Triple treat (10 page)

"Why don't you ask Ben yourself?" Carrie suggested sweetly. "I'll give you his number and you can call him and compare notes."

"And on that note of not-so-subtle censure, I think I'll take my leave." Tyler swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and rose to his feet. Oh, yes, it was definitely time to go.

He exited quickly through the back porch, amidst a wild chorus of "bye-bye" from the children. Carrie and Alexa looked at each other for a long moment.

"One question, Carrie. Do you know what you're doing?" Alexa frowned her concern. "What in the world is going on between you and Tyler Tiemaine?"

"That's two questions," Carrie pointed out. "But I'll answer them both. I'm not doing anything, and there is nothing between Tyler and me. He was bored with his friends and his party, so he came over here. That's all."

"You were in his arms, Carrie," Alexa reminded her. "And he was in yours. What was that—an antidote to boredom?"

Carrie shrugged and studied the patterned weave of the place mat on the table. She found it difficult to meet her sister's probing blue eyes. "We'd been talking—" She paused and inhaled deeply, reluctant to share the confidences she and Tyler had exchanged. "We talked about losing people close to us and how the loss has affected us. He was only a child when his mother died. She was killed in a car accident in her twenties, just like Ian."

"Carrie, if you need to talk about losing Ian and how the loss is affecting your life, may I recommend that you do it at a meeting of Parents Without Partners or some other established support group? Not with a man like Tyler Tre-maine!"

"He's actually a pretty nice guy when you get to know him, Alexa."

Alexa rolled her eyes. "Carrie, you don't know the man. You've seen the act he's decided to put on for you. His type won't let women close enough to know them, although they're quite willing to use portions of their history to their own advantage. I imagine he gets a lot of mileage out of his mother's tragic death. Everybody's heart bleeds for a poor little motherless child."

Carrie flushed, recalling her own heartfelt reaction to little Tyler's sad plight.

"Uh-huh. He got to you, didn't he?" Alexa nodded knowingly. "He probably has a script that he follows. I

wonder what his next revelation will be. Maybe a heart-wrenching tale of a beloved little dog that ran away? Or worse, the beloved little dog is given away by unfeeling relatives—a coldhearted father, a wicked stepmother."

"You're very cynical, Alexa." Carrie began scooping ice cream into three plastic bowls to serve to the children. "I seriously doubt that Tyler has some hidden agenda. Why would he bother? We're just friends."

"Friends, ha! Carrie, remember Ryan Cassidy?" Alexa demanded.

"Of course. He was a true rat, Alexa, but I think you've allowed the Ryan Cassidy experience to warp your judgment. Now you automatically assume every man is a slick, heartless, smooth operator just like him, and that's wrong, Alexa."

"Maybe. But you've had enough pain in your life, Carrie. I don't want you getting mixed up with a self-involved, manipulative snake who will break your heart."

As a certain self-involved, manipulative snake named Ryan Cassidy had broken Alexa's. Carrie gazed thoughtfully at her sister. There were all kinds of loss and all kinds of heartbreak. The kind that Alexa had experienced at the hands of Ryan Cassidy had changed her profoundly, darkening her outlook, robbing her of the ability to trust, leaving her bitter. Though losing Ian had been a terrible blow, it hadn't altered Carrie's view of the world and the people in it. She still believed in the power of love because she knew Ian had loved her and that he never would have voluntarily left her. It was a sustaining comfort, one denied to Alexa.

"Don't worry about me, Alexa. I'm not going to get involved with anybody," Carrie assured her sister. "Now, while we're waiting for the kids to finish their ice cream, tell me all about Ben and his latest flame."

"I'm furious with Ben for behaving like a predatory sleaze and I told him so," Alexa said, dipping her spoon into the ice-cream container. "We can't let our own brother turn into

a calculating, coldhearted user like—like Ryan Cassidy, Carrie." She met her sister's eyes and held them. "Or Tyler Tremaine."

