Through the years, he had passed through many different stages and phases; Tyler vaguely recalled some of them as he stared at the three cribs surrounding him. He decided
this current phase of his was the most inexplicable and unfathomable by far. And he fervently hoped it was a very temporary one.
"Uh-oh!"
The syllables, loud and distinct, penetrated Tyler's consciousness, jerking him awake. He opened his eyes just in time to see a blue toy pig flying out of the crib to his left.
"Uh-oh!" Franklin called again. The toddler was standing up in his crib, beaming down at Tyler. Having hurled the pig, he tossed out a bright red teddy bear.
Tyler sat up. "Good morning to you, too." He tossed the pig and the bear back into Franklin's crib. The little boy laughed heartily and threw them back, along with every other stuffed occupant of his crib. There seemed to be an astonishing number of them. Tyler kept throwing the stuffed animals back until he realized that this was a game with no signs of ending.
By this time, Franklin's boisterous laughter had awakened Dylan and Emily. They both stood in their respective cribs, watching the fun. When the green lamb came sailing out of Dylan's crib, Tyler realized that unless he called an immediate halt, he was going to be inundated with every single toy the triplets could get their busy little hands on.
"Okay, okay, that's enough." He stood up and then groaned as his body protested the too-short night's sleep on the too-hard floor. It had been a long, long time since those nights on the fraternity-house floor. He was stiff, he ached and he was facing three energetic, bright-eyed little tykes who'd begun jumping up and down in their cribs, shrieking "up" and "go."
He looked expectantly at the door, waiting for Carrie to come through it. She didn't, but the babies' demands to be sprung from their cribs vocally increased. Tyler made an executive decision, though he was more unsure of this one than any he'd ever sent down at Tremaine Incorporated.
"Okay, I'll get you guys out," he said hesitantly. He lifted Emily out of the crib. Her little pajamas felt rather soggy. Her brothers' pj's were similarly damp. Tyler momentarily panicked. "Look, kids, I'm sorry, but I just don't do diapers!"
The children didn't seem to care. They raced out of the room, and Tyler started to follow them, then paused to glance into Carrie's bedroom. She was sound asleep, curled on her side in the middle of the bed, the sheet pulled up to her chin.
She looked young and angelic. Tyler's heart stirred, then a flash of sensual heat seared him. She looked sexy and desirable, too. The combination seemed paradoxical—sexy and angelic?—but Carrie embodied it.
He didn't have time to ponder the puzzle. The triplets were heading down the stairs. Dylan and Franklin sensibly sat down and moved from stair to stair on their bottoms. Emily, however, started down on foot, and her balance struck Tyler as alarmingly precarious. He scooped her up in his arms, while she was wobbling at the edge of one stair. Looking down, the staircase seemed impossibly steep. He visualized her tumbling down and landing in a heap at the bottom, and his arms tightened more firmly around her.
Then he noticed the safety gate unlocked and pushed aside. He vaguely recalled Carrie lingering briefly in the hall last night to fasten it. How had the children managed to unlock it?
"I can see where the three of you working together as a gang have it all over kids your age who are born singly," he remarked. Their reply required a translation and there was no interpreter there to supply it, but Tyler was certain he was right. You couldn't take your eyes off these three, not even to gaze lustfully at their mother for a few moments.
He fared better in the kitchen, putting a bib on each child before strapping them into the high chairs, just as he'd seen Carrie do. They were extremely cheerful, grinning and bab-
bling in that Pidgin English they spoke. They seemed glad he was there, glad they were out of their cribs and in their chairs. Their company was uncomplicated and upbeat. Tyler found himself smiling and conversing with them, though the conversation was admittedly on parallel tracks.
Feeling more relaxed and confident with them, he set about making breakfast. It seemed the obvious thing to do. He poured Cheerios and milk in three plastic bowls, then gave one to each child, along with a spoon and a napkin.
Emily made an attempt to dip the spoon into the bowl, but had no luck capturing any Cheerios. The milk in the spoon spilled out when she turned it upside down on its way to her mouth.
