Desire's Bride

Book 0: Heartfire

by Teresa Howard

Genres: Historical Romance

Synopsis

SHE VOWED TO RESIST HIS CHARM When Kathlyn McKinney saw Brad Hampton, her heart immediately began to race. Eleven years after that fateful summer, he was as dashingly handsome as ever -- but this time she wouldn't be taken in by him. Desire had made her reckless once long ago, but she was no longer an innocent girl who could be fooled by a Southern gentleman's easy charm. Still, not even the bitterness of his betrayal could extinguish Kathlyn's memory of the sweet rapture she'd known with Brad. And she couldn't ignore her own treacherous yearning for the warmth of his strong embrace and the tender magic of his kiss. . . HE VOWED TO CLAIM HER LOVE When Brad saw Kathlyn again, he found that the years had erased neither his pain at her faithlessness nor his need to make her his own. Honor required that he now help the violet-eyed beauty who had been left alone and defenseless by the war. Yet how could he protect her if she refused to trust him? With the urgency of long simmering passion, Brad swore no one would harm his lovely Southern belle. He had to keep her safe, at least until he could tempt her into offering him the fiery kisses and caresses he well remembered and surrendering with him to the ecstasy of desires too long denied!

Release date: November 1, 1992

Publisher: eClassics

Print pages: 331

Sample

Elegant. That was the word to describe the Bank of Georgia.

And quiet. The cavernous structure was as quiet as a tomb. So quiet the silence seemed to press down from the chandelier-decked ceilings to the parquet-tiled floors.

Both words—elegant and quiet—registered simultaneously in Kathlyn McKinney’s mind as the bank clerk stretched forth his blue-veined hand. She settled into the chair he indicated, her gaze traveling throughout the bank.

The elegance of the bank surprised her. Surprised her, and quite frankly, repulsed her. In Reconstruction Georgia one would hardly expect a financial institution to reek of money. Old money, new money, Yankee money, whatever. But the Bank of Georgia did; it definitely reeked. And this irritated Kathlyn.

Actually, she never had liked banks, to say nothing of bankers. Even before the war she had believed these wealthy men and the institutions they headed were crooked.

Now since the South had gone to hell in a hand-basket and decent people were all but starving in the streets, she had developed a considerable distrust for anyone who had more than two coins to rub together.

Obviously the owner of this bank had a sight more than two coins and had no qualms about flaunting it. The crook.

Tilting her head, her glance continued about the room. A tall man with muttonchop whiskers leaned close to a teller’s cage and spoke in soft tones. She was amused, finding it funny how people speak quietly in a bank, almost as if it were a church.

Turning to Mr. Simon Percy, banker extraordinaire, she peeked at him through a thick fringe of lashes. That one would be totally out of place in a church. Saintly, he was not.

It was something about his eyes; she had always believed you could measure a person by the look in his eyes.

“I’m sure Mr. Dunn will be along shortly.” The slightly balding banker referred to the man purchasing Kathlyn’s property. “In the meantime, we can become better acquainted.”

Kathlyn’s eyes widened. There was no mistaking Percy’s subtle innuendo. His voice reminded her of a snake-oil salesman who had passed through Union Point when she was a child. She grew nauseated, raking him with her gaze.

Misinterpreting her intense scrutiny as a sign of interest, Simon flashed her a suggestive grin. The early morning sunlight, filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, reflected off an enormous golden tooth in the front of his mouth, momentarily blinding her.

There was movement behind his back. Squinting, Kathlyn watched a large, oaken door slowly open. Due to the glare, she couldn’t see who opened it, but apparently Simon noticed and knew. She caught the anxious—or was it irritated—look in his eyes.

Suddenly, he became unfailingly polite, washing the suggestive tone from his voice. Even the hungry look flashing in his ferret-like eyes dimmed.

Still, Kathlyn felt uneasy. Her black-gloved hands trembled—much to her chagrin. She despised weakness, especially in herself. Even if she did have a good reason to be distressed, she couldn’t afford the luxury of weakness.

If only she could . . .

She sighed. “I trust all the papers are in order for the liquidation of my family’s property,” she queried, striving to keep her voice steady.

She managed to maintain a grip on her self-control, but not without a struggle. After all, it wasn’t everyday that a person disposed of the sum total of her ancestors’ holdings. A familiar sense of guilt assailed her. She pressed her reticule against her midriff, applied pressure to her steel stays, halting the flight of butterflies—butterflies the size of riverboats.