Carrie thought of those two burning kisses she and Tyler had shared, and went hot all over. She might not be well-versed in the ways of rakish cads, but she did know one thing: she hadn't been Tyler's innocent victim either time. She'd been a full and voluntary participant. If he was using her, then she had been using him, too.

Emily threw her empty bowl to the floor, announcing that the ice cream was "All gone!" An admiring Franklin followed Emily's lead, and Dylan was quick to imitate him. Carrie welcomed the diversion. She didn't care for the direction her thoughts had taken. It was a relief to redirect them.

The two sisters turned their attention to the babies and the task of getting them cleaned up and out of the high chairs and into their cribs for their afternoon naps. The name of Tyler Tremaine was not mentioned again for the rest of the day.

The temperature climbed into the mid-nineties, unseasonably hot for Washington. Even though he'd spent most of the day in air-conditioned buildings, driving to and from in his air-conditioned car, the first thing Tyler did upon arriving home was to strip, shower and change into a loose, comfortable old pair of khaki shorts and an equally old striped cotton shirt.

He glanced at his watch; it read 7:42. His dinner meeting had ended far earlier than he had planned. The client had a family he was eager to get home to and passed on Tyler's invitation to extend the evening with drinks or a festive round of the area clubs. The Tremaines were known for their flair and largess when it came to wooing prospective clients or keeping current ones happy.

But here he was, home unexpectedly early on Monday evening, hours of free time stretching before him. There were any number of people, both male and female, he could call who would be glad to see him, who would drop whatever they were doing to do whatever he proposed doing. And there were any number of things he could propose to do.

But not a single one of the myriad of activities or pastimes that came to mind held any interest or appeal for him tonight. He leafed through his Rolodex file—he kept one at home and one in the office so he would never be caught without his contacts—and methodically rejected every single name he read.

Clutching a paper bag imprinted with the Tremaine Drugs logo, he slipped quietly out the back door, heading for the gap in the hedge separating the lush greenery of his property from Carrie Wilcox's unimpressive backyard.

He didn't bother to ask himself what he was doing or why. When there were no answers, it was best to sidestep the questions.

Carrie was in the kitchen, pouring herself a tall glass of iced tea, when Tyler appeared at the door. A blast of warm air from the oscillating fan on the counter ruffled her hair as she opened the door to him.

"Hi." Her smile was incandescent, lighting her whole face; her blue eyes glowed with warmth. Tyler stared at her, momentarily mesmerized. Her hair was pulled off her neck into a short, high ponytail, and she was wearing a turquoise cotton shift, loose and short and sleeveless.

He felt curiously light-headed and it was suddenly difficult to speak. "I, uh—Look what I found in one of our stores today." He pulled a rubber duck out of the paper bag. It was identical to the duck that had sparked Dylan and Franklin's scuffle in the pool yesterday.

"I was visting the Wheaton store—I make rounds of all the area stores every few months—and I spied this duck in

the toy aisle." Tyler reached into the bag and pulled out a second identical duck. "So I bought two of them. Now each of the kids has a duck. Three kids, three ducks."

Now that he'd begun talking, he couldn't seem to stop. "I thought about what you'd said, about wanting the kids to be friends, not rivals. It makes sense. I mean, it's certainly happier for all concerned if brothers are pals instead of beating the hell out of each other, right?"

"Right." Carrie smiled. "And thank you for the ducks, the kids will love them. It was very thoughtful of you, Tyler."

He handed her the bag. "Where are the tiny terrors, anyway? It's awfully quiet around here."

"They're in bed."

He glanced at his watch. "So early? It's not even eight o'clock."

"Their bedtime is seven-thirty. They talk and play in their cribs for a little while before they finally settle down, so maybe they're still awake. Do you want to go upstairs and see?"

"No, that's not necessary." He leaned against the door-jamb. "So you have some free time without the munchkins underfoot? What are you planning to do?"

Carrie shrugged. "There's a lineup of shows I usually watch on TV tonight." She named them.

