The Tycoon's Paternity Agenda / High-Society Seduction: The Tycoon's Paternity Agenda / High-Society Seduction. Michelle Celmer

Becca were married. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, despite what Katy and her parents believed.

      “My parents wanted to be here to greet you, but they were held up at a cattle auction in Bellevue,” Katy told him. “They should be back within the hour.”

      He had hoped to get this business out of the way, so he could return to El Paso at a decent hour. Though it was Friday, he had a long workday ahead of him tomorrow.

      “Would you like a cold drink?” she asked. “Iced tea or lemonade?”

      “Whatever is easiest.”

      Katy turned toward the door leading to the kitchen and hollered, “Elvie! You in there?”

      Several seconds passed, then the door slid open several inches and a timid looking Hispanic girl who couldn’t have been a day over sixteen peered out. When she saw Adam standing there her eyes widened, then lowered shyly, and she said in a thick accent, “Sí, Ms. Katy.”

      “Elvie, this is Mr. Blair. Could you please fetch him something cold to drink, and take something out to his driver, too?”

      She nodded and slipped silently back into the kitchen.

      Katy looked down at her filthy clothes. “I’m a mess. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to hop into a quick shower and get cleaned up.”

      “By all means.” It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere. Until her parents returned he was more or less stuck there.

      “I’ll just be a few minutes. Make yourself at home.”

      She left him there and headed up the stairs. With nothing to do but wait, Adam walked over to the hearth, where frame after frame of family photos sat. Adam had very few photos of his own family, and only one of his mother.

      In his father’s grief, he’d taken down all the pictures of Adam’s mother after her death and stored them with the other family antiques and keepsakes in the attic of his El Paso estate. A few years later, when Adam was away at school and his father traveling in Europe, faulty wiring started a fire and the entire main house burned to the ground. Taking whatever was left of his mother with it.

      At the time it was just one more reason in an ever-growing list to hate his father. When Adam got the call that he’d died, he hadn’t talked to the old man in almost five years.

      He leaned in to get a closer look at a photo of Becca that had been taken at her high school graduation. She looked so young. So full of promise. He’d met her only a few years later. Her college roommate was the daughter of a family friend and Becca had accompanied them to his home for a cocktail party. Though Adam had been a decade older, he’d found her completely irresistible, and it was obvious the attraction was mutual. Though it had been against his better judgment, he asked her out, and was genuinely surprised when she declined. Few women had ever rejected his advances.

      She found him attractive, she said, but needed to focus all her energy on school. She had a plan, she’d told him, a future to build, and she wouldn’t stray from that. Which made him respect her even more.

      But he wasn’t used to taking no for an answer, either, so he’d persisted, and finally she agreed to one date. But only as friends. He took her to dinner and the theater. She hadn’t even kissed him goodnight, but as he drove home, he knew that he would eventually marry her. She was everything he wanted in a wife.

      They saw each other several times before she finally let him kiss her, and held out for an excruciating three months before she would sleep with him. He wouldn’t say that first time had been a disappointment, exactly. It had just taken a while to get everything working smoothly. Their sex life had never been what he would call smoking hot anyway. It was more … comfortable. Besides, their relationship had been based more on respect than sex. And he preferred it that way.

      They were seeing each other almost six months before she admitted her humble background—not that it had made a difference to him—and it wasn’t until they became engaged a year later that she finally introduced him to her family.

      After months of hearing complaints about her family, and how backward and primitive ranch life was, he’d half expected to meet the modern equivalent of the Beverly Hillbillies, but her parents were both educated, intelligent people. He never really understood why she resented them so. Her family seemed to adore her, yet she always made excuses why they shouldn’t visit, and the longer she stayed away, the more her resentment seemed to grow. He had tried to talk to her about it, tried to reason with her, but she would always change the subject.

      Elvie appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a glass of lemonade. Eyes wary, she stepped into the room and walked toward the sofa. He took a step in her direction to take the glass from her, and she reacted as if he’d raised a hand to strike her. She set the drink down on the coffee table with a loud clunk then scurried back across the room and through the kitchen door.

      “Thank you,” he said to her retreating form. He hoped she was a better housekeeper than a conversationalist. He picked up the icy glass and raised it to his lips, but some of the lemonade had splashed over and it dripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket.

      Damn it. There was nothing he hated more than stains on his clothes. He looked around for something to blot it up, so it didn’t leave a permanent mark. He moved toward the kitchen, to ask Elvie for a cloth or towel, but given her reaction to him, he might scare her half to death if he so much as stepped through the door. He opted for the second floor bathroom instead, which he vaguely recalled to be somewhere along the upstairs hallway.

      He headed up the stairs and when he reached the top step a grayish-brown ball of fur appeared from nowhere and wrapped itself around his ankles, nearly tripping him. He caught the banister to keep from tumbling backward.

      Timid housekeepers and homicidal cats. What could he possibly encounter next?

      He gave the feline a gentle shove with the toe of his Italian-leather shoe, which he noticed was dotted with mud, and shooed it away. It meowed in protest and darted to one of the closed doors, using its weight to shove it open. Wondering if that could be the bathroom he was searching for, he crossed the hall and peered inside. But it wasn’t the bathroom. It was Katy’s room. She stood beside the bed, wearing nothing but a bath towel, her hair damp and hanging down her back.

      Damn.

      She didn’t seem to notice him there so he opened his mouth to say something, to warn her of his presence, but it was too late. Before he could utter a sound, she tugged the towel loose and dropped it to the wood floor.

      And his jaw nearly went with it. He tried to look away, knew he should look away, but the message wasn’t making it to his brain.

      Her breasts were high and plump, the kind made just for cupping, with small, pale pink nipples any man would love to get his lips around. Her hips were the perfect fullness for her height. In fact, she was perfectly proportioned. Becca had been rail thin and petite. Almost nymph-like. Katy was built like a woman.

      Then his eyes slipped lower and he saw that she clearly was a natural blonde.

      It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman naked, so the sudden caveman urge he was feeling to put his hands on her was understandable. But this was Katy. His wife’s baby sister.

      The thing is, she was no baby.

      A droplet of water leaked from her hair and rolled down the generous swell of her breast. He watched, mesmerized as it caught on the crest of her nipple, wondering if it felt even half as erotic as it looked.

      Katy cleared her throat, and Adam realized that at some point during his gawking she had realized he was there. He lifted his eyes to hers and saw that she was watching him watch her.

      Rather than berate him or try to cover herself—or both, since neither would be unexpected at this point—she just stood there wearing a look that asked what the heck he thought he was doing.

      Why the hell wasn’t she covering herself? Was she an exhibitionist or something? Or maybe the more appropriate