With only Mom and me here, I’m afraid everything is pretty feminine.”
He wouldn’t be here long enough for the Monet decor to bother him. He hoped that once Tara realized she wasn’t going to snag him she’d give up on her absurd scheme and let him get his own place. “Your father wasn’t around?”
“He disappeared when I was seven.”
Surprised, he looked at her. “You never told me that.”
She stared at the beige carpet. “I, um, guess I didn’t want to bore you. And you really never asked about my family.”
An intentional oversight. Their relationship had been action-packed and tightly focused on their strong sexual attraction. He’d always been careful about revealing anything that Tara might inadvertently share with his father, and that meant avoiding personal topics. “Your parents were divorced?”
He wished his had been. And then maybe his father wouldn’t have driven his mother to drink and suicide. Her death had been ruled an accident. But Rand knew better. He knew, and he should have found a way to prevent it.
“It’s hard to divorce a man who’s not here.”
“He’s dead?”
She shrugged and turned away to fluff a pillow. “I don’t know. When I say he disappeared, I mean he literally disappeared. He left for work one morning and never came back. No one ever found his body or his car, and we never heard from him again. Mom and I moved into this house with my grandparents. It’s where my mother lived when she met my father.”
Sympathy slipped under his skin. He hardened himself to the unwanted emotion. Was Tara telling the truth or yanking his chain? He didn’t know what to believe anymore. He’d believed her when she said she loved him. But then she’d turned to Everett days later, proving to Rand that his judgment concerning Tara was faulty.
He shook off the sting of betrayal.
“We stayed because Mom wanted him to be able to find us.”
He stared in disbelief. “She thought he’d come back after twenty-odd years?”
She shrugged. “If he’d been injured or had amnesia or something, he might.”
“Do you believe that?”
Her gaze broke away. She smoothed a hand over the bedspread. “I don’t know. But Mom asked me to keep the house just in case, so I will.”
He couldn’t argue with illogical logic. “Bathroom?”
“Through there.” She pointed to a door.
“Internet hookup?”
“Anywhere in the house. I installed a wireless network when I moved in. My mother was—wasn’t well. I needed to be able to work wherever she needed me.” The strong emotional undercurrents in her voice warned him to change the topic or get embroiled in an emotional tar pit he’d rather avoid.
Five years ago he’d been enthralled by Tara, now he felt entrapped. Last time he’d wined and dined her and swept her off her feet. This time he wasn’t going to waste the effort. “Your room?”
“Across the hall.”
“Show me.”
She pivoted and crossed the caramel-colored carpet. Rand followed a few steps behind. His gaze dropped to her butt. She’d lost weight since they were together. He’d enjoyed her generous curves before, but this leaner version had its own appeal. Not that it mattered how attractively she baited her trap. He wasn’t biting her hook.
A maple queen-size four-poster bed took up most of the space. His blood heated and need clenched like a fist in his groin. He didn’t want to want her, dammit. But, to borrow a cliché, he’d made his bed and he’d have to lie in it. With Tara.
Consider it a job.
He’d had worse jobs than pleasuring an attractive woman. His father had made sure of that by making Rand work his way up from the bottom of the cruise line ranks. Not so for Mitch or Nadia. His siblings had never had to work in the bowels of a KCL ship or spend months sleeping in a windowless cabin.
Looking uneasy, Tara hugged herself and faced him.
Might as well get started.
He grasped her upper arms, hauled her close and slammed his mouth over hers. The initial contact with her warm, silky lips hit him like a runaway barge, rocking him off balance. And then the familiar taste, scent and softness of her flooded him with heat, desire and memories. He ruthlessly suppressed all three and focused on the mechanics of the embrace.
He sliced his tongue through her lips, taking, pillaging, trying to force a response and get the task done as quickly as possible.
Tara stood woodenly in his arms for several seconds while his tongue twined with the slickness of hers, then she shuddered and shoved against his chest. He let her go and she backed away, covering her lips with two fingers.
What exactly did she want from him? She’d said sex. For a year. He’d give her exactly what she demanded. Nothing more. Nothing less. If she didn’t like it, that was her problem.
He reached for his tie, loosened it then started on his shirt buttons.
Her wide gaze fastened on his chest. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“I’m going to do you. Isn’t that why I’m here?”
She bit her lip. “Maybe we should wait.”
He paused in the act of yanking his shirttail free. “Until after dinner?”
“Until we’ve…become reacquainted.”
Her nipples tented her dress in little peaks, her breaths came quick and shallow, and the pulse in her neck fluttered wildly. Desire pinked her cheeks.
“You want me—whether or not you’re willing to admit it.” And as much as he hated it, he wanted her. Physically.
It’s a trap. Keep the hell away from her.
Not an option.
He closed the distance between them. “You made this deal, Tara, and I’m ready to deliver my end of it.”
“I-if I wanted sex with a stranger, I’d drive to the beach and find one.”
The idea of Tara with some other guy irked him. She was twenty-nine. Of course she’d had other lovers.
Including his father. He shoved down the disgust and dragged his fingertips down the smooth skin of her arm. He relished her shiver.
“But we’re not strangers, are we?”
She jerked away. “I’ll start dinner.”
She tried to step around him. He blocked her path. “So you’re calling the shots. I perform on command. Like a trained dog. Or a gigolo.”
She gulped and briefly closed her eyes. “I had hoped the desire would be mutual. Like it was before.”
“Before you slept with my father?”
She frowned. “I told you I didn’t sleep with Everett.”
“You forget, Tara, I know what you look like after you’ve been screwed. Your mussed hair, smudged makeup and the hickey you had on your neck that night, told the tale.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Believe what you will.”
The vulnerability in her expression nearly sucked him in. She lifted a trembling hand to brush back a loosened strand of hair. “We used to be good together, Rand. Don’t you want that again?”
Did he want to be a gullible fool again? Hell no.
Given her betrayal and the Kincaid men’s history with women, cutting her loose had been his only option. “I don’t repeat my mistakes.”