The Kincaids: New Money. Jennifer Lewis

you promise to take it easy on me.” She slid her finger down over his hard belly, which contracted under her touch.

      “I don’t know. That’s not really the Kincaid way.”

      “You’re more into crushing your opponents then dancing over their shattered remains?” That was their business reputation to a certain extent. RJ looked surprised. Had she stepped over an unspoken boundary by talking about the family? “I don’t mean that literally, of course. Just that I—”

      RJ laughed. “Don’t back down now. That’s exactly what I meant. We’re not able to lose gracefully. It’s not in our DNA. If we were, maybe we’d be able to fit in better with crusty old Charleston society, where you need to suck up to someone whose great-great-granny came over on the Mayflower just so you’ll get invited to their garden parties. We’re constitutionally unable to do that.”

      “But the Kincaids are part of Charleston society.”

      He laughed again. “As if there was only one Charleston society. Believe me, there are plenty of people in this town who look down on the Kincaids as nouveau riche upstarts who won’t be around for long.” He looked thoughtful. “It’s never bothered me before, but with everything that’s going on lately I’m more determined than ever to prove them wrong.”

      “The Kincaid Group will weather this storm. So far it doesn’t seem so much worse than the time we lost the Martin account.”

      “The Martins went out of business. This time people are leaving just because they can, and they’re going to the competition.”

      “So, you’ll have to show them what they’re missing. And now’s a good time to build up the company’s real-estate portfolio.”

      “It is. We’ve been moving assets in that direction. When the real estate market comes back we’ll be sitting on a gold mine, especially along the Charleston waterfront. Hey, why are we lying here naked talking business?”

      “Because we’re that kind of people.” She smiled at him.

      He lifted a dark brow. “We’re a lot alike.”

      Brooke shrugged. She wasn’t sure how alike they really were. Not being accepted into the highest echelons of Charleston society had never been one of her most pressing problems. And a relationship with her would hardly boost his social standing, which apparently was a big concern for him.

      “We are alike.” He obviously sensed her doubts. “We’re both teetering on the brink of being workaholics, we like good restaurants, we play a mean game of tennis and we’re both lying in this bed.”

      Brooke chuckled. “When you put it like that … But you’re making a lot of assumptions about my game of tennis.”

      “I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t have mentioned it unless you were practically on the tour.”

      “I’ll have to be careful what I tell you. You have dangerously high expectations.”

      “Only because you never disappoint.” He said it plainly, no hint of teasing.

      “Never? Surely I’ve made a few typos along the way.”

      “I sincerely doubt it, but I’m talking about you as a person, not an office appliance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how brilliant you are.”

      Brooke beamed inside. “I enjoy a challenge.”

      “And I enjoy you.” He nibbled her earlobe gently, sending a rush of sensation through her. Suddenly they were kissing again, then twisted up in the duvet making mad, early morning love.

      Love? No. Not that. Having crazy, wild, before-breakfast sex. She’d never had so much sex in a twenty-four-hour period, and they were barely twelve hours in. Energetic and passionate, RJ soon brought her to new heights of arousal and excitement. They climaxed together, with a lot of noise, followed by laughter as they tried to disentangle themselves from the duvet.

      “I’d suggest we shower together,” said RJ, once they stopped panting long enough to form a sentence. “But I’m worried we may never make it to breakfast.”

      “What are we doing for breakfast? I don’t recall too much breakfast food in the fridge.”

      “That’s because there’s an excellent diner up the road, and I always go there. You’ll love it. It’s a real slice of life in the mountains. I’ll shower first, then leave you with some privacy.”

      Brooke couldn’t resist sneaking a few long, lascivious peeks as RJ rose from the bed and strode naked across the room. His body was magnificent. Broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist, and his backside … ooh la la. She would probably never be able to keep a straight face in the office again.

      She fanned herself as she heard the rush of water in the shower. She’d expected RJ to be a romantic charmer, but not that he’d drive her so completely over the edge. Maybe all the years of fantasizing about him in secret made their actual coming together so intense.

      She loved that he was so affectionate. He seemed to really enjoy holding and hugging her, as well as kissing and licking and all that other good stuff. And, boy, was he deft at sliding a condom on at just the right moment. He didn’t even need to interrupt the flow of events. He must have had the packet ripped open before they even started.

      She frowned. This should remind her that he was no innocent boy next door on his first date. RJ Kincaid had bedded a lot of women, and she wasn’t likely to be the last.

      Her chest tightened, then she realized how foolish it was to be thinking about the future when they still had the whole weekend ahead of them. She had no idea what the future would bring. Who could have predicted that Reginald Kincaid, one of the most vibrant men she’d ever met, would be shot dead by a mystery assailant, let alone that his wife would be accused of his murder?

      Brooke let out a long sigh. If only she could figure out who else might be responsible. She was in the office on the night of the murder and left less than half an hour before it happened. The police had even interviewed her as if she was a suspect at first. Whoever killed him might have been in the building the entire time. But who?

      “Why the serious face?” RJ appeared in the doorway, toweling off his spectacular bronzed body.

      Already she felt a smile creep across her lips. Who could stay serious when confronted with such a vision? “What serious face?”

      “Much better.”

      They ate an enormous breakfast in the 1950s-style diner, served by the owner who had probably been doling out grits since the 1950s. He made a big fuss of both RJ and Brooke, treating them like visiting royalty. His great-granddaughter, aged about seven, brought them flowers she’d picked in the garden and handed the bouquet to Brooke. “You’re very pretty.”

      Brooke smiled. “You’re very pretty, too. And I’m impressed with the standard of service here. You don’t get flowers and compliments every day with breakfast.” When the little girl had skipped back outside she whispered, “I wonder if they pay her to flatter the guests.”

      “It’s a good strategy. Maybe The Kincaid Group should try it out on our customers.” Humor twinkled in his eyes. “On the other hand, most of our clients aren’t nearly as easy on the eyes so it might come across as phony.”

      “Oh, please.” She wanted to protest that she wasn’t pretty, but she didn’t want to appear to be fishing for more compliments. She’d certainly never felt prettier in her life. “I hope you don’t have anything too strenuous planned for this morning. I’m not sure I’ll be able to move after that fantastic meal.” Perfectly crisp bacon, golden scrambled eggs, freshly baked rolls and spicy fried potato. And the ubiquitous bowl of grits.

      “We’ll save the hike to the summit for this afternoon then. How about we stroll to the lake and pretend we’re fishing?”

      “Sounds good.”

      She