“I’m taking that as a good sign.” He smiled a smile that did not quite reach his eyes which were warm and intent on her face, spreading that heat on her front the way the sun coming in through the side of the porch was spreading warmth on her back.

Reaching out, he touched his fingers to her throat, a sensual reminder. “No more of that. Remember. I mean it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Go away, Tyler. I’m not fragile ‘that way’. Remember?”

“No, you’re not. You’re strong, so strong you won’t bend. You’ll snap off like a brittle twig when you finally face up to something you can’t handle.”

“I can’t handle you,” she snarled. “And I’ve bent in twenty different directions trying to shake you off. I haven’t broken yet.”

She bit her lip, wishing she could have bitten off the words before she said them.

“Why do you think you have to handle me?” he asked after a quiet moment.

“Us. I can’t…” She sighed, shook her head. “Tyler, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You know why I can’t. You’re inside me. And I’m inside you. If you’d just…

Goddamn it, if you’d just open the door so I don’t have to pick the lock every fucking time, I promise I won’t do anything to abuse your trust.” He shook his head, backed off the step, gave her a long, thorough look. “I’m going home. Don’t even try to pretend you won’t miss me.”

“Like a mosquito.”

He smiled, for real this time, and went down the walkway. She moved to the top step, her hand falling on the paw of the stuffed tiger. Absently, she stroked the soft plush, watching him walk to his car. He had a fluid stride, a bearing that women would notice and men would respect. She couldn’t pull her eyes off the stretch of the shirt across his shoulders, enhanced by the fact he carried his jacket slung over one shoulder, his fob in his hand to deactivate the security. He was James Bond, she thought with a suppressed amusement, but her gaze lingered on his waist, the fine ass, long legs. He was more than that. He’d just told her he was hers. All she had to do was come to him.

The hardest thing in her life she could possibly do.

She glanced over her shoulder to find Chloe and Gen in the doorway, their fascinated attention divided between her and the man leaving. Realizing she was still petting the tiger, she folded her hands together, gave herself a quick, reassuring squeeze—that’s that—and rose.

“Give me just five minutes for the shower,” she said briskly. “I apologize that I’m behind schedule.”

Her employees exchanged glances. Gen folded her arms and tucked her tongue into her cheek. “Should we slap her on principle for that comment and then beat information out of her, or just combine it into one general throwdown?” she asked Chloe.

“If you don’t tell us something that explains why he was here this morning, why he looks like he’s been in a fight to protect your honor and why your dress is in pieces on the floor, we’ll just implode,” Chloe added.

Marguerite pushed her hands through her hair. “I suspect it’s rather obvious why he’s here. I do have a personal life, though it generally doesn’t intrude on my routine.

Tyler is… We’re… I don’t know what we are and it…” She stopped, all of the calm she had felt after the yoga drifting away, eluding her desperate grasp before inquisitive eyes that suddenly felt invasive. “I am not a teenager. We are not teenagers. He was here, we fucked.” Or something close enough to it that it was not a lie, exactly. They both looked startled at her crudity and that spurred her further. “We had a fight of sorts and I beat the hell out of him. Does that satisfy my staff’s curiosity?” Chloe nodded, hurt written across her features in big letters. Gen, older and more understanding, reached out toward her. “Sweetie, we didn’t mean—” Marguerite stepped back to avoid the contact, forgetting she was at the top of the stairs. She met air. Falling, the sense of falling. This she knew. And it frightened her as it never had before.

She was jerked to a halt before it actualized. Both women lunged forward and caught her. Chloe her left arm, Gen her right.

She took a deep breath, clutched their arms. They cared about her, she knew that. In the normal world, people who worked together enjoyed a rapport. Would exchange light banter over a romantic interest, women especially. This was yet another reason she couldn’t do this. Pain radiated through her chest, but then Chloe wrapped her arms around her in a hug. “I’m sorry, M. I wasn’t trying to be nosy. Okay, I was, but not to be mean. We love you, you know? And you looked happy, the way you guys walked up here, holding hands. You don’t often look happy. You don’t have to tell us anything.