Just sign the papers, take the money, and go, she chanted in her mind for the umpteenth time. Don’t think, don’t feel, just do it! You have no other choice. It’s miraculous you’ve held on this long. Papa would understand.

The thought of her late father brought a sheen to Kathlyn’s eyes. Stop this nonsense! she ordered herself silently, clenching her teeth until her jaw ached. Tears, she simply wouldn’t allow.

She had cried only four times since she was sixteen years old; at the deaths of both her parents and each of her two younger brothers. Through the years she had taught herself to withdraw, to insulate her emotions from the cruel realities of the world. She had survived the war by doing it. And she would maintain control of her emotions and survive this.

“I assure you they’re in order,” the banker answered finally, barely keeping the defensive edge from his voice. “Why else would I have asked you to come here?”

Why else indeed? Simon could think of another reason, but it wouldn’t bear close scrutiny. Just looking at the ethereal beauty across from him was painfully arousing. Her rigid posture and bland expression were a blatant challenge to his seductive powers.

But he would have to wait until later. He knew his boss, whose office was located at his back, could hear every word he said. So for now he would play the chivalrous gent.

Not only could Brad Hampton hear every word Simon uttered, but by opening his office door and placing himself in a position to get a clear view of his clerk, he could see every movement the weasel made. He couldn’t see the unsuspecting customer.

Brad ran an agitated hand through his dark hair and stiffened with resolve. Just because the war had destroyed nearly everything else in the South was no reason for its inhabitants to abandon the genteel manners and devotion to honor generations of Southern parents had instilled in them. And as long as he owned the Bank of Georgia, he would see to it that this bit of the Old South was not forgotten.

Idly smoothing the folds of his elaborately tied cravat, he leaned a muscled hip against the windowsill, peering around the drapes that covered the windows fronting his office. Then he shifted, stared blankly at the tanned hand that held the burgundy velvet aside, and winced at the thought of eavesdropping on an employee. Various complaints had been leveled against Simon, so Brad felt compelled to keep an eye on him. Still, he didn’t like engaging in such a questionable practice as spying.

But the honor of his bank was at stake.

Muffling an oath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He had had this argument with himself all week. It always ended the same; the honor of his bank must be upheld. Keeping an eye on Percy was the lesser of two evils in his estimation.

That resolved once again, he tuned in the conversation taking place beyond the curtains.

Simon’s customer was a woman. Her soft voice was husky and decidedly southern. There was an edge to it, as if she were holding herself in check. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Brad couldn’t place it.

She was probably just some poor widow whose husband had died during the war, he decided. A ray of sunlight kissed the plain gold band Brad wore on his left hand, drawing his attention.

She could be Celia. If he had died and his wife had lived, that woman could be Celia, at the mercy of a man like Simon Percy. His grip tightened on the drapes.

It was an unsettling thought. Not because he was unduly disturbed by the remembrance of his wife’s death; he had come to grips with his loss.

A smile softened his masculine features. The memory of his life with Celia was more like a beautiful dream now than a tangible part of his everyday existence. It no longer hurt to think of her. Rather it provided a pleasant, sweet sensation, like so many memories of life before the war.

After returning from the war, Brad had taken the money he had invested in California and Europe and worked sixteen hours a day to reestablish his bank. No doubt, it was this hard work and the love of his daughter, Annadru, that had healed the scars left by Celia’s passing.

What sickened him most was, now that the war was over, women like Simon’s customer had no one to protect them. Instinctively, his chivalrous nature came to the fore. Dragging his eyes from his wedding band, he listened more intently.

It was then that Simon and the woman stood to greet the buyer and Brad saw the object of his concern. His jaw dropped open. Straightening away from the window, he scanned her from head to toe—a relatively short span—with his smoldering brown eyes.

Nostalgia tugged sharply and the eleven years since their separation melted away. Brad was affected more than he cared to acknowledge.

She had been a girl then; now she was a woman. He’d thought her lovely before; now she was beautiful.

She wasn’t a classic beauty, however; she was more. Her heart-shaped face was so delicately sculpted that at first glance it seemed unable to contain those starry-lashed eyes and full, pouting lips.

How well he remembered the perfectly arched brows that cut across her lily-white skin—skin which Brad knew she guarded with bonnet and parasol as Southern women were wont to do.

