New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess

by Jill Shalvis

  Tonight she and Andrew were meeting, with their attorneys in tow, for the first time in the week and a half since she’d propositioned him, although they’d had several short, perfunctory phone conversations in the interim.

  “Hi, sis.” Her older brother ambled across the restaurant.

  Kat stood and hugged him. “Thanks for coming, Jackson.” He might be her sibling, but he was also one of the best lawyers she knew, and the only one she trusted to keep this agreement confidential.

  “You realize this whole thing is against my better judgment. And Father’s going to be furious when he finds out,” he said without preamble.

  “Jackson, practically everything I do is against your better judgment.” Kat winced when she thought about her father’s reaction, but she’d made up her mind. “Unfortunately, it won’t be the first time Dad’s disapproved of me.”

  Umberto interrupted with a basket of fragrant garlic rolls and Kat’s wine. He bowed slightly in Jackson’s direction. “A glass of Chianti for you?”

  “Thanks.” Umberto glided away and Jackson picked up the conversational thread. “I don’t understand why you can’t just fall in love, get married and have a baby.”

  He didn’t add “like everyone else.” He didn’t have to. It hung between them unspoken. Kat had lived a lifetime of being different.

  “In case it slipped your mind, I tried that with Nick and it landed me a charming case of desertion.”

  “If I ever get my hands on that…”

  “…low-life, slime-sucking son of a bitch, you’re gonna kill him.” Kat finished the diatribe she’d heard so many times before. “You’d have to take a number.”

  She patted Jackson’s hand. She wasn’t bitter, but she’d learned her lesson and learned it well. “It’s okay, Jackie. Honest it is.”

  “Well, I hate to bring it up, but you know sometimes you’re a little excessive.”

  “I have several excellent behavior modification tapes that have really helped.”

  “Several? Humph. What about that time you bought all that pink paint because you liked the color and it was on sale?”

  “That was a long time ago!”

  “How many pairs of shoes do you own? And how many had you just bought at that sale the last time I met you for lunch?”

  “I’m not shopping any more shoe sales and I promise these tapes are great. Try to understand I need to do this my way.”

  Umberto placed a glass of wine in front of Jackson and slipped away.

  “I respect that. I don’t agree with it, but I respect it. By the way, I’ve got an ethics question for you.”

  Jackson had plied her with ethical dilemmas from the time he’d entered law school. Kat had always marched to a slightly different drummer, and he swore it gave him a fresh perspective.

  “Shoot.”

  Jackson toyed with the stem of his glass. “You have a client who gives you specific instructions. But, as an attorney, you don’t feel they serve your client’s best interest. Your client’s current wishes would, in the long run, pose a serious problem. Do you adhere to his wishes or act in his best interests?”

  Kat knew better than to ask for details or specifics. Jackson would never betray client confidentiality. For a fleeting second she thought about her own case. Jackson made no bones about his disapproval. However, she’d given marrying Andrew and having a baby a lot of thought-it wasn’t a whim. Besides, Jackson knew she’d kill him if he was playing games with her. She tossed out the idea and went on to consider the question from a general perspective.

  Kat recognized clients were often distraught. Usually by the time they got around to contracting the services of a lawyer, they were an emotional mess. Most of them didn’t know the intricacies of the law, which often rendered their requests or instructions ill informed. It was the reason they paid exorbitant fees for legal counsel.

  “Earn your money and act in his best interests.”

  “Good answer.” Jackson reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a cigar and clamped it between his teeth.

  “Don’t even think of lighting up that thing,” she warned as she fished a garlic roll out of the basket.

  “I’m not, but it couldn’t possibly smell any worse than that.” He defiantly waved his cigar at the bread.

  Kat broke off a small piece and launched into the question she’d avoided asking since Jackson’s arrival. “So, is the contract in order? Everything’s clear? You spelled out all the stipulations?”

  Jackson didn’t blink. “Yes, yes and yes. But I still think-”

  “Jackie, I know what you think. But if everything’s in order, I plan to marry Andrew Martin Winthrop III.”

