“I have my own business in Houston.”
The thick golden eyebrows raised in silent query. “What kind of business?” He leaned his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his fists. The backs of his hands and his knuckles were sprinkled with crinkly blond hairs. His fingers were long and tapering, not thick and stubby like Bart’s. His nails were well cared for, she noted objectively.
Erin raised her eyes to his. She could barely see the blue irises through the brush of thick eyelashes that screened them. His good looks made her uneasy. It was almost as if his handsomeness were a barrier to her getting to know him better. For some reason intimacy between them seemed dangerous.
“I… uh… my business organizes and stages fashion shows,” she answered.
“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” he said.
She laughed. “That’s what makes us unique!” she piped and playfully tapped his hand with her own.
Exhibiting that same swiftness of action she had witnessed before, he captured her hand with his and held it tightly. For endless moments they stared across the table at each other. When he spoke, it was in a low, vibrating voice.
“You said a few minutes ago that you wanted to get to know me. I want to know you, too. I think we should start now, don’t you?”
She swallowed convulsively and wished he would release her hand. It would be useless to try to retrieve it. His fingers seemed to be made of steel. She could see herself reflected in the pupils of his eyes, and her own revealing expression frightened her. She whispered tremulously, “Start what?”
“Start getting to know each other.”
Before she could blink, he had stood up and come around the table. Before she could breathe, he had pulled her to her feet and encircled her with his arms. One hand embedded itself in her dark, rich curls as he tilted her head back and looked down into her face.
“What better way to get to know each other than with a kiss of reciprocal filial affection?”
The face that descended toward hers bespoke nothing of brotherly fondness. That was Erin’s last conscious thought before she felt his mouth invade hers. His fingers were wound so tightly through her hair that tears of pain joined those of mortification that had already flooded her eyes. His other arm was secure across the middle of her back, pinning her arms to her sides and pressing her against his unyielding body.
She squirmed against him, but her movements only strengthened his hold on her. Deep in her throat she screamed, screams that were swallowed by his mouth that covered and absorbed hers. Her lips throbbed under the bruising pressure of his, and they were powerless to prevent his relentless tongue from entering her mouth.
Never had she been kissed like this. It was disgusting. It was a heinous sin. Knowing their relationship, the way he explored her mouth was decadent and revolting.
It was also thrilling.
She struggled for control—not physical control. Her limbs had been rendered useless and, to her shame, she leaned into him for support. She was fighting a losing struggle of the will.
She fought the sensations that danced up and down her spine. They were responsible for the trembling, melting warmth in the pit of her stomach that she strove to ignore. Her eyes, which had been opened wide with surprise and indignation, now closed of their own volition, disobeying her cerebral commands to remain open and scorn this odious man.
The rattle of a key being inserted in the back door lock saved Erin from the absolute degradation of submission. She renewed her struggling until she managed to push away from him, when he raised his head and relaxed his arms. He faced the door, though he kept a firm grip on Erin’s upper arm.
The woman who came through the door was dainty, young, and blond. She was smiling in a childlike manner despite the sadness that clouded her brown eyes and attested to some deep worry.
The two people standing in the middle of the room were frozen in a caricature of an embrace. The woman’s expression was bleak and guilty, her features ravaged, her face pale.
The man’s mien was hard, cold, and fearsome. It was toward him that the blond woman turned quizzical eyes.
“Hello, Mrs. Lyman.”
“Mr. Barrett,” she answered shyly. “Wha—”
“Mrs. Lyman, do you know this woman?” he interrupted her. “Have you ever seen her before?”
The young woman addressed as Mrs. Lyman by a man who was supposed to be her husband looked at Erin and shook her head. “No, Mr. Barrett, I’ve never seen her before.”
Barrett! Barrett!
Erin raised incredulous eyes to the man who still retained a steel-band grip on her arm. The blue eyes that met hers were frigid and implacable.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Chapter Two