She shook off his hands and slid her palms inside his shirt and over the rigid lines of his shoulders. “There’s certainly no need for you to suffer through the night,” she admonished, beginning a rhythmic massage. Oh no, she’d be the one to suffer through the night. Ovulation was over and hence the excuse…uh, reason…to make love with her husband. Anything now would just be gratuitous indulgence, leading her close to that precipice of excess for which she was renowned.

Slick, heated satin came to mind as she kneaded and molded his knotted neck and shoulders. The feel of him beneath her fingertips stoked the smoldering fire inside her.

His head lolled forward. “Oh, God. That feels so good.”

His voice poured over her like warm whiskey on a cold night. Kat desperately sought a diversion. Anything to distract her from fantasizing about nibbling those edible briefs right off her husband’s gorgeous body.

“Andrew?”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to pretend to be married in front of a slew of people.”

“Kat.”

“What?”

“We’re not pretending. We are married.”

“You know what I mean. The majority of the people at this reception know more about us than we know about each other.”

“So, what do you want to know?”

“Why’d you become an attorney?” she questioned. She was curious. Not to mention desperate to concentrate on something other than mussing the neat edge of his straight, dark hair.

“Just lucky, I guess.” He laughed, a low throaty chuckle. “Some people spend their whole lives trying to decide what they want to be when they grow up. I knew before I graduated from kindergarten.”

Even though they dined together every night, their conversation was never this personal. Other than the mind-boggling lovemaking each night and the goodbye kiss each morning for Mrs. Fitzwillie’s benefit, they’d carefully avoided physical contact. In fading twilight, she breathed in the scent of him, a mixture of expensive cologne and pure, unadulterated Andrew. Kat slid her fingers along his spine, careful not to cross the line from stress-relieving massage to caress, tempting as it might be. She was an adult in control. She could do this.

While he relaxed she was in serious danger of turning to Jell-O.

“Go on,” she said. Andrew as a little boy intrigued her.

“Hmm. I must’ve been about five and a half when my mother took me to my father’s office. She had an appointment with her masseuse or something equally pressing. My latest nanny had just walked off the job, so she dumped me on A.W.’s secretary. The poor woman didn’t know what to do with me. She stuck me in the boardroom since it was empty at the time. Portraits lined the walls. Every Winthrop who’d practiced law for almost a hundred years.”

Kat shuddered, envisioning somber-faced men staring down at a small boy. “How awful for you.” She kneaded his shoulder with an extra dose of sympathy.

“Are you kidding? It was great. I knew then that one day my portrait would hang beside theirs.”

His words hammered home how much his partnership meant to him. How steeped in tradition. She rested her hands against the velvet warmth of his skin. “You’d do almost anything for this partnership. It’s that important to you, isn’t it?”

“It’s who I am. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” His cool voice seemed at odds with the warm flesh-and-blood man beneath her palms. “And, yes, I believe I’ve proved I’d do almost anything for that partnership.”

Kat inwardly squirmed at her role in “almost anything.” He had power, position, wealth and good looks to boot. Why then did she suddenly feel as if she’d taken advantage of him? As if she’d discovered and exploited his vulnerability? She hastened to reassure herself she’d saved him from Claudia van Dierling.

Andrew pulled away from her touch. “Thanks.” He twisted his head from side to side. “That’s much better now.”

She sank into her seat on slightly unsteady legs. “Don’t mention it.”

“What about you? How’d you wind up teaching art?”

Kat didn’t care whether his question stemmed from genuine interest or if it was merely a polite shift of conversation. She welcomed the change.

“I suppose I inherited it, much the same as you. My mother’s a landscape artist. From the time I can remember, she was always working on a canvas.”

“I think I’ve seen one or two of her paintings. She’s very good.”

“Yes, she is.”

“So, why did you decide to teach instead of paint?”

“I love art-it’s exhilarating. The colors. The textures. But I also love kids. Watching them learn about themselves through art is an incredible experience.”

Kat peeled the label off her bottle. “I’ve always wanted children of my own-or at least one child. And I want to be there for them. I don’t want to skip dinner because the evening light is just right for painting. Or miss a school play because it coincides with a gallery opening.”

