“Together, we’re good.”
Her eyes stung. “Yes, I think you’re right. I love you, Kent. I love you with all my heart.” She let out a slow, shaky breath.
He looked shaken, too, but shot her a devastating grin. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No.” She smiled back. “There’s more. You make me happy, you make me laugh. And you love me back.”
“No matter what you’re wearing,” he clarified. “Say that part.”
Her eyes filled, her throat swelled. “No matter what I’m wearing. Will you—”
His fingers caressed her lips, holding the words in. His other hand slipped around her waist, drew her close. “Be mine, Becca. My best friend. My lover. My wife. Forever and always.”
A smile burst through her happy tears. “Forever and always.” She hugged him tight. “No matter what I’m wearing.”
“Speaking of which…” His hands slipped down the backs of her thighs and up beneath her coat to squeeze her bottom. “I was wondering about these jeans… Think you can shrink them a couple of sizes?”
She laughed. “I could try.”
He kissed her. “Try hard.”
Her laughter filled the lab, but it was smothered quickly by another kiss.
At their audience’s collective whoop of encouragement, Kent lifted his head. “Don’t you people have work?”
Dennis popped up over the divider. So did Jed. Then Cookie. Others followed. They were all grinning.
Kent grinned, too, then bent Becca over his arm and kissed her to the music of catcalls and laughter.
JENNIFER LABRECQUE
Andrew in Excess
“Which side do you prefer?” Andrew asked.
Kat shrugged, lifting the hem of her lime-green, oversize T-shirt to just above her knees. “It’s your bed. You choose.”
Andrew wondered if she always wore the hideous shirt to bed, or if, fearing he’d lose his head after seeing her naked earlier, she’d done it deliberately. “Go ahead and take the side closest to the bathroom.”
While Kat got Toto settled, Andrew stripped down to his briefs. Doubtless, Kat would have expected pajamas.
By the time she’d finished with the dog, he’d settled between the sheets. Her eyes widened when she turned and noticed his bare chest. She didn’t know whether he was naked below the sheet or not. He grinned. Let her wonder.
Kat didn’t stay disconcerted for long. “I checked my ovulation prediction kit and it seems now’s a good time,” she said briskly.
Andrew’s jaw dropped.
“So I guess we might as well just get the sex thing over with…”
Dear Reader,
I have long believed there are two keys to happiness: moderation and organization. Now, if I could at least manage just one!
Have you ever baked a pan of brownies and wondered whether you should either not touch them at all or just go ahead and eat the whole pan to get them out of the house? You know you have. If you answered no, then you, my dear, qualify as a person of moderation.
Kat Devereaux knows she’s a woman of excess. And does it ever get her in all kinds of trouble! But Kat’s biological clock is in express mode and she wants a baby. Marrying Andrew seems like the answer to her problem. If she can just master moderation…
So hunt down some chocolate, find a comfy spot and indulge in Andrew in Excess. And best of all—it’s calorie free!
Enjoy,
Jennifer LaBrecque
P.S. I’d love to hear what you think about my first book. Write to me at P.O. Box 801068, Acworth, GA 30101.
To Robert, my husband, who tossed me the ball and pushed me to play the game.
To Anna Adams and Susan Goggins, who helped me move the ball downcourt. And to Brenda Chin, who caught it and slam-dunked it.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Prologue
“I’VE LOST MY MIND.” Kat Devereaux slid onto the leather car seat and slammed the door. “Why’d I let you talk me into coming? I hate cocktail parties. No, that’s too mild. Loathe. Despise.” She reached for the door handle even as her best friend hit the gas.
“Do you or don’t you want to have a baby?” Bitsy Winthrop Sommers demanded.
“Yes, of course I do. Desperately. I feel my eggs aging as we speak. In fact, they may be scrambled already. But marrying a total stranger seems a bit excessive. Sort of like last year when you talked me into—”
“Let’s not even go there. I didn’t know about Rusty’s side job as a circus freak. Anyway, that was last year.” Bitsy jammed her brakes at a traffic light. “This is perfect. Daddy insists his heir have a wife if he wants to make partner. And Andrew’s wanted that partnership since he started kindergarten and got himself elected class president. What he doesn’t want is a wife. You want a baby more than anything, but you know the school board isn’t going to go for a teacher being a single pregnant woman. And after that jerk ex-husband of yours skipped out on you, you don’t want another husband. So, the two of you set up temporary house, you both get what you want and everyone’s happy.” Bitsy preened with self-satisfaction. The light turned and she shot the car forward. “I’m brilliant.”
