Sandra Marton - Taming of Tyler Kincaid

by The Taming of Tyler Kincaid

  Leighton cleared his throat. "Actually," he said, "actu­ally. ..: "

  "Were you going to invite me to brunch?" Caitlin said sweetly.

  "Damnation," Jonas roared. "Girl, are you crazy?"

  She was. She had to be. Tarantulas were the only things creepier than Jonas's nephew and when you came down to it, she really didn't have anything against tarantulas. They were big and ugly but they were honest, unpresupposing creatures, and they worked hard for a living. Leighton, on the other hand, was tall and good-looking, but he was as deceitful as the beauty in the eye of a hurricane, and he'd never worked a day in his life, thanks to the oil leases his father had left him.

  Leighton wouldn't know a callus from a cauliflower, she thought scornfully. He wasn't anything like Tyler. She had the feeling Tyler had worked hard for what he had. It had left him with a man's hands, callused, not soft. With a man's muscles and body. Such a hard, beautiful body...

  "Leighton?" she said briskly. "Did you want to take me to brunch, or didn't you?"

  "Catie." Jonas's words barely concealed the steel in his voice. "I want you here today."

  Beads of sweat popped out on Leighton's forehead. "Jonas wants you here today," he mumbled.

  Like hell he did, Caitlin thought. She turned to Leighton and put her hands on his shoulders.

  "Why, Leighton, I'm disappointed. I- thought it was you who wanted me!"

  Leighton shot Jonas a quick, helpless look. "I do. Of course, I do. I mean... I'd love to take you to brunch, Catie, but Jonas just said—"­

  "Who cares what Jonas said." Caitlin smiled into Leighton's eyes. "Oh, come on, Leighton. We'll have such fun. Don't you want to have a good time with me today, hmm?"

  "Why don't you answer her, Leighton? Don't you want to have a good time with our sweet Caitlin?"

  Caitlin saw the color drain from Leighton's face. She made herself move slowly as she dropped her hands from his shoul­ders and turned around.

  Tyler stood in the doorway, a picture of raw male power. He was dressed much as he had been the first time she'd seen him, in a snug T-shirt, faded jeans and boots, but the resem­blance ended there. Today, his face might have been carved from granite, his eyes from green glass. He stood with his feet slightly apart, his hands deceptively loose at his sides. There was a presence to him that made her heart leap into her throat.

  She thought of the magnificent sculpture she'd seen last night. That was what Tyler reminded her of: a tall, dangerous outlaw out of the Old West, come to life.

  "Tyler," she said again, and he looked at her, his eyes so cold she almost shuddered. "Tyler, we—we weren't expecting you."

  "So it would seem."

  She heard Leighton make an unintelligible sound as he took a step backward. Jonas—Jonas just stood there, staring at Tyler.

  My God, Caitlin thought, what was happening here? Leighton was scared out of his skin. Well, that wasn't much of a surprise. A man like Tyler would always scare the life out of the Leightons of this world. But Jonas—Jonas wasn't doing anything. He wasn't telling Tyler to get out of his house, or cursing, or even opening his mouth.

  And she wasn't doing much better. A minute ago, she'd been on the verge of babbling an explanation of why she'd seemed to be in Leighton's arms. For what reason? Tyler was nothing to her. She was sure Jonas was wrong, that Tyler hadn't come on to her because of Espada, but he had lied his way onto the land and into her life. And he'd sure as hell not been a gentleman last night, literally carrying her off...

  Seducing her, and almost succeeding.

  Caitlin's breathing quickened.

  Tyler Kincaid was dangerous. That was why Jonas and Leighton were afraid of him, but she was the one with the most to fear. He wore jeans and boots, rode horses, pitched hay—but for all of that, he came from another world and he would surely return to it, when he tired of Texas and her.

  What an interesting diversion she must be for a man like Tyler Kincaid. She could picture him in his thousand-dollar suits, in a Lamborghini or a Porsche, and she could picture his women, too, women who smelled of perfume, not of horses. Who wore silk, not denim. Whose fingernails were long and polished, not short and often nicked...

  Women who'd know how to play his games, without having their hearts broken.

  Tyler took a step forward.

  "Caitlin," he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. The word was a statement, a question, and she prayed he couldn't see the pulse leap in her throat as she turned blindly to Leighton and wrapped her hand around his arm.

  "This is Leighton Baron," she said. "Leighton, this is Tyler Kincaid."

  Leighton moistened his lips, hesitated, then put out his hand. It trembled. Tyler looked at it but didn't take it.

  "Another Baron," he said, with a predatory smile. "How nice."

  "Leighton and I were just going to brunch."

  "No." The word burst from Leighton's throat. "I mean­—I mean..." He smiled nervously. "We thought we would, but now that company's come, well, obviously—"

  "What are you doing here, Kincaid?"

  Every eye turned to Jonas. He'd drawn himself up and moved forward. His posture, his bearing, even the jut of his jaw, seemed a duplicate of Tyler's.

