The Lost Tycoon (5 page)

A sweet smile flitted across Misty’s lips as she lifted her face to the sky and enjoyed the sun beating down upon her. Yes, it was a bit too warm, and, yes, sweat was beading on her neck, but it didn’t matter.

This was her second month in her new home, and she finally felt as if she were secure again. She finally felt free to sit out on her front lawn and dig weeds from the flower beds. Up until the week before, she’d gone straight to her part-time job as a graveyard shelf stocker, and straight back home again, too afraid of being outside in the daylight hours.

Fear.

It was real; it made a person fight or flee; it shaped a person; it could mean living or dying. Fear was a constant with Misty, but she wasn’t going to let it rule her anymore. She wasn’t going to allow Jesse the satisfaction of knowing that even though he was free to do what he pleased, she was locked in a cage.

Bryson had been gone since he and Axel had dropped her off at her new home, working on finding other witnesses, on building the case. The agent who’d been checking on her was unfamiliar, and unbelievably rigid. The guy made her thoroughly uncomfortable. She just didn’t trust strangers — didn’t trust anyone, really. So why did she find herself missing Bryson? He was a stranger, too.

She had known him for only a day, and it appalled her to be upset that he was no longer her agent.

It was just that she was depending on him, counting on him. Then, she was suddenly thrust into the care of another agent. It was confusing.

Mystifying her even more had been the phone calls from Bryson to see how she was doing, to make sure she was adjusting. She didn’t think it was exactly protocol in these situations if he wasn’t her agent anymore, but she didn’t have friends, didn’t have family, so the shoulder he was offering, even if it was only over the phone, had been too nice for her to turn down.

It had been two weeks since the last time he’d phoned, though. She didn’t know if he was in a situation where he couldn’t call, or if it simply meant that he’d grown bored with their conversations.

Either way, though she hated to admit it, she missed the sound of his voice. When would she learn to not depend on anyone else but herself?

The lesson clearly hadn’t sunken in yet.

Still, something she
had
learned was how to control her fear. Being with Jesse had been forced upon her; she wasn’t the one in the wrong in that situation. Once she had accepted that, although the fear was still there, at the back of her senses, she was making a valiant effort to really live — well, live as much as she could while residing in a place that wasn’t hers for long.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, Misty’s skin turned pink, and she knew she should go back in, since she didn’t have sunblock on, but she couldn’t make herself do so. She was also strongly considering a haircut, but for some reason she wasn’t able to bring herself to have it done. She’d never felt beautiful, but the only compliment she could ever remember from her childhood had been when her fourth-grade teacher said she loved her hair.

From that moment on, Misty had taken pride in her long, dark tresses, brushing them more gently, from the bottom to the top, the way one foster mom had shown her, and braiding her hair loosely at night so it would have a pretty curl to it in the morning.

Still, with the sun beating down, she wouldn’t have minded having a little less hair at this particular moment. But she’d rather be too hot, enjoying the sun, than stuck back inside the small, lonely house.

Dumping water on her shoulders gave her instant relief. It cooled her down just enough that she could get at least another half hour in her front garden before she had to drag herself back in or risk heat stroke.

Digging her hand shovel happily into the ground, she pulled at another root, hoping she’d still be here to see the roses bloom next month. Lifting her hand, she ran her finger gently across one of the stems, feeling the sharpness of a thorn.

It made her smile. No matter how beautiful roses were, they could cause a lot of pain. That concept worked for people as well. Though Special Agent Bryson Winchester was a very beautiful male, he could certainly inflict a lot of damage.

She’d learned that from the conversations the two of them had shared. His voice over the phone was no less masculine, was no less sexy, than he was. The man had sensual energy seeping through his skin, and the phone line seemed only to accelerate the speed with which those waves reached her.

After grabbing her shears, she was cutting away dead debris when she heard a vehicle pull up to the curb alongside her house. Heart racing, Misty found herself frozen, though that reaction ticked her off, especially after she’d delivered that lecture to herself on bravery. Much as she struggled to relax her muscles, however, she couldn’t seem to turn her head, to reassure herself that it was just a neighbor, simply someone who lived next door and was returning home.

Her fear wasn’t quite as much under control as she’d hoped.

“Breathe,” she whispered, then forced her head to inch upward. When she spotted the long, lean legs encased in a pair of fitted jeans, her breath whooshed out in relief, and then she tensed for a completely different reason.

As her eyes continued to travel upward, they rose over the light green polo, and she locked gazes with Bryson Winchester. Nope. Two months of not seeing him had done nothing to her libido. She was just as affected by him now as she was the first time they’d met. If not more.

Only this time, she wasn’t afraid.

Running a hand through the escaped tendrils of her damp hair, Misty was suddenly self-conscious about the way she was dressed. She looked down to see dirt-caked hands and grass stains on her clothes. It shouldn’t matter — but somehow it did.

Walking up to her, Bryson didn’t say a word, his eyes intense, a smile flitting across his lips. Misty wondered whether she would find her voice in the next few moments, before the situation became any more awkward.

“What are you doing here?” she finally asked, her voice a bit too breathy.

He seemed to be taking his sweet time answering, and Misty was feeling a whole new kind of heat creeping down her neck. Her stomach tensed. How it was that she felt any kind of attraction toward this man? Men weren’t trustworthy. Not even this special agent who’d saved her from Jesse — for now.

He wasn’t here on a social call. This would be business. That’s all the two of them had together. Even if he were making a social call, it wouldn’t matter. She wasn’t interested in a relationship — she just wanted to live her life without drama. Without men.

