had ignited. He felt another surge of desire for this woman deep in his loins.
He tore his gaze from her face and forced himself to look at the pale, white arm that rested against his own coppery skin. Once again, the differences in their lives came crashing down upon him, screaming out to him what a fool he’d been.
Jasmine Kincaid Monroe would never be his soul mate. The only thing they shared was a star-crossed history. What he felt for her was lust, plain and simple.
As his brother before him, he wanted what he could not have. The sooner he realized that, the better.
With the harsh reminder echoing in his mind, he pushed himself from the tempting warmth of her embrace and turned away. He hurried outside. Rocks crunched beneath his shoes as he strode to the car. He slung himself into the front seat, gunned the engine to life and shifted the car into gear. Gravel and dust spewed from beneath the tires as he spun out onto the driveway.
Midway down the lane into town, he allowed himself to glance into the rearview mirror. Like a dream that had disappeared upon waking, Jasmine was no longer there.
Chapter Two
Jasmine felt numb the next morning as she stared across the rolling green slopes of the Whitehorn Cemetery. The sky was overcast, the sun hidden behind a bank of storm clouds, making the white marble head stones and the simple lime stone crosses appear almost luminescent in the false twilight. A cool breeze swept the grounds, carrying with it the promise of the long winter ahead. She shivered in her simple black dress, wishing she’d remembered to bring a sweater.
Moodily, she blamed her lack of fore thought on Storm Hunter. Him, and his damned kiss. Since yesterday she’d been unable to think of little else. Thoughts of Storm and their encounter had left her restless and preoccupied. He’d come and gone in a blink of an eye like a fast-moving tornado, but the damage he’d left behind had been devastating.
Her womanly pride had been shattered.
Pushing the troubling thought from her mind, she concentrated on the ceremony taking place. Along with a small gathering of the Kincaid clan, Jasmine had come to pay her respects to a cousin she barely knew. For this was the day that Lyle Brooks was being laid to rest.
While they’d been close in age, only a year apart, Lyle had spent most of his life in Elk Springs. It wasn’t until recently that he’d made his presence known in Whitehorn. A presence that had spelled trouble from the start.
Though the details were still sketchy, Lyle’s fateful business dealings had rocked the small town of Whitehorn. He’d been a major player in the planning of the casino/resort that would encompass both the Kincaid property and the Laughing Horse Reservation. His grandfather, Garrett Kincaid, had entrusted him to oversee the family interest in the project. A decision that an obviously distraught Garrett now regretted.
For reasons unknown, Lyle had killed one of the construction workers at the building site by pushing him off of a forty-five-foot ledge. When Gretchen Neal, the lead detective on the case, uncovered his culpability in the crime, Lyle had tried to kill her to silence her. Before he could carry out his plan, Jasmine’s cousin, David Hannon, had shot and killed him in a gun battle.
Construction on the new casino/resort had been halted, its future in limbo. The business deal, which would have been profitable for both the town of Whitehorn as well as the members of the Laughing Horse Reservation, had been dealt a lethal blow. One from which no one was certain it would recover.
Now they were gathered here to pay their respects to a man who hardly deserved them. Even before they’d discovered the extent of Lyle’s evil, Jasmine had never felt comfortable around her cousin. He’d had such a dark aura, and there were always too many bad vibrations emanating from him.
Jasmine frowned. Dark aura? Bad vibrations? Good grief, she was starting to sound like her mother. She sighed. Mystical nonsense, or not, Lyle Brooks was one man whose spirit she wanted to see settled, not roaming free to cause more heart ache.
She scanned the group, looking for familiar faces. Her mother and her sister, Cleo, were nearby. As well as Aunt Yvette and Uncle Edward, with their daughter, Frannie, and her husband Austin, at their side. Noticeably absent, however, was their son, David, the man responsible for Lyle’s death, and his