Triple treat (11 page)

Tyler studied her averted profile—the sweep of her long dark lashes, her soft lips and firm little chin—and a peculiar feeling, one that he was quite unfamiliar with, swept through him. "Carrie, you couldn't look ugly if you tried," he said huskily.

Impulsively, compulsively, he reached out to cup her cheek with his hand.

"Thanks, but I know otherwise." Carrie quickly stepped away, out of touching distance. She felt awkward and exhausted, out of her depth. She wanted him to go. "It's getting late," she said, glancing pointedly at her wristwatch.

"Yeah, real late. Nine o'clock," Tyler reported sardonically. "It always seems to come down to this, doesn't it? You kicking me out."

"There's no reason for you to stay."

Her rejection stung, far more than it should have. "You're right. There is absolutely no reason for me to hang around here." He headed to the front door, Carrie a few feet behind him, presumably to make sure that he left.

The door opened as he stepped into the small, dark vestibule. Tyler found himself face-to-face with Ben Shaw, who looked astonished to see him there.

"What's wrong?" Ben demanded, looking from Tyler to Carrie. "Are the kids okay? Are you okay, Carrie?"

"Everything's fine, Ben," Carrie assured him. "Tyler dropped by with some things from the drugstore. He was just leaving," she added in a not-so-subtle hint for him to do just that.

"Hey, no need to rush off!" Ben exclaimed. "Carrie, why don't you get us something cold to drink and we'll all—"

"I already gave him a glass of iced tea," Carrie said flatly. "He drank it and now he wants to go. It's too hot for him here. He's used to air-conditioning and he breaks out in a heat rash without it."

"Heat rash?" Tyler echoed indignantly. She'd made him sound like some kind of wimp!

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, man," consoled Ben. "Could happen to anybody."

"Well, it's never happened to me!" Tyler started toward the door. But he paused on the threshold, turning to Ben. "I understand you spent the rest of the weekend with Rhan-dee. How'ditgo?"

He watched Carrie's face flush with anger, saw the blue fire in her eyes and smiled in satisfaction. He had known she wouldn't like his interest in Rhandee's adventure with Ben, and though he was committed to leaving as quickly as possible, he hadn't been able to pass up that one sure shot at needling her.

"Rhandee." Ben fairly sighed the name. "Oh, God, it was great. She was great." Then his blissful smile turned into a scowl and he looked purposefully at Carrie. "Which brings me to the reason why I'm here, Carrie. Will you please tell your sister that I'm old enough to run my own life and that I don't appreciate her interference or her lectures? Tell her to give me a break and keep her nose out of my business!"

"My sister?" Carrie couldn't suppress a smile. "It's that bad, huh?"

"It's worse." Ben groaned. "Alexa went ballistic when she found out I went to bed with Rhandee the same night I met her. She—"

"Just for the record, how many hours did you two know each other before you hit the sack?" Tyler asked.

Carrie shot him a dark look. Ben sighed deeply. "I know you're only kidding, Tyler, but Alexa asked me the same question, and she wasn't! Since then she's been lecturing me about the hazards of sex and accusing me of acting like a no-class womanizing user like Ryan Cassidy— Ryan Cos-sidy!— when she knows how much I hate the guy and—"

"You're not like Ryan Cassidy, Ben," Carrie said soothingly.

"Do you mean Ryan Cassidy, the cartoonist?" Tyler asked at the same time.

Carrie and Ben exchanged glances, and Tyler was startled by the blatant hostility in both pairs of blue eyes.

"Cartoonist, ha!" Ben sneered. "His stories are witless. Why, he can't even draw! Some cartoonist!"

"His comic strip is very popular," Tyler pointed out. "He's been extremely successful with it. The annual collections of his daily strips are Tremaine Books' top sellers year after year."

"We don't buy them," Carrie said succinctly.

"I know his comic strips are controversial, but it sounds more like you two have a personal grudge against Cassidy," Tyler said, his curiosity roused.

"There's bad blood between us," Ben admitted. "Not to mention a whole lot of sugar, huh, Carrie?" He winked at Carrie. She gave her head a warning shake.

