he guarded his privacy zealously, and after Taylor had waded through speculation and innuendo, all she had was the cold, bare facts of his life.
With his younger sister, Tabitha, he had been removed from his parents’ care when he was ten and she was two. They had been put into foster care, sometimes together, sometimes apart. They lived through years in the system, years when his past, and hers, was unknown and unremarked. But his forte was data analysis, and he had emerged from high school with a scholarship to MIT. He had moved smoothly into college life, had created Empire of Fire, a complex role-playing game that required intensive, quick analysis to play and to win.
When McManus graduated, he sold the game for a lot of money, and used the capital to finance his own data analysis company. From all accounts, McManus was intolerant of any kind of crime for any reason. He was a shark, cruising through the business waters, tracking down industrial spies, exposing embezzlers, and doing God knew what for the U.S. government. No wonder this Jimmy person hated Kennedy McManus. Somehow, in some business dealings, McManus had probably ripped the man to shreds.
But how Jimmy had managed to find and kidnap McManus’s nephew, Taylor did not understand. She could discover little about the family; only that Tabitha had been about eighteen when McManus assumed guardianship of her and her two-year-old son, Miles, and they were seldom seen in public.
McManus was thirty-two and unmarried. He never had taken the plunge, nor were his carnal affairs publicized in any way. Yet no one speculated on his sexuality; he was heterosexual, obsessively discreet about his partners, and charismatic, with blue eyes fringed by black lashes, thick black hair, and the bulk of a WWE wrestler. Although Taylor stared with fascination at his picture for a long, long time, she had no desire to sleep with him.
If she had to have a man permanently in her life, she knew what she wanted: a man who would love her more than his job, put her first above his friends and family, respect her as a partner, not as decoration or a convenience.
But more than that, she wanted a man who could sweep her away with desire, with passion, with craving, who cared nothing about the proper way to make love, and everything about the rhythm of sex. She wanted lust. She wanted unbridled sexuality. She demanded a man who could—no, would—dance with her past reason, past need, and over the cliff into ecstasy.
Her fiancés had failed to fulfill those requirements. But she had met a few guys like that. Trouble was, they weren’t much for her other requisite: fidelity. She expected it from her man; she would give it to him in return.
To the artist’s discerning eye—and she flattered herself that at least she had that—Kennedy McManus’s character was clear. Passion? No. He held contempt for passion, for flights of fancy, for desperate yearning and wild obsession. His cold gaze could cut glass. His chest was too rock-hard to cradle a woman’s head. His grim expression forgave nothing. He reminded her of Dash: ruthless, uninterested, single-minded … selfish.
The nephew, Miles McManus, was home and safe, and she felt sorry for the kid. Hopefully his mother had welcomed him with joy and gratitude, but Taylor could not imagine Kennedy welcoming the child, holding him close, shedding a tear of joy over his return.
Scary guy, Kennedy McManus. She did not want to contact him.
But although she would look for another way out of this mess, she feared a meeting with Kennedy was in her future.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In San Francisco, in the executive suite of McManus Enterprises, Kennedy McManus sat at his desk, staring at the monitor mounted on the wall where a montage of Taylor Summers photographs stared back at him.
Where was the woman?
When Miles was kidnapped from his school and his phone found in a Dumpster outside the Oakland airport, Kennedy didn’t call the
With his younger sister, Tabitha, he had been removed from his parents’ care when he was ten and she was two. They had been put into foster care, sometimes together, sometimes apart. They lived through years in the system, years when his past, and hers, was unknown and unremarked. But his forte was data analysis, and he had emerged from high school with a scholarship to MIT. He had moved smoothly into college life, had created Empire of Fire, a complex role-playing game that required intensive, quick analysis to play and to win.
When McManus graduated, he sold the game for a lot of money, and used the capital to finance his own data analysis company. From all accounts, McManus was intolerant of any kind of crime for any reason. He was a shark, cruising through the business waters, tracking down industrial spies, exposing embezzlers, and doing God knew what for the U.S. government. No wonder this Jimmy person hated Kennedy McManus. Somehow, in some business dealings, McManus had probably ripped the man to shreds.
But how Jimmy had managed to find and kidnap McManus’s nephew, Taylor did not understand. She could discover little about the family; only that Tabitha had been about eighteen when McManus assumed guardianship of her and her two-year-old son, Miles, and they were seldom seen in public.
McManus was thirty-two and unmarried. He never had taken the plunge, nor were his carnal affairs publicized in any way. Yet no one speculated on his sexuality; he was heterosexual, obsessively discreet about his partners, and charismatic, with blue eyes fringed by black lashes, thick black hair, and the bulk of a WWE wrestler. Although Taylor stared with fascination at his picture for a long, long time, she had no desire to sleep with him.
If she had to have a man permanently in her life, she knew what she wanted: a man who would love her more than his job, put her first above his friends and family, respect her as a partner, not as decoration or a convenience.
But more than that, she wanted a man who could sweep her away with desire, with passion, with craving, who cared nothing about the proper way to make love, and everything about the rhythm of sex. She wanted lust. She wanted unbridled sexuality. She demanded a man who could—no, would—dance with her past reason, past need, and over the cliff into ecstasy.
Her fiancés had failed to fulfill those requirements. But she had met a few guys like that. Trouble was, they weren’t much for her other requisite: fidelity. She expected it from her man; she would give it to him in return.
To the artist’s discerning eye—and she flattered herself that at least she had that—Kennedy McManus’s character was clear. Passion? No. He held contempt for passion, for flights of fancy, for desperate yearning and wild obsession. His cold gaze could cut glass. His chest was too rock-hard to cradle a woman’s head. His grim expression forgave nothing. He reminded her of Dash: ruthless, uninterested, single-minded … selfish.
The nephew, Miles McManus, was home and safe, and she felt sorry for the kid. Hopefully his mother had welcomed him with joy and gratitude, but Taylor could not imagine Kennedy welcoming the child, holding him close, shedding a tear of joy over his return.
Scary guy, Kennedy McManus. She did not want to contact him.
But although she would look for another way out of this mess, she feared a meeting with Kennedy was in her future.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In San Francisco, in the executive suite of McManus Enterprises, Kennedy McManus sat at his desk, staring at the monitor mounted on the wall where a montage of Taylor Summers photographs stared back at him.
Where was the woman?
When Miles was kidnapped from his school and his phone found in a Dumpster outside the Oakland airport, Kennedy didn’t call the
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