Della brought her a plate. Carly forked a bite of salad into her mouth and glanced at Della. She’d really come to like the housekeeper, but her presence kept Carly from asking the questions burning and churning inside her.
She needed to know the prognosis for this relationship. Good or bad.
One silent minute stretched into five. The only sounds in the room were Rhett’s occasional chatter, the crunch of Mitch’s teeth biting into his sandwich and the shuffle of papers as he dealt with his correspondence.
Carly’s appetite died. She pushed her salad around on her dish and focused her attention on Rhett, but for once her nephew had decided to feed himself relatively neatly and without any assistance from her.
When she couldn’t bear the tension any longer she laid down her fork and cleared her throat. “I had a call about my house before I came downstairs.”
Mitch’s hand stopped halfway to his glass. One dark eyebrow lifted.
“A prospective renter wants to see it this afternoon. I agreed to meet them at three…unless you have other plans.”
Hint, hint, big guy. Tell me you want to spend the afternoon together.
“You plan to meet strangers in your house? Alone?”
“They’re not strangers. They’re a married couple who are good friends with Tina’s sister.”
He nodded. “Leave the rug rat with me.”
The knot of tension between her shoulder blades eased only slightly. She would have preferred he offer to come with her, but she wanted Mitch and Rhett to bond, and this was a step forward. She’d take what she could get, and when she returned from showing her house, she’d corner Mitch and find out exactly what was going on. And then she’d develop a new strategy from what she learned.
“I should only be gone a couple of hours.”
“Take your time.”
Her gaze searched his. There was a reserve in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since the early days in their relationship.
What had changed in the thirty minutes from when he’d left her in his bed until she’d joined him? Because whatever it was, she could feel Mitch pulling back.
Eight
“Y ou ready to tell me what’s going on? Or do I need to kick your ass again?”
Mitch flipped a rude hand gesture at Rand while treading water in the deep end of the pool and trying to catch his breath. “You only beat me by two body lengths after ten laps. That’s pathetic, considering I wasn’t on my high school and college swim teams and you were.”Apparently, his brother hadn’t slacked off in his training.
“Yeah, yeah, save face any way you can.”
Joking with Rand again felt good. It had been a long time. Too long. Once, they’d been close, competitive, too—their father had ensured that—but close. “You’re in decent shape for an old man.”
“Only two years older than you, brat. And two years wiser.”
Shaking his head at Rand’s need to get the last word, Mitch swam to the side and, ignoring the ladder a few yards away, hauled himself out of the water. He turned on the stone surround, offered Rand a hand and hoisted him onto the deck.
Rand scooped two towels out of a nearby chair and tossed one to Mitch. “What’s up with the unexpected invitation?”
Unexpected because their relationship had been strained since Rand’s return to Miami. Mitch hadn’t exactly offered his brother an olive branch for stepping up to the plate instead of walking away from the challenge to fill their father’s shoes. Maybe he should now that he knew the reason. Rand had left because their father had allegedly slept with the woman his brother loved. A woman currently putting Rand through the wringer, thanks to big brother’s portion of the inheritance clause.
“It’s good to have you back. I wasn’t sure it would be at first, but it’s good to be a team again.” His brother was holding up his end of KCL and doing a damned fine job of it.
“It’s good to be back.” Surprise laced Rand’s voice. “Now quit stalling. Why am I here?”
“Carly wanted Rhett to meet you.” And Mitch wasn’t ready for a quiet, intimate evening with his potential bride-to-be. Not until he wrapped his head around the brain-frying sex and the P.I.’s phone call. Mixing business with pleasure had never been an issue for him before. Why did it bother him now?
“Where is Dad’s little bastard?”
A sharp rebuke sprang to Mitch’s lips. He clamped his jaw shut to contain the words and briskly scrubbed the towel over his body. Not too long ago he’d referred to Rhett the same way, but for some reason he found the words offensive when Rand used them.
“Mrs. Duncan has him. She wanted to do a Web cam chat with her sister, so her sister could see Rhett. You’ll meet him at dinner. I’ll even let you sit beside him.” He barely held his smile in check. His brother had no idea what he was in for.
“Our old guard dog is computer savvy?”
Rand sounded as shocked as Mitch had been. But then Mrs. Duncan had always remained in the background, more like a fixture of the house than a person. If she’d had personality or interests beyond Kincaid walls, she’d kept them to herself for thirty-plus years.
Until Carly.
Within a week of moving in, Carly had learned the names, hobbies and family history of every Kincaid Manor employee, the neighborhood security guards, the mail carrier and the delivery men, for godsakes. Mitch only knew the names of those whose paychecks he signed or the ones who weren’t doing their jobs and needed to be fired. He didn’t want or need to know more.
His father hadn’t been that way. Everett Kincaid had thrived on knowing every intimate detail about anyone who touched his sphere—primarily so he could use it against them.
