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Reality caught up, punched the breath from him like a fist to the belly.
For God’s sake, man!
What was he doing? Had he lost his sanity? Maybe. A man had to be nuts to stand in the Baron foyer and make love to the stepdaughter of the man he now knew always had been, and always would be, his enemy.
And he’d done it all with an audience.
The guy with the smarmy smile was still standing there, tucked into a corner as if he hoped nobody would notice him, only now his eyes were the size of saucers.
“Let go of me, Kincaid.”
He blinked, looked at Caitlin. Carefully, deliberately, he took his hands from her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but he could tell, from the look she gave him, that “sorry” wasn’t going to do it. Her eyes weren’t dark with passion now, they were hot with anger.
“You’ll do anything to embarrass me, won’t you?”
“No. Hell, no. I didn’t kiss you to—”
“Leighton?” Caitlin’s cheeks were still pink, but her composure was back. “Leighton,” she said again, without looking away from Tyler, “where are you?”
Leighton, Tyler thought wryly, had gone from a man trying to squeeze into a corner to one trying to merge with a wall.
“Leave him out of this,” he said softly. “It’s not his affair.”
Wasn’t it? Caitlin wasn’t sure. For all she knew, Tyler had kissed her for Leighton’s benefit. To put his brand on her. To defeat her, maybe even to try to control her. He wanted something, something that had to do with Jonas and Espada.
And he was dangerous to her.
Every instinct warned her Jonas was right, that Tyler was trying to use her as a tool in some far larger plan—but it all flew out of her head when she was in his arms. Even now, when he wasn’t touching her, she could hear the roar of blood in her ears. The way he was looking into her eyes, his gaze so private and watchful. The shape of his mouth, and the knowledge of how it had felt against hers…
Yes. He was dangerous, but if he reached for her again, she might—she might—
Help me, Caitlin pleaded desperately of whatever gods might be listening, help me, please.
“Leighton.” Years of dealing with Jonas had made her a hell of a good actress. Her tone was cool and steady, tinged with an unmistakable ring of authority. “Are you going to let this—this stranger insult me?”
Tyler sighed. “Ah, Caitlin, Caitlin,” he said, almost mournfully.
She stepped back. “Leighton?”
“I’m here, Caitlin.” Leighton sounded so pathetic that she almost—almost—regretted involving him. “Mr. Kincaid.” He cleared his throat. “Sir, your presence isn’t—”
“Stay out of this, Baron.”
Caitlin stamped her foot. “How dare you tell him that! Leighton? Why don’t you do something?”
“He is,” Tyler said, flashing Leighton a chilly smile. “He’s minding his own business. Isn’t that right, pal?”
“Caitlin,” Leighton said, “my dear, perhaps…”
Tyler took Caitlin’s elbow, held on to it even as she tried to jerk free.
“McCord,” he said softly, “don’t drag him into this. This is between you and me.”
“It’s between you and Jonas,” Caitlin said, and waited, oh waited, for him to tell her she was wrong.
He didn’t.
Tyler looked at her, then let her go. “You’re right,” he said gruffly. “It is.”
He leaned down, brushed his mouth over hers. Then he walked down the hall toward the library, where her stepfather was waiting. After he’d disappeared around a corner, Leighton came scurrying up beside her.
“Impudent bastard,” he muttered.
Caitlin swung around, eyes snapping, but one look at his pale face and sweaty brow stopped her. This was Leighton. What did she expect? Everyone knew what he was. Leighton had to know it, too. Besides, in her heart, she really couldn’t blame him for what he’d done—for what he hadn’t done, when he saw Tyler kiss her. Oh, be honest, Caitlin! When he saw her kiss Tyler back.
The scene must have been raw enough to send any onlooker scurrying for cover. Even afterward, when she’d pulled away and Tyler had talked to her, the power emanating from him had been almost palpable. She honestly couldn’t imagine any man standing up to him…well, with the exception of her stepbrothers.
They wouldn’t have been afraid to take him on. In fact, Gage, Travis and Slade reminded her of Tyler. Hard men, when they had to be. Gentle, when being gentle mattered.
And Tyler could be gentle. His touch could be tender, and his kisses…
His kisses.
Caitlin closed her eyes, swayed a little as she remembered those kisses. If she and Tyler had been alone, he’d have finished what had begun the previous night. And she wanted him to. Yes, oh, yes, she wanted him to. She longed to lie beneath him, to watch that handsome, arrogant face lose its composure as she arched up to meet him, as she wrapped her legs around him, took him deep, deep inside her…
“Catie?”
She blinked. Leighton was staring at her, his face still pale under its year-round tan.
“I should have beaten Kincaid to a pulp,” he said. “But I didn’t want to subject you to any further distress.”
Caitlin sighed. “Of course.”
“Are you—are you all right?”
She laughed this time and looped her arm through his. “It was only a kiss, Leighton. I’m fine. Well, not really. I’m starving,” she said brightly. “Do you think we’re too late for brunch?”
Leighton shot a glance down the hall, as if Tyler might suddenly materialize like an image from a bad dream.
“Uh, yes. Yes, I think we probably are. Perhaps another time…”
“Nonsense. I’m hungry as a horse. If we’ve missed brunch, I’ll settle for the buffet at the Hearthstone Inn. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds—it sounds fine.” He looked towards the library again. “That is, if you really think—I mean, if you really want—”
Caitlin lost her patience. “Dammit, Leighton, isn’t that what I just said?”
His feet dragged only a little as she hurried him out the door and down the steps, but he almost stumbled when she led him past the library windows, toward his car.
Oh, hell, she thought, why was she doing this? The last thing she wanted was to spend the next hour in Leighton’s company.
Her spine prickled.
Tyler was watching from the window. She could almost feel his eyes on her, boring a hole between her shoulder blades just as she could still feel the imprint of his kiss on her lips.
Suddenly, it seemed difficult to breathe in the hot summer air.
“Hurry, Leighton,” she said gaily, and laced her fingers through his.
* * *
Jonas usually sat in the armchair that Marta laughingly called his throne.
He always rolled his eyes when she said it but the truth was that he did like sitting in it. It was a high-backed wing chair made of hand-tanned, buttery soft leather. The Espada crest was burned into the back and arms, bull horns bound with rope and pierced by the ancient Spanish sword he’d found decades ago, when he’d sweated and strained to make this land his.
The chair gave him an advantage, imagined or not. When his sons were growing up, he’d always begun disciplinary meetings seated in it with his hands firmly placed over the crests, and he’d helped anoint more than one politician with a word and a check handed over while he sat in that same chair.
But he wasn’t sitting in it now.
He was standing, shoulders and spine as straight as a man who’d seen so many winters could make them. Instinct told him it would be a mistake to sit while Tyler Kincaid stood.
Not even his throne chair would give him the advantage, if this conversation were going where he figured it would. Where he feared it would, not because Kincaid had a case worth hearing but because all the old memories had come swarming back. They’d bee
n haunting his days and nights, ever since he’d laid eyes on the man the week before.
It was early, way too early for bourbon, but Jonas poured himself one anyway, drank down half at one gulp, refilled the glass and then stood, waiting, for Kincaid to come in. The bastard took his time about it. And damned if he didn’t head for the window the second he walked into the room.
Jonas cleared his throat.