Dylan didn't bother at all with the spoon, immediately tossing it to the floor and digging into his cereal bowl with both hands. The milk sloshed over the sides of the bowl and he splashed in it a bit. Franklin was more interested in the napkin. He ignored the cereal, milk and spoon while he investigated the strange piece of paper he'd been given, even ripping off a corner to taste it.
The cat appeared in the kitchen, glared balefully at Tyler and issued an imperious meow. "I know, I know/' Tyler said, recognizing critcism when he heard it. ''I should have served the cereal and the milk separately. And the napkins were a major mistake." He watched Emily stuff hers into the bowl, then remove it, studying it curiously before submerging it again.
Sleuth jumped up onto the counter and meowed again. All three children grew wildly excited at the sight of the cat. "Key, Key," cried Emily in a not-too-bad attempt at "Kitty." Dylan made a sound similar to a meow and Sleuth meowed right back at him, twice as loud.
Carrie entered the kitchen at that moment and stared at Tyler, who was wearing his boxer shorts and gazing bemus-edly from the babies in their high chairs to the howling cat on the counter.
"You look like you just found yourself transported into the Twilight Zone," she said, flustered. She'd awakened with a start and rushed into the nursery, only to find the cribs empty. Without bothering to pull on a robe, she'd dashed to the kitchen, and now Tyler's gaze was focused intently on her.
"Everything's cool," he said lightly. He deftly snatched the three mangled, soaked napkins away from the high-chair trays and threw them into the trash, where they landed on the dark design of the serial killer book jacket. "The kids and I were getting along great, but that cat hates me," he added.
"He's hungry. I'll give him his breakfast." Carrie reached for a can of cat food, and Sleuth wound his way between her ankles, purring loudly.
Tyler watched her. Last night he'd wondered what she had on under her robe. Now he knew—a short, white cotton nightgown, the collar and cuffs edged with white eyelet, midthigh in length, loosely cut and modestly demure.
He sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs. He knew he was in big trouble when the sight of a woman in such a decidedly chaste garment struck him as alluring and erotic to the point where he felt weak-kneed with desire.
"Tyler, thanks so much for staying last night," Carrie said softly, coming to stand beside his chair. She laid her hand on his bare shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin and hard muscle beneath her fingers. "I fell asleep right away."
"No nightmares about bloodthirsty creeps?" Tyler asked huskily.
"Not even one. And thanks for getting the kids up this morning and giving them breakfast. I can't believe I slept so late."
"Carrie, it's 7:00 a.m. That's hardly what I'd call sleeping in late."
"But I usually hear them the minute they wake up. I don't know how I slept through it this morning/' Had some subconscious part of her mind realized that Tyler was there and would take over for her?
Tyler wondered the same thing and felt ridiculously flattered. "I didn't mind/' he mumbled. "But I drew the line at diaper detail."
Carrie smiled. "I don't blame you." Trembling slightly, her fingers drifted down his arm, then back again, and she moved closer to his chair until her body was touching him. Her face was flushed, her heart pounding. She knew exactly what she was doing and knew she shouldn't be doing it. But she couldn't seem to make herself stop. She wanted to touch him, desperately. She wanted to arouse him.
Tyler responded at once, pulling her onto his lap with lightning
speed. "That move worked so well the other night, I thought I'd try it again," he said with a husky laugh.
"You ought to make it a permanent part of your repertoire," Carrie advised.
Tyler thought of the dating-mating rituals he'd all but standardized over the years and suddenly the entire process seemed silly and irrelevant. How long had it been since he'd actually enjoyed it all—the meeting, the chase, the inevitable surrender? Last night's scene with Gwenda certainly pointed to a case of social, sexual burnout.
"My repertoire, such as it was, seems to have gone the way of the dial telephone and black-and-white television and the vinyl LP," he said dryly. In fact the entire concept of the carefree bachelor playboy struck him as obsolete and d6-class6, a cliche that had become its own caricature.
"Your confidence is shaken because of what happened or didn't happen last night with—what was her name?—Gri-selda?" Carrie suggested sweetly.
