“Why don’t you answer her, Leighton? Don’t you want to have a good time with our sweet Caitlin?”
Caitlin saw the color drain from Leighton’s face. She made herself move slowly as she dropped her hands from his shoulders and turned around.
Tyler stood in the doorway, a picture of raw male power. He was dressed much as he had been the first time she’d seen him, in a snug T-shirt, faded jeans and boots, but the resemblance ended there. Today, his face might have been carved from granite, his eyes from green glass. He stood with his feet slightly apart, his hands deceptively loose at his sides. There was a presence to him that made her heart leap into her throat.
She thought of the magnificent sculpture she’d seen last night. That was what Tyler reminded her of: a tall, dangerous outlaw out of the Old West, come to life.
“Tyler,” she said again, and he looked at her, his eyes so cold she almost shuddered. “Tyler, we—we weren’t expecting you.”
“So it would seem.”
She heard Leighton make an unintelligible sound as he took a step backward. Jonas—Jonas just stood there, staring at Tyler.
My God, Caitlin thought, what was happening here? Leighton was scared out of his skin. Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise. A man like Tyler would always scare the life out of the Leightons of this world. But Jonas—Jonas wasn’t doing anything. He wasn’t telling Tyler to get out of his house, or cursing, or even opening his mouth.
And she wasn’t doing much better. A minute ago, she’d been on the verge of babbling an explanation of why she’d seemed to be in Leighton’s arms. For what reason? Tyler was nothing to her. She was sure Jonas was wrong, that Tyler hadn’t come on to her because of Espada, but he had lied his way onto the land and into her life. And he’d sure as hell not been a gentleman last night, literally carrying her off…
Seducing her, and almost succeeding.
Caitlin’s breathing quickened.
Tyler Kincaid was dangerous. That was why Jonas and Leighton were afraid of him, but she was the one with the most to fear. He wore jeans and boots, rode horses, pitched hay—but for all of that, he came from another world and he would surely return to it, when he tired of Texas and her.
What an interesting diversion she must be for a man like Tyler Kincaid. She could picture him in his thousand-dollar suits, in a Lamborghini or a Porsche, and she could picture his women, too, women who smelled of perfume, not of horses. Who wore silk, not denim. Whose fingernails were long and polished, not short and often nicked…
Women who’d know how to play his games, without having their hearts broken.
Tyler took a step forward.
“Caitlin,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. The word was a statement, a question, and she prayed he couldn’t see the pulse leap in her throat as she turned blindly to Leighton and wrapped her hand around his arm.
“This is Leighton Baron,” she said. “Leighton, this is Tyler Kincaid.”
Leighton moistened his lips, hesitated, then put out his hand. It trembled. Tyler looked at it but didn’t take it.
“Another Baron,” he said, with a predatory smile. “How nice.”
“Leighton and I were just going to brunch.”
“No.” The word burst from Leighton’s throat. “I mean—I mean…” He smiled nervously. “We thought we would, but now that company’s come, well, obviously—”
“What are you doing here, Kincaid?”
Every eye turned to Jonas. He’d drawn himself up and moved forward. His posture, his bearing, even the jut of his jaw, seemed a duplicate of Tyler’s.
“My stepdaughter’s not going to see you again, so you might as well turn around and make for the door.”
Tyler looked at Caitlin. “Is that right?” he said softly. “Have you decided not to see me again?”
Caitlin’s throat constricted. “No. I mean—I mean, yes. That’s what I decided.” She moved closer to Leighton. “There’s nothing here for you, Kincaid.”
Tyler smiled, that same chilling smile he’d given Leighton only moments before.
“You’re mistaken,” he said, and looked at Jonas. “We have business, old man.”
“We finished our business, Kincaid,” he said brusquely. “And I told you to get off my land.”
“You told me you figured I had no reason to hang around, Baron. But you were wrong. Very wrong.” Tyler jerked his head in the direction of the library. “You want to talk about what happened thirty-five years ago man-to-man or right here, with your stepdaughter and your nephew standing by?”
The color drained from Jonas’s normally ruddy face.