  "My stepdaughter's not going to see you again, so you might as well turn around and make for the door."

  Tyler looked at Caitlin. "Is that right?" he said softly. "Have you decided not to see me again?"

  Caitlin's throat constricted. "No. I mean—I mean, yes. That's what I decided." She moved closer to Leighton. "There's nothing here for you, Kincaid."

  Tyler smiled, that same chilling smile he'd given Leighton only moments before.

  "You're mistaken," he said, and looked at Jonas. "We have business, old man."

  "We finished our business, Kincaid," he said brusquely. "And I told you to get off my land."

  "You told me you figured I had no reason to hang around, Baron. But you were wrong. Very wrong." Tyler jerked his head in the direction of the library. "You want to talk about what happened thirty-five years ago man-to-man or right here, with your stepdaughter and your nephew standing by?"

  The color drained from Jonas's normally ruddy face.

  "Jonas?" Caitlin moistened her lips. "Jonas, shall I send for some of the men?"

  "It's all right, Catie." Jonas managed a twisted smile. "Mr. Kincaid seems to think we have somethin' to discuss. Well, seein’ as how it’s a Sunday and I have nothin’ on my schedule, I might as well oblige him."

  Jonas seemed to gather himself together. Caitlin stared after him as he left the room. Then she let go of Leighton's arm and walked toward Tyler.

  "I don't know what you're up to, but he's an old man. And your presence upsets him."

  Tyler gave a mirthless laugh. "I'll bet it does."

  "I want you out of this house, Kincaid."

  "This has nothing to do with you."

  "You're wrong. If it concerns Jonas, it concerns me."

  "Dammit, Cait—"

  "My name is Caitlin," she said, jerking back from his out­stretched hand. "You just turn around, walk straight out the door and get the hell off Espada."

  Tyler looked from her to Leighton. "What'd you say your name was, pal?"

  "Leighton." Leighton's voice shook. "Leighton Baron."

  "Well, Leighton Baron, Ms. McCord seems a bit upset. Why don't you take her out, the way you'd planned, and feed her a good meal?"

  "Oh, no. I mean, I wasn't really—"

  "Sure, you were." Tyler smiled lazily and reached out for Caitlin. She tried to step back but he curled his hand around the nape of her neck. "You take her to have brunch, but you bring her straight back." He looked into Caitlin's eyes, and her heart skipped a beat at what she saw blazing in his. "And then," he said, his gaze never leaving hers, "then, you turn around and forget you ever knew her because Caitlin McCord belongs to me."

  "No," Caitlin said, but it was too late. Tyler drew her to him and crushed her mouth under his.

&
nbsp; She struggled, beat her fists against his chest... and then she moaned, opened her mouth to his and kissed him back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  KISSING her had been a mistake.

  Tyler knew as much, as soon as he drew Caitlin into his arms. The boy he'd once been might have done something as brash and aggressive but the man he'd become would not.

  That man wore custom-made suits and chaired board meet­ings. He was civilized and urbane, and took pride in being a lover who always brought a woman pleasure but never, ever lost control. Even at the most explosive moment of sexual release, a part of that man always remained removed.

  He told himself that part of him was still there, that he was kissing Caitlin only because 'the contemptuous way she'd treated him today infuriated him, after the way she'd melted in his arms last night.

  It had nothing to do with wanting the taste of her on his lips. He was observing the kiss more than experiencing it.

  And then her mouth—her hot, sweet mouth—opened to let him in, and he was lost.

  Everything was lost. Common sense, reality—there was just Caitlin, soft and eager in his arms. He forgot where he was and who he was; forgot that they were not alone. He was caught in a whirlpool and he couldn't escape, didn't want to escape. He was being drawn down and down into its raging heart.

  He clasped her face in his hands, angled his mouth over hers again in hungry need. She whimpered, lifted her hands and grasped his shirt. And then, just as suddenly, he felt her stiffen and she wrenched her mouth from his.

  "Don't," she said, in a shaky whisper.

  Don't. That was what she'd said. Not, "How dare you?" or "Let go of me," not some stock phrase that would have

  meant she was determined to lay the blame for what had just happened on him.

  Instead she'd whispered that one word, and when he opened his eyes and looked down into her beautiful face, his heart turned over. Her eyes were wide and liquid; her mouth trem­bled. The truth was there, painted on her every feature. She was afraid, not of him but of what he felt, what she felt, the same blood-hot need to take each other, to give everything and refuse nothing.

  It was the last thing he'd ever wanted to feel about a woman, the last thing he wanted to deal with now.

  And yet—and yet, it was there, had been there from the first time he'd touched her. The burning need to possess her. The longing to carry her off to some private place, tear off her clothes and sink deep into her welcoming flesh. There'd be no tenderness, not the first time. But after they were both sated, he'd do all the things he dreamed of doing to her. He'd kiss every inch of her skin, inhale her flowerlike scent. Touch her breasts, her thighs, the delicate inner petals that were hidden between them. Watch her eyes fill with pleasure, swallow her sighs...

  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?"

  S
he 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.