Mindless, he found her hips and drew her closer. As close as he could get while clothes provided a barrier. Her hands skimmed over his shoulders and down his back, and he wanted nothing more than to feel those hands on bare skin. To have his hands on her bare skin. He wanted her with an all-consuming need that was beyond thought.
He reached for the first button on her blouse but before he could make any headway, she pulled back.
“Matthew,” she rasped, resting her hands on his chest. “Please.”
The rough edges in her voice reverberated through his body. “Please, what?” he asked with a smile.
“If you try to kiss me like that again—” she paused, as if gathering enough breath to continue “—I won’t be able to resist.”
His pulse leaped. “Good,” he said and his head began a descent again.
“Flynn.” The one word was all she said, but it broke through the sensual fog in his brain and he paused.
“What about Flynn?”
She stepped beyond the circle of his arms, and his hand drifted down from her shoulder, lingered at her elbow then, when he reached her hand, his fingers tangled with hers. She looked at their entwined fingers for so long he wondered if she would say anything. Then she looked up, and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. Barely a minute ago, she’d done the same thing to his lip and this time, he wanted to drag hers into his own mouth. But he waited, holding himself in check until he could kiss her again.
“When I was young,” she finally said, leaning back against the counter, “and my grandparents would ask me to live with them, they’d tell me it was what my father would have wanted. I missed him terribly and they used that to get what they wanted. I know this is a completely different situation, but I’ve never forgotten that feeling of being torn. Of the confusion.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and held them closed as he tried to get his brain to follow the quick change from kissing her to talking about her childhood. Was she seriously thinking Flynn was at risk—from her?
He cocked his head to the side. “You’d never do something that despicable to Flynn.”
“Never,” she confirmed with a fierceness in her expression. “But I truly believe we need to keep the family arrangements clear so Flynn doesn’t sense any confusion and read into it that he’s getting a new mommy. He’s very astute.”
Matt released her fingers and scrubbed his hands through his hair. She was right—Flynn was very perceptive for his age. Some of the things that came out of that kid’s mouth astounded him. And with all the upheavals in his family at the moment, following his grandfather’s death, and two new “uncles” he hadn’t yet met arriving on the scene, the last thing Flynn needed was any more uncertainty. He’d already asked if Susannah was his new mommy.
“All right.” He blew out a long breath. “There’s some chemistry between us, we can’t deny that.” In fact, it was baffling that he felt this strongly about someone he barely knew, but there was no ignoring anymore that he did. “Perhaps it would be better all-around if we didn’t take it further.”
“Yes,” she whispered, watching his mouth. His skin heated.
“And if we’re going to ignore it, it’d help enormously if you didn’t look at me that way. I only have the willpower of one man.”
Her gaze flicked to her feet and she shuffled back. “I’m sorry.”
With a finger, he lifted her chin until he could see her eyes again. “Don’t be sorry.” Gently he smoothed her hair back from her face. “We won’t act on this, but promise you’ll never feel sorry for wanting me.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice tight.
“And I won’t be sorry for wanting you,” he said roughly then left the room before he forgot his promise and kissed her.
Matt stood in the anteroom to his son’s hospital bedroom, washing his hands and watching Susannah. Flynn was asleep and she was curled in the visitor’s chair, reading a book—her legs tucked beneath her, her hair falling forward to curtain her face. The air caught in his chest. Everything inside him demanded he finish what they’d started last night. But she’d been right to stop their kiss—it had been a monumentally stupid move on his part. As if things weren’t already messy enough with keeping the secret about Flynn’s biological mother from his family, and ensuring stability and clarity for Flynn.
And Grace had been so jealous of Susannah during the pregnancy—not only was she carrying their baby, but the baby was biologically a product of him and Susannah. How much worse would Grace have felt if she’d known he’d soon be lusting over Susannah? After creating the situation that had killed his wife, the very last person he should be thinking of bedding was Susannah Parrish.
So why was his body convinced otherwise? Annoyed with himself, he shook the water from his hands with a bit too much force, and turned to grab a paper towel. As he did, he caught sight of a man coming through the door. A man who made Matthew’s fingers curl into fists.
Jack Sinclair.
His father’s oldest child. The man their father had left forty-five percent of The Kincaid Group to in his will and who had made his dislike of his father’s legitimate family abundantly clear. Jack had been playing his cards close to his chest so far, but no one doubted his intentions—to take over TKG and fold it into his own company, Carolina Shipping.
With frustration and resentment fueling his scowl, Matt thrust his hands on his hips. “What the heck makes you think you’d be welcome here?”
Jack met the glare with one of his own, feet solidly planted shoulder width apart. “Regardless of how we feel about each other, that little boy is my nephew. I spent a couple of months in the hospital myself when I was a child and I intend to see him.”
A touch of humanity from the enemy…or a ploy? “I notice you didn’t bother to call first.”
“Would you have invited me to visit if I had?”
Before Matt could reply, the door opened again and a third man entered the room, completing the bizarre triangle of Reginald Kincaid’s sons—Matt’s brother RJ.
RJ froze midstride, looking from one man to the other before his furious gaze settled on Matt. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Matt was heartened by the support of his brother’s outrage. “I was just asking the same thing.”
