The Lost Tycoon

Chapter Ten

A full night in bed did the body good. At least that’s what Bryson was desperately trying to convince himself of. And so what if he’d barely slept? A full day lay ahead of him, and he had a job to do. Today, the job was to get Misty back to her temporary home in California, and then he had a desk full of paperwork that his supervisor had piled on with glee.

With the way things were progressing, the case would be ready for trial soon. Jesse Marcus would be behind bars, and Misty would be truly safe for the first time in…well, maybe since the moment she was left at that fire station.

Once this was all over, the two of them could both go back to their regular lives.

The biggest problem with that was that he couldn’t quit thinking about her — couldn’t stop fantasizing was more like it. He’d been in charge of plenty of witnesses before, several of them beautiful and single, women who had thrown a lot of signals his way.

He’d never been tempted to risk his job over any of them, tempted to risk his own ethics. There was a reason agents didn’t sleep with witnesses. It tainted their testimony. What if they suddenly said the agent was bribing them? What if it ruined their character? No lustful deed ever went unpunished. Besides, it just wasn’t right to have sex with them. Each one was there to be protected, not taken advantage of, even if they were the ones pushing for a romp in the bedroom.

Misty was different, though, he tried to tell himself. But, then again, isn’t that what all the people who crossed the line used as rationalization? She was special. It was meaningful. Gah. He was driving himself insane.

Maybe it was because he felt some alien emotional connection to her. It had to be a need to fix her broken heart. No, he didn’t mean heart. He meant her broken spirit. Yes, that was it; it was just a desire to fix her. Damn! He was now spouting poetry in his own head. This was ridiculous.

Yes, he wanted to protect her, and yes, he wanted to mend her shattered heart, her shattered soul, but it wasn’t because she was just anyone. It wasn’t because she was his job.

The bottom line was that he was just making excuses to himself to feel less guilty when… no…if he took her to bed.

Nonsense. He was a special agent, a professional. He wasn’t tempted at all.

He was also a moron, because of course he was tempted. What he really wanted to do was peel her clothes away, touch her the way a woman should be touched. Not with intent to hurt, not with a desire to overpower, but with compassion and passion — with a need to please.

So tempted.

“Get a clue,” Bryson said to the mirror as he looked at himself in disgust.

“And now I’m talking to myself. Maybe I should see a shrink.”

He shook his head and frowned. He was beginning not even to recognize himself. He’d never before felt so on edge, so out of control.

Walking from the motel room, he leaned up against the railing on the front balcony and waited for Misty to emerge from her room. He was early, but he hadn’t wanted there to be any chance of her having to wait for him. He knew she wouldn’t knock on his door. Besides, he was eager to go home. He had a few things he needed to check on.

There was a lot to do and he’d feel safer once she was tucked back into her place in California. It was guarded — not as heavily as he’d like, but a U.S. marshal went by — and he’d insisted that Axel go in about half an hour before their return to ensure that no malefactor had forced an entry while they were gone.

Axel had laughed at him, telling him that either he was becoming paranoid in his old age, or that he was so far over the edge for this woman that he might as well give it up now and haul her to a preacher.

Axel was wrong. He couldn’t fall for a woman this fast. It was just infatuation. It was like being a child at the candy shop, and really wanting the red sucker, but your mother wouldn’t let you have it. That’s all this was — Misty was the red lollipop. Okay, and he was the sucker.


When her door opened, she stepped out wearing a pair of leggings and tugging at a red sweater. Nothing fancy, but those clothes made his mouth go dry. Because she was in them. It didn’t matter what she wore. She looked astounding in anything, whether it was a skirt and blouse, or jeans and a T-shirt. He wouldn’t mind seeing what she looked like with nothing on at all. Then he could make a more accurate judgment.

No. He couldn’t be thinking that kind of thought right now.

“Morning,” he drawled, taking satisfaction when she jumped and spun around.

It wasn’t fear in her eyes. It was worry, the same worry he felt. At least they were both confused by this growing attraction between the two of them.

“You startled me,” she said, lifting her hand to her chest and rubbing.

Great! Now his eyes were focused on the luscious curves the sweater wasn’t doing much to hide. As if sensing that what she was doing was only making the situation more strained, she immediately dropped her hand.

“Sorry about that, Misty.” For startling her, or for staring at her? He didn’t know what he was sorry for. For everything, probably. “Are you all ready to go?” He moved away from the railing and snatched up the one bag she’d brought with her.

“Yes. I can get that,” she said, but he grabbed it anyway.

Why did a woman make it so damned difficult for a man to carry her bags? His father would beat him blind if he stepped around the corner and saw Bryson’s hands empty while she was lugging a suitcase, even if it was a small one.

The two of them walked slowly down the steps to the parking lot, where a car was waiting to take them to the airport. During the drive, both of them were silent. Bryson didn’t know what she was feeling, but he was uptight and anxious, ready to explode if he didn’t get something figured out soon, and he thought it best if he just kept his mouth shut. When his phone rang, he was more than grateful to take the call instead of sitting there inhaling her scent with thoughts of pulling her across his lap.

With the way he was behaving, he wasn’t that much better than her abusive ex right now. Bryson had worked too long and was far too professional to act this way. If he didn’t get himself under control, he would have no choice but to resign from this case — and that was something he’d never before had to do.

He was still on the phone when they arrived at the airport, but he ended the call and collected her suitcase. There was a delay on their flight, and when they finally got on the plane, they ended up sitting in separate rows, her in front of him. As irritated as Bryson was about that, he thought it might actually be better for all concerned, considering the mood he was in.

Leaning back against his seat, he was surprised to feel his eyes grow heavy. He didn’t sleep on planes, not usually, anyway.