Tyler caught the underlying snide note in her voice and smiled. "Her name is Gwenda," he supplied helpfully.
"Of course, Gwenda." Carrie decided she hated the name. It was right up there with Rhandee. She shifted slightly, and in doing so rotated her bottom against the hair-roughened muscular columns of his thighs. She was extremely aware of his lack of attire and she savored the feel of his hard strength beneath her. Pressing her torso lightly against his, the soft weight of her breasts rubbed his broad, bare chest. She felt his swift masculine response, and a pulsing heat surged through her.
"Maybe I should call Gwenda with the good news that my problem was very temporary. That I won't be needing that hot line, after all." Tyler caught Carrie's hands, which were toying with the wiry tufts of hair on his chest. Though he'd stilled her hands, she moved her body lightly, sinuously against him.
He groaned, firm and full and yearning to succumb to the temptation she presented. "Sweet, innocent little Carrie," he gritted. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"
Carrie blushed. Oh, she knew. In fact, the idea was all her own. She was not so sweet and innocent. In fact, there were names for women who did what she was doing; she'd heard them. But not until her path had crossed Tyler Tremaine's could she ever have been accused of acting like one.
"I'm not teasing you," she blurted out, protesting her thoughts aloud. After all, teasing implied some calculated control over her actions, and she had none. She wanted to arouse him, to make him respond to her, so much so that she couldn't not do it.
"Oh yes, you are, baby," Tyler countered. "You most certainly are." He curved his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her head down to nestle in the hollow of his chest. "The question is 'Why?'" His fingers began a slow, sensuous massage of her neck.
Carrie felt herself going limp against him, while the warmth in her belly grew hotter and sharper, sending shards of pleasure all through her.
"Why, Carrie?" Tyler nuzzled her ear, his teeth toying with the soft lobe, before nibbling a trail of small kisses along the smooth, graceful length of her neck. "Do you get your kicks turning me on so you can have the pleasure of stopping me cold?"
His words had the effect of dousing her with a bucket of ice water. "No!" Carrie cried, so vehemently that the triplets ceased their breakfast experimentations and looked over at her. She jumped to her feet as if she'd been mechanically propelled off his lap.
"No, no, no!" Emily echoed, her tone laced with disapproval.
"No!" roared Dylan defiantly.
Franklin, who had just dunked his face into his bowl of milk, burst into tears.
"He thinks we're scolding him," Carrie said and rushed to comfort her small son.
Tyler grimaced. He didn't want to let Carrie go, he didn't want to end what could have been an interesting, revealing conversation. His body was taut and throbbing. He wanted ... It was very obvious what he wanted and just as obvious that he wasn't going to get it. Not with three toddlers looking on, one of them sobbing, the other two growing increasingly restless.
Tyler stood up, sighing. He was already exhausted and emotionally spent and it was not yet seven-thirty in the morning. He decided later that his weakened mental and physical state had played a definite role in the invitation he impulsively issued to Carrie. "Do you and the mighty mites want to swim in my pool later today, when I get home from work?"
Carrie turned around, Franklin in her arms. He had ceased wailing and was chomping happily on a biscuit she'd given him. "Are you having another party tonight?"
They both remembered that it had been one week ago today that he had invited her and the children to his last party and that his motives had been decidedly sinister. Tyler's green eyes met her wary blue ones for a long moment.
"No, there's no party," he said quietly. "It'll just be the—" he paused to count "—the five of us."
Say no, Carrie, she ordered herself. You can't keep your hands off the man when you 're near him, and he knows it. When and if he decides to turn up the heat, you'll melt like a snow flake in the sun. And how will you reconcile that with your undying love for Ian?
She chewed her lip nervously. "I really don't think that-"
"I have life jackets the kids can wear," Tyler assured her. "When they're strapped into them, they won't be able to slip under the water, so the two of us should be able to manage the three of them, even in the deeper water."
She hadn't given a thought to life jackets for the children to wear in the pool! But Tyler had. Carrie was horrified that her own thoughts had been on sex, not water safety. Caught off balance and off guard, she heard herself stammer, "Okay—we'll come over."