  She looked forward to seeing him tonight. She needed a blast of arctic ice from those cold gray eyes. It had been far too easy to forget his aloofness and lose herself in his voice over the phone. His voice brought to mind a good bourbon. Potent. Heady.

  As if conjured up by her thoughts, that voice interrupted her reverie. “Good evening, Kat.”

  She glanced up with a start. Edward Sommers and Andrew were standing beside the table.

  Her gaze riveted on Andrew. Good Lord, if he wasn’t a total package. Coal black hair cut precisely and brushed back from a face saved from being pretty by a slightly crooked nose and a harsh mouth. And summa cum laude from Harvard. Fabulous genetic material. She buried a sigh. It was a good thing she didn’t go for his type. Otherwise she would be making a big mistake marrying him.

  Kat rose from her seat and Eddie enveloped her in a bear hug. “Welcome to the family.” Edward spoke low in her ear.

  Kat laughed at his forwardness. “Good to see you again, Eddie.”

  She shifted to face Andrew. She could hardly hug his lawyer and then shake her fiancé’s hand, could she?

  Kat stood on tiptoe and twined her arms around Andrew’s neck. He stiffened beneath her hands when she bussed his cheek. He was all hard, masculine angles. If she thought he sounded and looked good, he felt and smelled even better.

  Kat withdrew from him and sank into her chair, glad of the support it offered, while the men indulged in a flurry of handshaking.

  “Andrew, Eddie, this is Jackson Hamilton, my attorney and brother.” She sent Jackson a teasing glance, determined to lighten the atmosphere. “Our mother had a fixation with dead presidents when he was born.”

  Edward interrupted her introductions with a friendly nod. “It’s okay, Kat. We’ve all met in the courtroom before.”

  “And I take it Katrina Anastasia was your mother’s Russian nobility phase?” Andrew drawled.

  Clever. Very clever. Kat snickered her appreciation of his parallel witticism, relieved to discover Andrew possessed a sense of humor. Next to her, Jackson nodded his approval.

  “Thank God, someone’s finally paid you back for that dead president joke.”

  ANDREW WATCHED Kat Devereaux walk back to the table. She’d excused herself to go to the bathroom when Jackson and Edward had left with minor contract changes. There was nothing provocative about either her walk or her manner but she exuded an unselfconscious sensuality. He also watched their doe-eyed waiter mooning over her.

  She slid into the seat next to him and treated him to a warm smile. “Ready to eat?”

  “That’s fine.” Andrew noted their smitten waiter hovering in the background. “I’m sure we’ll have the opportunity to order posthaste.” No sooner had Andrew spoken than the waiter approached the table. Andrew indulged in a scowl. Regardless of the underlying reasons, Kat was his fiancé. Almost.

  “We’re ready for our salads now.” She bestowed an equally warm smile on their waiter, who hurried off at her bidding.

  “We don’t order because there’s no menu. Mama Leone serves whatever she’s in the mood to cook. But I can promise you, it’ll be the best Italian food you ever tasted.” Kat waved a hand at the humble furnishings. “And I didn’t think you’d run into anyone you knew here.”

  “That’s fine.” He hadn’t come
for the gastronomic experience. He reached into his jacket pocket. There was no way he would have given her this with Jackson and Edward watching, but he’d rather get it over with before dinner arrived.

  He slapped a sealed envelope on the table and stared past her at a charcoal drawing of a fishing village. It tilted crookedly on the wall.

  She ripped into the envelope. “Oh, my. According to this, your sperm count is above average.”

  He retrieved the single sheet of paper and tucked it back into his pocket. “So they said.”

  Kat shifted toward him, her indigo eyes alight with avid curiosity. “I’ve always wanted to know, did you have to…”

  Andrew cupped her pointed chin in his hand and leaned in close. “We are not going to have this conversation. Not here and now. Not later. You’ll have to find someone else to quiz for details or continue to wonder.” It had been damned humiliating. They’d put him in a room with a little cup and… It was the closest he’d come to calling the whole charade off.

