Free The Sinister Touch by Jayne Castle

drummed me out of the family the moment he found out that I was absolutely serious about art. Forget it, Dane. Go back home and tell my father that I haven't changed my mind."
    "Your father's will—" Fitzpatrick broke off with an uneasy glance at the two women. Obviously this was too important to discuss in front of strangers, regardless of Mason's lack of concern.
    "I don't give a damn about my father's will. I know I'm out of it. But I just don't give a damn. You're welcome to enjoy every penny, Dane."
    "Mason, it doesn't have to be this way."
    "Yes, it does," Mason said stonily. "The only thing that will ever change it is if the old man admits I have a right to live my life the way I want to live it. What do you think the odds are that he'll do that, Dane?"
    Fitzpatrick sighed heavily. "Not good. He's a stubborn, willful old man who has ruled the family for too many years to back down now. He'll never accept your art. You're right about that. If you come back, he'll still want you to give it up."
    "Sending you out here to see me was just one more maneuver to try to coax me back into the fold, wasn't it?"
    "You're his son," Fitzpatrick said. "It's natural he would try to bring you home."
    "On his terms."
    "As I said, he's a very stubborn man."
    Mason put down his beer mug and glared at the older man. "Tell my father that unless he's prepared to accept me for what I am, I'm never coming home. Not after the things he said to me two years ago. He's the one who threw me out, Dane. There's no way I can come back until he takes the first step. Having you stop by and take me to lunch doesn't constitute a first step as far as I'm concerned."
    Dane Fitzpatrick seemed to accept the fact that he had done his duty and that it wasn't going to have any major impact on Mason. He nodded sadly and summoned a deliberately charming smile for Guinevere and Carla. "I fear we are ruining lunch for your friends, Mason. Let's change the topic."
    "Good idea." Grimly Mason signaled for another beer.
    Guinevere sensed Carla's silent sympathy for the brooding young artist and sent her sister a commiserating glance. All things considered, it was an awkward situation. She hoped her other social engagement of the day would fare better, but she had her doubts.
    At ten o'clock that evening Zac found himself exactly where he had feared: standing in a corner alone, drinking tequila. Guinevere was here, all right, but not at his side. She had been easily snagged by a small knot of women her own age, and from what he could overhear of the conversation, they were all discussing babies. He couldn't tell if Gwen was participating enthusiastically or just keeping up her end of the conversation in order to be polite. He wished he knew. If Baby Fever was striking her, he wanted to know about it and be prepared for it.
    From the shelter of his corner Zac watched Guinevere as she chatted with the others. He always took a certain possessive satisfaction in watching her. Tonight she had her dark hair in its customary twist at the nape of her neck. The style looked businesslike when she wore a suit, and absolutely elegant when she wore the kind of thing she had on tonight. He liked the fact that she wore her hair up during the day and on social occasions. It lent a certain intimacy to the act of taking it down for bed. Zac was aware of a fierce possessiveness as he thought about taking the pins from Guinevere's hair later on tonight.
    The red silk dress was scooped at the neckline, gracefully full in the sleeves and bodice, and pulled in snugly at the hips. Zac had liked the feel of the material under his palm earlier that evening when he'd guided her into Elizabeth Gallinger's beautiful Mercer Island home. It had made him think of how good Owen's skin felt when he was making love to her.
    Zac took another swallow of the tequila and decided he probably shouldn't get started thinking along those lines.
    This was a business party. The last thing he wanted to do was