Ben obviously thought he was being cunningly oblique, but Tyler's eyes widened in instant comprehension. "Someone poured a pound of sugar into the gas tank of Cassidy's red 1964 Ford Thunderbird convertible a couple years ago. I'd been trying to talk him into selling me that

beauty for ages, but he never would. The sugar totally destroyed the engine, the car was devalued and—"

"It wasn't devalued, it was ruined," Ben corrected.

"And you did it, didn't you?" Tyler stared at him, shocked. "You were responsible for deliberately ruining that beautiful, classic car! But why?"

"Ben, don't say anything more," Carrie warned.

Ben ignored her. "Cassidy is a cold-blooded creep who deliberately broke Alexa's heart," he blurted out. "It's only fair that he should suffer the same kind of pain he caused her, but since he has no heart, we had to settle for—"

"Destroying his car," Tyler concluded. He looked hard at Carrie. "Were you in on it, too?"

Ben shook his head, answering for her. "Carrie and Alexa didn't know anything until afterwards, when I told them. I acted on my own," he added rather proudly.

Carrie read the disapproval and disgust in Tyler's eyes as he stared at Ben. The full force of her sisterly loyalty rose to the fore. How dare Tyler Tremaine judge Ben when he didn't know how much Ben cared nor how terribly Alexa had suffered!

"Ryan Cassidy is a cold, arrogant weasel who deserved much worse for the way he treated Alexa," she said, coming to Ben's defense.

"Ah, but why stop at wrecking the guy's prize car?" Tyler countered sarcastically. He'd been irate when he had heard of the car's destruction; he felt the same way now. A masterpiece had been destroyed! "Why didn't you chop off his hands? A definite setback for a cartoonist but a fitting revenge for the unspeakable crime of dumping your sister."

"We don't expect you to understand," Carrie murmured tightly.

"I understand that if sugar ever turns up in the gas tanks of any of my cars, I'll know who to file charges against," Tyler called over his shoulder as he strode swiftly from the

house. He couldn't get away fast enough! He promised himself that he would not be back.

"Now he thinks we're demented," Ben said plaintively.

Carrie refused to acknowledge the niggling pain inside her. "It doesn't matter what he thinks, Ben."

"It does matter, Carrie. He's a Tremaine! Think of the advantages if he were to take a liking to us, if he respected us! I have this terrific idea for a whole new ad campaign for Tremaine Drugs, including a can't-miss TV commercial. I started working on it the day I met Tyler, right here in your house. If I can sell it to Tremaine Incorporated, it's my ticket out of that dead-end broom closet I'm stuck in, Carrie."

"I don't think Tyler's going to be too eager to listen, Ben," Carrie warned. "Particularly not now."

"I guess it was a mistake to confess to sugaring Ryan Cassidy's red T-bird convertible to a classic-car nut," Ben concluded regretfully. "Good thing he doesn't know about the rest of the revenge. Carrie, will you do me a favor? If for any reason, Tremaine happens to drop by again, will you try to-"

"Use my considerable influence with him to get you an appointment to present your advertising ideas?" Carrie grimaced sardonically. "Ben, you'd have better luck trying to get to him through your mutual friend Rhandee."

"He did seem interested in her, didn't he?" Ben said thoughtfully. "I think he really wanted to talk about her. Damn, it's too bad we got off on that Ryan Cassidy tangent. Hey, where are you going, Carrie?"

"Upstairs to take a shower," she replied. Where she could avoid discussing Tyler Tremaine's interest in the legendary Rhandee. "You're welcome to stick around and watch TV, Ben."

"Okay. I think I'll make a phone call first, though."

"To Alexa?" Carrie suggested.

"Heck, no!" Ben grinned. "To Rhandee."

For the next three days, whenever he had a spare moment, Tyler reminded himself of the fate which awaited the defenseless cars of those who happened to rile one of the vengeful Shaw triplets. He pictured himself turning the ignition key in one of the classic cars in his prized collection and sending a fatal spurt of sugar into the engine. It was a dreadful specter. He congratulated himself on escaping the triplets' acquaintanceship with his property, person and possessions intact.

His hours at the office were, as always, an endless continuum of meetings, phone calls, paperwork. He might be a Tremaine heir, but he was also the aspiring president of the company, dedicated to the progress and profit of Tremaine Incorporated. According to the unspoken yet consensual family plan, when their father retired, Cole would take over as chairman and Tyler would advance to the presidency. He intended his eventual promotion to be earned and inevitable, through his hard work, not his bloodlines.