"I'll give you a call when I get home, probably around six. Maybe a little earlier." Tyler laid one hand on Emily's small blond head, the other on Dylan's. "I'd better get myself dressed and out of here. I have a meeting downtown in less than an hour."
The meeting went smoothly, with the outcome favorable to Tremaine Incorporated, as expected. Tyler and his brother Cole emerged from the building into midmorning city heat.
"This weekend is supposed to be another scorcher/' Cole remarked. "I guess you're heading to the beach to escape the heat and party till you—"
"No, I'm not going to the beach this weekend," Tyler cut in. At his older brother's look of surprise, he added quickly, "I, uh, have plans here at home. In the city."
"What's her name?" Cole chuckled.
Tyler gave his brother a good-natured, wouldn't-you-like-to-know sock in the arm. He had no intention of letting his brother in on this strange relationship—Lord, he hated that word and all the baggage it implied! —he and Carrie seemed to have developed. And it wasn't really a relationship, anyway, Tyler consoled himself. No, it couldn't be. Tyler Tre-maine and a mother of three children? Who happened to be toddler triplets! Cole would find the notion as unbelievable as Tyler himself did.
"Hey, Cole, where did your kids get those orange life jackets they wear at the beach and on the boat?" Tyler asked.
"What?" Cole obviously considered the question a stunning non sequitur. He gaped at his younger brother.
"Those things would work in a pool, too, wouldn't they?" Tyler persisted.
"If you mean, would they keep a child afloat, the answer is yes," Cole replied carefully.
"Good. So where do you buy them?"
Staring strangely at him, Cole mentioned the names of several places.
"Thanks!" Tyler clapped his brother on the back. "And in case I don't see you back at the office later, have a good weekend."
"Thank you, I will." Cole continued to eye his brother. "Chelsea and I are planning to take Daniel and the baby to the beach this weekend."
Tyler imagined the triplets playing in the sand and running into the waves at the water's edge. He grinned.
"They'll have a great time. Probably try to eat the sand, though." If they were willing to sample paper napkins, they would undoubtedly try to snack on sand.
Cole was completely taken aback. "What? No expounding on the hell of traveling with small children? What a
bout your theory that it's stupid to take little kids anywhere because they never know where they are, anyway?"
"You just have to persevere, brother. Kids are a lot smarter than people give them credit for." With that, Tyler headed toward the parking garage, leaving his wide-eyed brother standing speechless on the sidewalk.
Eight
' i Okay -—ready, set, go!" called Tyler.
An excited, grinning Dylan jumped into the pool. His head bobbed above the water and he kicked his little legs, splashing and shrieking with delight, being kept safely afloat by his bright orange life jacket.
Tyler ferried him through the water to the part of the pool where Carrie was pulling Emily and Franklin around in a blow-up plastic boat.
Dylan began to flail his arms and legs wildly. "Go!" he demanded. "Go, go!"
Tyler groaned. The little boy had been jumping into the pool for the past twenty minutes. "He can't want to do it again! He's already made at least a hundred-fifty jumps. And that's a conservative estimate."
Carrie sensed his endurance waning. "Why don't you give Emily and Franklin a boat ride and I'll catch Dylan when he jumps in," she suggested.
"Lady, you've got a deal," Tyler said gratefully.
It was nearly eight o'clock, well past the children's bedtime, and they were having their second swim of the day. He'd fetched them at five-thirty and brought them all over to the pool to swim for an hour, then ordered Chinese food for everybody, which they'd eaten back at Carrie's place. He'd been amused at the triplets' introduction to sweet-and-sour chicken, a dish they had heartily, if messily, consumed right down to the last piece of sauce-drenched pineapple. In an expansive, indulgent mood, he had suggested a return to the pool, and Carrie had immediately agreed.
It was a far different scene in and around the pool this Friday than it had been this time last week. Tyler looked at the plethora of toys floating in the water, all of which he had purchased earlier that day, along with the orange life jackets the children wore. An old song, "If My Friends Could See Me Now" played mockingly in his head.
Triple treat Page 11