New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess

by Jill Shalvis; Jennifer LaBrecque

  “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.

  ANDREW 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 h
ands 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.

  THIS 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.

  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 mentally 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.”