Her Tycoon to Tame (14 page)

Wyatt's hands fisted in the quilt beside her head. Dark swatches of color stained his cheeks. Hannah caressed his chest, savoring his supple, hot skin, his bunched muscles and tiny taut nipples, then his strong arms, back and buttocks.
Unable to satisfy her need to touch him, she skimmed his thighs and lifted her hips to take him deeper. The moment she did she felt it again—the promise of impending release.

Surprised by her over-the-top response, she met him thrust for thrust. Her heart raced. Her skin dampened. Wyatt's pace increased. And then another climax rocked her and she didn't care about anything except the heat pulsing through her. His groan filled her ears, then seconds later he eased down onto her. His flesh, hot and slick, molded hers. His heart slammed so hard she could feel it through her breasts.

Wow. Wow. Wow.

She melted against the mattress, buried her face in his shoulder and gulped for air. They'd come so far from their initial animosity to the most explosive sex of her life. Wyatt definitely wasn't as cold-blooded as he liked to pretend, and a relationship this passionate had to have potential. “That was…amazing.”

His body went rigid. He pushed up on his arms, and his arctic eyes chilled her to the bone. “This won't change our business relationship. Don't expect any extra concessions for you or your horses.”

Anger geysered up her spine. How dare he accuse her of trading sex for favors when his body was still buried deep inside hers? She'd forgotten what a jerk he could be.

“I didn't have sex with you for my horses.” She saw disbelief in his eyes and shoved on his chest. “This was a mistake. We don't even like each other.”

She waited for him to contradict her. Instead, his silence spoke volumes. Regret and humiliation swamped her. She pushed harder on his shoulders. He disconnected from her, rolled off the bed and reached for his pants.

She suddenly couldn't bear the thought of being naked in front of him. One whiff of the man, and animal instinct had overridden intellect. She saw it happen with studs all the time, but she'd thought herself smarter. Apparently not.

Cursing herself for letting chemistry make her stupid, she
sprung from the bed and grabbed her panties, stepping into them quickly before snatching up her bra and stabbing her arms into it. She kept her back to him, but it didn't help—not with the mirror reflecting his every move.

His gaze met hers in the glass. “What time do you want Sam and me to help with the foals?”

She blinked in surprise at his change of subject, then fought a cringe as realization sank in. How could she avoid him now without hurting Sam and abandoning her plan to prove FYC's value? She couldn't.

She clutched her shirt to her chest. “Anytime is fine. You're the boss.”

His eyes narrowed at the sarcastic bite she hadn't managed to suppress. “Sam and I will take the next feeding. Go home and get some sleep.”

His implication couldn't be clearer. “In other words, don't be there.”

“That would be best.”

“I'll post a schedule outside my office door. After today please work around the other volunteers' times.” His scrutiny remained steady, making her muscles tense and her heart rate erratic. How could he go from volcano-hot to North Pole–cold so quickly?

“Don't let me keep you, Wyatt…unless you can't find your way out.”

His eyebrows dipped at the challenge, but instead of hurling another barb her way or insisting she go first, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the boathouse. She heard him pause to put on his shoes.

The moment he left the dock, her knees buckled. She fumbled her way onto a chair at the bistro table and dropped her head into her hands. For the first time in her life, she wanted to take a page from her cousin's book and run away from home. But as she'd told Megan repeatedly, running from your problems never solved them.

She had to stay and fight if she ever wanted her life to
get back to normal—or whatever normal was now that a Sutherland didn't own Sutherland Farm.

 

Life would be so much easier if she could avoid paying for her mistakes, Hannah decided as she entered the barn. But hiding out in her cottage until her pride quit stinging wasn't an option even if Wyatt had ordered her to stay out of his way.

She had to ensure the foals' formula was properly mixed. At this stage, mistakes could be fatal. If all went according to plan, she could prepare the formula and escape before Wyatt and Sam arrived.

