Sleeping Arrangements (Silhouette Desire) (7 page)

It was a dream of a house, meant for a dreamlike fantasy life. But that wasn’t her life. And it was time to head into work.

Spencer stood at the window, watching Addy’s bundled form stride determinedly through the drifts and out the front gate. At least she wouldn’t have to battle ice and snow before hitting the road. He’d gone outside nearly an hour before and cleaned off her truck, clearing enough snow to make sure she could get going this morning with ease.

He’d known, somehow, that she wouldn’t come and ask him to help her, no matter what she’d threatened. If there was one thing he’d figured out about this woman, it was that she’d as soon chew her own hand off before sticking it out to ask for help.

He wasn’t surprised either that she’d left without waiting for morning or breakfast or to say goodbye. The naked look of desire in her eyes as she’d wandered from room to room hadn’t been as successfully shuttered as the rest of her emotions. It would hurt her to stay and wish for something she couldn’t have.

A woman like Addy Tyler would rather walk out into the cold of a freezing morning and face her reality than sit in a cozy bed dreaming.

Spencer jogged down the staircase and headed to the kitchen. He was up; might as well get the coffee brewing.

A flutter of white caught his eye. He hadn’t expected a note.

He blinked and found the note crumpled in his fist. The desire to go back in time to his conversations with Adeline and voice some of the doubts he’d felt but kept silent about came near to overwhelming him.

She might drive him crazy with her stubbornness and her never-ending rudeness and baiting of him, but he knew one thing: Addy Tyler deserved this house. If only so she could exorcise her own ghosts.

Not one to dwell in anger, Spencer headed back toward the kitchen. By the time his steps had planted him in front of the coffeemaker, he had his cell phone in hand.

In the end, he decided that four in the morning was a little too early to be making the phone call he’d planned and settled down at the kitchen table with some contracts in need of line edits.

When the clock over the stove ticked onto seven o’clock, however, he punched in the number he’d pulled from his handheld organizer.

“I hope I’m not waking you, Mrs. Tyler. But I wanted to introduce myself to you as soon as possible and discuss a few matters important to us both.”

“My name is Spencer Reed, and I’m going to be getting married to your daughter Addy.”

T
o say that her family didn’t take her news well would be putting it mildly.

And that was before she found out about the bombshell dropped on her mother by Mr. Take-Charge Attorney-at-Law.

Mr. Stick His Nose In Where It Wasn’t Wanted was more like it.

“I’m not marrying your buddy Spike!” she shouted at last and whipped a couch pillow at her brother’s big, fat, incredibly stupid head.

He ducked in his recliner and snagged the pillow in mid-flight, rescuing several framed pictures on the wall behind him. “Wait a second!” He made a T with his hands, the quarterback calling for a thirty-second time-out in the last minute of the big game. “Not for
real.
What do you think I am, crazy? Just one of those—what do they call ’em—
marriage of convenience
things.”

“First of all, you
are
crazy. That’s a given,” put in her sister Sarah, curled up at the far end of the couch with a book in
her lap and her long, straight hair in a neat ponytail. When their brother launched the abused couch pillow at her, she grabbed it one-handed and tucked it under her knees, sticking out her tongue at him when he pouted at the end of the fun. “Weren’t you paying attention? Addy’s got to live with her husband in that house for six months. You want her to share rooms with Spike?”

“There is something about a man almost entirely covered with tattoos.” This, dreamily, from Maxie, sitting on the floor at Sarah’s side. Addy’s youngest sister was looking very
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
today, with her short, curly hair pinned ruthlessly into control, a tailored black-and-white dress and matching wide-brimmed hat. Oversize black sunglasses perched on the coffee table next to her.

“Yeah, something that says he’s lost his mind.” Addy looked for a pillow to throw. They were all under someone else’s control. She settled for sticking out her tongue at her baby sister. “That’s enough out of you, Audrey Hepburn.”

Maxie’s wide grin told her she’d guessed correctly at the day’s costume. And why was her brother still babbling on?

“…just saying, if you offered him five grand, he’d sleep in the garage for six months. No problem.”

Her brother’s hopeful, handsome grin almost made her smile, but she kept her face straight and her voice firm. “I’m not marrying Spike just so he can pay you back the money you loaned him to buy that Harley. That was your dumb decision, not mine.” At the sudden clamor of voices, she ducked her head and threw her hands in the air. “Tsst! Enough! I’m not going to scam my way into this thing. I’m not getting married and that’s that.”

She collapsed onto the couch and flung a bent arm over her face. Scenes with her family were always such a drama. Although each person was sane on his or her own, put them all in one room and they were certifiable.