  Kat’s full bottom lip puckered into a pout. On any other woman it would have been a studied ploy of seduction. A move calculated to drive him to acquiesce to her request. On Kat it was pure and simple sulking. And tenfold as enticing. “But I just wanted-”

  Andrew slid his thumb to rest against her lips. “Shh. Let’s talk about something else.” He sure as hell hoped she came up with another topic of conversation, because all he could think about was the lush fullness of those lips against him. He released her and leaned back in his chair, only to notice her hand tremble as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

  Romeo arrived bearing salads. He situated Kat’s before her with a flourish and a murmured, “Cara mia.”

  “Thanks, Umberto.”

  Umberto, not Romeo. Romeo seemed more appropriate. He placed Andrew’s salad before him with much less pomp.

  Kat broke the tension-laden silence. “I have my own medical evaluation if you want to see it. And you had enough time to check me out?”

  “It’s not necessary for me to see your evaluation. And yes, I’ve had plenty of time to check you out. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” Plenty of time to ascertain through his P.I.’s report that she was an elementary art teacher, immensely popular with students, parents and faculty alike. She shared a similar background with him. She lived fairly modestly except for what appeared to be a proclivity for the shoe department at Dillard’s.

  “Right. Have you told Claudette yet?”

  “No. And I’m not going to until after the fact. Claudette…I mean, Claudia…would go straight to my father. She knows he expects me to marry her.” For some annoying but inexplicable reason Andrew felt compelled to justify his relationship with Claudia to Kat. “Claudia doesn’t care a whit about me, but she isn’t going to take it well when she finds out I married you instead of her. Missed opportunity and such. That’s why we should get married quietly in the next week or so and then tell everyone.”

  “I think we can count on several people ‘not taking it well.”’

  Andrew stared in fascination as she nibbled a cherry tomato. He swallowed hard and reached into his pocket. “I believe you’re right about that.”

  He grasped the small velvet box. Perhaps she’d put down the damned tomato. He slid the jeweler’s case onto the table next to her salad.

  Kat’s knife clanged against her plate. She eyed the box suspiciously. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a bomb,” he answered with a hint of sarcasm.

  “What?”

  “What does it look like? It’s a ring.”

  “But I don’t want a ring. At least not an engagement ring. A plain gold band will suffice.”

  She was far too transparent for her own good. With her emphasis on “plain,” she might as well have come out and said she thought he’d give her something ostentatious.

  “As my wife, people will expect you to wear something other than a plain gold band.” He nudged the box closer to her. “Open it.”

  Momentary reprieve arrived in the form of Umberto carrying two generous servings of gnocchi. When he left, muttering over the two barely touched salads he’d cleared away, Andrew pressed the box into Kat’s hand. “Just take a look at it.”

  With a decided lack of enthusiasm, she cracked the box open and stared at the ring, speechless, which seemed a novel state for Kat from what he’d observed thus far. Finally she pulled it out. The fiery iridescence of the opal flanked by twin sapphires came to life in the light. “It’s beautiful. Simply beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you approve. You didn’t seem like the diamond type.”

  “I’m not. I’m just surprised…” Her voice trailed off, as if loath to finish the thought.

  “What? That I realized it?”

  “Well, actually, yes.” Wariness gleamed in her eyes.

  He took the ring from her. “May I?”

  “Okay.” She presented her hand with reluctance. “But I need to ask you a question.”

  Andrew slid the ring onto her finger, noting the small callus that marred her palm. He frowned at the hint of desperation tinging her voice. “What’s the question?”

  “Do you read the Wall Street Journal?”

  Andrew recalled a long-ago trip to the fair. He’d been about ten and had gone through the fun house. Mirrors and tilting floors had left him slightly off-kilter, disoriented and thoroughly delighted. Much the same as having a conversation with the entrancing Kat. He stared at her for a moment and then did the only thing he could. He threw back his head and laughed.

  Bemusement replaced amusement. Where the hell had that question come from, besides left field? “Of course.”