Tyler drew a blank. "I seldom watch television," he confessed. "And when I do, it's to watch the commercials for programs that Tremaine Incorporated is sponsoring or to keep up my end of the conversation with clients who advertise on certain shows and want to talk about them."

"So for you, watching TV is work, not relaxation. For me, it's a chance to sit down and unwind. I enjoy it." Carrie glanced at the kitchen clock. "I'm going to make some popcorn before the shows start."

They never actually discussed his joining her to watch television. But when she carried the bowl of popcorn into

the living room and switched on the TV set, he was right behind her. They sat down together, side by side, on the sofa.

The room was dark and stuffy. Tyler leaned back against the cushions. "I thought old Mr. Wilcox had central air-conditioning in this place."

"No. There's a window air-conditioning unit in the kids' room, but that's the only one in the house. Ben says he has a lead on a secondhand one for my bedroom, but until I buy it, I make do with fans."

"Well, the fan in this room isn't doing any good. You have to sit here and wait while it oscillates, then lean forward to catch the breeze for a second or two when it finally comes your way." Tyler felt hot, sticky and irritable. Oppressive heat always affected him this way.

Carrie tucked her feet under her and watched the TV screen, occasionally reaching into the bowl for a handful of popcorn. Tyler shifted restlessly. It was ridiculous for him to be here, sweating and bored by an inane sitcom, when he had a state-of-the-art entertainment center in his house. His cool, comfortable, air-conditioned house.

He made a few derogatory comments about the heat, then a few more about the program on television, becoming particularly offended when a rival drugstore chain aired a schmaltzy commercial, complete with sentimental music, dogs, children and senior citizens.

"That's an example of a shamelessly manipulative advertising ploy that has absolutely nothing to do with selling anything in a drugstore!" he railed at the set.

"But it does grab your interest," Carrie remarked. "And I thought it was sweet when the grandma bought ice-cream cones for the little boy and the baby and the dog."

"That drugstore chain doesn't even sell ice cream!" snapped Tyler. "Tremaine Drugs has lower prices, more efficient service—"

"And really boring commercials," Carrie inserted playfully.

"Boring? Boring! Our commercials are first rate—informative, unpretentious, aimed at the consumer's brain and his pocketbook, not his heartstrings. Lord knows we spend enough on advertising to—"

"I was only kidding," Carrie cut in. "Fm sure your commercials are everything you said they are."

That was not the response the company's executive vice-president and head of marketing wanted to hear. "My opinion of our commercials is of no consequence. It's the consumers—TV viewers like yourself—whom we're trying to reach, and I thought our ads were effective. We've done marketing surveys that show—"

"Shh. The program's back on." Carrie turned her attention back to the screen, clearly uninterested in Tremaine In-corporated's marketing surveys.

Tyler was insulted. The last time he'd been shushed had been... Why, he couldn't remember the last time. Maybe it had never happened before. People tended to hang on his every word; his views and opinions were sought and admired and even quoted! Furthermore, he'd never spent a whole evening sitting in front of the tube watching network television in his life! And to have to endure it in a room so hot it seemed to prove the greenhouse effect was simply intolerable.

He stood up. "Fm leaving."

Carrie's eyes never left the screen. "'Bye, Tyler. Thanks again for the ducks."

"You don't care if I leave or not," Tyler accused.

At last she looked away from the television and stared up at him with her big blue eyes. "You're welcome to stay but since you're miserable here, it's better that you go."

"Do you want me to stay or not?" he snapped.

■ 'Well, yes, I would like you to stay, but only if you want to," she said slowly, choosing her words very carefully, as if dealing with an unpredictable, explosive psychotic.

Tyler was incensed. "Stop patronizing me!"

"I wasn't. I said I'd like you to stay."

"Then say it like you mean it. Make me want to stay!"

Carrie's eyes widened. Make him want to stay. She reached for the bowl of popcorn and held it up to him. "Um, have some," she offered.

