New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess (13 page)

Kat offered Andrew a friendly smile, which wasn't a hardship, because she was overall a friendly type. It also seemed like a good lead-in to her proposal.

“Nice place you've got here. Cozy.” Actually she'd been here once last summer with Bitsy and her daughter. Bitsy's husband, Eddie, also a lawyer, and Andrew had been out of town at a conference.

“I'm so relieved you like it. Now, why don't we discuss your bird-watching?”

His voice might be pleasant and relaxed, but determination was written on his face with a bold marker. It was there in the hard line of his lips, the thrust of his chin.

Kat felt like a bug pinned to a board by Andrew's piercing eyes. His suggestion hung between them, demanding an explanation. Kat's stomach chose that moment to protest loud and clear. She glanced at him reprimandingly. “I'm hungry. You spilled my lunch earlier.”

Andrew stared at her as if he thought she was indeed a bug. “You call M&M's lunch?”

“They had peanuts in them. That's a protein source.” Really, all that money for a Harvard degree. You'd think he'd know his food groups.

“Shy little thing, aren't you?”

“You know some people wouldn't believe it, but I really am shy.” And nervous as hell. Her entire future hinged on this. Her baby hung in the balance. Her last-ditch effort at motherhood stood sexily before her.

His brows shot up to his elegant hairline. “Count me
in as a nonbeliever in the shy business.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop.

Kat stared at his hands. His fingers were long and blunt, his hands broad. She swallowed hard. Now was a bad time to develop a hand fetish. Actually, a fetish in any way, shape or form that concerned this man was not allowed.

She braced her hands on the countertop and hoisted herself up, which put her at eye level with Andrew.

“Could I have a glass of milk?” she requested from her perch.

“You're a strange woman.” Andrew pulled out a gallon of milk.

Ha! I'm a strange woman?
Kat had seen his sleek, plastic girlfriend and, excepting Bitsy, had a fair idea of the type of women who inhabited his world. After all, she'd lived in a similar world for her first twenty-four years. “Considering the women you probably know, I'll take
strange
as a compliment.”

Andrew closed the refrigerator and studied Kat Devereaux. He wasn't trying to insult her, it was simply what had come to mind. He'd never met a woman like her. He was used to sophisticated women who employed every available means to enhance their beauty, be it spa or salon or a discreet visit to a prominent Palm Beach plastic surgeon. Women who cooed and simpered and sought to impress.

God and Madame Mimi's Spa knew that was modus operandi for his mother.

Kat Devereaux sat on his kitchen counter with her face devoid of makeup and her hair standing on end, and she certainly didn't seem to care if she impressed him. Oddly enough, she did. She was pushy, opinionated, physically assertive and sexy as hell. Maybe it was a compliment, all things considered. Strange, intriguing, different, whatever she was, she had managed to divert his attention from the matter at hand. Regardless of how
cute her nose was with its sprinkling of freckles or how shapely her legs were swinging from his countertop, he wanted some answers!

He topped off a glass with milk and presented it to her. “Here's your milk. Now tell me why you've been playing Mata Hari with me.”

Whatever, or whoever, Kat Devereaux was, she wasn't much of a liar. At least not a good one. Bird-watching! She'd be terrible at poker. Far too transparent. Even right now, he could almost see the wheels turning.

She stalled by drinking her milk. All of it. Without stopping.

Andrew folded his arms and waited expectantly—he had plenty of time. Kat placed the glass on the counter and smiled at him winningly, her blue eyes widening. A milk mustache ruined the effect. Andrew bit back a smile.

“So, you're definitely not buying bird-watching, huh?”

Her sheer temerity arrested him. He gave in to the smile. “No. I don't buy bird-watching.”

Kat abandoned her perch to pace the kitchen floor. “Okay—”

The front door slammed, interrupting her explanation.

“Yoo-hoo…Andrew, where are you?” Andrew recognized his sister's singsong tone. He'd never get to the bottom of this. His frustration vented itself in sarcasm. “Come on in. Make yourself at home. We're out here in the kitchen.”

