Emily whirled in his direction, skidding to a stop, bumping into the cab driver, as she saw—oh, my God!—Tyler pop up like a mirage right in front of her.
She’d not only found him, she’d practically fallen on top of him.
The cabbie said, “You share cab, miss, yes?” and wrenched her briefcase out of her hand. He’d already tossed it into the trunk of the taxi, so there wasn’t much she could do but get in. Oh, God. She was supposed to be following the mysterious Tyler, not sharing the back seat of a cab with him!
Tyler waited, staring right at her, holding the door as she scooted inside. No chance of being inconspicuous now. She tried hard to manage her entrance with a modicum of grace, but it was impossible with those stormy green eyes staring a hole in her. She was flushed and breathless and she smelled as if she’d just taken a dip in a distillery vat. What kind of impression was she going to make? Besides idiotic, of course.
“Where we goin’?” the cabbie asked as Tyler folded his long, lean body in after her, stowing his duffel bag on the floor at his feet.
Tyler glanced her way, clearly giving her the first shot.
“I, uh…” She trailed off, tongue-tied. “I’m thinking.”
He shrugged. “Okay, well, I need to go to North Beach. Take Stockton—I’ll tell you where to stop.”
Emily couldn’t believe it, but she actually had the presence of mind to murmur, “What a coincidence. That’s exactly where I’m going.”
As the driver merged with traffic, sailing off into a sunny San Francisco afternoon, a long pause hovered over the back seat. Tyler’s gaze measured her, held her, as she waited for him to say something. Finally he offered, “You don’t look like the North Beach type.”
“Oh, really?” She had no idea what that meant. She’d never even heard of North Beach. Did he expect her to be carrying a towel and suntan lotion? “Well, you never know, do you?” she asked brightly. “Maybe I’ve got my swimsuit in my briefcase.”
Now she saw the spark of something else in his eyes. Humor? “There’s no beach at North Beach,” he told her calmly. “Are you sure you’re going to the right place?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I was just joking. About the swim-suit, I mean.”
Again silence hung between them. He shrugged. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
She wished he would stop staring like that. Miserable, Emily pulled on the hem of her soggy skirt and retreated into the far corner of the seat.
Still he was awfully close. Too close. And so very sexy. Even in repose, he had this hard-edged, smoky attitude that just screamed sex and lust and bad, bad things. It was like sitting two inches from a bonfire. She knew she shouldn’t touch, but she was mesmerized, bewitched by the dancing flames.
You know what happens if you start playing with fire, a panicky internal voice reminded her. You come away with third-degree burns.
Ooh. Bad thing to think about. Very, very bad.
Her mind suddenly filled with images of Tyler and heat and flames. She pictured him glistening with sweat, stripping off his clothes one article at a time as the torrid temperature overpowered them both.
Now she was definitely hyperventilating.
As she fanned her face, the rest of the trip into San Francisco became a blur. She had no idea what was outside her window; all she saw was Tyler.
Stop this, she commanded herself. Do something. Say something.
But what? Okay, so she hadn’t planned to introduce herself quite this quickly. She could roll with the punches, couldn’t she? Surely this was her golden opportunity to cross-examine him, to get him to tell her more about whatever this was she was horning in on. And then she would say, Hmm, sounds like you need my help, and somehow make it all sound natural and reasonable.
Except she hadn’t exactly figured out how to do that yet.
She mulled over various openings, but before she’d so much as asked for his name, the taxi swooped up one hill and down another, and Tyler leaned forward.
“This is it. Pull over here,” he instructed, and the cab slammed to a stop.
“Okay, we got North Beach,” the driver shouted. He jumped out to open the trunk and retrieve Emily’s briefcase as Tyler unwound himself and his duffel bag from the back seat.
Emily got out more slowly, not exactly sure how she was going to maneuver Tyler into showing her where he was going. For her to follow, he had to lead the way. But he was standing there waiting, doing the gentlemanly thing and allowing her to go first.
“No, no, you go ahead,” she said suddenly. “I’ll take care of the cab. My treat. You just go right ahead and get on your way.”
His dark brows lowered. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I—I’m practicing random acts of kindness,” she blurted. Well, that was as good an explanation as any.
He studied her for a moment, but finally accepted the favor, probably deciding it was easier to let the crazy lady have her way than fight with her. Phew. As Emily thrust bills at the cabbie, her quarry ambled across the street and up to a charming little Queen Anne house on the opposite corner. Mostly painted pink with some white trim, the house had a faintly purple conical tower in one corner. The sign out front read “Beau’s B and B.” And Tyler marched right in the front door as if he owned the place.
This was a surprise. Although Emily thought the B and B looked delightful—the only remotely Queen Anne house around—it was not where she would have expected Tyler to land. Everything else on the softly sloping street was strictly Edwardian, mostly three stories, with squared-off angles and bay windows. But whatever it was, at least Beau’s B and B was a legitimate place to stay, and she wouldn’t look incredibly weird filing in behind him.
As soon as she got rid of the cabbie, Emily gathered her purse, her briefcase and her courage, and took off across the street to Beau’s B and B. Her heart pounded as her hand closed around the brass knob on the front door. Get a grip, Emily, she chided herself. You just spent half an hour in a car with him. How much scarier could sharing a bed and breakfast be?
So she opened the door.
The inside of the B and B was even cuter than outside, with a small pine desk tucked inside a cozy vestibule in the front hall. There was a Tiffany-style lamp on a three-legged table opposite, casting a soft, rosy glow into the hall. A dark-haired woman—a very pretty dark-haired woman—stood behind the desk, smiling and laughing as she put Tyler on the register.
Emily took a good look at her, a little in awe of the casually eccentric way the woman was dressed, and how at ease she seemed to be around Tyler. Her hair was short and kind of spiky, as if she’d just washed it, tossed her head, and left it that way. And she was wearing a scarlet silk T-shirt under a crazy quilt vest—an outfit that was just as unique and striking as the rest of her.
This woman was exactly the sort of person Emily had always secretly wanted to be, but had never come close to. How annoying. She hated her already.
Emily
