New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess (12 page)

A
NDREW
M
ARTIN
W
INTHROP
III in the buff was a sight to behold. Bitsy had not told all. Of course, she probably hadn't seen his spectacular, splendid bare butt in the past thirty years or so.

Kat lowered the binoculars unsteadily and popped a handful of M&M's into her mouth. Get Andrew Winthrop III out of that starched shirt and those immaculately creased trousers, and there was more to him than she'd supposed.

She washed down the M&M's with the worst coffee imaginable. She sighed. What she wouldn't give for a good cup of joe right now.

Kat squinted through the binoculars again, not that she was trying to be voyeuristic and catch another glimpse of Andrew III's well-formed buns. This was research. She could have hired a P.I. to investigate him, but since he topped her marriage list—okay, he
was
her marriage list—she'd decided to check him out herself. If he happened to move around sans clothes, she'd consider it a bonus. She scanned the bedroom, but Andrew had disappeared.

She settled in behind the oleander at the edge of his property and reached for the one-pound bag of chocolate candies beside her on the ground, scanning the house once more. Still no sign of Mr. “Stiff as His Shirt Collar” Winthrop III. His elegant yet sedate Mercedes sat in front of the cottage. He'd probably be starched and
buttoned-down before he ventured out for the Sunday paper.

Bitsy had suggested she introduce herself while he was at his beach house for the weekend. She theorized he'd be more relaxed here than at his in-town home or office. If she only knew!

Kat trained her binoculars on the kitchen. She'd wait until just the right time to introduce herself. Maybe he'd gone in to fix a sandwich. Would he wander around his kitchen in his altogether? Hmm, interesting to find out…

Suddenly, a masculine arm wrapped around Kat's midsection and hauled her to her feet, making her spill bad coffee and her M&M's, and momentarily scaring the wits out of her. She registered a general feeling of male hardness and warmth before she instinctively flipped her assailant and planted her knee in his throat.

Gray eyes regarded her steadily with more than a hint of annoyance. She'd seen him across the room at the cocktail party and tailed him from a distance, but none of that prepared her for the impact of his gaze up close and personal. It was almost as powerful as his rear view.

“If you would kindly remove your knee from my windpipe, perhaps we could discuss why you're training those binoculars on my house.” His voice was as cool and steady as his eyes.

Kat complied and stepped back as Andrew picked himself up, brushing sand off his magnificent backside. She gathered she wasn't making a good first impression.

She glared at him. “Don't grab me again.”

He towered over her, glaring in return. “You were sneaking around my beach house in the bushes. I believe I have a right to confront you.”

Even barefoot and in sweats—which she was amazed he owned since they couldn't be starched—Andrew Winthrop exuded icy arrogance.

Kat drew herself up to her full height, all five feet four and a half inches, and tilted her chin. “I certainly
was not sneaking. And you spilled my coffee and my candy.”

His thin, hard lips compressed even further. “Oh, pardon me. What do you call lurking behind shrubbery?” He stepped closer, watching her carefully as if he thought she might try to flip him again.

She retreated, the soft, white sand sifting into her canvas sneakers. God, she loathed sand in her shoes! “I wasn't lurking.”

“Well, pray tell, what were you doing then?”

Checking you out because my biological clock has hit warp speed and I want you to father my baby.
Seemed a little early for that. She raised her head, stared into his gray eyes and lied brazenly.

“Bird-watching.”

He raised a sardonic dark brow, his short laugh reflecting skepticism rather than amusement. “Bird-watching?”

Probably not the best lie she'd ever come up with, but she actually didn't lie often. She'd have to practice when she got back home.

Andrew gently but firmly took her arm. A shiver of awareness raced along Kat's nerve endings. Andrew Winthrop's touch wasn't nearly as cool as his eyes and his voice.

“I'm very interested in hearing more about your bird-watching.” He steered her back toward the cottage. “Especially since you watched for birds at my office yesterday, as well.”

Uh-oh. He'd spotted her yesterday. Had he seen her follow him today? She narrowed her eyes. “If you knew I was out here, why'd you parade around without your clothes?”

