Her Tycoon to Tame by Emilie Rose Read Free Book Online Page B

since then it was almost as if she’d grown antennae that stayed tuned into the Wyatt channel. The constant awareness of him was exhausting. She wanted it and him gone.
    His hawkeyed presence made her uncomfortable—something the sensitive mare picked up on and displayed with each nervous swish of her tail. Add in that he had removed his sweater ten minutes ago, revealing a newsworthy set of broad shoulders in his snug white T-shirt, and Hannah was practically salivating over a pair of deliciously defined pectorals.
    Pitiful, Hannah. Just pitiful.
    She glanced up and her gaze slammed into Wyatt’s dark brown one over the mare’s withers. Her pulse bucked.
    â€œWhen will Jeb return?” he asked in that rumbly, make-her-insides-quiver voice of his.
    â€œIt’ll take him a while to run all the tests. We’ll probably finish before he does.”
    â€œDoes the staff always dump the dirty work on you?”
    She couldn’t tell if his question arose from genuine curiosity or from the quest for information he could use against her coworkers. She would have to guard every word she said.
    â€œThey know I like cleanup detail. It gives me a chance to assess the damage and get to know the horse. But for what it’s worth, a number of the employees volunteer their free time to FYC like Jeb is today. Weekends are hectic for most of us. Our trainers are away at horse shows, and the staff left behind is tied up with current or prospective clients.”
    Despite the crowded farm, this barn was empty except for the two of them—something her crazy hormones couldn’t seem to ignore.
    As much as she disliked the arrogant jerk she needed his cooperation and financial support to keep FYC going. If Wyatt fired her, who would care for her horses? They weren’t ready for adoption yet and had little monetary value in their current conditions. She had to take every opportunity to sell the concept of Find Your Center to Wyatt and not only make him a believer, but a willing sponsor.
    Making nice wouldn’t kill her—or so Nellie always claimed. Afraid she’d choke on the necessary words, Hannah swallowed and forced a smile. “I appreciate your help and the extra set of hands today. You’ll see that it’s time well spent.”
    â€œDoubtful.” He capped the antibiotic salve, drawing her attention to his hands—as if she hadn’t been fixated on them already. He had good hands. Firm. Strong. Gentle when necessary.
    The kind of hands a woman wanted in a lover.
    Don’t go there.
    But she couldn’t help it. She would never have anticipated tenderness and patience from the arrogant oaf. “You were good with the mare. I expected squeamishness from a guy wearing cashmere and Gucci, but you applied that slimy salve to her wounds with a deft touch and no gagging.”
    His appraisal turned suspicious, as if he suspected an ulterior motive behind her compliment. “I have some experience.”
    â€œSo you’ve said, but you’ve left out the details.”
    He ignored her invitation to fill in the blanks. She smothered a sigh. There was only one way to find out what she wanted to know—by getting to know the boss better. Not something she relished, but it was a tactic she’d learned from her more competitive cousin. Megan always found out what motivated her adversaries, then used it against them to trounce them in the show ring.
    â€œTell me about your years on the thoroughbred farm,” Hannah prompted.
    Wyatt wiped his hands, slowly and deliberately on a rag, then stepped back to check his handiwork. “Not much to tell. My mother married the stable owner when I was fourteen. He gave me odd jobs to keep me out of trouble until I went to college.”
    She studied his tightly controlled hair and expression and his traditional attire. “You don’t look like the type to find trouble.”
    His lips flattened. “Are we done