Out of the office, he wined and dined clients one night and the next evening attended a trade association's cock-tail-and-dinner party where he effectively represented Tremaine Incorporated with all his well-practiced charm.

Upon returning home late both nights, he paused in his driveway and stared at the corner house next door. It was completely dark inside. The only illumination came from the low-wattage porch light. Obviously, Carrie and her toddler triplets were sleeping.

And as he sat in his car, staring down into the darkness, an image of Carrie smiling up at him, her wide blue eyes shining with warmth, flashed before his mind's eye. It was an incredible three-dimensional, sensory image because he could hear her laugh, feel the softness of her skin beneath his hands, smell the clean, fresh scent of her soft, pale hair.

The ability to conjure her up so vividly was not limited to his waking hours. It extended into his dreams

They were lying together, kissing, and her small, delicate hands were caressing him, innocently at first, then delving lower in increasingly bold strokes. He groaned with pleasure, then returned the favor, smoothing his palms over her rounded breasts that felt so soft and full in his hands. He kissed the tight pink tips until she moaned her arousal, then pulled her down for another slow, deep kiss that seemed to go on forever. His fingertips skimmed the soft nest between her thighs, then probed deeper into her feminine heat, feeling her wetness, knowing it was all for him. She murmured something sexy and intimate in his ear, words that inflamed him even further. His heart was pounding, his blood flowing thickly, and when her fingers closed around the pulsing, throbbing heat of him, he called her name.

"Carrie!" He spoke it aloud, awakening himself.

Tyler sat up in bed, perspiring despite the cool thermostat setting, his pulses still pounding, his erection hard as stone. He'd been dreaming, the kind of sex dream he hadn't had for years. He'd had no need of nighttime fantasy when his real life provided him with the satisfaction and release his body craved. At least, it had until now. Now, he was suffering from sexual frustration and deprivation, paying the price for those all-too-brief, passionate interludes that Carrie had halted with rather insulting ease.

It was definitely time to remedy the situation. He couldn't handle hot dreams and cold showers in the middle of the night. He didn't have to, not Tyler Tremaine! He decided to act on the message his body was sending him and direct his attention to his sex life, which certainly had been lacking lately. Actually, it had been nonexistent. But that unfortunate situation was about to end.

It was drinks, a show, dinner and a nightcap at a trendy, smoky little jazz club, with an attractive young woman named Gwenda who listened raptly as he talked about himself* giggling delightedly at all his jokes. She even giggled when he wasn't joking, but Tyler didn't mind. At least she

didn't scold him or tell him to get lost like certain other women he could name. Like one certain woman whose name and face kept springing to mind despite his best efforts to banish her from his thoughts.

He was pleased when Gwenda offered to extend the evening with an invitation to her apartment. There was soft music, soft lights and an air conditioner humming away the heat and humidity. She poured him a glass of wine and sat close beside him on the black leather couch.

The signals were unmistakable. It was an all-systems-go clearance, and time for him to make a move. When he hesitated, she made the move. And that's when he knew for certain that it just wasn't going to work.

Tyler was thoroughly disconcerted. It had seemed so simple. He would assuage his body's raging desire with the sexual release it craved. After all, sex was a drive, a basic instinct. If he were starving, he would gladly eat whatever was offered, be it gourmet fare or—a marshmallow pudding confection. So why was his body sabotaging his attempt to end the sexual famine plaguing him? What had happened to his rampant arousal?

When Gwenda offered him sympathy and expressed understanding for his "problem," his humiliation was complete. He left immediately, arriving home to see every light in Carrie's house blazing, a striking contrast from past nights, when the place was dark as a tomb at this hour.

He was not an alarmist, Tyler assured himself, deciding at the same time that something was definitely not right next door. He left his car in his driveway and strode to Carrie's front door, rapping the old brass knocker sharply.

"Who's there?" Carrie's anxious voice quavered from the other side.

"It's Tyler. Open the door, Carrie."

She recognized his voice and opened the door at once. Tyler stood before her, obviously dressed for a night on the town. His attire left no doubt of that. She stared at him, her

blue eyes both admiring and puzzled. Whether in cutoff jeans or full date regalia, he was an indisputably marvelous-looking man. But what on earth was he doing on her doorstep at three o'clock in the morning?