Prologue
“You will return to Kincaid Cruise Lines as acting CEO for one full year.” The lawyer paused dramatically, his eyes finding Rand Kincaid’s over the top of Everett Kincaid’s will.
“And you will convince Tara Anthony to come back with you as your personal assistant.”The words hit Rand like a bullet, knocking him back in his chair and punching the air from his lungs. “No. Hell no.”
The lawyer didn’t flinch. Years of dealing with Rand’s bastard of a father had probably left the man immune to profanity and raised voices.
“Should you refuse, not only will you forfeit your share of your father’s estate, but your brother and sister will lose theirs, as well. In fact, if any of you fail in your assigned tasks, then I’m instructed to sell all of Everett’s holdings to Mardi Gras Cruising for one dollar. The business, the estate, the investment portfolio.”
Son of a bitch. Rand slammed his palms on the table and shot out of his chair. He should have known the old man would find a way to pull his strings—even from the grave. “Mardi Gras is Kincaid’s biggest rival, and the CEO is my father’s sworn enemy.”
“I am aware of that.”
Clenching and releasing his fists by his sides, Rand paced the length of the Kincaid Manor dining room. He glanced at his younger brother and sister and saw more than grief and shock in their pale faces. He saw resignation, and in the case of his brother, frustration and suppressed anger.
They expected Rand to walk. The way he had five years ago. The fact that he’d failed to contact Mitch or Nadia or return their calls in the interim had no doubt contributed to their lack of faith in him, but he’d cut all ties because he hadn’t wanted to put them in the middle of his war with their father.
Rand struggled to shake off the invisible straight jacket cinching tighter around him. He owed Mitch and Nadia, and not just for abandoning the family business.
He pivoted and refocused on the attorney. “Anyone but her. Not Tara Anthony.”
Within three weeks of declaring she loved Rand and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, the woman had gone after deeper pockets when Rand refused to cough up a wedding ring.
“I’m sorry, Rand. Everett insisted on Ms. Anthony.”
His father would. The manipulative despot. He had always coveted whatever Rand had and then he’d taken it by fair means or foul and flaunted his successes like a cat leaves a carcass on the doormat.
“And if she refuses?” Rand would make sure Tara did.
“Then you’ll change her mind. Unless you choose to fail, there is no other option.”
Another dead end. Frustration burned like acid in his belly. “I’ll contest the will.”
The lawyer didn’t even blink. “Contesting by any of the three of you immediately results in forfeiture.”
Rand struggled with the urge to punch something. His tyrannical father had closed the obvious loopholes before unexpectedly dropping from a heart attack in his latest mistress’s bed three days ago. But there had to be a way out, and if there was, Rand would find it.
He planted his fists on the table and leaned toward the attorney. “Richards, you know my father must have been mentally incompetent to demand this.”
“He wasn’t crazy, Rand,” his brother said before Richards could reply. “I’d have known. I worked with him every day. You would have known, too, if you’d stuck around.” Mitch made no attempt to conceal his anger.
Nadia’s head bobbed in agreement. “Dad was impossible, insensitive and immoral. But he wasn’t insane.”
A volley of curses ricocheted around inside Rand’s skull. He straightened and nailed his brother with a hard stare. “Why aren’t you protesting? CEO should be your job.”
Mitch shrugged, but his jaw looked rapier-sharp. “Dad wanted you.”
Rand couldn’t contain his snort of disgust.
“That’s a first. You were always his favorite and his right-hand man. I was his sparring partner—the one he liked to beat.” Not physically, but in every other way. Sports. Business. Women. Until his father had taken their competition too far.
Rand looked from his brother to his sister. “This all-for-one garbage is absurd. He spent his life trying to drive us apart.”
“And it looks like in death he’s trying to bring us together,” Nadia replied.
Richards cleared his throat. “Over this past year Everett realized he’d made some mistakes. He wants the three of you to help him rectify them.”
“So he won’t eternally rot in hell,” Rand muttered. A sense of doom descended on his shoulders. He was trapped. Like a rat in a maze. Exactly how his father liked it.
Whatever game you’re playing, old man, I will win this time.
Even if it meant facing Tara again.
He squared his shoulders and looked his brother straight in the eye. “I’ll do it. I’ll come back to KCL, and I’ll make Tara Anthony an offer she can’t refuse.”
One
T he doorbell echoed through the two-story foyer, stopping Tara Anthony in the process of kicking off her shoes. An ivory sandal dangled from her toe.
Tightening her grip on the newel post, she debated ignoring her visitor and then groaned, stabbed her foot back into her shoe and rolled her tense shoulders. Whoever was out there had very likely watched her walk inside thirty seconds ago and knew she was here. As if to prove her point, the bell chimed twice more in quick succession.No doubt she’d find another developer on the other side of the door, one who wanted to buy her lot, demolish her old house and build a minimansion in its place as had happened with so many of the neighborhood properties. This section of Miami had become an increasingly desirable location lately. But she couldn’t sell. She’d promised her mother she’d hold on to the house. Just in case.
