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“All the time.” She wrenched free of his hand and flashed the kind of smile he figured Marie Antoinette must have shown the crowd just before the blade of the guillotine dropped. “I just did, in fact, but maybe it rolled right on past you. I don’t like you, Kincaid. In fact, I hope to hell I never see you again. Is that honest enough?”
“No.” He looked at her mouth, his gaze lingering, then into her eyes. “It’s not honest at all. We weren’t talking about whether or not you liked me. Hell, McCord, if it comes to that, I don’t like you much, either.”
He felt a rush of pure satisfaction to see her face turn pink but she held her ground, lifted her chin and looked straight back at him.
“You’re right. I suppose I have to bear some responsibility for that—that unfortunate mistake down by the bunkhouse.”
“A mistake,” he said, and she thought she heard a whisper of amusement in his voice. “Is that what you call it when you go crazy in a man’s arms?”
“I did not go crazy,” she snapped. “You’re the one who’s crazy, if you really think I—”
A door banged open somewhere down the hall.
“Caitlin? Girl, where the Sam Hill are you? And where in hell is that boy? He don’t show up in the next minute, you tell him I’ve decided to forget about talkin’ to him.”
“You want to see him,” Caitlin said, “you’d better get a move on. Thanks to you, he’s in a terrible mood.”
“You let me worry about Jonas Baron’s mood.”
His tone was soft, the smile on his lips pure male arrogance as he reached out, cupped her chin and tilted her face up to his. Was he really going to try to kiss her? Anger rocketed through her—anger, and something else.
“Let go of me,” she snarled.
“Have dinner with me Saturday evening and we can talk about which of us is crazy.”
“I’d sooner have dinner with an armadillo.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“You show up at the door Saturday evening, the only thing you’ll pick up is buckshot.” Caitlin twisted against his hand. “Dammit, Kincaid, let go!”
Tyler laughed softly. “Seven. And don’t be late. If there’s one thing I admire, it’s promptness in a woman.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You see?” He flashed a grin so cocky it set her teeth on edge. “You just gave me a compliment, McCord. Our relationship is changing already.”
“Caitlin?” Jonas’s bellow roared through the hall. “Where are you? And where’s that young fool thinks he can rough up an old man and get away with it?”
Caitlin pulled away from Tyler. Her heart seemed to have lodged in her throat and she tried to ignore its high, rapid beat.
“Dream on, Kincaid,” she said, trying for a light tone.
Tyler’s eyes darkened. He reached for her, pulled her into the curve of his arm, held her hard against him.
“That’s a fine idea, McCord,” he said softly. “I’ll dream about what I want to do to you and you dream about what you’d like me to do. And Saturday night, we can make those dreams come true.” He saw her eyes widen with shock, saw the sudden flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat just before he bent his head and kissed her. She made a little sound, just as she had the first time, and he parted her lips with the tip of his tongue. Her taste shot through his blood like a drug. For one wild moment, he wanted to back her against the wall, put his hand up her skirt, and take her right there, while the wildness beat inside him…
Dammit!
Tyler fought for control, let go of her and stepped back.
“Now,” he said, as she swayed unsteadily, “you can show me to the library.”
Her eyes flew open. She stared at him, her face flushed, and then she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“I’d sooner show you to hell.”
Her voice trembled and just before she turned her back to him, he thought he saw tears in her eyes. He almost reached out to her but what for? It was all illusion. It had to be. This was a game, that was all, and she played it well.
He followed her down the hall to a pair of massive, half-open doors. He could see Jonas Baron beyond them, standing in the center of a room crowded with ancient leather chairs and sofas, his dusty boots planted firmly on the delicately faded pinks and buffs of what had to be an Aubusson carpet.
“Mr. Kincaid is here,” Caitlin said stiffly.
“And about time.” Jonas jerked his head toward a mahogany sideboard. “Pour us some bourbon, girl.”
“Pour it yourself,” she said, and slammed the door on her way out.
Jonas chuckled. “My stepdaughter’s not very happy with me jes’ now.” He eyed Tyler narrowly. “You look better, cleaned up.”
“So do you,” Tyler said politely.
The old man smiled, crossed the room to the sideboard and took out two crystal glasses and a bottle of bourbon.
“Twenty years old,” he said, holding the bottle to the sunlight that streamed through the windows. “Slips down your gullet like silk.” One bushy brow rose. “I s’pose you’d prefer somethin’ else, boy. Beer, or wine, or maybe even some of that there colorless slop the Russkies drink.”
“Actually,” Tyler said, “I’m pretty much a bourbon man, myself.” He held out his hand, took the drink Jonas poured him and smiled. “And if you call me ‘boy’ one more time, I’ll have to deck you.”
“I got three sons make the same threat all the time.” He looked over the rim of his glass and frowned. “We meet before?”
“No.” Tyler sipped his bourbon, gave a nod of satisfaction. “No, we haven’t.”
“Didn’t think so. I may forget names, from time to time, but I never forget a face. Still, there’s somethin’ about you seems familiar. Where’d you say you was from?”
“I didn’t.”
Jonas sank down in a leather wing chair, motioned Tyler to sit across from him but Tyler shook his head.
“I’d rather stand.”
“Suit yourself.” Jonas reached for an elaborate humidor, opened it and held it out.
“Have a cigar, Kincaid. They’re straight from Havana.”
“Smuggled in?” Tyler said, and smiled. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who’d pass up a good cigar ’cause it’s illegal.”
“I’m not.” Tyler watched as Jonas bit off the end, spat it into a crystal ashtray, then lit up. “I just happen to think that putting an old boot in your mouth and lighting it up might taste better than smoking a cigar.”
Jonas’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Tyler, his mouth twitched and he laughed. “Not at all afeared of me, are you?”
“I’ve never met a man I’ve been afraid of.”
“How about my stepdaughter?” Jonas took a puff on the cigar. “You afraid of her?”
“I’m not going to discuss your stepdaughter with you, Baron, except to tell you a man has to be a fool to put himself in a position where he has to be afraid of a woman.”
Jonas grinned. “My philosophy, exactly. I’ve lived by it for years.” He paused, looked at Tyler and frowned again. “You sure you and I ain’t met before?”
“Positive.”
“I jes’ keep thinkin’ you look like somebody I know. Kincaid, huh? You got a brother or a father I might have done business with?”
Tyler could feel the knot forming in his belly.
“It’s possible you knew my father,” he said carefully. “Perhaps that’s why I look familiar.”
“Mebbe.” Jonas crossed his legs and looked up at him. “He a rancher?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Jonas smiled. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Your old man’s occupation a family secret, or somethin’?”
Tyler took a deep breath. “I never knew my father. Or my mother, for that matter.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s tragic, Kincaid, but I can’t see how it involves me.” Jonas looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s getting late. I have some phone calls to make.”
“Amazing,” Tyler said softly, “how that cowpoke accent of yours just disappeared.”
The old man looked up, his pale eyes flat. “Amazing,” he said, just as softly, “how you’re still here when I just dismissed you.”
Tyler’s teeth glinted in a humorless smile. “I don’t ‘dismiss’ very well, Baron. In fact, I don’t ‘dismiss’ at all.”
Jonas got to his feet. “Maybe you need to be tossed out on your tailbone, boy.”