Tyler's sense of humor got the better of him. "How can I resist an offer like that?" He laughed, though he was aware that his predicament was certainly no laughing matter. He was about to choose to remain here in this inferno, watching her watch TV!

He sank back down on the sofa, heaving a sigh of self-exasperation.

"Tyler, may I ask you something?" Carrie said tentatively.

"Sure."

She frowned uneasily. "Did you ever have a dog when you were a boy?"

"No, and I never wanted one, either. The closest I ever came to having a pet was leaving food outside for that maniacal Psycho-Kitty, and that's as close as I ever plan to get."

"Sleuth is upstairs sleeping on my bed right now," Carrie said, using the name she had given her adopted cat. She was inordinately relieved that Alexa was wrong and there would be no calculated sob story about a beloved little dog. "That cat loves the heat. It can never get too hot for him," she added cheerfully.

"Yeah, well, I told you he was crazy. But probably no crazier than I am at this point." And with that, Tyler reached for her with both hands and yanked her onto his lap.

Six

He'd scooped her up as easily as he lifted little Emily, simply plucking her from one spot and placing her in another, proving his greater strength and physical power over her. Common sense told Carrie that she had cause to be concerned. She was a woman alone with a much bigger, much stronger man whom she really didn't know all that well.

But she felt no fear, not even a twinge of anxiety. Some intuitive insight assured her that she was not at risk, that she was safe with Tyler. As safe as she wanted to be. That renegade thought streaked through her head, startling her as much as her unexpected seat on Tyler's lap.

She turned her head to look at him, and their gazes locked.

Tyler stared into the blue depths of her eyes. His bad mood had completely evaporated. Suddenly the heat wasn't so unbearable anymore and the sound of the TV laugh track no longer made him want to commit mayhem. With his one hand resting on the curve of her hip and the other on her

thigh, he could feel the warmth of her skin through the soft turquoise cotton of her dress. He felt his body tighten and begin to throb with pure sensual pleasure. He'd wanted this....

The sexual tension radiated between them. Carrie felt the need to break the charged silence. "Do you do this often?" she murmured.

Tyler kept his arms around her, pleased that she had made no attempt to get up, because he doubted that he would've let her. It was something of a revelation to discover that he harbored such Neanderthal instincts. They'd certainly never surfaced before.

"Do I do what often?" He feigned ignorance, stalling for time.

"That particular move of yours which landed me here on your lap," she said bluntly.

Tyler winced. He was all out of time. "It wasn't a move, it was more like a lunge," he admitted grudgingly. "And quite unlike me. Normally, I'm smooth and sophisticated. Subtle. I've been complimented often on my superb technique. Not this time, though." He grimaced wryly. "There wasn't a hint of subtlety displayed here. I pounced on you the way Psycho-Kitty pounces on small prey."

"Sleuth doesn't hunt anymore," Carrie assured him. "He has a home and a family now and he no longer roams. His hunting days are over."

"Hmm, I doubt it. I think he's only experimenting with domesticity and will revert to his wild ways when he grows bored."

Carrie shook her head. "His transformation is complete. Time will prove me right, you'll see."

Tyler sighed impatiently. "Are we going to talk about that stupid cat all night?"

"What would you rather talk about? Tremaine's marketing surveys?" Carrie teased, her blue eyes sparkling. "Now there's an infinitely fascinating subject." Without

pausing to think about it, she slipped her arms around Tyler's neck, holding him as loosely and casually as he was holding her. She felt relaxed with him, yet at the same time excitement was churning through her.

"I think I'd rather not talk at all," Tyler said tautly. He shifted his legs, causing her to sink back against him, more deeply in his embrace.

Once more, her eyes met his. Carrie felt lost in his deep green gaze. Her head began to spin. He had such beautiful eyes, she thought dizzily. Such a sexy, irresistible mouth. Her hand crept up to trace the outline of his lips with her fingertips. She forgot to invoke her memories of Ian; she forgot everything except the feverish rush of need coursing through her.