Amusement thawed the Arctic depths of his gray eyes. “Parade around?” He shook his head in mock consternation. “Showers are usually more efficient without clothes.”

“Oh.”

Andrew ushered her up the weathered deck. “I'm afraid ‘Oh' isn't going to do, Ms…” he said as he threw open the back door to reveal a minuscule kitchen. “Why don't we start with your name?” His smile didn't reach his eyes, but it did reveal perfect teeth. She'd figured as much. “I trust, given your extensive, um, bird-watching, you know who I am.”

He stood behind her, waiting for her to enter the cottage.

She crossed the threshold.

He stationed himself next to the open door and awaited her answer. So far lying hadn't worked very well for her. She might as well give him her name.

“Devereaux. Kat Devereaux.” She watched him mentally process the name, searching for an association or a link. Coming up with nothing, Andrew folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter.

“Okay, Ms. Devereaux, what kind of bird were you looking for exactly?”

“Well, I wasn't exactly looking. I was watching.”

He lifted a skeptical black brow. “What were you watching for?”

She shrugged. “Anything, everything, nothing.”

“And how did you come to be watching the fascinating habits of
this
particular bird?”

With each passing second he impressed her as the perfect candidate to marry. Arrogant. Stuffy. Irritating. There was absolutely no possibility she'd become emotionally involved. Perfect.

“Fascinating? That's definitely a stretch.”

“Let's stick to the subject at hand. How'd you find out about this bird?”

Kat found herself at a loss as to how to broach the subject. Should she start with the part about his sister and her being friends? Should she start with her overwhelming need to be a mother?

Kat sidled toward the doorway, and stood close enough to Andrew to catch the clean tang of sandalwood soap. It was one thing to watch the man from a distance, but being this close to him sent her mind skittering in directions it didn't need to go.

“I need to secure Carlotta and fetch Toto, and then we can talk.”

Andrew wrapped his hand around her upper arm, his touch halting her in her tracks. “Hold it. Exactly who are Carlotta and Toto?” He dropped his hand to his side and Kat absently rubbed at the tingling spot. Emotionally he might not appeal to her, but he scored high in the physical reaction department. Either that or she'd hit premature menopause and was hot flashing.

“Carlotta's my car.”

“You mean that wreck you followed me in? I believe it's safe unless someone mistakes it for scrap metal.”

Kat drew herself up and stared down the length of her nose. Unfortunately, she had to tilt her head way back, because Andrew was considerably taller than five feet four and a half inches, which ruined her attempt at haughtiness.

Carlotta, as she'd christened her '79 Toyota, had been a good friend to her—steadfast and loyal. Kat had a deep and abiding affection for her. “I'll thank you not to refer to Carlotta as a wreck. She runs beautifully.”

Except for the clicking noise her motor made, her backfiring muffler and the fact that her air-conditioning hadn't worked for the past five years. But, really, those were trivialities. Just thinking about them made Kat squirm at her own disloyalty.

Andrew ignored her disclaimer with a wave of his hand. “I'm scared to ask, but what or who is Toto?”

As inopportune as it was, she appreciated the elegant line of his hand, the sprinkling of dark hair on the back.

Kat turned at the first step of the deck stairs. “Toto's my dog.”

A frown marred the perfection of his face. “A dog? You're bringing a dog in here?”

The prospect of a dog in his house seemed to upset him more than being flipped onto his back by an unknown woman. She skipped down the last three steps. “Toto's more than just a dog. Just wait, you'll love him.”

Behind her, Andrew muttered something indistinguishable, although she was fairly certain it wasn't complimentary. Just wait until he met Toto. Everyone loved Toto.

 

A
NDREW WATCHED
the petite bundle of energy bounce along the road. He ran his hand over his jawline, contemplating the mystery of Kat Devereaux—who she was and why she was shadowing him. Shadowing wasn't exactly correct. Following him, none too discreetly, was a more apt assessment.

