New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess (18 page)

“Absolutely out of the question.”

She didn't care for his tone. “Why? Give me one good reason.”

“I could give you several, but for starters I refuse to have Mrs. Fitzwillie speculating as to why we don't share a room.”

“So, for your pride's sake we have to—”

Andrew cut her off. “No. My pride plays a secondary role, but Mrs. Fitzwillie would be devastated if she found out I'd entered into an
arrangement.
” His entire countenance softened. “Her husband died just before she came to work for me. They didn't have any children and she was lonely. In the past nine years, she's been more like a mother to me than my own mother.”

Well, Kat wasn't exactly thrilled about disappointing a nice little old lady—especially one who cooked—but there had to be a way around sharing a bed with this man on a nightly basis. She knew herself. Too much of a good thing… “I could get up before she gets here and she'd never know.”

“She'd know.” Andrew advanced until he stood before her. He clamped his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him. His voice lowered to a provocative level. “For Mrs. Fitzwillie to believe anything less than we're passionately, head-over-heels in love is not acceptable.” His hands slid to her upper arms in a caress.

Expensive cologne mingled with his essential maleness, the heady scent intoxicating her. Even as she swayed toward him, she objected, “I'm not sure either one of us is up to pretending to be head-over-heels in love.”

His breath brushed the planes of her face as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Then we'll just have to practice.”

His lips nuzzled and nipped at hers until she responded to his sensual coaxing. His tongue teased the moist heat of her mouth and her nipples tightened in desire of such ministrations. An aching lethargy unfurled between her thighs.

The giving, generous kiss brought to mind his consideration for Mrs. Fitzwillie. Kat anticipated cool courtesy for his employee, but his tender concern dismayed her. The thought had her wriggling out of his arms and stepping out of reach.

His eyes questioned her. The hand he ran through his midnight-black hair trembled.

“I'll do my best to uphold my end with Mrs. Fitzwillie.” Her own hand proved unsteady as she combed her fingers through her hair, but she strove for a flippant tone. “And we'll share this bed, but just for the record, Toto always sleeps in my room.”

“Not on the bed.”

“No, he has his own bed, but in the room.” Kat swallowed a smirk. One night of Toto's snoring and Andrew would beg her to move into a guest room.

“Okay.”

Kat backed toward the bedroom door. “I'll go get my suitcase.”

“Can I help?” Every vestige of softness and passion had vanished, replaced by his customary cool and correct demeanor.

She heaved a sigh of relief. This was the Andrew she knew and didn't find dangerously endearing.

“No, that's not necessary.” She knew she had to clamp down on thoughts of
me Jane, you Tarzan
and strategically draped mosquito netting. “Oh, and unless I'm ovulating, we don't need to bother with sex.”

She closed the door behind her on the thick silence.

Sometimes self-preservation was a bitch.

D
AMN HIS WIFE
with her perky breasts and sleek legs! Andrew stalked into the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face. Twice now in as many weeks, she'd referred to intimacy with him as a waste of time unless it involved procreation. What, did she consider his ego her own personal trampoline to trounce on whenever she felt the urge?

Spending plenty of time at the office in the upcoming months sounded like a plan. He could decidedly do without desperately wanting to bury himself in that quixotic woman while she casually announced making love was a chore they could postpone until she was ovulating.

Cold water trickled under the edge of his collar. The cool marble counter beneath his fingertips soothed his male pride. His partnership hovered within his grasp. It was all that had ever mattered. It was all that mattered now.

He heard his
wife
enter their bedroom. Andrew quickly dried his face.

He opened the bathroom door and found her engaged in a futile wrestling match with a suitcase nearly her size. Her contortions molded her dress across her rounded behind and hiked her hemline to midthigh.

Desperate for a distraction, he offered, “If you let me help you with that, I'll still respect you in the morning.”

The faint blush that crept up her cheeks surprised him.

“I guess I could use some help,” she conceded.

He hauled the behemoth on top of the bed and felt a
rising tide of annoyance at the thought of her dragging the heavy case all the way from her car rather than accept his earlier offer of help.

However, his irritation vanished as insight blindsided him. Kat hadn't conceded anything to him when she'd agreed not to touch his money in their prenuptial agreement. Oh, she'd used it as a selling point when she'd presented her case, but he'd bet not touching his money was more important to Kat than to him. Beneath her unorthodox manner lay a formidable streak of independence.

“It must've been galling to need a husband,” he said casually as he dropped to the bed.

She unzipped her suitcase and faced him clutching a handful of serviceable white underwear. “Which dresser drawers do I get?”

“Those three.” Andrew motioned to the trio nearest the bathroom.

She didn't respond until she'd pitched the cotton panties into the drawer and turned to stare him in the eye, her blue gaze unwavering. “Not particularly galling. More along the lines of inconvenient.”

He groaned mentally. Now she'd relegated him to an inconvenience. “One thing you couldn't take care of on your own?”