Tyler gently kneaded the curve of thigh and the soft swell of her belly through the soft cotton. He nuzzled her neck, kissing, nibbling, tasting her skin, his fingers caressing, his hands growing more possessive.

A flood of sensual heat suffused her. Carrie was a little worried by the unexpected intensity of the pleasure rippling through her. But she liked what he was doing so much that she wanted it to go on and on. Her eyelids drifted shut as she tilted her head back to give him greater access to the slender curve of her throat. She was achingly aware of his big hand inching up toward her breast.

Tyler's mouth closed over hers, hot and hard and hungry, and Carrie shivered as an electrifying jolt of desire flashed through her. Her lips parted on a soft moan and she arched against him, her fingers threading in the dark thickness of his hair. His tongue plunged deeply into her mouth, filling her with one hot thrust, then probed and claimed the soft moist warmth within.

Carrie's heart slammed against her ribcage in double time and she whimpered against his boldly ardent mouth. Her thoughts were splintering. She knew they shouldn't be doing this, but she couldn't bear to end it.

"You're holding back," Tyler said raspily. "Kiss me the way you did before." The memory of those soul-shattering kisses added fuel to the hot flames burning inside him. like an addict, he craved more. "Put your tongue in my mouth," he demanded. Having experienced the full range of her passionate response, he couldn't settle for anything less.

His explicit sensual directions excited her. She felt a wholly feminine, voluptuous need to give to him—and an equally strong desire to take the passion that he offered.

She leaned into him, and when his mouth closed protectively over hers again, Carrie gave in to his sensuous command. She claimed his mouth with her lips and her tongue, kissing him hotly, deeply, as she clung to him. Desire sliced through her, sharp and swift and shockingly pleasurable.

His hand cupped the soft fullness of her breast through the turquoise cotton, caressing the lush roundness, then gliding his thumb over the taut peak of her nipple. It strained against the material, visibly outlined through the cloth. Carrie's reaction was electrical. She jerked spasmodically, and a gasp escaped from her throat.

"You're very sensitive." Tyler's voice was a low, sexy growl that incited her further. "I knew you would be. Anyone as passionate and responsive as you would have to be...

And the way you kiss... damn, you can kiss " His voice

trailed off. He was barely capable of uttering the free associations drifting through his passion-dazed mind.

His thumb carefully circled her nipple, making it throb with an ache she felt deep, deep inside her. His mouth played softly with hers, their breath mingling.

Carrie felt control slipping away, but she couldn't seem to summon the will to regain it. She didn't want to. Her hands slid over his shoulders, savoring the strong muscular feel of him. She wriggled sensuously on his lap and thrilled to the unbridled strength of his male arousal.

Tyler was staggered by the intensity of his feelings, by the force of his own need. He knew he could satisfy a woman

and take his own pleasure—there were all those testimonials to his technique—but never had his blood drummed with this primitive urgency.

Breathing heavily, he bunched the material of her dress in his hand and shoved it up, sliding his fingers under it, along the silky soft skin of her thigh. His hand moved higher to the enticing curve of her buttocks, then lightly skimmed over her belly to the crevice between her legs. He felt the hot, damp silk, indisputable evidence that she wanted him, and caressed her through it. Her breath caught in a moan and she parted her legs, giving him freer access in an unspoken but unmistakable invitation.

Another wild surge of desire exploded through him. But he was allowed to linger in those thrilling heights for only a few moments.

"Tyler, no." Carrie pushed his hand away. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers, as if they'd been scorched on her skin. Between her thighs she was achy and swollen and acutely sensitive. But she forced herself to stand. "We have to stop this," she said breathlessly, quickly crossing the room.

"We don't have to stop," Tyler argued. Blood was roaring in his ears, and his body throbbed with raw need. "You don't want to stop and neither do I, Carrie. We're both—"

"You must think I—that I'm something of a slut," Carrie lamented, pacing back and forth in front of the fan. She needed to cool off, in more ways than one. Her body felt wired with a tense nervous energy, geared for a sexual release that would not be forthcoming. "I mean, how could you not? Considering my behavior, even / think I'm a slut."

