No. No, that wasn’t true. Adrianna wasn’t to blame, and only a fool would try to lay this off on a party. He’d done it all to himself. He was the one who’d left everything behind and set off on this insane search for his roots.
For his birthright.
Tyler’s mouth twisted. He could still hear Jonas’s voice inside his head, saying the word with contempt.
He sighed, tilted the bottle to his mouth and drank.
The old man was nuts. Why would he need a birthright? He lived in a world of his own making. Tyler Kincaid’s private kingdom, every bit as large and valuable as Espada. Besides, this wasn’t about Espada. It was about the mother he’d never known. The hurt she must have felt, each time Jonas made a point of reminding her that he had no intention of acknowledging her child, or of raising it.
And yes, it was about that child, as well. About the boy who’d grown up without a kind touch or a soft word. Without a name. A boy who’d had to fight for the respect he’d been able to force from other boys just like him.
Tyler put down the empty bottle, clasped the railing with both hands and closed his eyes.
The intelligent thing would be to clear out. He couldn’t change what had happened, to his mother or to himself. What he ought to do was pack his things, get into his car and drive straight out of Texas. Drive until he reached Atlanta and the life he’d created there. Until he reached his home, the corporation that carried his name…
And Adrianna.
She’d left another message on his machine, her tone perky and upbeat, as if they’d never quarreled. There was a new gallery opening, she’d said, and had he received his invitation to the Forsythe’s dinner party next week? Perhaps they could go together, if he was free, if he could possibly make it.
The real message had rung through as clear as a bell, despite all the chatter. Adrianna wanted him back, and on his terms. No ties. No strings. No explanations of why he’d broken off their relationship or where he’d gone.
Tyler opened his eyes and looked blindly into the night.
It was tempting. She was beautiful. She came from his world—from the world he’d made his, anyway. She fit into his life perfectly, without making a ripple.
But she wasn’t Caitlin.
Adrianna smelled of expensive perfume, not flowers. Tyler smiled. Not of horse, either, and certainly never of honest sweat as Caitlin sometimes did. Adrianna’s hair was always perfect, as if she’d just come from the salon. Caitlin’s generally looked as if she’d brushed the silky mass free of tangles and then given up.
Adrianna was elegant. Caitlin was…she was exciting. Everything about her stirred him. Her scent. Her mouth, with its slightly full lower lip. Her body, so boyish-looking within her rough and ready jeans and T-shirts and yet so feminine and rich, when he’d sought her flesh beneath the clothes.
When she’d gone into his arms, last night.
He knew the taste of her mouth, but what would the rest of her taste like? Honey, he thought. Or sweet cream. Her breasts would fill his mouth, assuage the endless hunger that had been in his belly since the first time he’d seen her.
Tyler laughed softly and drank the rest of the ale.
He was turning himself on, just standing here and thinking about Caitlin McCord. Turning himself on? Hell, why lie about it? He was turned on already, hard as a rock and aching with need for a woman he hardly knew…
For a woman he couldn’t have. She was a Baron, or the next best thing to it. She was Jonas’s stepdaughter and if it was the last thing he did, he was going to make the old man choke on his lies.
He was going to destroy him, and you didn’t bed a man’s stepdaughter before you slipped a knife between his ribs, even if you were doing it figuratively.
“Tyler?”
The voice was soft and familiar. Tyler told himself it was an hallucination, that the alcohol had worked. But when he turned she was really there, standing in the doorway, the soft glow from the living room just behind her defining her face in a play of light and shadow.
“Tyler,” she said again, but he didn’t answer. He just stood drinking in the sight of her. She was wearing high-heeled sandals and a dress like the one she’d worn last night. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders. She looked fragile and feminine and incredibly beautiful, and even though he knew it was wrong, he hated her for coming here and for reminding him of how badly he wanted her.
And for reminding him that he could never have her.
“What are you doing here?” he said gruffly.
“I—I…” He saw the long column of her throat move as she swallowed. “I came to say goodbye.”
