The Man She'll Marry. Susan Fox P.

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      Tracy could tell nothing from his harsh expression. Cowardice made it hard to speak. It would be so much easier to put him off until she was safely locked at home in San Antonio. She could call him later with her answer. If he reacted badly, she could hang up before he said anything too devastating. Then she could hire a lawyer to intercede for her and persuade Ty to accept her check.

      Tracy’s gaze faltered as the silence stretched. Terror made her voice small as she struggled for candor. She began to shake again as she dared to make an effort to explain her reason before she officially turned him down.

      “What kind of fool would I be to work for a man who can barely stand the sight of me? Whatever you think I am, I haven’t quite sunk to the level of asking to be abused.”

      A bitter slant came to his hard mouth. Tracy could tell she’d offended him. Again. He retaliated, his voice low and quiet, his words painfully on target.

      “Sure. Why ask to be abused when you do such a good job of abusing yourself?”

      Her heart thudded heavily with the weight of that. Ty nodded toward the Suburban parked in the next space of the four-car garage.

      “I’ll drive you to San Antonio.”

      It was that simple. The ordeal was over. Tracy walked shakily to the other vehicle, got in the passenger side, then sat rigidly as Ty got in and started the engine.

      The ride to San Antonio was smotheringly silent. By the time they got there, every muscle in her body had knotted painfully with tension.

      Ty pulled to the curb in front of her building and she got out. She briefly clung to the door until her legs steadied, then fled to the entrance. The doorman ushered her through and once inside, she hurried to the elevators.

      Tracy should have been able to sleep away the rest of the day. Her body ached, her head throbbed, and she couldn’t manage more than a couple of crackers on her queasy stomach. She was so exhausted she could barely walk straight, but she was too worked up to sleep. Every moment of the afternoon and early evening passed like hours, until finally she was in her kitchen, facing the small wine rack on the counter.

      She’d done everything wrong with Ty Cameron. The memory of those hard blue eyes that had cut and probed and judged wouldn’t leave her alone. She should never have borrowed his car, she’d had no business getting behind the wheel. But she’d been so desperate to get away from him that she would have taken any means of escape.

      Then she’d compounded all her other “sins” by refusing to work off the damages. It would have been more prudent for her to at least give Ty a chance. Had she judged him too harshly?

      That’s a laugh, she thought bitterly. The notion that someone like her would have the nerve to judge Ty Cameron was the very definition of hubris.

      It had been a last bit of self-preservation that had made her turn him down. Under the circumstances, she’d made the right choice. Hadn’t she? The terrible guilt she felt over the car confused it all and the troubling details of her moral dilemma began another tortuous circuit in her brain.

      Tracy began to pace. Again. Wobbly, aching, she wandered the penthouse. If she could make her brain stop replaying it all and analyzing every second of what had happened, maybe she could sleep. If she could sleep and wake rested, maybe she could see it all from a fresh angle. Maybe she’d have some new insight, maybe it all wouldn’t seem so terrible. And maybe she wouldn’t feel so horribly guilty.

      Tracy stopped pacing when she found herself back in the kitchen facing the wine rack. If she could stop torturing herself, if she could fall asleep…

      In the end, she knew there was no hope for her. She reached for a bottle and gave in to the inevitable.

      Tracy’s bathroom was as large as some bedrooms she’d slept in. She loved the large, raised marble platform of the bathtub/Jacuzzi that sat beneath the high wall of windows overlooking the lights of San Antonio. Lush potted plants—some in bloom—rested on the marble tile that skirted the tub. Several hung from ceiling hooks overhead and gave the room the feel of outdoors, though the penthouse thermostat kept it all cozy.

      She could lie in the tub of hot, churning water, look out at the lights, and drink her glass of wine. Already the churning water soothed her. The wine bottle sat within reach, the flute of wine was poured, but Tracy hadn’t tasted it yet.

      There was always a chance that the hot water would do it. The uncommon drowsiness she felt gave her hope, so she waited, trying not to look at the tempting glass or the bottle next to it.

      The classical CD that played in the next room was on too low to hear distinctly, but it and the bubbling of the water saved her from silence. She thought she heard the soft chime of her doorbell, but finally dismissed it as imagination.

      Tracy didn’t know too many people in San Antonio. She’d never invited anyone up, not even Greg, whom she’d arranged to meet in the lobby before their date last night. She’d never got around to hiring a cleaning lady, and when she ate, she went out somewhere or brought home deli food.

      Alone in her private sanctuary, Tracy finally managed to focus her mind on the sound of the water and closed her eyes. Her aching body at last began to feel better as her tension eased. Not even the small distant sounds somewhere in the penthouse made much of an impression. Until the muffled sound of what could only be footfalls alerted her.

      Someone was walking down the hall!

      Drowsiness made her brain slow to react to the danger. Her body felt heavy and resistant as she tried to rouse herself.

      The sound of boot heels on tile made her jerk and grab for a towel. Alarmed, she glanced toward the open door and her heart gave a painful jolt.

      Ty Cameron stood in the doorway, his handsome face stern, his vivid blue eyes moving over her as if looking for injury. He advanced on her and Tracy fumbled to cover herself with the towel. Its saturated weight made it difficult to unfold beneath the water.

      “Get out!” she shrieked as he reached the marble steps to the Jacuzzi platform.

      Ty came to a halt, his gaze going to the wine bottle then to the steam that now whited the mirrors and the lower panel of windows.

      “You tryin’ to drink and drown?”

      “Get out!” she cried as she shrank away from him as far as the side of the tub allowed. “H-how dare you come in here like this!”

      “You might try answering your phone or the door.”

      Tracy shook her head adamantly. “You can’t come up here without my permission!”

      “Your doorman agreed with me. You looked sick earlier and now you don’t answer the phone or the door. You coulda been in trouble up here.”

      “You can see I’m not—get out!” she gritted, so desperate for him to leave that she was on the edge of hysteria.

      Ty turned as if to go, but instead pulled open the door of the linen closet and got out a dry towel. He tossed it on the tile that skirted the tub.

      “Get dried off and find some clothes. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

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