Kat recognized herself as a woman of excess. She either ate the entire pan of brownies or she didn’t touch them. God knows she tried, but moderation was not her strong suit. Marrying Bitsy’s older brother, Andrew, in order to have a baby smacked of potential excess—but she was running pretty darn low on choices.
“Isn’t ‘Mr. One of Florida’s Most Eligible Bachelors’ dating someone? Plus, from what I’ve heard of him over the years, we’re not exactly each other’s type.”
“He is something of a stuffed shirt.” Bitsy agreed. “Very conservative. Actually, even though I love him to no end, he’s sort of a stick-in-the-mud. But he’s rich, successful, doesn’t belch in public, so, of course, he’s dating someone. Claudia van Dierling. She’s horrid, and she wants to marry him. You can see the dollar signs dancing in her eyes every time she looks at him.”
“Well, I’m not interested in his money. With my teaching salary and the trust fund my grandparents set up, I live very comfortably. I can certainly support my own child.”
“Exactly, my dear independent friend. I’m glad you agree with me.”
“Whoa. I didn’t agree with you—”
“And the fact that you’re opposites—well, therein lies the beauty. You’re in no danger of going overboard, are you, ’cause he’s not your type—although I swear I don’t know how you have a type considering you haven’t had a serious relationship since Nick.”
“Relationships are tricky for someone with all-or-nothing tendencies. I gave Nick my all. When he left, it almost did me in.”
“Yeah, Nick wins the creep-of-the-decade award. But that’s just it. With Andrew, you don’t need a relationship. A simple agreement will do nicely.”
“One of those prenuptial things. He’d have to agree to give up the baby.”
Bitsy looked momentarily nonplussed. “I don’t know. He’s never wanted a wife, so I guess that means he never wanted a kid. Although, he’s really great with Juliana. I bet he’d make a great dad.”
It didn’t matter how great he was with Bitsy’s daughter, joint parenting was a no go. “Uh-uh. I won’t have my child caught up in some kind of joint custody. I was nine when my parents divorced. From then on Jackson and I were shuffled back and forth between our parents, and our stepparents clearly wishing we’d just go away.”
“Get Jackson, that legal-eagle brother of yours, to draw up the agreement. Make that one of your terms.”
“It’d be the term.” Kat checked her appearance in the visor
mirror. She’d been fighting the hair battle against her curls for years, but West Palm Beach humidity always won. It claimed victory again today. “Actually, just thinking about the social obligations that would come with being his wife make me queasy.”
“Huh?”
Bitsy pulled into one of the reserved spots flanking the Winthrop, Fullford, and Winthrop, Attorneys-at-Law building, and they stepped out of the car.
“You know what I mean, Bits. We both grew up in families chock-full of lawyers—our fathers and brothers—and I just hate the awful cocktail parties and all the schmoozing you have to do to get ahead. In fact, I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming. I’ve managed to avoid these horrible events for six blessed years. Getting out of them was one of the high points of Nick leaving.”
“It’s a great opportunity to check out Andrew without any pressure. Yes, the social stuff is a pain in the butt. Is it enough that you’re willing to give up the idea of having a baby? Because, face it honey, you’ve exhausted every other possibility.”
Kat paused before the double doors of the building and recalled the options she’d considered since deciding to have a baby by herself—almost two years ago. Sperm bank—too many loose ends and she was afraid she’d lose her job. Adoption—waiting lists and one close, emotionally wrenching call. A chance encounter—too risky medically and that pesky school board. Finding Mr. Right—not likely. Did she really want to hit thirty-five in a few years and find herself still in the same boat?