Tara pushed back her hair and sighed. She wanted this rotten day to end, and she wasn’t up for a pushy sales pitch tonight. But apparently, her hot bath and the pint of Ben & Jerry’s she’d planned to have for dinner would have to wait.
Not for long.
Tomorrow she’d buy a bigger No Soliciting sign.
Resolved to deal with her uninvited guest as quickly as possible, she crossed the foyer and yanked open the door. She reeled back in shock at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man filling the opening.
“Rand,” his name poured from her in a lung-deflating whisper.
An evening breeze ruffled short, straight hair the color of dark chocolate, and his narrowed hazel eyes raked her from head to toe and back.
Emotions tumbled over her like raging river rapids. Shame. Pain. Anger. But something warm and welcoming spurted through her, too. Love? Could there be a lingering trace of that misplaced sentiment in her veins?
Surely you aren’t still stuck on a man you haven’t seen or spoken to in five years?
“May I come in?”
So polite, that deep, rich, goose-bump-raising voice. He hadn’t been polite the last time she’d seen him. That day his tone had been cold, cutting and cruel.
You didn’t waste any time, did you? You couldn’t hook me so you went after deeper pockets. But the joke’s on dear ol’dad. He wants you because he thinks I do. But I’ve already had you, Tara. And finished with you. He’s welcome to my leftovers.
The chill that had seeped into her bones that night at Kincaid Manor returned. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she crammed the memories back into their dark closet and focused on the man in front of her.
“What do you want, Rand?”
He looked stiff and perturbed in his perfectly tailored dove-gray suit, white shirt and burgundy raw silk tie, as if he didn’t want to be here any more than she wanted him on her front porch. “To discuss my father’s final demands.”
Everett Kincaid. One of the low points in Tara’s life. “I heard he’d passed away. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Rand didn’t look mournful. “His will involves you.”
Everett always had been kind to her, but why would her former boss leave her a bequest? Especially after the way they’d parted. “He left me something?”
Rand’s lips flattened into a thin line and his square jaw shifted to an antagonistic angle. “No, but unless you agree to his terms we’ll lose everything.”
Talk about dramatic. She barely managed not to roll her eyes. And then, puzzled, she frowned. Rand had never been the over-the-top kind. He’d been very straightforward about what he wanted. And what he didn’t.
She tucked a curl behind her ear and wondered if he noticed she’d cut her hair or that she’d lost weight since they’d been an item. Or had he slept with so many women that the features blurred together into a homogeneous female form? Had she even left a mark in his memory?
His lousy relationship track record hadn’t kept her from falling in love with him five years ago, but back then she’d been young, shy and an impossibly naive twenty-four. She wasn’t any of those things anymore. Watching her mother die slowly and painfully had aged Tara what felt like decades.
She should boot Rand and the memories associated with their brief affair right off her property, but curiosity got the better of her. She opened the door farther. “Come in.”
His brisk stride carried him past her and straight into the den. The same cologne he used to wear encircled her like a long-lost friend. A friend who’d stabbed her in the back.
No, that wasn’t right. Rand had told her before their first date that he wasn’t interested in forever. She was the one who’d broken the rules by getting emotionally involved. But how could she help herself when he’d been everything she’d ever dreamed of in a man? Fun, sexy, intelligent, attentive, gentle, good in bed. Correction. Amazing in bed.
She couldn’t help wondering if she could have changed his mind about their future had she kept her mouth shut and let the love and trust sneak up on him. But she’d never know because three months into their affair she’d slipped up after making love and blathered out her feelings for him and her dreams for their future like the besotted twit she’d been.
Her ill-timed words had launched the next Ice Age and the fastest dumping in history. Rand had left her apartment so fast it’s a wonder he hadn’t burned tracks in her carpet. And then he’d left the country.
A frown line formed between his eyebrows as he examined the room’s furnishings. “This looks nothing like your old place.”
So he did remember. Her stupid heart skipped erratically. She scanned the room. The traditional furnishings were not the light-and-airy wicker and chintz she’d had in her apartment. “It’s my mother’s house and it was my grandparents’ before it became hers.”
His gaze sharpened and shot to the archway leading to the kitchen. “Is your mother at home?”
Tara’s heart squeezed with pain and guilt that seemed like they would never end. “She’s dead.”
“Recently?”
She gave him points for trying to be civil, but she didn’t want to discuss her mother with him. The wound was still too raw. “A year ago. But that’s not why you’re here. Could you get to the point, please? I have plans tonight.”