A look she couldn’t identify flickered in Mitch’s eyes. “Fine. Now if you’ll hand the b—Rhett—over to Ingrid, we’ll have lunch before moving your things inside.”
“No Ingrid.”
“She is not my lover.”
“She wants to be.”
A smug smile slanted his lips, and her stomach sank like a wet sandbag. He could charm the birds from the trees with that smile. She hoped he didn’t aim it at her very often.
He tilted his head, his green gaze traveled down the length of Carly’s body, then slowly returned. Her skin tingled and her nipples tightened in the wake of his inspection. “It disturbs you that she wants me?”
Carly stiffened at his implication that she might be jealous. “There’s no accounting for tastes. You can sleep with her and each of the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders solely or en masse for all I care, but I’m not having the woman in charge of Rhett’s safety concentrating on getting into your pants when she should be watching him.”
The smile vanished. “Ingrid came highly recommended from a business associate.”
“Then she won’t have trouble finding another job.” He opened his mouth—presumably to argue. She held up her hand to cut him off. “Mitch, this one’s nonnegotiable.”
“Apparently, many things are nonnegotiable with you.”
“I’m not afraid to fight for what I want.” She had been once, and she’d paid the price ever since.
“Like your sister.” His tone made the comment an insult.
Fury, pain and panic hit her like a barrage of arrows. She gritted her teeth and blinked away the sting in her eyes, but she refused to engage in this particular war of words. He couldn’t know about Marlene’s plan. Her sister hadn’t been the type to broadcast her secrets. Not even to her twin. And Carly had no intention of giving Mitch Kincaid ammunition by sharing what she knew.
“Deal or no deal, Kincaid?”
After a few tense moments Mitch nodded once. “No Ingrid.”
Carly exhaled. She’d won the battle, but she had a feeling she’d unintentionally declared war against a man her sister had claimed didn’t fight fair.
Two
Carly’s plan to turn Mitch into a family man wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped. She hadn’t expected to have to start with a man who couldn’t bear to touch the child.
Tomorrow she’d have to reassess the stages of Mitch’s conversion and possibly break the process down into smaller achievable increments. As if she were training an athlete for a marathon she’d set daily and weekly goals toward attaining the ultimate objective by the end of the year. She wanted Mitch to love Rhett as much as she did. Nothing less would do.
She yanked on her nightie and pulled open the bathroom door. Steam wafted into the bedroom from behind her. Glancing at the big four-poster bed, she anticipated sinking into the thick mattress, but first she needed to check on Rhett one last time. She crossed the hall.
This morning, a team of employees had removed the furniture from the blue room and replaced it with obviously new nursery furniture. After lunch, Mitch had surprised her by dismissing them and helping her unload her car himself during Rhett’s nap.
So he wasn’t a complete jerk and he wasn’t afraid of hard work. But not once had she seen him try to connect with Rhett, and that annoyed her like a festering splinter. A child needed the love and support of his family. All of his family. And he needed to know he was loved and that the one in charge would do the right thing. No matter how difficult.
Rhett had been overwound after a day full of changes, but had finally gone out like a light thirty minutes ago. Carly straightened the lightweight blanket covering him and bent to kiss his forehead. She couldn’t possibly love him any more if he were her own.
A sound behind her made her straighten and turn. Mitch stood in the open doorway silhouetted by the light she’d left burning in her bedroom.
“He finally settled?” His low rumbling voice raised the hairs on Carly’s arms and reminded her she was naked except for her worn thigh-length nightshirt. She hadn’t bothered with a robe because she’d thought Mitch would be off in his own wing of the monstrous ten-bedroom house.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she crossed the lush carpet and stopped in front of him before whispering, “Yes. He’s not usually so cranky. Today was a bit much for him, I think.”
Mitch’s slow head-to-toe appraisal set her pulse aflutter. Dark evening beard shadowed his jaw and upper lip, and his slightly rumpled hair looked as if he’d run his hands through the thick strands a few times. He’d removed his suit coat and tie and rolled back the sleeves of his shirt to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark whorls.
In a word, he looked sexy. And he smelled great. The crisp aroma of his cologne had faded and a more masculine, more alluring scent had taken its place. Mitch’s scent.
Forget it. He’s not your type.
“Well…good night.” She stepped forward and he moved aside.
“Good night.” He turned and walked toward the double doors at the end of the hall. One stood open, revealing the bottom end of a king-size bed covered in a dark green damask spread.
Alarm bells clamored in Carly’s head. “That’s your room?”
“Yes.”
How could she sleep with her door open to listen out for Rhett when she knew Mitch could stroll past at any moment?
Mitch’s gaze turned arctic. “And don’t bother sleepwalking. My door will be locked.”
Anger shrieked through her like steam through a boiling teakettle. Before she could think of an appropriate comeback, Mitch entered his room and shut his door. The lock clicked.
Carly’s short nails bit into her palms and fury chewed her insides. Marlene had been too kind in labeling Mitch Kincaid a rat bastard.
So much for sweet dreams.
Laughter pulled Mitch from the dining room to the kitchen. Surprise halted him in the doorway.
Mrs. Duncan had been a fixture at Kincaid Manor since before Mitch’s birth, but he’d never heard the woman laugh. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever seen her smile.
Making airplane noises, the head housekeeper bent over the brat’s high chair with a spoon in her hand and a twinkle in her eyes. Mrs. Duncan could twinkle? She caught sight of Mitch and abruptly stopped buzzing. Her amusement vanished and her lined face settled back into a familiar expressionless cast. She snapped upright.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you were waiting for your breakfast. I’ll bring it right through.” She set the spoon and bowl she held in front of Carly.
Mitch’s gaze shifted to his unwanted guest. Instead of her usual ponytail, Carly’s hair draped her shoulders in a silky smooth curtain of mink brown. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her glinted on a few golden strands.
“Morning, Mitch.” She flashed him one of her brick-melting smiles and a shot of adrenaline negated his need for coffee. Apparently, this Corbin didn’t hold grudges. Or did she merely conceal her vindictiveness better than her sister had?
“Good morning, Carly.” She wore another tracksuit—this one in blinding tangerine with white stripes on the sleeves. He focused on her obnoxiously bright clothing in a failed attempt to wipe the image of last night’s attire from his mind. Her shapeless, oversize T-shirt had been worn almost to the point of transparency. The shadows of her nipples, navel and the dark curls between her legs had been obvious through the faded