Dusk veiled the day, casting private shadows between them.

“I take it your mother had a different slant on things.”

“Don’t get me wrong. Mom’s great. And she’s always supported Jackson and me in whatever we undertook. But we knew her painting came first.” Kat shrugged. “I happen to think people are more important than careers. If great art comes at the expense of a personal life-which seems to be the consensus among most artists-I’ll pass on the great art.”

Andrew acknowledged her viewpoint with a slight nod. He snapped a leaf off the hibiscus beside his chair and toyed with it between his long fingers. It almost qualified as fidgeting.

“If children have always been a part of your plan-and it sounds as if they have-why didn’t you and Devereaux start a family?” Curiosity marked his question.

She’d discussed her and Nick’s relationship with a number of friends after he’d left. It had never felt as intimate as discussing him with her current husband. She’d once married a man she thought she loved, only to discover he was a stranger. Now she’d married a stranger she thought she couldn’t love… She slammed the brakes on that particular train of thought.

“Before we married, Nick said he wanted a family. But once we were married, he changed his mind.” In an instant, all their old arguments crowded in. “He said he wasn’t father material, that he’d make a lousy father. It was one of the few times he bothered with the truth.”

Andrew remained silent. Except for his continued creasing of the hibiscus leaf, he could have been asleep. Kat knew she’d opened this Pandora’s box with her career question, but Andrew had taken it one step further. Now it was her turn. The dark invited confidences.

“Why haven’t you ever married?” He was married. To her. She needed to remember that. “Before now?”

His fingers stilled. The leaf fluttered to the ground. “Because, much like your first husband, I’m neither husband nor father material.”

His cold words shattered the soft warmth of the night that cocooned them. An instantaneous denial sprang from her core at Andrew comparing himself to Nick. Until she reminded herself that bedtime back rubs, nighttime confidences, great procreational sex and a purple Volvo did not a marriage make.


“TOTO, I’VE GOT TO TELL YOU, I’m not looking forward to tonight.”

The little dog cocked his head toward Andrew questioningly.

Waiting for Kat to finish dressing, Andrew and Toto watched fish dart about in the aquarium. They hadn’t even left for the reception yet and Andrew already wished it was over.

“Well, let’s look at the guest list. My father-in-law despises me as a professional rival. Then there are my parents who despise each other. As a rule of thumb, I generally avoid spending time with them, especially when they’re together.”

Toto whimpered his sympathy.

“Kat’s father and my father despise each other. And Gloria, who knows more gossip than flies on the wall do, told me Claudia wangled a date with Trent Braxton.”

Toto performed his dead dog routine, rolling onto his back with all four paws sticking up in the air.

“Yeah, that’s what I say.”

And his delectable wife was driving him mad. More than once this week, thoughts of Kat and their baby had disrupted his concentration. He’d found himself considering the reality of being a real, long-term husband and dad. Nothing had ever interfered with his work before.

And then there were the endless nights with her curled up beside him, when she would slide a silky leg between his in her sleep. But there was no need to share that with Toto.

“Sorry I took so long. I’m ready.” The cause of his insanity, or at the least, his insomnia, glided down the hall. Exotic. Elegant. Maddening.

Her dress, patterned in vibrant colors, clung and flowed in the appropriate places. He cleared the knot of desire wedged in his throat.

“This is for you. I hope you like it.” He thrust a small bouquet of flowers toward her, feeling-and sounding- as gauche as a teenager on his first prom date. “They’re for your hair.”

“What, no muzzle?” Her sapphire eyes sparkled.

“It wouldn’t be fair to deprive our guests of your delightful wit. It’s half your charm.”

Her eyebrows skewed a question. “And the other half?”

Unbidden, a list formed in his head. Her sunny smile, her enthusiasm for her work, her loyalty-that wreck she called a car was parked in the garage because she refused to consign it to a scrap yard-her fierce independence, the feel of her hips beneath his… Andrew shook his head in mock disapproval. “A lady never digs for a compliment.”

“And a gentleman never makes her.” She dropped her head forward to admire the bouquet, revealing a freckled expanse of neck that tempted him to trail kisses along its satin smoothness. “But thanks for these. How’d you know they’re my favorites?”