He'd first spotted her yesterday, lurking behind an abstract sculpture in the lobby of his office building, wearing the prerequisite dark shades and tan trench coat. Fortunately for him, she hadn't worn a wig. Her riotous ginger curls had heralded her presence all the while she'd trailed him. She'd darted behind him like some exotic bird for two days now and he'd had enough. Despite himself, she intrigued him.

She was probably just another determined female who'd read the article naming him one of Florida's top five eligible bachelors. Andrew rued the day he'd given in to impulse and agreed to be interviewed. He had a neat, orderly life—he loved his work, played handball three times a week and casually dated.
Impulse
was not in his vocabulary. Perhaps he'd entertained a faint inkling of discord and discontent at the very orderliness of his life. And for once he'd given in to impulse and allowed himself to be identified as a prime male candidate. That had taught him a lesson. He had enough on
his plate trying to maneuver himself into a partnership. He didn't need Kat Devereaux hanging out behind the sculptures. And he'd get rid of her—just as soon as he satisfied his curiosity.

He flexed his right shoulder and winced at the stiffness. He'd be sure he got his answers from a distance.

Her car backfired from the driveway as she killed the engine. He flinched when she slammed the door. He hoped she hadn't parked too close to his Mercedes. He wasn't anxious to pick up any dents—and they could be catching from the looks of that thing she drove.

Andrew forgot all about dents as Kat Devereaux waltzed up the deck stairs, for all the world as if she were a dinner guest, a mass of fur running circles around her, yapping incessantly. She stopped when she reached the kitchen doorway. “We're back.”

Andrew eyed the small, shaggy dog of indeterminate pedigree. “Toto, I presume.”

Hearing his name, the little dog perked his ears and paused before charging over to sniff and yap around Andrew's legs.

“Be careful. Sometimes he….”

The lower leg of Andrew's sweatpant suddenly grew warm and wet. He didn't need to glance down, and he didn't need to hear Kat finish her sentence to know what had just happened. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples wearily. This was going from bad to worse.

“No, Toto, no! Bad dog! Oh, I'm so sorry.”

Toto licked at Andrew's bare toes while Kat grabbed a dish towel and dived for his wet pant leg. He threw up his hands to ward her off before she could come any closer.

“It's a little late for that. If you'll just call off Toto, I'll change into something a bit drier.”

“I'm so sorry. Really I am.” Dancing blue eyes belied her contrite tone. Or maybe she was sincere in her apology, but she also thought it was damned funny. She
scooped up the wriggling canine and sought to reassure Andrew. “He usually only does it once and that's only if he likes you.”

“What does he do if he doesn't like you?” Andrew quizzed on his way out the door. “No, never mind. I really don't want to know. Just let me change pants and then, if Toto can contain his enthusiasm, you and I are going to talk, Ms. Devereaux.”

In the space of one brief hour she'd flung him on his back in the sand, and her dog had lifted its leg on him in his own home. It wasn't a matter of living to regret having met Kat Devereaux and her little dog, Toto. He already did.

 

T
HIS WAS NOT
going well at all.

Kat supposed she should scold Toto, but it really wasn't his fault. Excitement and incontinence went hand in hand for poor Toto. Instead, she absently scratched him behind his ears while he burrowed into her shoulder. She'd hand it to Andrew—he'd handled the mishap with surprising grace.

She glanced toward the bedroom door where he'd disappeared to change clothes and heaved a sigh of relief. So far Andrew Winthrop was turning out to be exactly what he seemed, exactly what she needed: a stuffy, albeit attractive, lawyer with a degree from Harvard, a ton of money in the bank and a pressing need for a wife. She could offer him a temporary version of wedded bliss and he could give her the baby she so wanted.

Andrew padded back into the room, having replaced his sweatpants with a pair of worn but creased blue jeans. He still wore the faded Harvard T-shirt.

Kat bent and put Toto on the floor. Andrew eyed the little dog warily. “Once, right? He only does that once?”

Toto ran over to snuffle Andrew's feet. “Usually…”
Kat couldn't resist teasing a bit. “Although he might make an exception in your case.”

Sardonic humor glinted in the depths of his eyes. “Only if I'm lucky.”

With one last sniff, Toto trotted off to discover parts unknown in the beach house.