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.
He kissed her again, left her only long enough to switch on a lamp and fight for control. When he turned to her again and stripped off his shirt, he saw a delicate flush rise in her cheeks.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, and she touched him, running her hand lightly over his chest, stroking the tapering line of dark hair that arrowed down his belly. She hesitated, looked up and into his eyes, and cupped her hand over the straining denim that defined the power of what she’d done to him.
He groaned, covered her hand with his, endured that sweet, yearning touch as long as he could without going crazy.
“You’re the one who’s beautiful,” he said, and he drew her close and undid the long zipper down the back of her dress.
Her eyes turned to a smoky gold. She watched his face as he undressed her. He did it slowly, as slowly as he could manage without coming apart. She trembled under the brush of his hands, sighed as he bared her to his eyes and mouth, and when she stood before him, wearing only a wisp of white lace and her high-heeled sandals, he knelt before her, curved his hands around her hips, kissed his way down her belly.
She trembled.
“Oh,” she whispered, “oh, Lord…”
He pulled the wisp of lace aside, touched her. Felt the dew of her feminine heart against his hand, and then he put his mouth to her, stroked her with his tongue, kissed her and caressed her until she cried out. He rose then, scooped her into his arms, and brought her down onto the bed.
“Tyler,” she said, in a voice filled with wonder. “Tyler…”
She held her arms up to him and he went into them, kissing her mouth, her throat, kissing her breasts, exulting in the taste of her honey-sweet skin. She moaned and arched toward him as he kissed her mouth again and stroked his tongue against hers.
“Please,” she sobbed, “Tyler, please…”
“You belong to me,” he said fiercely, as he parted her thighs.
“Yes,” she said, “yes, oh, yes, Tyler, yes…”
He kissed her again and she returned his kisses the same way, with hunger, not with tenderness, her need for him as complete as her surrender. She tugged at his jeans, making desperate little cries, and he rolled away from her, yanked down his zipper, kicked off his boots, his jeans, his shorts, and she lifted her arms to him, her eyes as deep and dark as the night.
“Come into me,” she whispered. “Tyler, please, take me. Take me…”
And, on one long, possessive, silken thrust, he did.
CHAPTER TEN
HAD hours gone by, or was it only moments?
Caitlin couldn’t tell. She’d shattered in Tyler’s arms, shattered into a million pieces and soared with him into the hot, molten heart of the sun. Now, lying beneath him, her heart still racing against his, his face buried in her throat, she knew that nothing in her life had prepared her for tonight.
Giving herself to Tyler had changed her, forever.
She sighed, stirred in his embrace.
He felt her shift beneath him. “I’m crushing you,” he said softly, but when he tried to roll off her, she shook her head and tightened her arms around him.
“Stay,” she whispered, and closed her eyes, not trusting herself to say more because her throat felt constricted, as if she might weep, and she didn’t want that to happen.
If she wept, how would she explain that it was from joy and not from sorrow?
“Stay with me,” she whispered again, and she felt his lips curve against her throat.
He was holding her close. And it felt so right to lie with him this way, with his body over hers, protecting her. She could feel the beat of his heart as it steadied and slowed, smell his scent. The taste of him lingered on her mouth.
He was still inside her, still a part of her, joined to her in a way she’d never been joined with any man before.
And she was glad, so glad, that Tyler had been the first.
She hadn’t planned it this way; she’d never consciously thought about “saving” herself for any one man. There’d been opportunities. Boys in high school, even one she’d gone steady with. There’d been boys during the two years she’d spent away at college, too, and once in a while she went to the movies or out dancing with a nice guy who was the foreman of a neighboring ranch.
The thing of it was, there’d never been anyone who really mattered.
Sometimes, she’d even wondered if she was lacking something. She had a secret passion for romance novels and for movies that made her cry. She kept those things to herself because it was tough enough riding herd on a bunch of cowboys and standing up to Jonas without having anybody know about her secret vices. She’d decided that maybe she was just one of those women who found their passion in make-believe worlds, not in the real one.
That was okay. It was safer.
And yet—and yet, what she’d felt in Tyler’s arms put her “secret passions” into perspective. Fantasy didn’t stand up to reality. His touch, his kisses, the way he’d made love to her…
Nothing, nothing, had prepared for this night.
Tyler whispered her name, rose on one elbow and kissed her mouth. He took his time doing it, sucking on her bottom lip, teasing her lips open, stroking the tip of his tongue against hers. Sensation after sensation raced through her, turning her inside out, threatening to stop her heart.
It was just a kiss, and it thrilled her.
“You taste delicious,” he said softly.
Caitlin smiled. “So do you.”
“Like…” He frowned, bent to her, kissed her again. “I can’t decide. Like whipped cream? Honey?” Gently he nibbled her mouth. “Or maybe cotton candy.”
“Cotton candy?” she said, and laughed.
“Mmm. Pink cotton candy, and I’ve always had a weakness for pink cotton candy.” He smiled, stroked her hair back from her face. “Cait? Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Sweetheart, you should have told me.”
Caitlin blushed. “I tried to.”
Suddenly she felt unaccountably shy. It was silly, considering what they had just done, but there was something about lying naked in a man’s arms and discussing the loss of your virginity…
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “I was beyond listening.”
“Would it—would it have mattered?”
Tyler caught an auburn curl in his fingers and brought it to his mouth. “I’d have gone slower,” he said softly, “or I’d have tried to. Did I hurt you?”
“No. Oh, no. You didn’t hurt me. It was—it was—”
“Wonderful,” he said gently.
“Yes. Incredible. I thought my heart would—would—”
“Burst? Yes, I know.” He
rolled to his side and took her with him, still holding her, still inside her, still wondering how such a miracle could have happened. He was a man who believed in equality. He’d never condemned a woman in his life for having the same sexual appetites and experience a man had, but that moment when he’d felt that fragile barrier, when he’d realized he was Caitlin’s first lover…He gave her a lingering, tender kiss. “That’s how it was for me, too.”
“I’m glad.” She felt the rush of heat in her face and knew she was blushing. “I mean, some men might not be thrilled to find themselves making love to—to—”
Tyler slipped his hand into Caitlin’s hair, watched as the colors of autumn slid through his fingers.
“A virgin,” he said softly.
“Yes. Oh, it’s such an old-fashioned word.”
“It’s a beautiful word,” Tyler whispered, and kissed her again.
Caitlin sighed and snuggled closer in his arms. “I’m glad you think so.”
“What man wouldn’t?”
“Well, you have to remember…” She smiled and touched her hand to his face. “I grew up with three brothers.”
“Stepbrothers,” he said quickly. “You’re not really related to Jonas.”
“Of course not.” Her smile tilted. “He never lets me forget that.”
“Hell,” Tyler said, and leaned his forehead against hers. “I didn’t mean…I just…” Tell her, a voice inside suddenly said, tell her why you needed to say that, that you had to remind her that there’s no Baron blood in her veins. Tell her the truth. Who you think you are. Hell, who you know you are. That you’re a Baron, but your own father got rid of you…
“Tyler?”
He blinked and focused on Caitlin’s face. Her eyes were dark with concern. Concern, for him. No one, no woman, had ever looked at him that way.
“Tyler, what is it?” She lifted her hand to his cheek and he turned his face, pressed his mouth against her palm. “I know you and Jonas dislike each other, but he’s been good to me. He raised me. And now—”
Tyler silenced her with a kiss. These moments belonged to the two of them. The last thing he wanted was to hear the woman in his arms defend the son of a bitch he was going to destroy. And he had to destroy him. It was either that or spend the rest of his life consumed by hatred.
The Taming of Tyler Kincaid Page 14