“That’s not what I heard.” Her mother’s voice from the living room doorway drew all of their attention. She lifted a hot-
pink apron over her head, revealing a trim black pantsuit. “Dinner in ten.” She left the room.

“What’s not what you heard?” Addy could hear the whine in her own voice. The chaos was getting out of hand when her mom joined in. The doorbell rang. “And who’s at the door? Mom?”

“I’ll get it,” Maxie said, bouncing up from her cross-legged seat as only a twenty-year-old girl could do and running to the foyer. They could hear her voice as she opened the door. “Hi! Who are you?”

“I’m your dinner guest. Nice hat.”

“Thanks! Come on in.”

But Addy had recognized that voice. She should. She heard it every time her brain stopped racing around in circles of thought.
Don’t make up your mind yet, Addy.

She leaped up off the couch and braced herself in the doorway to the front hall, hands clutching the door frame.

“What the hell are you doing here, Reed?” Before he could answer, she was shouting for her mother, feeling suddenly like a teenager again. Completely out of control.

Her mom, who disliked people who rang doorbells at the dinner hour, stepped calmly into the foyer, finished wiping her palms on a dish towel and then extended a hand in welcome to the man standing in the open front doorway with laughter in his eyes.

“Welcome to my home, Mr. Reed,” she said as they shook hands. “Maxie, sweetie, close the door. May I take your coat?”

“What!”

“Call me Spencer, Mrs. Tyler,” the traitorous man said, shrugging out of his coat and passing it to Sarah, who hung it in the hall closet. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner tonight.”

“What!”

“I like to have the whole family together at meals, Spencer. And, please, call me Susannah. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

Addy stared openmouthed as Spencer Reed followed her mother toward the back of the house, the two chatting pleasant
ly as if they’d had dinner together once a week for the last decade. Her siblings took one look at her, shrugged in unison and trooped off to find out who the stranger was and join the fun.

Left alone in the chilly foyer, feeling cold water seep into her socks from the puddle she’d stepped in—a puddle no doubt left by Reed’s snow-crusted shoes; the man was completely without consideration for others—Addy waited for the world to stop tilting underneath her.

“What the hell is going on here?”

The whole family together?

The moment she set foot in the dining room, the barrage of voices, some directed at her, some not, hit her like a blow to the solar plexus. Bracing herself, she ignored everyone and made a beeline for Reed, who was about to sit down.

She grabbed his arm and yanked him out of his chair.

Ignoring all protests, including her mother’s—she’d pay for that one later—she dragged him back down the hall.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him, trying to keep her voice down.

He leaned against the wall, looking completely at his ease. The fact that she could recognize his scent—warm vanilla and leather—irritated her. It made her hungry.

“Your mother and I thought it would be a good time for me to get to know your family,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“And when did you two decide this?”

“When I called her this morning,” came the answer. She could see him trying to hold back the smile now. His mouth stayed solemn but his eyes were a dead giveaway. “Your hair sure does fly all over the place.” He reached out a hand and tucked a riotous curl behind her ear.

She slapped him away. “Stop touching me. Why were you calling my mother?”

“I know it’s old-fashioned, but I still believe in asking the girl’s parents for permission before you marry her.”

“Are you crazy?” All thoughts of keeping quiet went right
out the window as she bellowed at him. “You told my mother we’re getting married?”

“Keep your cool, Addy.”

She could have punched him right in the face for leaning there, calm and poised, arms crossed loosely on his chest.

“Screw my cool!” She stamped her foot and knew she was acting like a five-year-old. It was beyond her control. Spencer stood up straight and took a step toward her. “Who do you think you are?” She felt crowded and pushed him back, hard. Liked it, and pushed him again. “My knight in goddamn shining armor?”

Her breath was heaving in her chest. She was appalled by her lack of control but couldn’t seem to rein in her fury.

“It’s a simple solution to a difficult problem.”

He was not helping.

And he was so damn cute in those glasses.

“Adeline Tyler.” Ignoring her mother twice was not an option. She turned to face the stern glance. “Spencer is our guest. We do not yell at our guests. And the rest of your family is ready to eat.”

Addy nodded. Plastering a smile on her face, she gestured for Spencer to proceed before her. Safely hidden behind his suit-coated back, she dropped the fake enthusiasm.

“We’ll finish this later, you conniving weasel.”

He turned and grabbed her by the elbows, yanking her up against his body before she could react. His eyes glittered and there wasn’t a hint of cuteness about him as he ground a hard, brief kiss against her stunned mouth.

“We certainly will, you stubborn witch.”

Dinner was hell.

Only her mother’s stern edict that any and all interrogations under hot lights be postponed until after the meal kept her siblings in check. Addy, stuck sitting across from the archfiend himself, kept her eyes away from him and her mouth shut.