Bitsy waltzed through the swinging door, barely spared him a glance and beelined over to Kat. “I spotted Carlotta out front. Have you talked to him yet?”

He glanced from one woman to the other. This was getting stranger by the minute. “Bitsy? Kat? You know each other?”

Bitsy remained next to Kat but turned to face Andrew
and giggled. “Kat works at the school where I volunteer. She's a dear friend.”

Red alert! That was not comforting news. His sister meant well, but trouble seemed to follow her like the wake behind a boat. He still marveled that they shared the same gene pool. Why was he not too shocked to find her involved in this wackiness? “Why don't you two explain what the hell is going on?”

“Well, big brother—”

Kat threw up her hand to stop Bitsy. “Wait, Bitsy. We were just about to have this discussion when you arrived. Let me explain.”

Andrew was fast running out of patience. If one of them didn't tell him something soon, he'd throttle both of them.

Bitsy glided over to a kitchen chair and plopped down. “Just pretend I'm not even here.”

“You
could
leave,” he suggested.

“Oh, no. I'll be fine. I promise, you won't even know I'm here.”

Kat offered him a sunny but nervous smile. “I'm not quite sure where to begin.”

“How about the beginning?”

“Well, there isn't really a beginning. I guess if you wanted a beginning it would be a couple of years ago when I turned thirty—”

Andrew cut her off. He didn't want her life story. “Forget the beginning. Just try spitting it out somewhere around the middle.”

Kat narrowed her eyes at him. She obviously didn't appreciate being rushed.

“Bottom line? I need a husband. You need a wife. Let's get married.” She crossed her arms across her breasts. “There, was that brief enough for you?”

Andrew prided himself on his ability to maintain a poker face and this was no exception. However, he men
tally gaped. Unless he was mistaken, a veritable stranger had just proposed marriage. What a preposterous idea!

Bitsy snickered from the corner of the room.

Andrew ignored her. Being a calm, rational man, he wanted to hear the arguments they'd come up with to convince him. As he stared into the azure blue of Kat Devereaux's eyes, he understood now why sometimes people couldn't look away from a train wreck. “Perhaps we should go back to a few weeks before your birthday and take it from there.”

“As I was saying, a few weeks before the big three-o I started evaluating my life, which I think is a fairly common thing, and realized it was close to perfect. I love my job—I teach art to elementary school children. I'm disgustingly healthy, I treat myself to good vacations, and I have a comfortable place to live. There was only one thing missing.”

She paused and Andrew smirked to himself.
A man. She wanted a man.

“A baby. I've always wanted children, or at least a child. It's the one thing missing in my life.” She paused and stared at him expectantly. “Any questions so far?”

Andrew ceased smirking.
A baby?
She wanted a baby. He didn't think so. “Several. But why don't you continue and we'll see how many you leave open.”

“That just sort of sets the stage. About two weeks ago Bitsy told me your father refused to make you a partner unless you got married.”

Andrew glared at Bitsy, who remained unrepentant. “I was in the library when you and Father had your little discussion in the study.”

Andrew didn't take her to task for eavesdropping since it would have been a total waste of time. However, he refused to let her matchmaking go unchecked. And was his whole damn family obsessed with his matrimonial state or lack thereof? “That's it, Bitsy. This time
you've gone too far. I don't need you discussing my private affairs with strangers.”

“Kat's no stranger to me. And you know her family. Rand Hamilton's her father and Jackson Hamilton's her brother.”

“Nor do I need you soliciting a wife on my behalf.” Irritation tinged his tone.

Kat watched the interplay between him and his sister with avid interest, seemingly unperturbed at being the object of discussion. He'd never have pegged her as Rand Hamilton's daughter. Rand was as much of a cagey manipulator as his own father. Her friendship with Bitsy made sense.

“Well, for goodness' sake, if I didn't do something you'd end up marrying that horrid Claudia. There are plenty of horrid people in our family already without you adding to the numbers.”

He had, in fact, spent some time assessing Claudia as a marriage partner. “What, dear sister, is wrong with Claudia?”

“She called Juliana a brat!”