  She nodded her approval and speared a bite of her gnocchi. “You really should try this. It’s outstanding. Early-morning delivery?”

  “Actually, I’m on-line.” She appeared positively gleeful at that news. “Why? Are you a fan?”

  “Nope, I think it’s dreadfully boring.”

  Andrew shook his head slightly to clear it. Obviously he was missing something. “Then what’s this all about?”

  “Consider it a reality check. One more thing. Would you mind eating at least part of a garlic roll?”

  Katrina Anastasia Hamilton Devereaux soon-to-be-Winthrop was a hell of a conversationalist. Talking with her was rather like chasing a roller coaster. “Would you mind explaining?”

  “I’ve had quite a few of them and, they’re rather strong.” That was an understatement. They were safe even if they found themselves in the midst of a vampire coven. “And I thought it would be a good idea if we kissed before we went home-to test and make sure one of us isn’t repulsed by the other when it comes down to it. And with all the garlic rolls I’ve had I just thought it’d be a good idea if we started out on an equal footing. You know if you haven’t eaten one, you could be really put off by…” The tip of her tongue wet the fullness of her lower lip in nervousness, and he felt an instantaneous tightening in his groin.

  Andrew plucked a roll from the basket.

  He didn’t like garlic.

  He ate the entire thing.

  KAT AND ANDREW LEFT Mama Leone’s behind and stepped into the soft glow of a streetlight.

  “I’d recommend carrying out our test in the privacy of a car, preferably mine. I believe it offers more room,” Andrew suggested.

  Kat would have argued in favor of Carlotta if she’d detected even a hint of criticism, but she recognized that Trudy was much roomier. “Where are you parked?”

  “This way.” Andrew guided her with a light touch to the small of her back. She stepped over the uneven pavement and realized her future hinged on this one kiss.

  Her Wall Street Journal reality check earlier had served its purpose. Andrew had shown such insight in presenting her with the simple yet exquisite opal-and-sapphire ring instead of the cold elegance of diamonds, it unnerved her. She absolutely did not want emotional attachments or compatibility with this man. Ye gods, she’d almost crowed with relief at th
e news he was an on-line subscriber. She was safe. And one step closer to getting her baby.

  Now she just needed to verify they were physically compatible.

  They stopped next to the gray sedan and Andrew opened the passenger door for her. Kat slid onto the cool smoothness of the leather seat. She knew she enjoyed looking at him-especially the rear view-and his touch elicited a tingling awareness, but she had to know how they would both respond to the intimacy of a kiss. Better to know now than after they’d married.

  Andrew slipped into the driver’s seat, breaking her contemplation of their compatibility. He casually tossed his suit coat into the back seat before he turned a CD player on and the low, plaintive wail of a saxophone wove itself around them.

  “I figured you for a Beethoven or Mozart kind of man.” Surely it was the intimacy of the music and confines of the car that lent her voice that husky quality, not anticipation.

  Andrew reached across the distance separating them. “No Beethoven. No Mozart.” He traced the line of her brow, his touch featherlight but sure. She shivered from his heat against her cool skin. “Does that repulse you?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Good.”

  Kat tucked one leg beneath her and shifted closer, trailing her fingers over the hard line of his jaw, savoring the slight rasp of his beard against her. She felt the pulse beneath her fingertips race. Was it hers or his? Perhaps both. She wasn’t sure. “How’s that?”

  “Fine, just fine.”

  He stroked the sensitive softness behind her ears, easing his hands into her hair, drawing her closer. Kat quivered as a slow, languorous heat stole through her. Darkness shadowed his face, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand told its own story.

  She loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt, her fingers shaking as she came into contact with the heated satin of his chest. Andrew sucked in a harsh breath and she heaved a sigh, finally remembering to breathe. As a prelude to a kiss, this was a doozy.

  Impatient, Kat hooked her finger above the knot of his dangling tie and tugged him to within a fraction of her mouth. His ragged breath mingled with her own. “Are you ready for this? What do you think?” she said, her voice raspy.