Someday, that might be possible.

“My supervisor sent me. We’ve gathered all the witnesses and I’ve now been reassigned to you,” he finally replied as he squatted down, putting himself at eye level with her, and making her feel at a huge disadvantage.

The surge of disappointment from his answer irritated her.

Of
course
he was here on business. She’d already known that. It changed nothing. She’d just been telling herself that they would never be anything to each other but casual acquaintances. When this was all over, she would never see him again.

The clothes he was wearing weren’t bought at a cheap department store, and so, even if she
had
been interested in dating, he was way beyond her league. This man wouldn’t be seen out socially with a woman like her. It just didn’t happen.

She stood up slowly, feeling uncomfortable remaining on her knees. “What happened to Agent Benson?”

“He’s been assigned to another case.”

“What if I don’t want to change agents?” she challenged him, her bravery rising as she faced him. She had managed to get the upper hand on him once, she remembered with some pleasure.

“Then I’d have to say, ‘Tough,’ Misty.” His smile turning up a notch, making her take a cautious step backward as her hand lifted again and she wiped the sweat from her brow.

Great! Now she was going to have a streak of mud on her forehead. This just kept getting better by the second.

“Well, I could say, ‘Tough,’ when you ask me questions.” Feeling at a disadvantage, she was consequently acting slightly immature.

His smile grew even bigger, and he winked. “I have ways of making a witness talk.”

“I guess that just makes you
special
,” she quipped, hating the way he was perfectly unaffected by her stubbornness. She could sense her own irritation growing by leaps and bounds.

He leaned forward, invading her personal bubble. “I could show you exactly how
special
I am,” he whispered.

Whoa! That was definitely not professional. What was he trying to do now? Seduce her into talking, giving him what he wanted, obviously. She just needed to remember that’s all this was about — her testimony.

She finally broke the long silence that followed. “Um…it’s getting pretty hot out here. I was just finishing up,” she said. Better just to let him win their verbal battle.

“Great. I’m a bit warm myself.” He stood up and invited himself to join her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to tell him to go away.

“I really have a lot to do…”

“How about we start this conversation again?” he asked with a killer smile. “I’m in town working, and thought I’d stop by. It’s been a long drive, and my throat is parched.”

Misty stood there for a moment, and then, unbidden, her lips twitched at his blatant hint. This man knew how to be charming, knew how to get his way. She’d bet he killed it on the stand when he testified as an expert witness.

“I made a fresh pot of iced tea a little while ago,” she told him, the idea of sitting with a cool drink with this man was too dang appealing for her liking.

“Perfect. I just so happen to love tea.” He held out his arm to escort her inside.

Misty looked at the arm for a moment, then looked down, pretending she hadn’t noticed his gesture. She bent down and gathered her gardening tools, placed them in the basket she was using, and began walking toward her front door.

She could swear she heard him chuckle, but when she turned her head, his mouth was closed, though there was a smile on his lips. Maybe she was just getting paranoid at this point.

When his hand brushed her back as they reached the front door, a chill slithered down her body, a tingling chasing that sensation. One small touch and she was heated and cooled all at once. Never before could she remember reacting this way to a guy — not her first lover, and certainly not Jesse.

Drawing away from him, she slipped inside the door while giving herself a stern lecture.
You will not feel a response to this man. He is trying to manipulate you into doing what he wants. This is all pointless. He will disappear in a few minutes, and then you probably won’t ever see him again, so pull yourself together.

The mental lecture seemed to help…a little. The sooner she gave Bryson a drink and then ushered him back out her front door, the better for her racing heart and her suddenly reawakened libido.

Now get busy
. Misty went straight to the cupboard and pulled out a couple of glasses, then filled them with ice and sweetened iced tea. Next, she grabbed a box of cookies and then moved over to the table.

It wasn’t as if she’d had a lot of visitors — none, actually other than Agent Benson, when he was checking in with her. She hadn’t been very social with that man at all. OK, there was also the guy with the dog, but he didn’t come inside.

“Great iced tea,” Bryson said.

“Thanks. I just followed the directions on the box.”

His smile was distracting her. Even though she knew she was saying the wrong things, knew she should be less tense, he seemed more fascinated by her than appalled. He was either one hell of an actor or he just didn’t get out much.

In any case, they weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. Not that she should be thinking of them as a match or a pair, or anything at all that involved two people. They were simply strangers. It was very black and white.

“I have to say, I really like how you’ve done up the place. I’ve seen a lot of temp homes in my years on the team, and people usually don’t do much with them. They prefer to get out as soon as possible. You’ve made this place really homey.”

Misty tried to look around the small space through his eyes. It wasn’t much, a small three-bedroom, two-bathroom home, but still much too large for just her, much larger than she was used to. The walls were sparsely decorated, and the furnishings minimal. Against all odds, though, she’d grown quite attached.

After she finally started to leave the house during daylight hours, she’d managed to find a craft store and had picked up a few painting supplies, so the walls now had a couple of amateur pictures with large splashes of color on them, and a cross-stitch project was sitting on the coffee table.

She’d never done one before, but she’d been excited to try something new. It wasn’t going well, but depending on how long she was living there, she might just be able to master the craft eventually.

“I like it here. It’s a great town, not far from the city, but the neighborhood is friendly. Mr. Whistler down the street usually stops and chats with me for a few minutes while he’s walking his little dog. I swear that thing is a terror, though. I tried to pet him once, and he nearly took a finger off.”