a unique angle to the table. She might deny the attraction, but he’d seen the interest in her eyes when she looked at him. Like now. With her sun-streaked hair pooling like silk on the grass, her chin tilted up to expose the long line of her neck and her gaze slowly climbing his body.
Oh yeah, she wanted him.
But even without her mercenary genetics, he couldn’t get involved with her. He’d learned the hard way through both his and his father’s affairs that running a business the size of KCL left no room for anything more than temporary liaisons. He’d forget to call, or miss a date, and then there would be hell to pay from the neglected woman. Too much hassle.
He’d stick with women like him who were too committed to their careers to want more than physical satisfaction now and then. The women he called didn’t expect romance. They expected hot, sweaty sex. And nothing more. But even that wasn’t safe with Carly Corbin.
She rolled to her feet as graceful as a cat and brushed the grass fragments from her clothing. She missed the blade stuck in her hair. Mitch fisted his hands against the urge to reach for it. For her.
“Up. Up. Pig me up,” Rhett demanded. Mitch ignored him.
Carly frowned at Mitch, shook her head and bent to lift the boy. Her top gaped as she did, revealing the curves of her breasts and the dusky hint of her nipples. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Need kicked Mitch in the gut.
“Want to help me give Rhett his bath?” Carly asked as she straightened.
He forced his gaze from her chest to her face. “No.”
But he wouldn’t mind bathing Carly, cupping her flesh with soap-slick hands and sinking into her.
Not gonna happen.
He was not like his old man who’d never learned from his mistakes. Mitch thought with the head on his shoulders and not with the one in his pants.
A woman had made a fool of him once.
It wouldn’t happen again.
No matter how much he wanted this one.
“Settle him, Carly,” Mitch muttered and struggled to ignore Rhett’s cries as he paced his room. “C’mon, settle the boy.”
Mitch’s heart hammered against his ribs and his nerves stretched tight. He didn’t want to get involved, but the noise from the blue suite continued to rise.
Where in the hell was Carly?
He yanked open his door and stalked down the hall. Her bedroom door stood open, but the room and bed were empty. Had she gone downstairs? Snuck out of the house for a date?
Bolted like he wanted her to?
At any other time he’d rejoice at the prospect, but not when he was alone in the house with the kid. He forced himself to turn and scan Rhett’s darkened room. The glow of the new night-light illuminated the unhappy, red-faced child.
Short arms extended toward Mitch. “Bubba.”
“It’s okay, kid. Go back to sleep.”
Rhett whimpered in response, ripping Mitch in two.
He strode into Carly’s room to check the status of her clothes. If they were here, she was coming back. Before he reached the closet another sound registered. Running water. The shower. Relief mingled with disappointment. She hadn’t left.
He crossed the plum carpet to the closed bathroom door and lifted his hand to pound on the panel and order her to get her ass out here and take care of the kid. An off-key voice belting out a country ballad stilled his fist and an image of Carly’s wet, bare golden skin seized his mind and sent a jolt of arousal through him. The slam of his heart reverberated in his groin.
Down, boy. You can be attracted to any woman but her.
He looked over his shoulder and through the open door at the crying child. Which was the lesser of two evils?
Normally Mitch enjoyed naked women, especially wet naked women, but the genetically identical version of the Machiavellian bitch who’d screwed his father over with the oldest trick in the book was off-limits.
His life would be easier if his feelings for Carly were identical to his feelings for her twin. Marlene had left him cold and not just the day she’d calmly accepted cash to get rid of her baby as easily as she would lunch money. She’d never flipped his switch. She was a liar and a con artist who’d set out to nail herself a rich husband and pulled out all stops to achieve her goal. The boy was better off without Marlene Corbin in his life.
“Mama, Mama,” Rhett wailed and Mitch winced. The kid already called Carly Mama. Would Rhett also be better off without Carly? Didn’t matter. Carly Corbin’s days as Rhett’s guardian were numbered.
Being in the same room with Carly when she was undressed and living under his roof could open the door to all kinds of lawsuits and legal complications—if she was looking for a free ride, as he suspected. The last thing he wanted to do was give another Corbin grounds to extort more Kincaid money.
He backed away from the door, heading for the lesser of two evils. The crying child.
Rhett’s breath hitched when Mitch entered the room. The boy stood in his crib and held his arms out, opening and closing his tiny hands. “Pig me up.”
Mitch fisted his hands by his sides. “Hey, buddy. Carly’s in the shower. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
The kid’s face scrunched up and his bottom lip quivered. Fresh tears oozed from his big brown eyes. Eyes the same shape and color as Carly’s. “Up. Up.”
Mitch remained a yard from the crib. “You have a bad dream?”
The whimper turned into a cry. The boy grasped the railing and bounced. “Up. Up.”
Letting the kid get close even once would be the beginning of nothing good. But he had no choice since Carly wasn’t here doing the job she’d committed to do. He shouldn’t have let her talk him out of the nanny.
Wishing he could avoid it, but knowing he couldn’t, Mitch gritted his teeth and moved closer. Rhett immediately latched his arms around Mitch’s neck, crushing Mitch’s windpipe. Or maybe it was the memories choking him. He lifted the sturdy little body and automatically patted the diaper, checking for soggy overload. It felt dry.
The kid hiccupped and burrowed his wet face against Mitch’s neck. Mitch awkwardly thumped the narrow little back, and when that didn’t settle the boy, he crossed to the rocking chair and sat. Toeing the rocker into motion, Mitch tried to remain detached, tried to shut down the memories. Memories of nights with a colicky child. But he couldn’t. His chest tightened with each sway of the rocker.
Soothing nonsense poured from his lips as if it had only been yesterday when he’d performed this same task for another little boy.
A boy he’d planned to adopt and claim as his own.
Rhett felt like Travis, smelled like Travis, cuddled like Travis. Same weight. Same size. Same desperate need for a father’s love.
Rhett quieted and grew heavy, telling Mitch he’d drifted back to sleep. But as reluctant as Mitch had been to pick up the boy, now he didn’t want to let him go.
He’d missed this. And the only way to ensure he wouldn’t have to let Rhett go was to get rid of Carly Corbin.
The sooner the better.
Carly halted outside Rhett’s bedroom door and blinked.
As if it weren’t shocking enough to find Mitch cradling Rhett and gently stroking his back, a quiet baritone filled the room. Humming? Mitch Kincaid humming?
The image didn’t fit the arrogant executive she’d seen over the past week and a half.
Eyes closed and with a sad expression on his face, he rested his dark head against the back of the rocker. Rhett