He smiled, and he knew from the way her eyes widened that his smile had not been pleasant.
“Goodbye?” he said lazily. “Are you going away?”
“No. I mean, of course not.”
She wore a narrow gold chain around her throat. She touched her fingers to it. It was a nervous gesture and seeing it made him feel good. She was apprehensive and she damned well should be. She had no right, coming here, making him remember how it felt to kiss her, to touch her.
“Jonas said…he said you were leaving.”
He walked toward her slowly, his eyes on hers. He could see the race of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Don’t touch her, his mind shouted, dammit, man, don’t touch her…and he didn’t. He only bent his head and put his mouth against her throat.
“I didn’t…” He heard her catch her breath, felt the tremor race through her. “Tyler, please. I didn’t come here for—I didn’t come here for that.”
“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, you did.”
He took her face in his hands and lifted it to his. Eyes open, still locked on hers, he kissed her.
It was like touching a match to dry kindling. She moaned, grasped his wrists with her hands, fought for control and found it.
“I told you why I came. Jonas said—”
“To hell with Jonas,” he said, and as he did, he knew it was true. His hatred for Jonas had nothing to do with this. With Caitlin.
With what they needed from each other.
He kissed her more hungrily, his mouth moving against hers, the tip of his tongue touching the seam of her lips. She moaned again, touched her hands to his chest, and he forgot everything but her.
“Cait,” he said urgently, “my Cait.”
Tyler gathered her into his arms, brought her against his body, heard her little whisper of surprise when she felt his hardness. She flattened her palms against his chest and pulled back.
“Don’t. Tyler, don’t.”
“Say it as if you mean it, and I’ll stop.”
He nuzzled the hair back from her face, bit gently on her earlobe. He felt her heartbeat leap against his.
“I—I can’t stay. I’m having dinner with Leighton.”
“You had lunch with Leighton,” he said, and kissed her neck.
“I didn’t. I couldn’t. I—I didn’t want to. I was—I was just using him because I was angry at you.”
Tyler smiled against her throat. “I know.”
“And—and I felt awful about it. So I figured I’d stop by and ask him if he’d like to have dinner…”
Tyler slipped one strap off her shoulder and pressed his mouth to her skin. She caught her breath. Her hands knotted into his shirt.
“You’re trying to seduce me,” she whispered.
His laughter was low and rough. “And am I succeeding?”
“No,” she said, clutching him harder while she rose on her toes and met his questing mouth with her own.
“Open to me,” he whispered, and with a groan, she did, parting her lips to his tongue, lifting her hands, tangling them in his hair and pulling his head down to hers.
Tyler shuddered. He bunched her skirt in his hands, lifted it, stroked the softness of her thighs, then cupped her heat, glorying in the sweet dampness that would soon welcome him home.
“Tell me why you came here,” he said hoarsely. ?
?Dammit, tell me.”
Caitlin drew back and looked into his eyes.
“For this.” Her voice broke. “For this. For—”
Tyler crushed her mouth beneath his as he swung her into his arms.
She clung to him as he carried her through the dark house, to his bedroom, to his bed. He lowered her the length of his body, doing it slowly, feeling her softness against his hardness, feeding on her little sighs and whispers as he undressed her.
“Tyler. You should know…I have to tell you…”
“Hush,” he said softly, and stopped her words with a kiss. Whatever she wanted to tell him could wait. He needed her, now. Wanted her, now. He had to possess her, before he exploded.
He’d thought about this first time with her, knew it would be fast, but now that she was in his arms he warned himself not to let it happen that way.
Be tender, he told himself. Go slowly. Instinct warned him she hadn’t been with many men, and he had to make this right. He wanted to pleasure her until she came apart in his arms, wanted to watch her face as it happened, wanted to do all that before he entered her.
But he was shaking, burning with the need to possess her. Another minute, he’d be incapable of anything but ripping off her panties, unzipping his fly and burying himself deep inside her.