fidelity, for as long as the affair lasted, was all they’d committed to. That was all Tyler was still committed to…but, evidently, somewhere along the way, Adrianna had changed her mind.

      Tyler opened the door of the Porsche and stepped out. Cicadas sang in the trees; the heavy scent of jasmine enveloped him. He looked up at the house, at his bedroom windows, and wondered if she were watching him through the silky curtains.

      He imagined her, warm and naked and flushed from the shower. Or wearing the body-skimming black silk nightgown he’d given her. He had to admit, the sexual fantasy was a turn-on.

      A tentative smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Okay, so she’d taken things a bit far but maybe he was doing the same thing. So what if she’d watched him enter the security codes and memorized them? That had to be the way she’d gotten in. And she’d probably gone through his wallet when he was asleep, checked his driver’s license to learn his birthday.

      Was that so terrible?

      It wasn’t. Not really. He could deal with it, he told himself as he climbed the steps to the veranda. Dealing with things was what he did.

      Tyler could feel the tension easing inside him, now that he was willing to admit he’d overreacted. Okay. He’d open the door, step inside the marble foyer. Undo his tie, take off his jacket, dump his briefcase on the table. Then he’d go up to his bedroom, open the door, find Adrianna waiting for him in a room filled with roses, a flute of champagne in her hand and a silver bowl heaped with Beluga caviar beside the bed.

      “Surprise, darling,” she’d purr, and he’d smile and pretend it really was a surprise, that he hadn’t expected her to be there, that his caterer hadn’t spilled the secret.

      Actually it had been the caterer’s new, eager-to-please assistant who’d phoned him.

      “Mr. Kincaid,” she’d said, “this is Susan. At Le Bon Appetit? I’m calling about that order you placed for delivery to your home this evening.”

      Tyler, who’d been paying most of his attention to the Dow-Jones numbers racing across the screen of his computer, had frowned.

      “What?”

      “I’ve checked our records, sir, and I see that you always order Krug. I just wanted to be certain you actually wanted Dom Pérignon this time.”

      “No. I mean, there’s been a mistake. I did not—”

      “Ah. Well, sir, that’s what I thought. That there’d been a mistake, you know? The clerk must have gotten the order wrong.”

      “No,” Tyler said, “the clerk did not—”

      “That’s kind of you, Mr. Kincaid, “suggesting it was Ms. Kirby who made the error, but—”

      Tyler had gone very still. “Adrianna Kirby ordered champagne to be delivered to my home?”

      “And Beluga caviar, sir. And roses. And a cake. Oh, I hope that cake isn’t for you, sir. I’d hate to think I gave away a surprise.”

      Tyler had closed his eyes. “No,” he’d said, “actually, you’ve been—you’ve been quite helpful.”

      And, just like that, it had all fallen into place, the little signals he’d managed to ignore the past couple of weeks.

      “Here’s a key to my apartment, Tyler,” Adrianna had said, folding his hand around the bit of metal, smiling when he’d frowned. “Oh, get that look off your face, darling. You don’t have to reciprocate. It’s just in case I’m in the bath or something, when you come by.”

      And there was the way she’d taken to dropping by his office without calling first. She was in the neighborhood, she’d say, and wouldn’t lunch be lovely? The earrings she’d “forgotten” in his bathroom. Yes, and those soft little sighs of disappointment, whenever he rose from her bed and started to dress.

      “You really could stay the night, darling,” she’d purr, even though she knew he never would.

      “Hell,” Tyler muttered.

      “Idiot” was too kind a word to describe him. And now, there was Adrianna, waiting in his bedroom to celebrate an occasion that was common to every creature on the planet, waiting for him with flowers and champagne and a handful of dreams he had no intention of sharing.

      Okay. Okay, he’d do the right thing, act surprised, even pleased. And then, in a few days, in a week, he’d gently put an end to things.

      He punched in the code. The door swung open. Lights blazed on, and a hundred voices shouted, “Surprise!”

      Tyler blinked in astonishment, took a quick step back and stared at the blur of laughing faces.

      “Darling,” Adrianna shrieked, and flew toward him in a shimmering cloud of fuchsia silk, golden hair and Chanel.

      “Happy thirty-fifth birthday, darling.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Surprised?”

      His face felt stiff. “Yes,” he said. “Very surprised.”

      Adrianna laughed and looped her arm through his. “Just look at his face,” she said to the crowd around them. “Tyler, dearest, I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

      Everybody laughed, everybody but Tyler, who was working at keeping his smile locked into place.

      “I doubt it,” he said.

      Adrianna tossed her head so that her hair flowed over her bare shoulders.

      “You’re wondering how I managed all this. The invitations. The food, the champagne, the flowers. The band.” As if on cue, music wafted down from the balcony that overlooked the great room. She looped her arms around his neck and began to move in time with it. Tyler forced himself to hang on to the smile and to move with her. “And the most difficult part, darling. Slipping your wallet from your pocket and going through it, to learn your actual birthday after you let slip that the big Three-Five was coming up.”

      “Did I?” he said, wondering how, and when, and why he’d been so loose-lipped.

      “At that dinner for the mayor last month, remember? Someone at our table was moaning about turning forty, and you grinned and said wasn’t it a pity he was such an old fogy, that you were only just approaching—”

      All Tyler’s good intentions fled. “I wish you hadn’t done this, Adrianna.”

      His mistress laughed softly. “You’re just annoyed that I peeked over your shoulder while you entered those codes.”

      “Yes. And that you went through my wallet. And that you arranged this party.”

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