“Mrs. Duncan has a top-of-the-line laptop.”
“Has she said anything about retiring with the half million Dad left her?”
“She hasn’t mentioned it. But she might stick around. She’s getting pretty attached to Carly and the little guy.”
“Sounds like you are, too.”
Deliberately ignoring the first half of that equation, Mitch shrugged. “He’s a cute kid. Hard not to like him.”
“And the aunt? Any luck getting rid of her?”
Buying time while he debated how much of his plan to reveal, Mitch ambled to the built-in patio bar and plucked a couple of bottles of imported beer out of the minirefrigerator.
Better to keep his idea to himself rather than risk Rand throwing a wrench in his plans. His big brother had always been a rule follower, and while Mitch’s plan wasn’t illegal, it wasn’t exactly kosher, either, even if he believed everyone would end up satisfied in the end.
“Not yet.” He offered his brother a drink.
Rand accepted the bottle and popped the cap. “Five weeks ago you thought this job would be easy, but you haven’t sealed the deal. Are you having trouble meeting the Corbin woman’s price?”
Mitch took a swig of his beer. The cool liquid did nothing to relieve his parched throat. “I offered her a million to sign over guardianship. She turned me down.”
Rand’s face hardened. “The bitch wants more?”
Mitch’s fingers contracted so tightly it was a miracle the bottle didn’t shatter. He reminded himself again that he’d used those same words before he’d gotten to know Carly, back when he’d expected her to be identical to her twin in temperament and greed, as well as looks.
Feigning calm when he was anything but, he eased into a chair and propped his feet on the tabletop. “Carly claims she doesn’t want any Kincaid money.”
Rand sat in the opposite chair. “You were always a decent judge of character. Either she’s not as mercenary as you expected or she’s angling for more than cash. Which is it?”
Mitch studied the sweat already condensing on the green glass in the late afternoon heat. A droplet snaked down the side of the neck and over the black label.
As the middle kid, he’d learned to read people pretty well, but his record wasn’t flawless. He’d never expected Trish to go back to her cheating ex or Marlene to take the money and run. He sure as hell hadn’t expected his father to knock off Marlene Corbin. If he had.
There was always a chance Mitch had the wrong bead on Carly. The future of KCL depended on him being on target. But Carly was…
He didn’t even begin to know how to explain Carly Corbin to Rand. She had the bullheaded determination of a Fortune 500 executive, and yet she’d thrown herself in where needed at Kincaid Manor without being asked. Was she selfish or selfless?
“I don’t think Carly is as greedy as her sister. She appears more interested in making sure Rhett’s future is secure. Once I convince her it is, she’ll go.” If he was wrong, he’d pay dearly. Especially if he married her. He was counting on her being willing to walk away.
The back door opened. Instead of Mrs. Duncan, Carly waltzed out with a shirtless Rhett on her hip. Mitch nearly fell out of his chair when he saw the amount of skin she had on display. His feet slapped on the tiles and he shot upright. He wanted to wrap his towel around her and conceal her from his brother’s close scrutiny.
“Are we too late to join you for a swim?” she called out.
Carly’s black bikini wasn’t brief by Miami Beach standards, but it framed every curve to full, mouthwatering advantage.
She strolled toward them with a fluid, athletic grace that sent his blood racing for his swim trunks. The woman made her living getting others in shape. She didn’t skimp on herself.
Rand whistled under his breath and muttered almost inaudibly, “I’d offer to pull a dad for you, but—”
“No.” The word exploded from Mitch’s mouth. Their father had stolen more than one woman from Rand. Taking what others wanted—personally and professionally—had been one of Everett Kincaid’s favorite sicko games. Mitch had learned early on to hide his emotions and his ambitions.
“I’m glad. Rhett loves the water.” Carly had obviously mistaken his no as a response to her question.
Rand rose and extended his hand before Mitch could make introductions. “Rand Kincaid. You must be Carly. And this has to be Rhett. He has Kincaid written all over him.”
His brother had turned on the charm and the lady-killer smile. Mitch wanted to clock him with his beer bottle.
“It’s nice to meet you, Rand. I’ve been eager for Rhett to get to know all of his siblings. It’s a shame he can’t meet Nadia until this year’s over.”
The handshake lasted too long.
“Mitt,” Rhett squealed and dove for Mitch. Mitch caught him, and in the transfer, his forearm brushed Carly’s breast. The brief contact sent a jolt of electricity through him. But the best part of the kid’s dive was that it severed the handshake.
A tiny hand fisted in Mitch’s chest hair. Pain radiated outward and Mitch had to smother a howl. He detached the persistent fingers and pointed to Rand. “Brother.”
“Bubba,” Rhett replied just as Mitch had hoped he would. This time, it was funny.
Rand grimaced. “Rand. I’m Rand.”