As one, the brothers turned to face the interloper.
Jack rolled his shoulders back and held up a gift bag. “I’ve brought a toy. I’m a blood relation to the boy and I want to meet him.”
The door to Flynn’s room slid open and Susannah slipped through. Just seeing her face made a large chunk of Matt’s stress evaporate, replaced by a tugging desire deep in his gut. Unable to help himself, he moved to her side and placed a hand at the small of her back, trying to ensure it appeared platonic, but feeling uncomfortably proprietorial in a room of three men.
“Susannah, this is my brother RJ. Susannah is an old friend of Grace’s who’s been visiting Flynn.”
RJ leaned over to shake her hand, taking his gaze from Jack long enough to smile at her. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise,” Susannah said.
Matt glanced up at Jack and narrowed his eyes. “And this is Jack Sinclair. My father’s other son.”
Susannah shook Jack’s proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, Jack,” she said, then faced down each man in turn. “I know you’ve both just met me, so this might seem out of line, but there’s so much tension in this room, it’s ready to smother me. And Flynn will feel it, too. You can’t all go into his room together.”
There was something of a mother lion in her eyes, and Matt knew that if his brothers tried to walk in, she wouldn’t be afraid to stand in their way. His chest swelled. It was a beautiful thing to watch.
Jack again held his gift bag aloft. “I’d like to give this to the boy.”
Susannah glanced over, raising her eyebrow the barest hint, yet he understood—she was asking if he’d let her take Jack in to Flynn’s room, alone. He glanced over at Flynn thro
ugh the glass wall—he was watching the interaction. If he tried to eject Jack, Flynn would see, and Matt would do anything to keep Flynn’s world stable at the moment. No confrontations, no ripples in the pond.
And he had to admit, no matter how much it galled, this man was a blood relation to Flynn. Though why that would mean anything to Jack Sinclair, he had no idea.
He relaxed his body language for Flynn’s sake, but he glared at his half brother with all the animosity inside. “This is a onetime deal, Sinclair. You go in, you give him the present, you leave again. And you don’t come back.”
Jack glared back and spoke through a tight jaw. “Understood.”
He silently nodded to Susannah—she was right that they couldn’t all go in together. The best environment for Flynn would be if Jack went with her. While she explained the gown and hand-washing routine to Jack, Matt steered RJ out into the hall.
He planted himself in front of the glass panel in the wall—he might have given the okay for Jack to go in, but at the first sign that Flynn was even slightly uncomfortable or unhappy, he’d throw the gate-crasher out himself.
“So, how is the little tyke?” RJ asked, concern clear in his voice.
“His blood work is a little better.” He’d caught the doctor on the way in and heard the latest scores. Flynn wasn’t out of the woods by any means, but any improvement, however small, was good news. It meant needing a bone-marrow transplant was less likely, and brought the day he could come home that bit closer.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am,” RJ said, clapping Matt on the back. “Let’s hope it continues that way.”
Matt allowed himself half a smile at the prospect. Unwilling to jinx it, he didn’t want to dwell on Flynn’s improvements too much—the blood work had improved before…then dived again. But his brother’s enthusiasm allowed him the space for just a moment to consider that his little boy’s health was really on the mend.
They watched Jack enter Flynn’s room and Susannah perform the introductions and the atmosphere in the corridor changed. From the corner of his eye, he could see RJ mirroring his battle stance of straight back, hands low on hips and—he knew without looking—a scowl.
“Any news on who owns the last ten percent?” Matt asked. Their father had left forty-five percent of The Kincaid Group to be shared among his legitimate children, and another forty-five percent to Jack Sinclair. No one knew where the last ten percent was—the ownership had been hard to trace past the shares being sold to a now-defunct business—but they needed them fast.
Anger at his father burned in his gut—both for keeping his second family a secret and for giving Jack shares in the family company which had led to this predicament. Their father had left them a letter each, which most of them had opened at the will reading, hoping for an explanation of his actions. As far as he was aware, none of them had got one. Matt hadn’t wanted to even touch his letter, let alone open it. Had his father stood in front of him that day, Matt would have turned and walked away. And the rage still seethed down deep. The last thing he wanted was to speak to a man who’d kept such monstrous secrets, had betrayed them so badly, even if it was only via a letter. Barely resisting crumpling the envelope and tossing it, he’d thrown it in a desk drawer in the unlikely event he changed his mind. He should have burnt it.
But he had to shove the emotions aside and strategize if they were to succeed. RJ was acting CEO, and Laurel, Kara, Lily and he would vote with RJ to install RJ as permanent CEO, but they needed the ten percent to outvote Jack if—when—he opposed. Until then, they were stuck in a stalemate.
“No news.” RJ blew out a disgusted breath. “But I’ve put Nikki Thomas on the case. She’s vowed to have the owner present when we vote.”
“If anyone will find them, Nikki will.” Their father had hired the corporate investigator not long before he died, and she’d managed to impress them already with her determination and ability to get results.
“Jack’s given nothing away?” Matt asked. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have located the shares and bought them already.”