Andrew considered the antics of his precocious six-year-old niece. “Juliana
is
a brat.” An indulgent smile softened the blow. He'd never been able to stay angry with his sister.

“I know she is. You know she is…but, it was the way Claudia said it!”

Kat piped up. “You wouldn't happen to have any ice cream, would you?”

Andrew eyed her flat stomach. “You're not…you know…that way already, are you?”

Kat rolled her eyes upward. “No. If I were, I wouldn't consider marrying you. I'm just hungry.”

Andrew marveled at her matter-of-fact tone regarding the issue. Not that it mattered, because he wasn't buying into their plan. He waved a generous hand, “By all means, help yourself.”

The electronic chirping of a beeper cut off Andrew's sentence. Bitsy read the digital display and grimaced. “Well, kids, I hate to cut out on the fun but this is Juliana's baby-sitter and she's given me the 811 code.”

“Don't you mean 9-1-1?” Andrew corrected.

“Nope, 8-1-1 is our code for brat attack. Last week she tried to tie the postman to a stake. Said she was playing Salem witch trials.” Bitsy stopped en route to the door to envelop Kat in a hug. “Welcome to the family, darling.” She bussed Andrew on the cheek. “Congratulations, big brother. You're making a wise decision.”

Without further ado, she sallied out the back door.

Andrew ignored her parting comment. Reasoning with Bitsy was in the same league as turning the tide. But it didn't mean he'd go along with this flaky scheme she'd concocted, even though he did need a wife because he damn well meant to get that partnership, whatever the cost. And his father had already named the price.

Kat threw open the freezer and rummaged about until she surfaced bearing a pint of premium ice cream like a trophy. She grinned at him as she pulled off the top. “Spoon?”

He indicated the silverware drawer.

“I can't believe you buy this stuff. I hadn't figured you for a Chunky Monkey man.”

Just what the hell did she mean by that? “Bitsy likes it so I always keep the stuff on hand.”

She flashed that saucy grin again. “A woman with excellent taste, your sister.”

Andrew watched in horrified fascination as she spooned a bite directly from the carton. She paused, her spoon in midair. “What? Why're you looking at me that way?”

At least she hadn't used her finger. “I don't believe I've ever seen anyone bypass the bowl and go straight
for the carton.” And she and his sister thought he'd actually consider living with her?

“For goodness' sake, relax. It's only a pint. It'll be gone in no time. Now a half gallon would've been another story. Unless you wanted some.” She offered the open carton. “Do you want some?”

She stood before him, a cross between a pixie and Medusa on a bad hair day and, out of nowhere, his libido kicked into overdrive. He reminded himself they were talking about ice cream. He reminded himself she'd concocted a nutty scheme to marry him and bear his child.

“No, thanks.” To all of it. The ice cream. Her. Her plan.

“You're sure?” She still held the carton toward him.

“Positive.”

Kat shrugged and spooned up another mouthful. “So, do you just not like ice cream, or is it Chunky Monkey you object to?”

“I didn't say I objected to it, I simply said I didn't want any.”

She nibbled at a walnut. “Let me guess, your favorite flavor is…vanilla. With the little bean specks in it, of course.”

Had she trailed him to the grocery store? Slipped in behind him at an ice-cream kiosk? And what if he did like vanilla? She made it sound criminal.

“Vanilla's a good basic.” This was ridiculous! Getting defensive over ice cream. “But enough about ice cream. Why me? Don't you know any eligible men?”

She ran her tongue catlike over the spoon and Andrew felt a totally unwelcome and unexpected stab of want.

Kat looked at him as if she were dealing with a child who couldn't grasp a simple concept. “Of course I do. I have quite a few male friends.”

“So, what's wrong with them?”

“Nothing's wrong with them. That's the problem. I like them. Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good
friendship by marrying someone I like? And they'd want to stick around or at least be involved with the baby afterward. On the other hand, you and I would make a perfect match.”

“You've lost me on that one.”

Once again she waved the carton in front of him.

“Chunky Monkey. Vanilla. Carlotta. Gertrude.” She said, and went back to eating, as if no further clarification were necessary.