Butterflies swarmed in her stomach at the memory of making love with him this morning, and even if she wanted to forget, the fatigue lingering in muscles she didn't use often wouldn't let her. But the intimacy was over. No encores on the books.

And she was okay with that.

Mostly.

She'd survived the messy endings of intimate relationships before, but this one felt different. She'd never reacted as viscerally to any man as she did to Wyatt. Ignoring a connection that powerful wasn't going to be easy. But if life had taught her anything, it was how to say goodbye.

She deliberately kicked the unpleasant thought aside. The foals needed one hundred percent of her attention to pull them through. It had been only a couple of hours since she'd left them, but so much could happen in that short time span at this critical stage. She had to be extra vigilant.

She stepped inside the barn and a voice carried down the aisle. Sam's voice. “Been a long time since I saw foals this small,” he said.

Her steps slowed. If Sam was here, so was Wyatt. An hour early. So much for her plan to avoid them. The sawdust on the floor sucked at her feet like quicksand, and her stomach filled with lead-like dread as she approached the stall. Their early
appearance also brought up a second sticky issue. She prayed Sam wouldn't let anything slip about their secret rendezvous.

A low chuckle—
Wyatt's
—made her heart beat unevenly.

“Likes to buck, that one,” Sam said. “He's going to be a handful.”

“If he makes it.”

“He'll make it. He's a fighter.”

“You can't be sure, Sam. There's no point in getting attached.”

“Son, nothing in life is guaranteed. But you can't live life long-distance. You have to get down and dirty and sample everything—even if it might be a bitter brew. Do you know how many failed attempts Triple Crown had before we hit on the right recipe?”

“One hundred forty-seven. You've told me.”

“That means one hundred forty-six failures. But the success was worth it. Henry Ford believed failure was an opportunity to begin again with more knowledge. Sometimes you get a gut feeling about whiskey or animals or people and you just have to trust it. My intuition tells me this fella will make it, and so will the filly. She's a mite timid and small, but there's an alertness in her eyes that says she's gonna try to stick around.”

Hannah inched closer, positioning herself where she could see into the stall without being seen. Wyatt had shaved away his sexy beard stubble and tamed the hair she'd mussed with her fingers. And though the morning was still cool, only a snug black T-shirt and jeans hugged his supple muscles—muscles she'd mapped with her hands, tasted with her tongue.

Within the smothering confines of her jacket her body steamed from embarrassment and lingering arousal—arousal that would be denied if she had a functioning brain cell remaining in her body. Her attraction to Wyatt made no sense—the explosive sexual chemistry even less so.

Sam briskly rubbed the colt, then turned his attention to the filly. He rambled on about conformation, but Hannah barely registered Sam's words. She couldn't peel her attention from
Wyatt. He looked so different with his shoulders relaxed and the rigid control missing from his expression. He'd brought no trace of the stiff bottom-line bastard into the stall. Instead, he seemed likeable. Approachable.

Like the man who had tempted her instead of repelling her.

The easy camaraderie between the men was something she'd never had with her father who'd been more likely to order and criticize, trying to get her to be the one thing she never could be—her mother. Her father's lack of communication since he'd left the farm and her behind only confirmed the emotional gulf between them.

“Good-looking foals,” Sam concluded. The filly latched on to his finger, trying to nurse.

“And hungry,” Wyatt responded with a smile in his voice that made Hannah's knees weak. “We need to feed them.”

Not wanting to get caught spying, she took a bracing breath, gathered her courage for the initial awkward encounter ahead and stepped into view. Wyatt's head snapped up. His shoulders went rigid, and his dark eyes speared her.

Every cell inside her jumped like a spooked herd. “Good morning, Wyatt, Sam.”

She gave herself a mental pat on the back for keeping her voice level when her nerves and knees quivered like gelatin. Wyatt didn't need to know that her palms were damp or that her mouth watered from the memory of his passionate kisses. Nor did he need to know that despite the asinine way he'd acted after their encounter, her body still lit up like a Fourth of July salute for his.

Wyatt scowled. “I told you to sleep in.”

