by Fiona Brand
Her gaze locked with his, shooting green fire. He logged her almost imperceptible flinch—as if the emotion, and the light, had hurt—felt her internal battle. Tyler had always been as independent and solitary as a cat despite the satin cushion of the Lames' wealth, and all the company that that money attracted.
Her fingers remained locked around the grip.
"Let me."
He felt the moment when she gave in, and grimly acknowledged that this was how it was going to be.
He'd always known trying to get Tyler back would be tough—he just hadn't realized how tough.
For the past few days, he'd made it his business to be where she was around the apartment complex whenever possible. It hadn't been easy because she'd been working long hours, and each time she'd simply walked past him, barely making eye contact. The only break he'd had had been when he'd stepped out of the elevator while she was being attacked.
Right now, Tyler needed his help, and he was ruthlessly using every advantage that came his way, but she was making it more than clear that while she did need help, she didn't need him.
Brilliant light flashed through the room, followed by the motorized whirr of a camera.
West caught a glimpse of a dark-clad shoulder as the photographer slid through the door, and cursed beneath his breath. He made eye contact with Cornell, who was looking pissed. "When I walked through reception there were reporters camped there, plus a TV crew."
Cornell swore. West knew that Ray had coped with his share of media attention over the years, and some of it hadn't enhanced his career.
Cornell strode to the door with Farrell following in his wake. "I'll hold them for five, but you owe me."
West jerked his head in a street gesture that drew a quick hard grin from Cornell. "Always."
A question was shot at Tyler—the same photographer trying his luck again.
West caught the cold register of Cornell's voice, then footsteps pounding down the hospital corridor.
His hand settled at the small of Tyler's back. "I'm taking you out of here. Now. And don't even think about it," he countered flatly, before she could argue. "The hospital's not handing out your room number, but one reporter made it in here. It won't be long before the rest find you. Cornell's running interference, but he won't be able to hold them for long."
Chapter 5
The horror of the press and a TV crew waiting to descend on her made Tyler go cold inside.
She caught the end of a sharp exchange between Richard and a member of the hospital staff about how, exactly, the press had managed to find her room—saw the strain on Harrison's face, and abruptly, her decision was made.
Her family had been through hell and back with the theft of the jade. The media circus had just begun to die down, but now, with this latest attack on her, the situation had gone from zero to crazy again.
There was no way, if she could help it, that she wanted Harrison and Richard caught in the spotlight with her.
She picked up her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder and met West's gaze. He had helped her last night, but that had been an emergency situation. She didn't know why he was here now; still, she recognized a rescue when she saw one. "I wasn't about to argue."
Richard fell into step with them as they walked toward the bank of elevators. He was making no bones about the fact that he didn't like West taking her home, but over the years, Tyler had gotten used to his subtle air of disapproval. She'd been eight when the welfare people had driven her to the Laine home and she'd been ushered into a TV room where Richard had been watching a documentary. Back then, he'd been a lean, gangling fourteen-year-old— tall and intimidating—and too close to adult for her to easily trust.
They'd both been wary of the abrupt change and, somehow, despite the passage of years, that wariness had never quite faded.
Tyler was relieved to see that only Harrison and Claire were waiting there; everyone else had left.
Richard cast her a shuttered look. "I thought you were going to Dad's place."
"I don't need nursing, just a good night's sleep, and I'd rather be in my own bed. And this way you and Dad can avoid the press. Besides..."
She took another measured breath and let it out slowly. She didn't want to say what she was about to say, but she'd kept it secret long enough, and it wasn't a secret, it was just... Resignation, and a small rill of amusement surfaced, for a moment pushing back her cacophony of aches and pains—Harrison and Richard would throw a fit. Talk about the clap of doom. "West lives in my building." "He what—"
"Don't start." Exasperation sparked along with affection. Somehow Richard always made her feel as irresponsible as a teenager. Only six years separated them, but it could have been sixty. Some days she could swear he was older than Harrison. Eight years ago, he'd taken it upon himself to warn her against marrying West. When the marriage had folded, he'd had the grace not to say anything, but his careful silence had conveyed his view. He'd never approved of West, period.
His jaw tightened. "I don't like it. You were attacked in your building. It's supposed to be a secure complex, but it's obviously—"
"I was mugged—in the car park. They got my laptop. I don't think lightning's likely to strike twice."
They came to a halt in front of the elevator doors. West's hand was still resting lightly at the small of her back, but she wasn't complaining. She felt steadier than she had earlier, but her head still felt as though it was on a gimbal, and her sense of balance was shaky. Right now she needed the support.
Richard looked like he had a lot more to say, but he confined himself to a hard stare in West's direction.
West jerked his head in the direction of an elevator farther down the corridor. "Not that one. We're taking the service elevator."
Tyler suppressed a smile as they traversed a short stretch of corridor to a small alcove that concealed a battered elevator. This was a first for Harrison and Richard. They were taking the back way out.
She let out a relieved breath when the steel doors finally slid closed, and the elevator started its descent.
