“What do you want?” Nick asked.
“You,” Tyler purred.
It was a word he’d have begged to hear in other circumstances. “Tyler, I…”
She moved toward him. “Please. Can’t we just pretend? I want to go back to the moment when I first walked into your office. Only you’re not the P.I. my grandmother sent me to. You’re just a man and I’m a woman.”
Nick sighed. If this was what Tyler needed right now, he couldn’t deny her.
She ran her hand along his chest. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first moment I saw you. I felt as if I’d die if I didn’t touch you. I felt I might die if I did.”
Her words had his mind clouding, his blood thickening. He wanted to reach for her but he wasn’t sure he could lift his arms.
“And then I would have done this.” Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips against his, then pressed tiny kisses against his neck, his chest. “Once I started, I wouldn’t have been able to stop.” She moved her mouth lower. “And I’m afraid I can’t stop now…”
Dear Reader,
What would happen if a happily engaged woman suddenly met Mr. Absolutely Wrong—at the right time? That’s what happens to my heroine, Tyler Sheridan, when she discovers through “The Personal Touch!” that her fiancé isn’t planning to make an appearance at their wedding.
Writing Otherwise Engaged was so much fun! First of all, it allowed me to create the Romano family. They’re fun-loving, hardworking and, with the exception of Nick, all great cooks. They remind me a great deal of the Italian side of my own family.
Secondly, it gave me the opportunity to write the kind of story I like best—where two people from very different worlds meet and can’t help themselves from falling in love. Nick is a street-smart New York P.I. Tyler’s a prim Boston socialite. They never should have met. And they wouldn’t have…if not for an ad in “The Personal Touch!”
I hope you have fun reading about Nick and Tyler’s romantic misadventures. I’d love to hear what you think. Write to me at P.O. Box 327, Dewitt, NY 13214.
Enjoy!
Cara Summers
Otherwise Engaged
Cara Summers
With love to all my children:
Kevin, Brian and Mary, Brendan and Heather.
Contents
1
TMS—Sorry I’ll miss the wedding. I’ll be in touch.
Remember Scarlet and Annie. RJL
DISASTER. Tyler Sheridan’s fingers had started tingling the moment she’d read the ad. They always did when something bad was about to happen. And getting a Dear John letter from her fiancé in the Personals went way beyond bad!
Her first reaction had been to close her eyes and pinch herself. But when she’d finally steeled herself to look again, the ad was still there, the message still the same. That was when the rational part of her brain had kicked in. It had to be a mistake. It was someone’s idea of a joke. Richard couldn’t have placed the ad. She’d just call him and he’d be able to explain.
Sixteen hours later, she’d had to face the fact that Richard James Lawrence, prominent Manhattan accountant, the man she was supposed to marry in a week, couldn’t explain anything because he’d disappeared.
She had to get him back! Her whole future as CEO of Sheridan Trust, one of Boston’s most prestigious investment firms, depended on finding Richard and convincing him to go through with the wedding. A jilted bride was not going to inspire the confidence of her board of trustees—not when she was already on probation.
The panic bubbling up inside her had sent her to the special file her grandmother had given her just before she died. In it was a business card and a letter of introduction she was supposed to use in just such an emergency. Isabelle Sheridan’s exact words had been “If you want something done quickly and with the utmost secrecy, go to Manhattan and hire Nick Romano.”
But now that she was here and about to enter the offices of Romano Investigations, her fingers had begun to tingle again. Had she come to the right place? The neighborhood wasn’t quite as upscale as she’d expected, and the building was old. Seedy was the word that came to mind as she’d taken the elevator to the fifth floor, and nothing she saw as she started down the dim hallway dislodged it. Try as she might, she could not picture her grandmother, the strong-minded, impeccably groomed woman who’d ruled Sheridan Trust with an iron hand for thirty years, ever coming to a place like this.
Fishing the business card out of her pocket, she glanced down at the address and once more assured herself that she’d come to the right building, the right floor. No one had answered when she’d called from her hotel, but a recorded voice had informed her the office would open at nine. As she reached the end of the hall, she saw that it hadn’t lied. The bold black letters on the frosted glass read N. Romano, Private Investigations. And the door was wide open.
In the light filtering through the broken blinds, Tyler could make out a battered desk with a goose-necked lamp. The scene was suddenly very familiar. Hadn’t she seen it before in old movies where the desperate heroine sought out the help of a street-wise private eye? It certainly wasn’t a part she’d ever expected to play in real life. And she couldn’t imagine Isabelle Sheridan playing it, either.
But Tyler had to find Richard.
Ignoring the fresh wave of tingles in her fingers, she took a deep breath and walked in. A quick glance around told her the room was empty—
Except for the body sprawled full length on the couch. Curious, she moved forward to get a better look.
It was a nearly naked male body. Not able to tear her gaze away, she watched his bare chest rise and fall. Lean and muscled, it was sprinkled with dark hair that narrowed before disappearing beneath the waistband of his bicycle shorts.
She suddenly realized that her fingers had reached out, close enough to nearly brush against that smooth, tan skin, more than close enough to feel its warmth. Snatching her hand back, she fisted it at her side. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t go around touching strange men. Slowly she drew in a deep breath and let it out as she tried to gather her thoughts.
This