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Authors: Sherryl Woods
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the freezer and retrieved two Popsicles. “Lime or grape?”
“Shouldn’t a gourmet meal end with sorbet at the very least?” she said, seizing the grape Popsicle, anyway.
“Same thing in more convenient form,” he retorted, then watched as her mouth surrounded the icy treat. His body promptly hardened in response to the slow, provocative swirl of her tongue across the tip. What the hell had he been thinking? This was sheer torture. His own Popsicle melted in his hand. Only when he felt lime turning his hand sticky did he snap back to the present, abandoning the wicked direction of his thoughts.
“Something wrong?” Maddie inquired, eyes full of mischief.
“Damn thing melted on me,” he retorted, heading for the sink to wash his hand.
Maybe while he was there he ought to take a little soap to his thoughts as well. Maddie Kent was getting under his skin in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
Chapter Five
M addie was playing with fire and she knew it. Even now, two days later, her face flamed when she thought of the way she’d taunted Tyler with that provocative little game with the grape Popsicle. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t she warned herself only an hour or so before, that she was taking a huge risk with this man who was so critical to her investigation of his father?
Because she recognized the dangers, she had vowed on the ride back to Houston to limit her contact with Tyler to very public places and very innocuous situations. No more flirting with disaster.
No more flirting, period.
Fortunately he had mentioned that he’d be heading back to Louisiana in a few days. If she could stay out of his path, it would be for the best. She would find some other way to get the information she needed.
She had actually stuck to her guns for two whole days now. She’d spent them at the library, culling clip after clip about Bryce Delacourt from old newspapers. To her increasing annoyance, all of the stories were glowing testaments to his generosity and business acumen. If there were bodies buried in his past, the media offered no hints of it.
She made a list of every merger and acquisition mentioned, then resolved to contact the owners of the businesses to see if any of the deals had been shady or hostile. Perhaps the previous owners had been persuaded by Delacourt’s wealth and power—or even threats—to remain silent at the time of the takeover. Perhaps the intervening months or years would have loosened their tongues.
Eventually she worked her way back to the year her father had committed suicide. As she scanned the issue in which his death was reported, her gaze was inevitably drawn time and again to the small headline buried among the other death notices, an insignificant mention of something that had been of life-altering importance to four people, and especially to one fifteen-year-old girl.
“Frank Kent died suddenly at his home…”
Tears stung Maddie’s eyes as she read it again and again. She had forgotten the way it had been phrased. There had been no mention of suicide, no hint of the years of depression and anguish that had preceded it.
On the very same day in another part of the paper, there was a banner headline extolling Bryce Delacourt’s donation to a local children’s charity. The inequity of the coverage brought more tears welling upand stiffened her resolve. Maybe she could handle one more meeting with Tyler, after all.
It was late afternoon by the time Maddie finally left the library. For the first time in days she deliberately headed for O’Reilly’s, convinced she had managed to harden her heart toward any Delacourt. She sat at the bar and ordered a ginger ale, then scanned the happy-hour crowd.
“Looking for someone?”
The seductively uttered words made her shiver. She glanced up into familiar, twinkling blue eyes. Her resolve took a hard hit to the solar plexus, but she managed a bright smile even as she reminded herself that this was exactly what she’d hoped
“Shouldn’t a gourmet meal end with sorbet at the very least?” she said, seizing the grape Popsicle, anyway.
“Same thing in more convenient form,” he retorted, then watched as her mouth surrounded the icy treat. His body promptly hardened in response to the slow, provocative swirl of her tongue across the tip. What the hell had he been thinking? This was sheer torture. His own Popsicle melted in his hand. Only when he felt lime turning his hand sticky did he snap back to the present, abandoning the wicked direction of his thoughts.
“Something wrong?” Maddie inquired, eyes full of mischief.
“Damn thing melted on me,” he retorted, heading for the sink to wash his hand.
Maybe while he was there he ought to take a little soap to his thoughts as well. Maddie Kent was getting under his skin in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
Chapter Five
M addie was playing with fire and she knew it. Even now, two days later, her face flamed when she thought of the way she’d taunted Tyler with that provocative little game with the grape Popsicle. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t she warned herself only an hour or so before, that she was taking a huge risk with this man who was so critical to her investigation of his father?
Because she recognized the dangers, she had vowed on the ride back to Houston to limit her contact with Tyler to very public places and very innocuous situations. No more flirting with disaster.
No more flirting, period.
Fortunately he had mentioned that he’d be heading back to Louisiana in a few days. If she could stay out of his path, it would be for the best. She would find some other way to get the information she needed.
She had actually stuck to her guns for two whole days now. She’d spent them at the library, culling clip after clip about Bryce Delacourt from old newspapers. To her increasing annoyance, all of the stories were glowing testaments to his generosity and business acumen. If there were bodies buried in his past, the media offered no hints of it.
She made a list of every merger and acquisition mentioned, then resolved to contact the owners of the businesses to see if any of the deals had been shady or hostile. Perhaps the previous owners had been persuaded by Delacourt’s wealth and power—or even threats—to remain silent at the time of the takeover. Perhaps the intervening months or years would have loosened their tongues.
Eventually she worked her way back to the year her father had committed suicide. As she scanned the issue in which his death was reported, her gaze was inevitably drawn time and again to the small headline buried among the other death notices, an insignificant mention of something that had been of life-altering importance to four people, and especially to one fifteen-year-old girl.
“Frank Kent died suddenly at his home…”
Tears stung Maddie’s eyes as she read it again and again. She had forgotten the way it had been phrased. There had been no mention of suicide, no hint of the years of depression and anguish that had preceded it.
On the very same day in another part of the paper, there was a banner headline extolling Bryce Delacourt’s donation to a local children’s charity. The inequity of the coverage brought more tears welling upand stiffened her resolve. Maybe she could handle one more meeting with Tyler, after all.
It was late afternoon by the time Maddie finally left the library. For the first time in days she deliberately headed for O’Reilly’s, convinced she had managed to harden her heart toward any Delacourt. She sat at the bar and ordered a ginger ale, then scanned the happy-hour crowd.
“Looking for someone?”
The seductively uttered words made her shiver. She glanced up into familiar, twinkling blue eyes. Her resolve took a hard hit to the solar plexus, but she managed a bright smile even as she reminded herself that this was exactly what she’d hoped
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