A temporary marriage with a great genetic contribution and no strings attached… Bitsy was right. Two years and counting and no closer to her own little crumb snatcher. Desperation lent her resolve. She could do this. They’d reach a nice civil agreement. A neat and tidy prenuptial—he’d give up rights to the baby and she wouldn’t touch his money. She squared her shoulders and opened the door. “I guess this doesn’t have to become one of my excessive disasters. I just bought a dozen behavior-modification tapes geared toward people with my all-or-nothing tendencies.”
“A dozen?” Bitsy sighed and hustled her into a waiting elevator.
“I obviously need them. I don’t consider a dozen excess. It’s insurance.”
Bitsy read her wavering stance. “Listen, you’ve only heard about Andrew through me. Go ahead and check him out today. You can present a plan to him later. This is the last week of school and you’ve got a nice break before summer school. The timing is right, girl! Everything’s falling into place. Go with the flow.”
The elevator dinged open and they entered the hall.
“Well…”
“This will work out great. Trust me…” Bitsy opened a door to reveal a well-dressed milling crowd.
Kat’s glance flitted about the room. “Where’s Juliana?”
“Eddie took her for an ice-cream sundae. A little father-daughter time together. They should be here soon.”
Kat edged back toward the door. “I’ll just wait out here for them.”
Bitsy hauled her back. “Nonsense. That’s not why you’re here. There’s the reason you’re here—my brother. Your next husband. The father of your child.”
Kat followed the direction of Bitsy’s finger. One look shattered her resolve. “You want me to marry him? The one right there? I don’t think so.” She shook her head for added emphasis.
“Aw, come on, Kat. He can’t help the way he looks. Anyway, looks aren’t everything. He’s really smart. He’s got a great brain.” Bitsy wheedled.
“I don’t suppose it’s his fault he’s drop-dead gorgeous….” Lust had her tingling in places that barely remembered how to tingle.
“Hey, you don’t want to have an ugly baby, do you?”
“I just want to have a healthy baby.” Kat forced herself to think logically. Good genes were good genes. Would anyone in their right mind not want to seriously work on baby-making with the black-haired hunk? Steady. She needed to ground herself. “He does look stuffy and uptight. But I suppose that hair and those chiseled features softened by baby fat would be striking.”
“You bet your sweet patoot it would.”
Kat’s attention shifted to the blond woman on his arm. “Claudine, I presume.”
Bitsy sniffed with a nasty look on her face. “Close enough. Claudia. The witch.”
Kat eyed the woman—tall, thin, polished, sophisticated. More than enough reasons to dislike her on general principle. But certainly not enough to think about yanking a marriage prospect out from under her. Confused, Kat wished for a sign. Could she really pursue Bitsy’s crazy scheme or should she return to waiting for chance to drop Mr. Right into her life.
She watched as a young man sporting a red power tie approached Andrew. With an apologetic look at Claudia, Andrew followed the young man out another door.
Kat grabbed Bitsy’s arm. “Come on. I want to meet her.”
Bitsy eyed her as they skirted the various groups. “Good idea.”
They were just about to make their way around a towering areca palm to the blonde beauty when they saw Juliana run up to Claudia. Juliana’s reedy, childish contralto easily carried past the palm that hid them. “Hey, Ms. Vander. My dad and I just got here. Where’s my Uncle Andrew?”
“It’s van Dierling. Shoo, you pesky brat. He’s busy.” Through the palm leaves, they could see a smile pasted on Claudia’s face that was deceptively pleasant. Her tone was saccharine sweet.
“You’re mean and I’m gonna tell.”
“If you were a smart little girl, you’d watch your mouth and your manners. I’m going to be your new aunt very soon.”
Bitsy made a strangling noise. “I told you she was a witch. Excuse me while I go defend my child.”
Juliana held a special place in Kat’s heart. The poor darling could kiss any relationship with her uncle goodbye if he married Claudia. And he’d probably never even entertain a clue as to what was going on. Men could be so stupid.
She’d wanted a sign. By golly she had one.
She’d save Juliana and the Winthrop family from the evil Claudine.
She’d marry Andrew Winthrop.
And finally, at long last, she’d have her baby.
1
ANDREW MARTIN WINTHROP 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 fe
et, 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.”
New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess Page 12