“Some of us have to work for a living. Besides, I didn't show you how to prepare the formula last night.”

“I can read the directions on the container.”

“I'm adding additional nutrients since they're underweight.”

If what had happened between them haunted him the way it did her, then his cool eyes and tone didn't reveal it. Didn't he remember each kiss, each touch, the feel of their bodies
coming together? Or was she just another woman in a long line of them? That possibility bothered her more than it should.

But why? Was she actually developing feelings for a guy who slept with her then shoved her away? Surely she had better sense?

Then his gaze slowly raked over her. He looked at her differently now—in a way that said he'd seen her naked, had his mouth on her breasts and his body deep inside hers. The respective intimate parts awakened in response, and when his eyes lifted to hers again it was all she could do to avoid hyperventilating.

Apparently she wasn't smart enough not to have some lingering connection to him.

“Beautiful babies, Hannah. Sorry you lost the mare.”

Sam's comment provided a much-needed and sobering distraction. She met his gaze only briefly, hoping he wouldn't let anything about their secret slip. “Me, too, Sam.”

The click of the latch as she opened it sounded as loud as a rifle report, and for some silly reason her legs quivered as if she'd run a marathon as she joined them in the stall. The square seemed as cramped and stuffy as a closet with the three of them inside.

Focus.
“I need to do a quick exam before we feed them.”

“We'll step out,” Wyatt said coolly.

“Need any help?” Sam said simultaneously, his need to feel useful impossible to miss.

“Thank you, Sam. You could hold their heads while I take their temperatures. If they have any fever, I'll need to start antibiotics.”

“Will do. Wyatt will block their haunches to keep 'em from moving away.”

Wyatt's reluctance to be anywhere near her couldn't be more obvious, but he moved into place. She quickly took each foal's temperature and did a cursory exam with the weight of his dark, watchful, judgmental gaze on her. Finishing was a relief and not only because neither foal had a fever.

“I'll get the formula.”

“Show me how to mix it,” Wyatt ordered.

“Y'all go ahead.” Sam waved them on. “I'll stay with these two. Nothing like a young'un to put some life in an old body.”

Wyatt hesitated, clearly debating Sam's safety. Needing to get away from him, Hannah hustled toward the prep room. He followed. The uncomfortable silence between them as she mixed the powder into warm water made her edgy, but she couldn't think of anything to say to break the tension.

When she set the spoon aside Wyatt passed her a bottle and the funnel. Their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through her that suctioned the breath from her lungs.

She scrambled for a distraction. “You said your mother did Sam dirty when they divorced. But that doesn't explain why you're taking care of him.”

He positioned the funnel and held the bottle for her to fill. Was he ignoring her or choosing his words?

“I owe him,” he said a full minute later.

“Because…?”

Another long silence filled the air. “He treated me like a son, paid for my education and gave me a job at Triple Crown Distillery when I graduated. Sure, he made me start at the bottom, but he mentored me. And then I stole the company from him.”

Shock rippled through her, chased by disgust. Wyatt really was a heartless bastard.

Wait a minute.
“If that were true, then Sam wouldn't like and trust you.”

Wyatt's eyes narrowed. “What makes you think he does?”

“You're very comfortable together.”

“He could be senile.”

“He's forgetful sometimes but not senile. If you took the business from him you must have had a good reason—one he understands and accepts.”

Wyatt's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That's a big assumption for someone who's only met him once before.”

Oops. “I have a lot of experience working with Alzheimer's patients, and assessing their abilities is crucial to their progress.” True, but of course, not the whole truth. “What happened with Sam to make you seize control of the company? And before you tell me it's none of my business, you made it my concern when you brought Sam in to take care of my animals.”

“At first he misplaced things. His reading glasses, his favorite pen, his car. Then he had trouble remembering names, meeting times and verbal agreements with distributors. As second-in-command I covered for him until the day he got lost on the way home from work and ended up calling for help when he ran out of gas two states away. He'd become so unreliable that I forced him into retirement and took over as CEO.”