Tyler sighed heavily. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. His body ached from a churning sexual frustration. He flexed his fingers, remembering her softness, wanting to feel it again. He nearly groaned aloud at the potent, tactile memory. But first things first. "You're not a slut, Carrie."

His words gave her no solace. "You would say that, of course. What else could you say?" The speed of her pacing picked up. "You're too smooth and sophisticated—too subtle—to tell the truth."

Tyler closed his eyes. "Obviously, I'm not as smooth or sophisticated or subtle as I thought or my own words wouldn't be coming back to haunt me."

"To have this happen, after all the things we said yesterday—" Carrie broke off, distraught. Her own body had turned traitor, overriding all her fine sentiments and noble aspirations to pursue a purely physical agenda, featuring sex as the headliner.

Tyler tried to remember what they'd said yesterday. His mind was clouded with unsatisfied passion, his powers of recollection severely limited. "Will you please sit down," he said, groaning. "You're moving in warp speed and it's giving me a headache."

"I betrayed Ian." Carrie paused only for a moment before resuming her pacing at double warp speed. Tonight's little episode on the couch had not been fueled by curiosity or compassion; she couldn't pretend otherwise. She'd wanted Tyler badly.

Worse, when she tried to recall if she'd ever felt such an overpowering, aching desire for Ian, she couldn't. More and more, Ian had become an ethereal image in her mind, saintlike and pure, far removed from anything as earthy and real as sexual thoughts and needs. Shame washed over her. "I betrayed Ian and I used you to do it. I'm sorry, Tyler. It was terrible of me."

Tyler stared at her. This was a first. "You're apologizing for using me?" he repeated carefully.

Carrie nodded, clearly distressed. She'd told him that she had neither the time nor interest nor energy to become sexually involved with anyone and she had believed it when she'd said it. But her own actions belied her words. She was

certainly acting as if she was ready, willing and able to become involved with him!

Never had her mind and her body been so far apart, her values and her needs clashing in a no-win struggle. "I love Ian, yet I—"

"Carrie, a few kisses and some very light petting does not, in my mind, constitute betrayal."

Her cheeks flamed. He had already categorized and dismissed as trivial the explosive passion that had rocked her quiet little world. She felt embarrassed, hurt and resentful, and searched her mind for just the right words to make him feel the same.

Tyler mistook her silence for doubt. "Carrie, Ian is dead!" He tried to mask the exasperation and frustration coursing through him, but wasn't sure how well he succeeded. "You loved the man but he's not around anymore for you to betray. The marriage vows say 'till death do you part,' right? Well, death parted you. Your vow is now null and void."

Carrie seemed to freeze in place. Tyler watched the color drain from her face, saw her blue eyes fill with tears. He scowled darkly. Now he'd done it! He felt like a heartless bully, much the same way he'd felt when he had snatched the toy duck from Dylan and Franklin and watched their small faces crumple into tears.

But what he'd said was true, Tyler assured himself, and Carrie needed to hear it. However painful, she had to face the fact that her needs and feelings had not died with her husband. He rose to his feet and came to stand beside her. A gust of wind from the fan blew in his face.

"Carrie, don't cry." It was a plea and an order combined.

"I'm not going to." Carrie blinked her tears back, determined that they wouldn't fall. "I hate crying," she said fiercely. "I take pride in the fact that I haven't cried since the

triplets were bom. Oh, my eyes may fill up, I might feel like crying, but I force myself not to."

Her firm little declaration affected Tyler more than if she'd burst into tears. "Maybe it would be easier on you if you let yourself cry once in awhile," he said quietly, astonished by what he was advocating. Women's tears made him uncomfortable; at the first sign of a sob or a sniffle, he fled the scene.

Carrie shook his head. "No, crying doesn't solve anything." She smiled a little, more confident and in control once again. "Your eyes get red and puffy, your nose runs, and you look ugly. No, thanks, I'll pass on crying."