Her face was framed by a soft profusion of mahogany wisps. Beyond that he couldn’t see her hair, for it was netted into a chignon. Instead of disguising her beauty, her primly concealed hair only added an element of mystery to her allure. But it was no mystery to him. Many was the time he’d freed that hair from its demure prison, spilling the silken mass over his hands. His skin tingled with the remembrance.

He stood mesmerized. Her deep ebony hair and violet-blue eyes brought to his mind a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors shot through with golden streaks of illumination. Surely it was an illusion created by the light slanting through the windows, but she looked so compelling, so vibrantly alive, that, involuntarily, he took a step toward her.

Introductions of buyer and seller were made, pleasantries halfheartedly observed, and once again she was seated, out of his sight. Brad was stunned by the bereft feeling he experienced when he could no longer see her. Kathlyn McKinney had been a summer fling to him, nothing more, he scolded.

There he was, congratulating himself for being over his wife’s death, and then longing for a woman he hadn’t seen in eleven years. A woman who had acted as if she loved him, a woman who had cast him aside like yesterday’s newspaper. He deemed such feelings unacceptable. Actually, they scared the hell out of him.

In self defense, the slight cynicism he’d developed during the war reared its head. He had been without the pleasures of a woman too long. He would visit Lois after he and Jared finished at the tavern tonight and not give Kathlyn McKinney another thought. Lois was the kind of woman who satisfied a man’s needs for a coin, without emotions getting in the way. Yes, that’s all he needed, a torrid session with Lois.

“Would you care to read the contracts before you sign them?” Simon asked Kathlyn weakly, his voice penetrating Brad’s thoughts.

Something about his employee’s tone of voice alerted the businessman in Brad. He wondered if Kathlyn detected it. Dammit! why doesn’t she have a man conducting her affairs?

Despite the belligerent tilt of her jaw, she had looked so helpless standing between Simon and the flashily dressed carpetbagger. Didn’t she know how treacherous business in the South had become? Uncharacteristically, Brad cursed again.

All three men waited expectantly for Kathlyn’s answer. She wasn’t as naive as they supposed. She knew that women, far more worldly than she, were easy prey to men with far less intelligence and financial stability than the two confronting her.

No, her problem wasn’t naivete. The sad fact was that women of her generation had not been taught to exist in a post-war world, if such a skill was possible.

Yet while she was a victim of her background, she readily detected the reluctance with which Simon made the offer to view the contracts. Obviously, he had something to hide.

She perceived the same wariness in the buyer, Mr. Dunn. She cut her eyes in his direction, purposefully delaying her answer.

She didn’t like the man to whom she was selling her home any more than she liked the banker orchestrating the transaction. The fact that Dunn was a Yankee had nothing to do with it. Her father and younger brothers had fought valiantly for the Union themselves, so Kathlyn had no aversion to Yankees. Quite the contrary.

She disliked him, among other reasons, because he was the head of the local Freedman’s Bureau. This Federal agency, established in 1865 by the U.S. Department of War, was admirable in its aim. Ostensibly, it was to provide assistance to the newly emancipated Negroes and needy whites as well.

In reality, the local agency was nothing more than an instrument of power for unscrupulous carpetbaggers and scalawags; they used it for their own economic and political gain. It was rumored that the funds earmarked for food and medical supplies lined the pockets of men like Percy and Dunn—and probably the owner of this ostentatious bank—while the unfortunates being denied these resources were packed into squalid cabins where smallpox, tuberculosis, and typhoid ran rampant.

Rage at these men and disgust at herself for dealing with them licked at the edges of her self-control like tongues of fire devouring dry leaves. She trembled as if she were chilled, yet was cognizant of the perspiration pooling beneath her arms.

For a split second she entertained the idea of bolting to her feet, hitching her skirts above her knees, and running out the door; transaction be damned.

Don’t be a goose. Sign the papers, take what little money they offer, and go. Don’t think, don’t feel, just do it! You’ve got debts to pay and the only way to pay them is to deal with the devil . . . or devils as the case may be. You have no choice; honest people don’t have any money these days. You deal with crooks or not at all.

These sentiments mortally wounded Kathlyn’s pride. But more was at stake than her own self-esteem; her family’s reputation was in jeopardy. She was the only McKinney left now. She was responsible for the McKinney’s debts and only she could clear the McKinney name.

Then she would be free to move on. She could make a new life for herself, away from the unhappy memories of the South.