There was another reason she wanted West to be the one to drive her home, and she'd avoided it for long enough: it was time they had a confrontation. She wasn't ready for a fight—she wasn't well enough for a fight—but she needed to find out why, with all of the properties and apartment complexes available in Auckland City, he had chosen hers.
Outside the sun struck down, bouncing off light masonry walls, and glittering off cars. After the comparative coolness of the hospital, it was like walking into a blast furnace.
Tyler groped in her bag, found her sunglasses and slipped them onto the bridge of her nose. The relief of the soothing dimness, and the sense of being able to retreat behind the anonymity of dark lenses, went through her with a small shudder. All of her life, she'd valued her privacy and her independence, and she'd fought fiercely for both. She'd had enough of being on the back foot, and she had absolutely had enough of notoriety.
Harrison, Claire and Richard turned in the direction of the public car park. Instead of following, West guided her across an open area of asphalt, which was filled with free bays and designated spaces. She noticed he'd also slipped on dark glasses and had removed his jacket and was carrying it slung over one arm. He didn't say anything, but his silence wasn't tense, and she was reminded of the previous evening, when he'd just held on to her and it had felt peaceful. Even now, despite the threat of the press he was completely unruffled, and letting her set the pace. They could have been tourists going for a casual stroll.
She noticed that instead of moving toward the public car park, they'd remained in the enclosed restricted zone, which was filled with freight bays and designated spaces. Several signs said Authorized Parking Only.
The fact that West had bypassed legitimate parking in favor of the restricted area that fed into the back entrance of the hospital had to have been deliberate. "You knew we'd be coming out this way." "With the press here, it was the best op
tion." That would also explain how he'd known where the service elevator was. He'd probably used the elevator when he'd come up to her room and got, not only her, but Harrison and Richard out from beneath the noses of the press. It had been a rescue mission from start to finish, carried out with military precision. He'd even sent Cornell down to defuse the situation with the press and buy them some time. She met his gaze, disconcerted at the lengths he'd gone to protect not only her, but her family, and the ease with which he'd done it. "Thanks."
"No problem. I should have got you out faster than I did."
When they reached his car he unlocked the doors, then walked around to the passenger side and opened hers before placing her overnight-bag and his jacket on the back seat.
She dropped her handbag onto the floor of the car, gripped the passenger-side door with her good hand, started to climb into the car, and stopped when the action of twisting, bending and dipping her head sent a hot pain stabbing from her neck all the way to the base of her spine. Sucking in a breath, Tyler braced herself once again on the door, and slowly eased herself into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed.
"What's wrong?"
"I feel like an old lady."
He grinned, the flash of his teeth startlingly white against his dark jaw. "With any luck, if you stop punching out bad guys, you'll live to be one. What exactly hurts?"
"Aside from my head and my hand? My neck just decided to freeze up, and my back hurts all the way down my right side. Even my big toe's aching."
Behind the shield of his dark glasses his gaze was enigmatic. ‘‘Sounds like you've pinched your sciatic nerve. When that happens all the muscles contract around the nerve, causing the stiffness. You probably did it when you swung that punch. What you need is some anti-inflammatory medication to take the swelling down."
She reached for her seat belt, wincing as even that movement sent fire shooting down between her shoulder blades. "The doctor checked my spine last night."
"He wouldn't have picked up on the pinched nerve. It usually takes a few hours for the muscles to stiffen up."
She twisted, attempting to fasten the belt, but the angle was awkward, the fingers of her right hand stiff and clumsy.
"I'll do that." West leaned over, took the belt clip from her and fastened it, and she was abruptly aware of him in a completely female way. He nodded toward a bright blue van with a TV station logo painted on the side that was nosing into the car park. "Looks like they're going for the service elevator."
West maneuvered out of the parking space and eased past the van which had pulled into a slot reserved for freight vehicles. A small shudder swept Tyler at just how close she'd come to being cornered by the press in her hospital room.
As they turned into traffic, Tyler settled back in her seat and forced tensed muscles to relax as she watched traffic slide by.
West picked up his cell phone and made a call, then glanced across at her. "I can pick you up an
anti-inflammatory in a few minutes. It's a prescription drug, but that's no problem. I've got a friend who'll prescribe over the phone."
As he drove, Tyler turned her attention to the car. She hadn't paid it much attention last night, but now the Saab was hard to ignore. It was black and sleek and expensive, the lines clean but subtle. She knew a little about cars. She'd done some research before she'd bought her own. For a long time she'd wavered between buying a Porsche or a Mercedes coupe, then sanity had prevailed. If she'd bought anything that pretty and that fast, she would have been dead in a week. As cautious and meticulous as she was in her everyday life, she had a streak of recklessness that showed itself when she drove. Harrison had wanted her to buy a BMW, and in the end she'd gone with that choice. With their heavy steel bodies, ABS braking systems and air bags, they were one of the closest things to an armoured vehicle a motorist could buy.
The only car reputed to be safer than a BMW was a Saab. It was a surprise to see West driving one.
"What is it?"
