Tycoon's Temptation. Katherine Garbera
He didn’t like it.
He yanked off his shirt and went to the sink, flipping on the faucet to douse his face with the frigid water.
It seeped beneath the bandage on his forehead, setting off a fresh new pain, and it didn’t do squat to cool anything else. Swearing under his breath, he returned to the bedroom.
There wasn’t even room to pace, and for a minute he wished he’d never started this damn quest. That he was still in Kentucky. He had plenty of space to pace there.
In his office at Rutherford Industries.
In his spacious, empty apartment where the only scent left behind by any woman was the expensive one his mother wore on her very rare visits.
The women Dane knew didn’t smell of a field of wildflowers in the middle of the bloody damn winter. They wore designer clothes and designer scents and lingerie created with the sole intent of sophisticated seduction. They knew how to use others just as much as he did, he never invited them into his personal space, and he never had to worry that he’d hurt a single one of them.
He wasn’t into hurting innocents.
So he needed to get his head back in the game. He needed to find his control again. He needed to find Alan Michaels, since the police were clearly incapable of it, and make him finally pay for what he’d done all those years ago.
Maybe some would consider being institutionalized punishment enough for kidnapping Dane’s little sister, but Dane didn’t. Darby had only been nine. And even though she’d been recovered, the effects of that time had torn apart their family. Michaels should have been rotting in jail because of it, not strolling the green lawns and calming corridors of an institution too sensitive and lax to even keep hold of one of their more notorious “guests.”
Michaels would pay, and once he had, Dane’s life would be on course again.
All he needed to do was keep himself focused.
* * *
“I think the focus is off.” Hadley peered through the binoculars that Wendell had stuck in her face. He’d shown up at church that morning, scooting into the pew beside her, and she hadn’t shaken him since. Not during church. Not after church when he’d insisted on driving her back to Tiff’s. And certainly not since then, because he’d pulled the binoculars out of his glove box and trooped after her into Tiff’s, despite her warnings that she needed to get lunch on for her guests.
She started to adjust the binoculars again, but Wendell clucked and whipped the glasses out of her hand and looked through them himself.
“No, I think it’s perfect,” he assured. His dress boots crunched in the snow as he stepped behind her. He lowered the binoculars back to her face, his arms circling her from behind. “Now look again.”
Hadley didn’t want to look, and she didn’t want Wendell having his arms virtually surrounding her. But there the heavy black binoculars were, two inches from her nose, held firmly in place by Wendell’s knobby fingers.
Which made her feel unkind, so she leaned forward, stifling a sigh. All she saw through them was a reflection of her own eyelashes and a blur of tree branches.
“Well? It’s a perfect view of the cardinal, Had.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, crossed her fingers inside her mittens. “A perfect view,” she agreed. Then she ducked underneath his circling arms and faced him. She’d tolerated him all morning, and she had things she needed to do. Important things. Like rearranging the soup cans in the cupboard.
She felt unkind all over again. “So, Stu happened to tell you how much I enjoy bird-watching?”
“Just yesterday.” Wendell lifted the binoculars to his nose and peered intently at the trees in the distance. His smile was so wide it nearly reached around his head. “I never thought I’d find a woman who’d fit so well into my life, Had. I knew we were well suited. When we’re married, we’ll be as comfortable as old socks.”
She tugged on her ear. Hugged her arms closer, though the sun was climbing bright and warm against the cold day. “Wendell, I haven’t agreed to marry you.” Much less date the man.
He waved a hand though the binoculars stayed glued to his narrow face. “Oh, I know, dear. Take all the time you need.”
His tone was clear that he considered her capitulation a foregone conclusion. “I don’t really like old socks, Wendell.”
“Did you say something, dear?”
She shook her head. If he called her dear one more time, she might run screaming all the way to the state line. “I have to get lunch finished, Wendell.” She hoped to heaven he didn’t take that as an invitation.
“Hmm.” He continued watching his beloved cardinals. She figured when she wasn’t standing there holding him back, he’d probably traipse considerably closer to the woods to get a better look.
She stomped the snow from her boots and went up the back steps and in through the kitchen, tossing her good wool coat on the hook and not much caring when she missed. “I’m going to strangle him,” she muttered under her breath as she went to the stove and gave the homemade chicken soup a vicious stir. “Maybe whip him a time or two.”
No wonder Stu hadn’t shown his face at church that morning. He probably wasn’t working at the garage as she’d heard from Wendell. More likely, he was just hiding out from her, knowing she’d be furious when she learned what he’d told Wendell.
“Attack him with that deadly wooden spoon you’re wielding. Ought to be punishment enough for whatever he’s done.”
She whirled around. Chunks of celery and carrot flew off her spoon and hit the counter with a splat. “Wood. I didn’t see you.”
He lifted the newspaper in his hand. “Just walked in to get some coffee. Who are you plotting against?”
She wished she didn’t recall so vividly what his fingers felt like stroking the tender skin on the inside of her elbows. “Stu. He sicced Wendell on me again.” She wiped up the spill and rinsed the spoon at the sink. “Telling him I like bird-watching. It’s just mean, that’s all. Wendell loves bird-watching and frankly, well, frankly I couldn’t care less!” She craned her neck, peering out the window over the sink. “He’s out there right now, imagining us rocking away on the front porch, twin binoculars in hand.”
“Thought women liked to hear it when a man wanted to grow old with her.”
“Ha! I’m not talking about future years, Wood. That’d be us right now if he had the chance. He’s convinced we’re suited like two ‘old socks’ for goodness’ sake, and it’s all my brothers’ fault!” She wiped her hands and yanked the towel into a neat fold over the oven handle. “Old socks. No thank you.”
“Probably would do better to tell Wendell and your brothers that,” Wood murmured.
“I have! I’ve told them all that. But does it matter? Heck no. They just keep telling good little Hadley what to do, making her decisions for her, choosing her paths—” She cut off the mindless rant. Drew in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Focused on Wood. “Coffee,” she remembered, and reached for the mug and the pot. She hadn’t seen him earlier that day, and she’d told herself that she hadn’t missed him.
Of course, she’d had to ask forgiveness during the silent prayers in church for that particular lie.
“Here.” She already knew he took it black, so didn’t offer milk or sugar when she handed it to him. “Wendell’s going to come in here any minute, call me ‘dear,’ and go through the rest of the day, secure in his mind that one day, he’ll have his old-sock wife handily nearby. And why wouldn’t he? It’s not as if he’s ever seen me with another man.” So much for stopping the rant. “There are hardly any single men around here and of the decent