A Proper Wife

“Anyplace where I don’t have to see a Kincaid face,” Devon said furiously. “Let go of me!”

“That was one hell of a performance you just gave, sweetheart.” Ryan’s face was harsh, his eyes chill. “You’re almost as good an actress as your mama.”

“I—said—let—go!”

“The righteous indignation,” he growled, his hands tightening as she struggled to twist free. “The outraged innocence—”

“Let go, dammit! You’ve no right to—”

“I’ve every right. You can’t really think I’m going to let you and your mother pull this swindle on a sick old man!”

“I don’t want anything from your grandfather. Not one miserable thing!”

“Of course, you don’t,” Ryan said with chill sarcasm. “That’s why you’re dressed like Miss Prim, why you spoon-fed him all that crap about what a well-educated, well-bred little girl you are.”

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

“No. You let Bettina do it, while you just sat there looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.”

“Listen, Mr. Kincaid, I don’t like you any more than you like me, so if you’d just take your damned hands off me, I’ll see to it we never have to lay eyes on each other again.”

“It sounds good, baby, but we both know that your little brain is already at work, trying to figure how much you and Mama can squeeze out of Grandpa now that he told you poor, dumb Gordon wanted to see you taken care of.”

“My brain is busy, all right. It’s telling me that aiming for your jaw was a big mistake. I should have gone for a more sensitive part of your anatomy.”

Ryan hauled her closer, his face dark with fury.

“You so much as try to hit me again, lady, and I’ll...I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Devon demanded,. tossing her head in defiance. “Hit me back? I wouldn’t put it past a louse like you!”

Ryan glared down into her angry face. Dammit, but she’d read him right! He’d never had the urge to strike a woman in his life but right now the thought of shaking Devon until her teeth rattled was almost overwhelming.

His gaze swept over her. Struggling against him had made all that pale hair come loose from its phony, godawful bun; it fell around her face like gold silk. Her eyes, even without makeup, were the purple of spring tulips. Her cheeks were streaked with pink, a shade darker than her parted lips.

Ryan’s belly knotted. He couldn’t recall ever being this angry—or this intrigued—by a woman in his life. The confusion made his head spin and tied his muscles in knots; it made the breath rasp in his lungs. There was only one thing he could do and he did it, pulling her, hard, against his body.

“No,” she gasped, but it was too late.

His mouth was already on hers in a kiss that was as wild as it was dominating. He felt her stiffen instinctively, felt her lips tighten against his, and, just as instinctively, his mouth softened against hers and his hand slid into her hair.

Her body seemed to jerk in his arms and she made a whisper of sound.

“No,” she said against his mouth, and he seized the moment and slipped his tongue between her lips.

He felt the heat of her mouth, the honeyed taste of it. Her scent—not L’Air du Temps or Opium now, but something primal and female—rose to his nostrils. She made the sound again and he recognized it for what it was, the need of a woman who wants a man, and as she rose toward him, as her arms closed around his neck and she returned his kiss, his confusion was transformed into a surge of desire.

Dammit to hell.

He thrust her from him and she fell back against the wall, her breathing as swift and erratic as his. Her dark lashes flew open, revealing those incredible violet eyes. She stared at him, her expression dazed, and it took all Ryan’s strength not to pull her into his arms again.

Her hand rose slowly to her lips. She wiped the back of it across her mouth and swallowed convulsively.

“You’re a horrible human being, Ryan Kincaid,” she whispered.

Ryan’s face was like stone. “Remember that. Maybe it’ll keep you and your mother far, far away from me and from my grandfather.”

He turned and walked down the hall to the library. Bettina came hurrying out just as he reached the door; she started to say something but he brushed past her without acknowledging her presence.