She blinked, the soft question after the peaceful silence startling. "I was admiring your car, and wondering why you didn't go for something with more muscle."
"I've got a four-wheel drive for hunting. That's enough muscle for me." He stopped for a set of lights. "Besides, you own a car like a Ferrari, and you're a target. Someone will try and take it off you, or vandalize it, and you're more likely to get speeding tickets. Driving a foreign sports car is like waving a red rag at the cops. I prefer a quieter life."
Her eyelids drooped to shield her eyes from the sun as West turned into traffic, but she felt surprisingly alert. The last conversation she'd had with West concerning what kind of life he wanted had ended up with him walking out on the marriage because quiet and settled were the last things he wanted. "I heard you tell Farrell you'd left the SAS."
"I resigned a month ago."
Tyler tensed, her mind abruptly ice-clear.
"Why?"
"I'd been in for twelve years. Most guys don't stay for more than nine or ten. I'd had enough—I needed out."
His terse statement that he needed out was startling. Even though common sense told her that no one could live at the intense level demanded by special forces for too many years, somehow, the normal rules hadn't seemed to apply to West. Maybe because it had been such an issue between them, she'd always assumed he'd stay in forever.
West pulled into the car park of a mall which included a medical center and strolled into the sprawling, multi-level complex. When he emerged, he had a paper bag with a chemist's logo on it, and a bottle of water. He slid into the driver's seat, handed her the water and the bag. "Voltaren for the inflammation. Codeine for the pain."
She took the pills and sipped the bottled water as he drove. Minutes later, as they turned into the underground entrance to the apartment building, her stomach tensed, and the question that had been driving her quietly crazy ever since she'd practically walked into him in the garage just days ago surfaced.
He slotted the car into his space, placed his sunglasses on the dash, and killed the engine. The abrupt silence was unnerving.
She removed her own sunglasses and slipped them into her handbag, relieved that the faint pressure they'd exerted on her head was gone. "What are you doing here, West?"
"Bringing you home."
"That wasn't what I meant. What are you doing in my building?"
He unclipped his belt. As he turned toward her, Tyler's heart pounded harder than it had done when she was attacked last night. This close she could smell the warm, male scent of his skin, the fresh, faintly resinous scent of his hair, and see a tiny feather inscribed on the stud in his ear. On most men that earring would have looked feminine; on West it just looked exotic.
In the dim lighting of the garage his face was shadowed, his gaze, without the barrier of dark glasses, cool and calm and direct.
"I'm here because I want another chance with you."
Chapter 6
For a moment Tyler couldn't take in what West had said, then the bluntness of the statement hit.
His expression was so impassive that for a moment she wondered if she'd gone a little haywire and imagined he'd said he wanted another chance with her. West wanting to be involved with her on any level other than the tying up of their legal loose ends just didn't make any kind of sense. Then his gaze connected with hers again.
Her heart was still pounding, and her chest felt constricted as if there wasn't enough room for the oxygen she needed. "What if I'm not interested?"
"Then I'll leave you alone."
Only, despite everything that was wrong with her and West as a couple, she was interested—that was the problem—and she was pretty sure he knew it.
She stared at the concrete wall in front of the car. The number of West's apartment was stenciled on the wall, denoting his space. He had moved in on the third floor, and occupied the apartment two floors directly above hers. She knew because she'd already been up there to check. "It's been five years. Why didn't you j
ust ring?"
"You would have hung up."
There was nothing to argue about there. Chances were she would have slammed the phone down in honor of all the times she'd wanted him to ring and he hadn't.
The silence began to unnerve her. She shifted her gaze to the clean line of his jaw. He turned, and she found herself looking him directly in the eye. It was a mistake. West's eyes had always been mesmerizing. Sometimes the tawny gold had been soft, molten; whenever he'd left for a mission they'd been flat, cold and so distant it was as if he'd already left. Now, his gaze was curiously still, utterly focused on her. He wasn't pushing for answers or any kind of a commitment, he was simply stating his intent.
She'd imagined all sorts of scenarios for winding up their relationship—for closure—this wasn't one of them.
Against all odds, against her will, an aching hunger flared to life. If he'd looked at her this way five years ago she would have been in heaven.
Five years.
They'd been hard years, damn him. It had taken her at least two years to get over him, the other three to feel whole. If she wasn't so sore, she would slug him.
Something fierce and bright flared in his eyes.
"If there was another way to go about this, I would have found it."
Abruptly, he pulled the key from the lock and climbed out of the car. The gesture made him suddenly vulnerable, and the crack in his composure rocked her.
West was—had been—a special forces soldier, a member of one of the most elite fighting units in the world. She knew he was also a businessman, in partnership with the Lombards, cutting the same swathe through boardrooms as he had in the arena of covert operations. Above all, he was a loner. Even when she'd thought he'd been in love with her, he'd been controlled, complete within himself.
She'd expected to feel a range of emotions when she finally confronted West: anger, regret, a big dose of indifference—relief that their long-drawn-out relationship was finally over.
Panic that the relationship might possibly continue wasn't on that list.