Remember, it’s the beginning of your life. It feels like the end, but it isn’t. True—your family’s dead, your home’s being sold to strangers—but it’s the beginning.... Right! Somehow she wasn’t convinced. She only hoped she wasn’t selling a part of herself along with her home.

Kathlyn hated feeling uncertain. If only there was someone she could trust, someone to turn to, someone to advise her. But there wasn’t. Her uncle was too ill, and her cousin, Rachel, was no wiser in the business world than she.

In the back of her mind she remembered trusting someone in Athens a long time ago, and getting a broken heart for her efforts. Kathlyn felt a familiar pit forming in her stomach.

Why did she have to think of him now? As if things weren’t bad enough, she had to remember the time in her life when she had been most gullible, the time she had been betrayed in the most heinous fashion. It was probably her overwhelming sense of impotence that brought it to mind now, she decided.

Well, she was no longer an innocent, ignorant girl, anxious to trust the first man with a kind word and a handsome face. She was a woman now. And she didn’t trust men like the two confronting her—or the one who had betrayed her—any further than she could throw them. And she never would.

Still, there was no point in delaying the inevitable; the die was cast. “No,” she refused Simon’s offer of reading the contracts in a clipped tone.

“I would like to see them,” came a deep voice from the office of the president, drawing three sets of widened eyes in that direction.

Kathlyn’s hand flew to her throat.

“You!” she accused.

Years later, when Kathlyn recalled this moment in time, she was quite certain the earth ceased its rotation. Everything froze: the customers milling throughout the bank, Simon and Dunn, the breath in her lungs, her mind, her heart.

Everything, but Brad Hampton. As if from a great distance, he moved toward her, growing larger and more threatening with each step. Until finally, he stood before her.

So close she could smell his familiar scent of soap, spicy cologne, and fine tobacco. How could she remember a fragrance she hadn’t smelled in eleven years? And how could it still affect her so?

Damning her eyes, she drank in the sight of him: he was larger than she remembered, taller, more imposing. The years had been kind to him. His wide shoulders stretched the fine navy fabric of his frockcoat, his impossibly flat stomach looked as if it were made of steel, his muscular thighs were encased in rich, fawn trousers, and his hips . . .

Her heart raced with the speed of a runaway freight train; he resembled a Greek god even more now than he had then. She had hoped a young girl’s impressionable heart and the intervening years had distorted her memory. But such was not the case.

Brad Hampton was everything she remembered and more: a man born to wealth and position, a man whose every word went unchallenged, a man who possessed more than his share of panache.

Like a kettle of boiling water, emotions churned through her. Feelings she’d thought long since buried rose and threatened the carefully constructed wall she existed behind. Instinctively, she placed her hand on her lower abdomen.

The gesture, full of meaning to her alone, jolted her to her senses. She stiffened ramrod straight, a full six inches separating her back from the chair she perched on. With a force of will, she schooled her expression and raised her gaze to his eyes.

Her earlier thoughts came back to taunt her: You can always measure a person by the look in his eyes. Brad Hampton was a flesh and blood exception to that rule.

In their black depths she saw everything and nothing: charm, cynicism, concern, indifference, strength, vulnerability, intelligence, arrogance, and ruthless determination softened by exquisite tenderness. Almost any emotion one could imagine could be found in those hypnotic eyes, blended together to be totally undecipherable. Damn him.

Brad watched the emotions slide across Kathlyn’s face and wondered at the thoughts that gave rise to them. If possible, the haughty expression she was struggling with now intrigued him most. Fool that he was.

He didn’t want to be intrigued by this woman. He wanted only to see that she was treated fairly and thereby preserve the honor of his bank.

Turning away from Kathlyn abruptly, he spoke to Simon. “Please bring those papers into my office.”

How dare he dismiss her so casually! Kathlyn surged to her feet. Steadying herself, she braced her calves against the chair at her back and clasped trembling hands in the folds of her wear-softened gown. “You really shouldn’t trouble yourself on my account, sir.” Kathlyn’s voice was loud in the stillness.

“Mr. Hampton, I assure you everything is in order,” Simon sputtered as he jumped to his feet.

“I’m quite certain it is,” Brad drawled with exaggerated politeness, ignoring Kathlyn’s interruption. “But then one can’t be too careful, can one?” The taunting elevation of an ebony brow dared Simon to balk.

