6
NICKY WAS STILL trying to decide how she felt about Andrew’s actions as she pulled into his driveway. She had followed him from the motel in her own services able little car, with nearly everything she owned packed into the trunk.
On the one hand, she found it rather flattering that he’d been concerned enough about her safety to invite her to stay at his home. He hardly even knew her, after all, and there’d been times during the evening when she’d wondered if he was anxious to be rid of her.
On the other hand, she resented his arrogance in extending the invitation—which had sounded suspiciously like an order. She had never done well with orders. He’d gone along easily enough with just about everything she’d suggested during the evening, but he’d made it quite dear that he had no intention of leaving her at that motel.
Why had he asked her here? Had it been strictly an impulsive, charitable gesture, motivated by simple concern for her welfare? She’d never liked taking charity.
Or were his motives less noble? Did he really intend to offer her a guest room, or was he hoping she would share his bed? And if that was what he had in mind, what would she say?
Casual sex had never been her style—but she wasn’t sure she could resist Andrew Tyler. Just remembering the way he’d kissed her in Uncle Timbo’s woods made her tremble again.
She knew he was attracted to her—she’d be a fool not to know it by now—and she was obviously attracted to him, too. More than she wanted to admit, in fact. But she didn’t care for the idea that he saw her as an easy conquest. A holiday fling. A New Year’s novelty.
She didn’t want to be hurt again.
After all, she thought, biting her lower lip as she sat behind her wheel, staring blindly at the large Colonial style home he’d led her to, she had no reason to believe that Andrew had fallen as hard for her during the eventful evening as she had for him.
She certainly hadn’t intended to fall for him; her first impression of him hadn’t even been all that positive, other than to make note of his good looks. She’d thought him stuffy. Stiff. Humorless. Overindulged and overly proud.
That impression had lasted less than an hour. Oh, she still thought part of the description applied. But she’d learned this
evening that there was much more to Andrew Colton Tyler III than originally met the eye. More than even he suspected, perhaps. And she found every facet of him intriguing.
She just wasn’t at all sure he felt the same way as he learned more about her.
A tap on the driver’s-side window made her realize how long she’d been sitting there, lost in her thoughts. “You haven’t fallen asleep, have you?” Andrew asked through the glass.
She smiled, shook her head, and opened the door. “Just drifting for a moment,” she said lightly. “So this is where you live.”
She hadn’t been surprised when they’d driven through manned security gates to his home, or to find that the neighborhood was an exclusive one. The homes were relatively new, all having been built within the last three years. The large, uniformly elegant houses were positioned around an eighteen-hole golf course. The lawns were large, immaculate and professionally landscaped. Intimidatingly perfect.
“Yes,” Andrew said. “This is where I live.”
“Nice.” She climbed out of the car and reached into the back seat for her overnight bag, hoping her sudden attack of nerves didn’t show in her expression. Maybe she should have gone to her cousin’s apartment and crashed on his broken-down couch. Or stayed in the motel, despite Andrew’s misgivings.
Had she allowed him to persuade her to come with him because she’d given credence to his warnings—or because she hadn’t wanted him to say goodbye and drive away?
Leaving both their vehicles parked in the circular driveway, Andrew took her bag and led her up the steps to his front door. He unlocked it, opened the door and stepped aside to motion her to precede him. He flipped a switch to turn on the crystal chandelier hanging two storeys above the marble floor of the foyer.
“Welcome to my home,” he said, looking at her without a smile.
The words—and the tone in which he’d spoken them—made her shiver. She moistened her lips, looking up at this man she’d met only hours before.
His dark brown hair was disheveled, tumbling onto his bruised and bandaged forehead. There was another bruise darkening on his left cheek, and a smudge of dirt on his right. His bow tie was crooked; his once-pristine-white shirt spotted with dirt and blood. His jacket was torn, his pants wrinkled, and both were dusty from the tramp through the woods. A small clump of dried leaves had stuck to the toe of his right shoe.
He should have looked rather foolish. Out of place in the elegance of this almost-sterile, tidy home. He didn’t. Even after the misadventures they’d shared during the evening, he looked more regal, more composed, more supremely in command than any man Nicky had ever known. She glumly suspected that it was she who looked out of place.
“My housekeeper lives in a separate wing off the back of the house,” Andrew explained. “I’d rather not disturb her at this hour, so I’ll show you to your room, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
He nodded and motioned toward the curving stairway. She climbed it slowly, holding on to the polished mahogany railing for support. Her feet were beginning to throb after walking so much in the high-heeled shoes. She was more tired than sleepy, but a hot shower and a soft bed sounded very good to her just then.
She wouldn’t mind sharing either of them with Andrew, she thought wistfully, then steeled herself against such wayward, unwise fantasies.
“First door on the right,” Andrew instructed.