Kat grabbed it from him as he wrote the final number and relayed it to her mother. She wrote a single word and shoved it at him.

Birthday?

He mouthed the information and she repeated it into the phone. “Okay, call me when you get to California and get settled in.”

She clicked the off button and rubbed the back of her neck. The same neck he remembered as warm and silky. “Whew. At least that’s over.”

“What’s the birthday all about?”

Kat launched herself out of the chair. “Numerology. She and my stepfather leave this afternoon for a New Age convention in California. She wanted to get a fix on your numbers on the way out.”

He’d heard of mismatched couples, but Kat’s parents won the prize. “She was married to Rand?”

“The numerology came after the divorce, but they’re a case in point. Opposites may attract, but it’s only for a short period of time.”

Andrew reasoned the attraction he felt for his wife was novel. Kat Devereaux Winthrop stood apart from any woman he’d met before. So he was attracted to her quirkiness. Unusual on his part, but not totally irrational. He further reasoned the novelty would wear off quick enough and he’d be back on an even keel.

He hoped it was damn soon.


KAT TRAILED DOWN THE HALL behind Andrew, the plush beige carpet absorbing their steps. Aside from the overwhelming neutrality of the interior, the house was quite lovely. A long rectangle, all interior rooms opened onto a central courtyard with a small garden pond.

The home tour was almost over and Kat vowed not to walk behind Andrew once she knew her way around. It was too darned distracting-which was why she didn’t hear what he said. She was too busy appreciating the immediate view.

“Huh?”

Andrew stopped abruptly and Kat plowed into him. She latched onto the first thing she came in contact with to steady herself. Taut, firm buttocks tightened under her touch. She resisted the urge to squeeze, instead dropping her hands to her side immediately.

“Sorry about that. Um, what were you saying?”

Andrew turned to face her and the hallway seemed to shrink considerably. “I said, this is our room.”

He threw open the door behind him and ushered her inside. A general impression of more of the same hit her, but the bed captured her attention. Swathed in yards of mosquito netting draped from the ceiling, it dominated one wall. Kind of erotic that netting…visions of her and Andrew playing a private game of Tarzan and Jane beckoned like a jumbo pack of double-stuffed Oreos.

“Our as in yours and whose?”

“Our as in yours and mine.”

Kat quivered at the thought of those tight buns snuggled up next to her every night. “Um, thanks, but that’s really not necessary. You’ve got plenty of space and I’ll be happy in any of your guest rooms.” She’d bargained for sharing a house when they got married. She’d even bargained for sleeping together-after all, she intended to make a baby-but sharing a bedroom for however long she was here insured an intimacy she hadn’t bargained on.

“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.

4

DAMN 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.