Brad looked completely in command, but standing alongside Kathlyn—so close he could feel the heat of her indignation—he was forced to take a deep, cleansing breath. A sense of exhilaration at her nearness rose in his breast. Determinedly, he suppressed it.

“Just who the hell do you think you are, meddling in my business?” Dunn hissed.

Brad turned slowly. “I’m Brad Hampton.” It was a declaration. Arrogantly offered. As if the very name should strike fear in the hearts of the unjust.

Kathlyn found herself listening for the sound of trumpets.

Then his voice softened. “You’re standing in my bank.” His gentlemanly demeanor and Southern drawl didn’t disguise the menace clearly reflected in his chocolate brown eyes.

The deceptively bored expression on his face, coupled with his confident stance, labeled him as a formidable foe. And all parties recognized this, particularly Kathlyn.

Loathe to admit it, she was impressed. That was what she was lacking. The self-assured arrogance that came from being competent in business and possessing the wealth and power to manipulate matters to one’s own advantage. Brad exuded it from every pore. Obviously she didn’t exhibit a shred. No wonder the three Neanderthals acted as if she were invisible.

“Percy’s taking care of my affairs, so you just run on back to your plantation and plot another doomed rebellion or whatever you Southern gentlemen find to do these days,” Dunn sneered.

The carpetbagger hated Southern aristocracy, but Brad’s ominous expression made him reluctant to bait him further. So angrily, Dunn turned on Simon.

Before he could speak, however, Simon intervened. “I was just about to inform Miss McKinney and Mr. Dunn that I’ve been unable to complete the necessary paperwork for their transaction when you offered your assistance.”

Brad and Kathlyn both responded. “You said they were in order.”

“That’s not what you said.”

Brad detected strength in Kathlyn’s voice. He almost wished he had not intervened, but Simon’s reluctance to show him the contracts could not go unchallenged. “Nevertheless, bring them into my office.”

Exhibiting inborn Southern charm, Brad placed his hand quite properly beneath Kathlyn’s elbow, to escort her into his office.

His touch seared her flesh. Jerking her arm out of his grasp, she turned her spinning head toward him. That was a mistake. He was so close she felt his warm breath on her cheek.

All she wanted now was to flee—flee this damnable deal, these unscrupulous men, and most of all this man who had betrayed her so long ago. When she whirled away from him, her caged crinoline caught on the edge of her chair and threw her off balance. The floor rushed up to meet her.

Brad caught her around the waist as she grasped handfuls of empty air. Circling her arms with strong yet gentle hands, he pulled her against his chest.

“Let me go,” it was as much a plea as an order. Her indifferent facade was in serious danger of cracking.

Abruptly, Brad released her. She tottered, and, stifling a curse, he grabbed her again. As he held her flush against him, he became painfully aware that everyone in the bank was watching them. How had he gotten into such a mess? All he had wanted to do was make sure a helpless woman wasn’t being cheated, he lied to himself again.

She had appeared so vulnerable earlier, giving rise to his well-developed chivalrous instincts. But this? This development caused instincts to rise that had little to do with chivalry. Quite the contrary.

Galvanized into action by the response of his body to her nearness, he untangled her hoop, spun on his heel, and disappeared into his office, dragging her behind him. She was too appalled to resist.

He seated her in a chair a safe distance from his own, then stepped to the door and spoke to Simon in a tone that brooked no argument. “The young lady will require a few moments to catch her breath. After that, bring the contracts into my office.”

Brad stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. Kathlyn was standing across the room now, silhouetted by a partially opened window.

He was pulled to her by invisible hands. Sympathy welled in him when he dropped his gaze and noticed the band of black crepe that edged her gown, trapped beneath his shoe.

She was in half-mourning. He wondered if she had lost her husband. Somehow the thought of Kathlyn mourning a lost love bothered him.

Shaking his head, he realized the absurdity of such feelings. She had spurned him years ago. Why shouldn’t she find someone else? He had.

The past was behind them. But if he were to help her now, he had to clear the air. And for reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, he wanted very much to help her.

Gently, he touched her shoulder, turning her toward him. He flashed her his most platonic smile. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

Kathlyn looked into his eyes, softened with compassion. She nodded slightly. His widening smile showed a dimple, so at odds with his masculine appearance. Funny, but she didn’t remember his dimple. Her fingers tingled with the urge to caress the fetching indentation.

She suppressed the urge and looked away. She wished he would step back; he was standing much too close for her peace of mind.