“You don't have to make it sound as if I'm eccentric.”

“I'd settle for unusual.”

“Nothing unusual, nothing eccentric, nothing hidden. What you see is what you get. This is it.” She threw her arms wide and then dropped them to her side. “I just don't want to be played for a fool again. Ever. I freely admit to making a fool of myself occasionally. And I've been known to do things others considered somewhat foolish—marrying you, according to Jackson—but I will never, ever allow anyone to play me for a fool again.”

Andrew uttered a single word. “Nick?”

Kat carried another handful of underwear to the drawer and nodded. “While an international audience watched—so, thank you very much, once was enough.”

Would she think he'd played her for a fool? That hadn't been his intent in changing the terms of their prenuptial agreement. Rather he'd seen it as simply protecting his own. He knew Kat's interpretation would differ. It was a good thing he wasn't in this for the long haul or committed to a real marriage because he'd shot that chance to hell with those contract changes.

“Devereaux was a fool.” A nagging sense of guilt lent his voice harshness.

Her sunny smile seared him. “I appreciate your gallantry, but actually Nick did me a favor. I took a good hard look at my life, reevaluated my priorities, and learned an important lesson.”

Kat brushed her hands together, dismissing the subject, and rooted through the jumbled mess in her suitcase. She pulled out a gift-wrapped package and tossed it onto the bed between them. “I bought you a wedding gift this morning.” Her voice was demure, but her eyes danced with devilment.

Andrew played her game and prodded the package with one finger. “Should I expect an explosion?”

A sly smile curved her full lips. “That depends on you.”

He picked up the package—obviously a book—and ripped at the paper, fully expecting how-to instructions on becoming pregnant with the least amount of bother.

However, one glimpse at the cover and a gut-wrenching laugh rumbled through him. “I'll treasure it always.” He grinned at her cheekiness. “It was far too thoughtful.”

His own playful attitude sobered him. He reminded himself she was a means to an end. The key to his partnership. Nothing more.

He shoved off the bed. “I'm heading into the office for a couple of hours. I'll be back around five. Make yourself at home.”

Andrew placed
101 Uses for A Dead Lawyer
on the nightstand and got the hell out of their bedroom.

 

K
AT HUMMED A NOTHING TUNE
as she tamped potting soil around the final clump of fuchsia petunias. She wiped her grimy hands across her thighs and lugged the clay pot around the corner of the house as Andrew turned into the driveway.

He'd told her to make herself at home and she'd taken him at his word. With a quick visit to a nursery and the lovely potting shed out back, she'd added some much needed color to the monochrome landscape.

All the plants she'd bought, she'd potted. Like herself, none were here to stay. She'd take them with her when she left. In the meantime, they offered friendly faces in a strange place. Not to mention she'd worked off a little tension. Even though it was her idea to marry Andrew, she'd been nervous earlier.

Kat arranged the newcomer at just the right angle to complete the grouping of potted plants now sitting by the front door. The mix of gaily colored flowers spilled forth a welcome, their perfumed sweetness hanging in the humid heat. The crunch of Andrew's footsteps and the feel of his gaze on her back sorely tested her concentration.

“I see you found the nursery center and the potting shed.”

She turned to face him. He stood as handsome and immaculate as he'd been when he'd left earlier in the day. No wrinkled shirts or mussed hair on her husband. In contrast, Kat felt positively grubby in her sweaty T-shirt and dirt-stained shorts.

She indicated the mass of color with a flick of her wrist. “Hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Do you like it?”

“It's different.”

The rioting reds, yellows, purples and hot pinks overflowing the clay pots punctuated the endless green of the landscape. Judging from his tone, Andrew didn't find that pleasing.

“Why does
different
sound like a dirty word when you say it?”

“I don't mean for it to. It just takes some getting used to.”

“Well, you told me to make myself at home. Once I unpacked my one suitcase there wasn't really anything for me to do and I noticed the nursery on my way over this morning. And, there's really nothing I'd rather have been doing.”

“You made that abundantly clear earlier.”

“That's not what I meant. I like working with plants. Digging in the dirt is good therapy.” She smiled spontaneously.

“Probably cheaper than stretching out on a therapist's couch.” Andrew returned her smile. Not the polite gesture he'd offered before but a heart-stopping, genuine smile.

Kat's breath lodged somewhere in her chest. She swallowed hard.

How had a discussion on plants suddenly turned so intimate? One minute it was purple fountain grass and red salvia, the next she could hardly breathe.

“Uh-huh,” she managed to say.

Andrew rubbed his flat belly. “I'm starving. What do you say to Chinese? I know a great place that delivers.”

Food. Now they were on safe ground.

“Mmm. How fast can they get it here?”

“Come on in and let's order.”

Kat toed off her ratty gardening sneakers and followed him into the house. She stood inside the front door, awed
once again by the initial impact of the eight-foot aquarium. Would she get used to this before she left?

