with an iron hand for thirty years, ever coming to a place like this.
Fishing the business card out of her pocket, she glanced down at the address and once more assured herself that she’d come to the right building, the right floor. No one had answered when she’d called from her hotel, but a recorded voice had informed her the office would open at nine. As she reached the end of the hall, she saw that it hadn’t lied. The bold black letters on the frosted glass read N. Romano, Private Investigations. And the door was wide open.
In the light filtering through the broken blinds, Tyler could make out a battered desk with a goose-necked lamp. The scene was suddenly very familiar. Hadn’t she seen it before in old movies where the desperate heroine sought out the help of a street-wise private eye? It certainly wasn’t a part she’d ever expected to play in real life. And she couldn’t imagine Isabelle Sheridan playing it, either.
But Tyler had to find Richard.
Ignoring the fresh wave of tingles in her fingers, she took a deep breath and walked in. A quick glance around told her the room was empty—
Except for the body sprawled full length on the couch. Curious, she moved forward to get a better look.
It was a nearly naked male body. Not able to tear her gaze away, she watched his bare chest rise and fall. Lean and muscled, it was sprinkled with dark hair that narrowed before disappearing beneath the waistband of his bicycle shorts.
She suddenly realized that her fingers had reached out, close enough to nearly brush against that smooth, tan skin, more than close enough to feel its warmth. Snatching her hand back, she fisted it at her side. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t go around touching strange men. Slowly she drew in a deep breath and let it out as she tried to gather her thoughts.
This couldn’t possibly be Nick Romano, could it? She tore her gaze from his body long enough to glance down at the card again. Below the name, she could just make out the words her grandmother had scrawled— “very discrete.” 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