“How have you been, Kathlyn?”

What did he care how she’d been? He acted as if they were merely casual acquaintances, renewing an old friendship. She had given him her innocence, for heaven’s sake. Had it been so meaningless to him?

Oh God, she had a painful thought, he doesn’t even remember. He doesn’t remember making love to me. No doubt, she was just one in a long line of maidens the dashing young Brad Hampton had deflowered.

Her sense of hurt was quickly replaced by anger. If she were given to such missish outbursts, she would have stamped her foot. Instead, she just glared at him.

Her flare of emotion pleased him. She didn’t look vulnerable now. In fact, she looked downright sexy. In spite of his best intentions, the look in his eyes changed. He remembered making love to her; the erotic memory darkened his piercing gaze.

That was a look Kathlyn had seen before. Feeling threatened, she side-stepped him and crossed over to a vacant chair.

“Look, Mr. Hampton,” she emphasized the formal address, leaning against the high back and fixing Brad with her gaze. “I don’t want your apology for embarrassing me ... or anything else from you.

“I appreciate your offer to read my contracts and to see that I’m being treated fairly . . . just as you would do for any other customer in your bank. But that’s all. This is a business deal, so let’s leave it at that. Shall we?” Kathlyn’s voice sounded raspy even to her own ears.

Brad wasn’t angered by her response. She was right. Considering their past, the sooner their business was completed, the better it would be for both of them.

Sighing, he stepped back. By the time he had seated himself in his massive chair, he was the picture of a professional banker. He shifted papers about on his desk. The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the soft rustle of Kathlyn’s petticoat as she settled into the seat fronting his desk.

Finally, their eyes met again. This time, they looked away immediately.

Then Simon knocked on the door and Kathlyn jumped. When Brad heard her muffle an unladylike curse, he smiled. He crossed the room to the door and touched her shoulder in a reassuring gesture as he passed. She flinched, but he didn’t notice.

“You wanted to see Miss McKinney’s contracts,” Simon accused mildly when Brad opened the door.

Bristling at Simon’s impertinence, Brad invited both his employee and the buyer into the room in a less than hospitable tone. Once they were all seated, he carefully studied Kathlyn’s contracts.

It was just as he suspected. They had planned to cheat Kathlyn. The sum—that Simon had obviously just altered—was still far too low a price for the Union Point property. He could only imagine the paltry amount they had planned to offer her originally.

The tension in the room was fairly tangible. With unseeing eyes aimed at the contracts, Brad was aware of every breath Kathlyn drew. A protective impulse such as he had not known in a long while surprised him with its intensity. In spite of his need to keep her at arm’s length, he warmed to the feeling.

He raised his gaze and looked her full in the face. Her expression was closed, but her eyes looked like nothing so much as those of a frightened fawn. Then the iris pools darkened, resembling the surface of the Oconee River on a January morning, still and cold. Icy. He couldn’t look away.

Unnerved by Brad’s scrutiny, Kathlyn began removing her gloves. Her hands trembled as she lay them on his desk.

He noticed her outward sign of distress. She wasn’t the ice maiden she portrayed. She was a scared little girl, playing in a man’s world. And she was about to be eaten alive. Unless he intervened.

Pushing the contracts away from him forcefully, he ground out each word, “Miss McKinney cannot possibly accept this offer!” Determination hardened his eyes to shards of black ice.

In tandem, Simon and Dunn gaped in disbelief at the enraged president of the Bank of Georgia.

“What the hell?” Dunn was the first to find his voice. Sweat popped out on his forehead. “I wasn’t aware that this was any concern of yours,” he spat. “This business affair is between me and Miss McKinney and your bank is merely providing us a service. We are customers here, no more and no less.”

Dunn turned and pinned Simon with his glare. “Simon, we had a deal.” It was clearly a threat.

But Simon didn’t spare him a glance. His eyes alternated from Brad to Kathlyn. At long last, that which he had feared most had occurred. He had been caught with his hand in the till, so to speak. From the look on Brad’s face, he was certain he would be looking for employment elsewhere before the day was out.

No matter. He had fleeced a host of customers since the war; he would live comfortably whether he found gainful employment elsewhere or not.

But he didn’t intend to leave quietly. Remembering the intimate way Brad had held Kathlyn earlier, Simon taunted his boss. “Perhaps you have a special interest in this particular customer?” He leered at Kathlyn. “Are the words affair and service particul