“Jonas?” Caitlin moistened her lips. “Jonas, shall I send for some of the men?”
“It’s all right, Catie.” Jonas managed a twisted smile. “Mr. Kincaid seems to think we have somethin’ to discuss. Well, seein’ as how it’s a Sunday and I have nothin’ on my schedule, I might as well oblige him.”
Jonas seemed to gather himself together. Caitlin stared after him as he left the room. Then she let go of Leighton’s arm and walked toward Tyler.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but he’s an old man. And your presence upsets him.”
Tyler gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ll bet it does.”
“I want you out of this house, Kincaid.”
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“You’re wrong. If it concerns Jonas, it concerns me.”
“Dammit, Cait—”
“My name is Caitlin,” she said, jerking back from his outstretched hand. “You just turn around, walk straight out the door and get the hell off Espada.”
Tyler looked from her to Leighton. “What’d you say your name was, pal?”
“Leighton.” Leighton’s voice shook. “Leighton Baron.”
“Well, Leighton Baron, Ms. McCord seems a bit upset. Why don’t you take her out, the way you’d planned, and feed her a good meal?”
“Oh, no. I mean, I wasn’t really—”
“Sure, you were.” Tyler smiled lazily and reached out for Caitlin. She tried to step back but he curled his hand around the nape of her neck. “You take her to have brunch, but you bring her straight back.” He looked into Caitlin’s eyes, and her heart skipped a beat at what she saw blazing in his. “And then,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers, “then, you turn around and forget you ever knew her because Caitlin McCord belongs to me.”
“No,” Caitlin said, but it was too late. Tyler drew her to him and crushed her mouth under his.
She struggled, beat her fists against his chest…and then she moaned, opened her mouth to his and kissed him back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KISSING her had been a mistake.
Tyler knew as mu
ch, as soon as he drew Caitlin into his arms. The boy he’d once been might have done something as brash and aggressive but the man he’d become would not.
That man wore custom-made suits and chaired board meetings. He was civilized and urbane, and took pride in being a lover who always brought a woman pleasure but never, ever lost control. Even at the most explosive moment of sexual release, a part of that man always remained removed.
He told himself that part of him was still there, that he was kissing Caitlin only because the contemptuous way she’d treated him today infuriated him, after the way she’d melted in his arms last night.
It had nothing to do with wanting the taste of her on his lips. He was observing the kiss more than experiencing it.
And then her mouth—her hot, sweet mouth—opened to let him in, and he was lost.
Everything was lost. Common sense, reality—there was just Caitlin, soft and eager in his arms. He forgot where he was and who he was; forgot that they were not alone. He was caught in a whirlpool and he couldn’t escape, didn’t want to escape. He was being drawn down and down into its raging heart.
He clasped her face in his hands, angled his mouth over hers again in hungry need. She whimpered, lifted her hands and grasped his shirt. And then, just as suddenly, he felt her stiffen and she wrenched her mouth from his.
“Don’t,” she said, in a shaky whisper.
Don’t. That was what she’d said. Not, “How dare you?” or “Let go of me,” not some stock phrase that would have meant she was determined to lay the blame for what had just happened on him.
Instead she’d whispered that one word, and when he opened his eyes and looked down into her beautiful face, his heart turned over. Her eyes were wide and liquid; her mouth trembled. The truth was there, painted on her every feature. She was afraid, not of him but of what he felt, what she felt, the same blood-hot need to take each other, to give everything and refuse nothing.
It was the last thing he’d ever wanted to feel about a woman, the last thing he wanted to deal with now.
And yet—and yet, it was there, had been there from the first time he’d touched her. The burning need to possess her. The longing to carry her off to some private place, tear off her clothes and sink deep into her welcoming flesh. There’d be no tenderness, not the first time. But after they were both sated, he’d do all the things he dreamed of doing to her. He’d kiss every inch of her skin, inhale her flowerlike scent. Touch her breasts, her thighs, the delicate inner petals that were hidden between them. Watch her eyes fill with pleasure, swallow her sighs…