We just want you to feel that way. We’re glad for you.” Gen put a hand on her shoulder, stilling her, but Marguerite gave her a tentative, stiff squeeze, eased her back. “I know, Chloe. Thank you both. I just don’t do…this.

And it’s hard for me to understand how to handle it. I don’t want to hurt either of you, so let’s focus on this morning’s routine, all right?” Her voice sounded a little desperate, even to herself. “Can we just get back to the morning routine? I’ll meet you inside in a minute.”

They retreated reluctantly with another of those pregnant exchanged glances, leaving her alone, standing with her back to the edge of the stairs. Turning carefully, she stared down the road after his car. She felt the beat of her heart hitting the wall of her chest, resounding in her stomach like a cavern.

He’d been wrong. It wasn’t her that was the drug. It was him, for as he drove down the street, she felt the emptiness, the desire to have him back beside her like a physical pain nothing could assuage, except something she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing.

Please, come to me.

Chapter Four

The right connections could get you where you had no business being. Tyler went up the walkway of the modest patio home. It was located in a quiet retirement community designed to appeal to senior citizens of modest income, the type of home that would appeal to a widow who’d spent her career as a social services worker.

She’d opened the door when he drove up, waited for him behind the screen. He felt her assessment of his car, his appearance, even the way he walked as he strode up the paved path. While he made eye contact, determined not to project anything but confidence, he felt like a thief pretending to be the owner of the house he was about to rob.

“You look like you’ve been mugged.” Komal Gupta said as he made her top step.

“Since you look like money I assume that’s the case, since I also assume that’s what greased the wheels that brought you to my door.”

“No, actually it was my connections in the government, earned by risking my ass in places where hell would be considered a vacation resort.” He met her barb for barb but kept his tone mild. “I know this is wrong, Mrs. Gupta. I know it goes against your ethics and you wouldn’t be doing it unless your former boss, a person you greatly respect, hadn’t leaned on you hard. But I need to understand some things. I’m hitting a brick wall.”

“Walls of brick are built to protect the occupant from the harshest elements.

Helping you pull out the foundation so that wall can crumble and leave the occupant vulnerable doesn’t seem something I’d be willing to help with. Why would I?”

“Because you care about her. And because I’m in love with her. And sometimes brick walls are a prison, not a protection.”

She studied him another long moment. “Come in and we’ll see what we can talk about. And I’ll choose what that will be. If you can’t accept that, get back in your car.” He inclined his head, stepped over the threshold. After a measuring glance, she closed the door and showed him to a small sitting area with couches and chairs comfortable for the frame of a small woman. It suggested that this had become her home since her husband’s passing. When Tyler looked at her, he saw a woman with a kind round brown face, her hair in a fat gray-black braid down her back. She emanated the reassurance that he sensed would have comforted a child. Many children.

“I’m sorry for my comment, Mrs. Gupta. I’m sure you’ve dealt with far worse situations than I have. At least most of mine dealt with adults.” She cocked a brow. “This isn’t a contest, Mr. Winterman. You may be right, but I’ve rarely risked my life. Perhaps my soul, but never my life.” She sat down, crossed her legs and pinned him with her dark eyes. “There are times you see things so horrible you become certain that nothing like God could exist. And if there is an All-Powerful Deity, It is a murdering son of a bitch for turning Its back on those who are so helpless to the evil of others. But in time you understand that the comfort of God is a balance to the evil of men. The Deity, whatever Its purpose, is not a warden. It’s something you don’t understand with the rational mind, correct? It’s something you feel with your heart, your instinct. It’s faith, for logic and understanding will only send your soul into despair in this human world.”

“Is that how Marguerite managed? Or Marie?”

“You did your research. I call her Marguerite. I respected her desire and her need to become a new being.” The reproof was in her tone and Tyler found it took effort to keep his expression steady, non-defensive. “Marguerite has managed, has survived. She did it by adopting many of the expected defenses for an extremely abused child and by being gifted with a wholly non-hereditary strength of character. Tell me what you know of her before you try your interrogation techniques on me.”

“She…” Tyler, always adept with words, found himself at a sudden loss. The one image that immediately came to mind seemed inappropriate for the company, but he suspected that in order to get what he needed from Komal Gupta he was going to have to answer her questions with brutal honesty.