After dinner, she made a move to corner Spencer, only to
watch him get spirited away by her two sisters on a tour of the house, her brother following two steps behind them with a dark look. Addy was stuck clearing the table with her mother.

In the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, she had only one sentence for the woman she loved more than life itself.

“I’m not marrying him and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie.” Her mother scraped plates before handing them along. “Just take it outside before you start yelling at him again.”

Minutes later, she kissed her mom on the cheek, got a hug in return and went to hunt down her man.

She found them all in the living room.

“Everyone out.” She speared one set of eyes with a cold look.

“Except me?”

“Except you.”

Her siblings left obediently, but not before she caught a wordless exchange between the two men in the room that boded more conversation between them later.

Remain calm. She chanted the words in her head like a silent mantra.

“I understand what you’re trying to do here, Reed,” she began calmly, “but, frankly, I’d rather marry Spike.”

“Spike? Maybe your great-aunt was right to worry about you.” His brow wrinkled and he ran a hand through his hair, loosening blond waves. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Hardly.” As she stood there, a dozen questions and confusions battled for first place in her mind. “It’s a long story.”

He sank gracefully onto the faded couch, looking more comfortable than a man in what was undoubtedly a two-thousand-dollar suit had a right to look. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re better off if I can vouch for your mental stability. Tell me a story.”

She marched to the hall closet and grabbed his overcoat.

“No stories,” she said and tossed the coat onto the couch next to him. “Get out.”

He crossed a leg over one knee and draped his arm across the back of the sofa. And waited.

Two could play at that game, she thought. She turned her back on him and walked over to the window onto the street. Leaning against the cold glass, she stared out at the quiet houses across the road and cleared her mind of all thoughts of Spencer Reed and his ridiculous proposal.

Not that he’d even proposed to her.

Stop it,
she berated herself. Look at the houses. The Jansens look as though they’re putting on an addition, isn’t that nice?

Thirty seconds later, she admitted that she wasn’t going to win this battle. Her only triumph was that she managed to keep her back to him when she spoke.

“Can’t you get disbarred for this? It must be some kind of conflict of interest.”

“Probably.” His voice was rich with amusement. She felt it curling around her like the touch of his fingers in her hair. “I’m willing to try and figure a way around it.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I thought you looked right in your great-aunt’s house. Like you belonged there.”

She snorted in disbelief. “You look like you belong there way more than I do.” Her own words sparked a tiny candle flame of suspicion in her. She wanted a reason to suspect his motives. Needed it. The suspicion grew.

Fancy clothes. Fancy car. Run-down office. Living at a client’s house. Was she missing the obvious here?

“Is this a con?” She whirled around and stared at him. He hadn’t moved from his seat. “What, you dress rich to cover up the fact that you’re broke and then try to scam your way into marrying me to get your hands on my great-aunt’s house?”

Complete silence.

She watched him as he stood up and shrugged into his coat. He pulled leather gloves from his pockets and tugged them onto his hands. Then he walked past her to the front door.

“Oh, so now you’re leaving?”

“No.
We’re
leaving. Get your coat.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she sputtered at the back of his head.

“Susannah, I’ll bring Addy back in half an hour,” he called out before turning to stare at her. His lips pressed together in a tight line as he looked at her as if she were something he’d accidentally stepped in and then scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“Okay, Spencer. Lovely meeting you this evening,” came her mother’s voice in return. The casual acceptance stung.

“Get your coat.”

She obeyed. The sinking suspicion that she’d let her fear of the situation talk her mouth into writing a check of accusation she didn’t want to cash was crystallizing in her stomach.

The air outside was bitterly cold, and ice sheeted the sidewalk where salt hadn’t been spread. He didn’t take her arm to steady her, or even look at her as she followed him to his car. Ten steps away, the BMW beeped, clicked, blinked on lights and purred to life with a low rumble.

“Nice car,” she muttered as he opened the passenger-side door for her.

“Shut up.” He slammed the door shut as soon as she swung her legs in.

How do I get myself into these situations? she wondered. What happened to “remain calm”?

The vents were already blowing warm air across her cheeks, but she felt ice radiating off Spencer as he slid into the driver’s seat. She ventured to speak.

“Listen, maybe I jumped the gun—”

“Not a word, Addy.”

They pulled away from the curb in one smooth acceleration. He drove quickly but carefully through the quiet streets. She clasped her hands in her lap, feeling like a schoolgirl waiting outside the principal’s office door, and stared out the windshield.

Ten minutes later, they were in Lincoln Park, the north
side’s high-rent district, on one of the main streets where commercial and retail spaces mixed with the occasional residential building. He pulled over in a loading zone and parked, leaving the engine running.