shook her head. “She’s a little shy. I had to talk her into coming tonight and now she’s having second thoughts.”
“I think I’ll go get some fresh air.”
Her smile slipping, Brenda seemed startled by his abrupt statement. “It’s starting to rain, Tyler. Why would you...?”
Starting to walk away, but at a more reasonable pace, he said, “Don’t worry about it, Brenda. I promise not to track in any mud.” Then he stepped out the back door and peered through the cloudy night, trying to catch sight of her. A lighted path led to the pool house, and more lights, in an array of party colors, circled the small building. Through the smattering of raindrops falling on his face, Tyler was able to see a flash of movement. Ignoring the rain, he followed.
His heart was hammering heavily, his stride rapid on the wet flagstone walk. His muscles were so tight, his movements seemed rough and jerky. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so anxious to meet a woman.
Impatience and anticipation were riding him, and he forced himself to stop outside the door of the small house. He tilted his head back, letting the rain cool his face. He was overreacting. She was only a woman, after all, he told himself.
But then he remembered her wide, startled eyes and felt his stomach clench.
He put his hand on the doorknob, half expecting it to be locked. It opened silently, allowing the muted sounds of the party to intrude.
Colored light filtered through the windows in diminished shades, elongating shadows and playing over various forms and furnishings. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior, and then he saw her.
She had been standing turned away from him, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other knotted at her side. But when the door closed with a soft click behind him, she jerked, then swung around to face him. Her hand fluttered to her chest and she took a hasty step backward, then halted, staring.
Tyler swallowed heavily. He could feel her nervousness, her uncertainty, and something very basic, very male, erupted inside him. He’d never known a woman to be this way, had never before felt the overwhelming urge to offer comfort, to ease a woman with assurances. He wanted—right this minute—to hold her, to touch her...to make love to her. He sucked in a deep breath, leaned back against the closed door and forced a gentle smile. “Hello.”
* * *
Carlie felt frozen in place. She could feel his eyes drifting over her body, could hear every breath he took. She didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t have recognized her, yet he obviously liked what he saw. She’d never seen a man react that way—not to her. She couldn’t speak, her voice was trapped in her throat.
He whispered softly, “You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes shifted nervously with the racing of her heart. Brenda had said men would find her attractive, but.... She hadn’t believed her, not really. Usually, Tyler never looked at her twice, but then, he’d never seen her dressed like this.
The costume was definitely a mistake.
Tyler was still watching her, and she inhaled. She had to say something. “You look...dangerous.”
His teeth flashed in a quick grin. “Not dashing?”
Confused, she shook her head. In an even lower tone, sounding of accusation and anticipation, she asked, “What happened to your date?”
He tipped his head, as if he was straining to hear her, then carefully stepped away from the door. “She wasn’t my date.”
Liar, she thought. A man like him wouldn’t come to a party alone. He attracted beautiful women without even trying. And Valerie Rush was certainly that—beautiful, chic, sophisticated and very sure of her own appeal. She was everything Carlie was not.
So why was Tyler here now? She’d always been aware of him; he was impossible to ignore. Dark, charming, a devastating man. But completely unattainable. At least for her.
Of course, after her disastrous marriage, she didn’t want any man, not even Tyler Ramsey.
He took another step forward when she remained silent, and she went back one, bumping into the wall.
He was watching her so very closely, almost stalking her, and she could feel her chest shuddering, straining for air. She trembled inside, feeling light-headed and so conscious of him as a male. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him.
He took another step.
The rain was coming down more heavily now, tapping against the windows and the wind had begun to whistle. Carlie was glad for the darkness. She didn’t want reality to intrude too quickly. She didn’t want him to recognize her. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
He started to reach for her, then dropped his hand. “Do you know who I am?”
She shook her head. “No.” She didn’t know this man at all, so intense and attentive, exuding raw sexuality. The air was filled with his scent, his purpose.
His eyes drifted over her body again, then he stared intently into hers.
She didn’t dare say anything. What was there to say? He wasn’t reacting to Carlie McDaniels. He was reacting to the night; to the atmosphere and the mystery of a masquerade. If he knew who she was, he’d lose interest quickly enough. He’d give her that same polite nod she’d always received from him, then go on his way.
Tyler stepped toward her and she balked, feeling her back against the wall. It would be mortifying for him to realize her identity now, with her acting like such a ninny. She was a professional woman, a teacher, mature and capable. And here she was, behaving like a coward. A virgin coward.
She knew in that instant, she wouldn’t tell him. He would never find out who she was. She had to leave, had to...
His hand caught her arm. “Wait. Please.”
She trembled, trying to pull loose, stunned by the strength of his grasp.
He released her instantly. Holding his hands out to the sides, he tried to softly reassure her. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.” She trembled again, and he said, “You’re cold.”
Swamped with uncertainty, wanting to do one thing, but knowing she should do another, Carlie turned away. Then Tyler was behind her, not touching her, but the warmth of his body surrounded her. She felt a pulse beat of heat run through her, swirling in her belly. The feeling was unfamiliar...and exciting. As his breath brushed her nape, she shivered with growing sensation.
His palms grazed her shoulders, smoothing away the chills and the dampness from the rain, warming her. She was surrounded by him, by his scent.
His touch was tentative, careful, and when she didn’t move, he leaned closer, his chest barely touching her back, his thighs brushing her own. She shuddered.
His fingers continued to stroke, feather-light, up and down her arms. He drew in a slow, rough breath, then molded his hands over her shoulders, holding her. She felt his suspended breathing, his hesitation. And when he finally spoke, his voice was low and unsteady.
“I want you. I think
