Secret Lover

She allowed herself a short sob before she got up and went to shower. With the water cascading over her body she shivered with despair. How had things between her and Caine gone so wrong? Fear that they might never see each other again filled her with a wave of sadness.
But if he didn’t even care enough to tell her it was over in time for her to spend Christmas at home, maybe he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. If he cared, he wouldn’t have allowed her to give up spending Christmas with her daughters to spend it in a snow-covered cabin in the Pocono Mountains alone.
Get a grip, Joya. It was wonderful while it lasted but it’s over. You’ve always known it couldn’t be permanent. He’s still young and he’ll want to marry and have a family. That was never going to be possible with you and you both knew it. He deserves to have children he can love as much as you love yours. You can’t love him and want any less for him than you have.
She dried her tears and got out of the shower. As she was drying off, she frowned. The aromas of brewing coffee filled her nostrils. She had not programmed the coffeemaker the night before. Wrapping a robe around her naked body, she rushed across the bedroom to look out the window.
A big dark SUV was parked next to her rented one. “Caine!” He’d come after all. Tossing the robe aside, she ran from the bedroom and down the steps. At the bottom, she came to an abrupt halt.
The tall male who emerged from the kitchen had green eyes, high cheekbones, and dark brown hair. He was taller and appeared older than Caine—although she noted a passing resemblance.
They stared at each other in silence for several moments before she remembered she was stark naked. She gasped and placed one arm across her nipples while cupping her other hand between her legs.
He placed his coffee cup on the mantle and strolled across the room to her. “You must be Joya. I’m Kristopher Macarik.”
If memory served, he and Caine had the same Native American mother but different fathers. Caine’s father was Native American. His was Irish. “Caine’s half-brother?”
“We don’t do halves in our family. Caine and I are brothers.” He extended his hand.
Commonsense told her to turn and rush up the steps since he clearly wasn’t gentleman enough to leave the room. She ignored his hand. “Can you give me a moment to put some clothes on?”
“By all means. Go get dressed.”
“Can you turn around?”
“Why? It’s a little late to claim modesty when you run into a room butt naked.”
Damn him! “I thought you were Caine.”
He arched a brow. “So you say.”
You arrogant fuck! “What are you doing here?”
He narrowed his gaze and lowered his hand to his side. “The last time I checked, I owned this property and didn’t require anyone’s permission to show up whenever the hell I like. That would include not needing permission from you, Ms. Vincent.”