Andrew stopped and scrutinized the flowers she'd arranged in the den. The unusual tropicals complemented the exotic fish. Along with the aquarium, they offered a splash of vibrancy amidst the room's neutrals.

“I put flowers in every room. What can I say? You like fish. I like plants.”

Andrew resumed his course to the kitchen. “It's a nice touch.”

Kat wanted to believe him, but a small frown drew his brows together. He opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a worn menu, then laid it on top of the island.

He gestured toward the purple iris gracing a crystal vase. “Mrs. Fitzwillie will love these.”

For once, an issue took precedence over sustenance. Her new husband's approval was suddenly important. She'd lived with disapproval for a long time. She couldn't remember a time her father hadn't disapproved of her. Jackson clearly doubted the wisdom of her marriage to Andrew. She'd decided after the fiasco with Nick, the only approval that mattered was that of the school board because it affected her career. Otherwise she wouldn't be here now.

Kat left the menu where it lay and scrubbed the potting soil off her hands and forearms. She grabbed a hand towel and assured herself it was only because it was his home that his approval mattered. “What about you? Do you love them?”

Cynicism shaped his mouth into a semblance of a smile as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. “They're fine, but cut flowers don't last long. Even if I do like them, they won't be around long, right?”

She traced the gleaming white tile on the island with a ragged nail and shrugged. “Well, then I can just replace them.”

He rolled up one sleeve, baring a tanned forearm.
“Do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable for as long as you're here.” He dealt with the other sleeve with equal efficiency.

No quip tripped off her tongue. He was right. The flowers would die, and she'd keep replacing them until she left. But once she was gone, there'd be no more flowers. He
shouldn't
plan on getting used to them. She found the thought curiously dismal.

And she refused to need anything from him other than what they'd laid out in their contract. Certainly not his approval.

Her rumbling stomach beckoned her to deal with more mundane matters, such as take-out Chinese. She shrugged off the momentary melancholy and scanned the menu for her favorite. “Yu Shian shredded pork. Extra peppers, please.”

A grimace of distaste marred the aristocratic lines of Andrew's face.

She laughed at his expression. “Does that mean we're not sharing our Chinese tonight?”

“You can rest assured.”

Predictable. How could she have doubted herself? She had Andrew Martin Winthrop III's number. Her smile smacked of smugness. “Too hot for you?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes alight with uncustomary merriment, as if he was about to deliver the punch line to a joke. “Actually, no. I'm a vegetarian.”

Visions of a tofu Thanksgiving danced in her head, dropping her jaw.

How many more surprises was she in for with this man?

 

A
NDREW GRINNED AS HE PLACED
the cardboard containers of Chinese on the countertop. He'd thoroughly enjoyed displacing Kat's smugness by announcing his vegetarianism. She'd stood across from him thinking she had him pegged. And those thoughts had been clearly
reflected in her sweat-stained, dirt-streaked, impudent face.

Staid. Predictable.

Not that being a vegetarian rendered him a wild man, but it had rendered Kat speechless.

Tantalizing aromas wafted from the closed cartons, reminding him he hadn't eaten all day. He checked his wristwatch.

How much time did one petite woman need to shower? There wasn't that much of her to clean. His stomach growled a warning. Five more minutes and he wouldn't be held accountable.

Andrew pressed the intercom buzzer and was met with dead silence. He dropped his hand in disgust. The thing was still on the blink. He'd have Mrs. Fitzwillie call the repairman. Again.

He started to the bedroom but paused in the den, Kat's flower arrangement catching his eye. In less than a day she'd stamped his house with more of herself than he had in a decade. Standing in his own kitchen with her earlier, he'd felt the outsider, the observer. She'd been dirty and sweaty because she'd put something of herself into the place. He'd felt the odd man out in his button-down shirt and cuffed trousers.

A slight whimper interrupted his reverie. Stretched out on the rug, Toto twitched in his sleep. Doggie dreams, Andrew surmised as he quickly slipped out of the room. He might feel slightly overdressed in his own home, but he wasn't eager for another showering of Toto's affection.

The closed bedroom door brought him up short. Living with someone else—sharing a bedroom with someone—meant adjustments. He rapped the wood panel and called out, “Dinner's here.”

Her reply reached him, undecipherable and muffled. She was obviously still in the bathroom. He threw open
the door and stepped inside, announcing once again, “Dinner's—”

He stopped in mid-sentence and mid-stride, every semblance of coherent thought fleeing as Kat threw open the bathroom door at the same time and froze, naked, before him.

Hunger of a different kind consumed him. Another woman might have covered herself or gasped her shocked outrage. Kat stood before him proudly.

Looking away wasn't an option.

Feasting his eyes on her, he attempted to appease his appetite by taking in the sight of her glorious nudity. Her hair clung to her head in damp, subdued ringlets. No hint of merriment lightened the depths of her dark blue eyes. She slightly parted her full lips. He recalled their sweetness and ached with need.