RJ shook his head. “He’s playing his cards close to his chest, so if he has them, he wouldn’t be sharing the information with us. He’s a cold one. He’ll be planning even now to get the ten percent and fold TKG into his own company.”
Matt winced, but he’d had that exact thought himself. “What about Alan—any chance he’s got them?” It seemed their father had taken his mistress’s other son under his wing somewhat, yet not left him any stock in the will.
“I doubt it. If Dad had wanted to give him stock, it would have been at the same time as the rest of us. Though I have been thinking about Alan.”
Through the glass panel, Matt surveyed Jack awkwardly trying to make conversation with Flynn. “Alan seems like the better man of the two.”
RJ grunted his agreement. “I’m wondering if Alan will want a job. At the next board meeting, Jack could use his shares to demand we employ his brother.”
“Alan said he was between jobs, so he might want something,” Matt said.
“And I don’t think Jack will settle for a mere job. He’s got his eye on the prize. Everything.”
A lead weight dropped into his stomach as he acknowledged the truth in that. They stared at the scene through the glass panel for another couple of minutes as Jack awkwardly handed the gift bag over toward Flynn, who tentatively took it, one hand holding Susannah’s fingers.
“One thing I can promise you,” RJ said, “I won’t let that man ruin TKG.”
There was a fierceness in RJ’s voice that was unusual. Matt turned to study his brother’s face. The whole family had been thrown off balance, not only by their father’s death, but the revelations about his second family, then the forty-five percent of company stock being willed to Jack. Even so, RJ had always been easygoing, even when he was in corporate shark mode.
He was about to ask what was going on, but inside Flynn’s room, Jack moved to the door, and Matt needed to get inside to hold his son and make sure he was all right after meeting his new uncle. And he needed to see Susannah, to thank her for intervening, to ensure she was okay, as well. Analyzing RJ’s mood change could wait.
Five
Five days later, Susannah was wandering the aisles of Matthew’s basement wine cellar. Flynn had shown some definite improvement, but he wasn’t yet past the risk that he might need the bone-marrow transplant, so she’d extended her leave for another week.
As the days had drifted on, she’d taken to slipping down to Matthew’s wine cellar a few times a day for respite from the house—it was the only room that wasn’t dominated by Grace’s presence. Which was appropriate—this was Grace’s house—and she hated herself for feeling a little jealous.
Down here it was shadowy and cool and strongly masculine. The shelving was made of dark wood, in straight lines and sharp angles.
She held a warm mug of tea between her hands as she perused the labels. Möet. Dom Pérignon. Krug. Veuve Clicquot.
“Thinking of taking up wine collecting?” The voice that caught her off guard was deep and smooth and faintly amused. She turned to find Matthew casually leaning on the door frame, ankles crossed, hands deep in pockets.
Her heart turned over in her chest. It was a strange thing—she’d dated men before, had even flirted with the idea of marriage with one long-term boyfriend. But no man, boyfriend or otherwise, had ever affected her the way Matthew Kincaid could. All without a touch—he stood eight feet from her, but the heat of his gaze made her skin tighten. Made her want his kiss with a desperation that was alien to her.
She swallowed and found her voice. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see how relaxed you are, perusing my collection.” He pushed off the door frame and prowled toward her. “This isn’t your first time in here, is it?”
An electric shiver raced up her spine. “Would you prefer I didn’t come down?”
“You’re welcome to explo
re any part of the house and grounds.” He stopped within touching distance, his face in shadow, but she could hear that his breathing was a touch more rapid than normal. “I’m just interested why you chose a cellar over, say, the conservatory.”
His nearness set off a series of pinprick sparks throughout her body. She rubbed her forearms, attempting to dispel the sensation, but it made no difference.
“Normally I would, but…things seem simpler down here,” she said, attempting to explain what she only barely understood herself. “Clearer.”
He turned and the muted light caught the planes of his face, making him look stark. Dangerous. Desirable.
“You’re looking for simplicity?” he asked, voice low.
“Aren’t you?”
He watched her mouth as he spoke. “I guess I am.”
“And things between us would never be simple.”
“Maybe not,” he drawled, “but they’d be good.”
A shiver of gooseflesh raced across her skin. Instinctively she knew it was the truth. That making love with Matthew Kincaid would be an exquisite experience. It had been in his kiss. It was in his heated gaze. It was in his slow, deliberate step closer.
“We agreed we wouldn’t act on this,” she said, her voice wavering.
He stopped mere inches from her, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly down then up. “We were stupid.”
“We were thinking of Flynn,” she said, trying to sound sure. “That he needs to know exactly where everyone fits in his life. No place for confusion.”
He ran a finger down the side of her face. “He’s not here. He’s with Lily, probably playing games the nurses wouldn’t approve of, if I know my sister.”
The temptation was so strong, it was a physical force, drawing her ever closer into the magical aura that surrounded him. His lips—so close—beckoned. Their kiss had been playing on an unending replay loop for five days, driving her to distraction, reminding her of the delicious pressure of his mouth, the smooth eroticism of his tongue meeting hers. If she simply leaned forward, she could taste the pleasure again.
What Happens in Charleston... Page 6
