“Apparently she goes to the same fitness center as a friend of one of my sisters.”
“Oh, dear.”
“When the story reached her, Felicia was smart enough not to let on that her big brother certainly wasn’t married with a new baby, but she didn’t waste any time getting on the horn to the folks.” He didn’t betray his irritation by so much as a twitch of a muscle, but Emma could tell he was rigid with it. “As a result, Chandler said he and Lydia decided to cut short the cruise I sent them on and come to visit.”
“Your parents are coming?” The thought sent horror coursing through her and she pressed a nervous hand to her chest. “Here?”
“I talked him out of it for now.”
Emma let out a relieved breath. “Thank goodness. I mean there is a limit to how much playacting I can do.”
“You don’t think you could fool my folks?”
Her nerves prickled. “Well, of course not. You wouldn’t want to, right? And—and there’d be no need to. You’d just tell them how you’re buying Mr. Cummings’s company and—”
“No.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“My parents don’t know. And they’re not going to know.”
“Why not?”
His lips compressed. “It’s complicated.”
And none of my business, Emma finished silently. She suddenly felt awkward, ridiculous, standing there, hemmed in the luxurious bathroom. She was only the hired wife. So it was ridiculous to feel hurt.
But she was. And no amount of pretending would make it otherwise.
“Well, I’m sure you know best.” She stepped forward, lightly pushing her hands against him to move him out of the way.
Except he didn’t move. Not out of her way. He raised his hand and captured both her wrists, holding them captive against his wheat-colored linen shirt. Captive against the hard chest beneath, warm and strong and pulsing with the heavy beat of his heart.
Emma focused desperately on their hands. “Kyle—”
“I think we could fool my folks,” he murmured.
Her cheeks heated. “As you said, there’s no need.”
“No, actually. You said that.”
“Well…regardless, it’s a moot point. The situation—” his thumb rubbed slowly over the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist, sending her pulse skittering “—isn’t going to, um, occur.” She tugged weakly at her hands, but he still held her fast. Drew her closer. “Kyle—”
“We’ve got a problem, Emma.”
“Of course we do. We’re livin’ a lie.”
“I thought if I ignored it, I could make it go away. Pretend it didn’t exist. Stupid. I usually know better.”
She swallowed. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know where he was going with this. That she had such an effect on him was something she’d have to take out and examine at another time. Right now she was having enough difficulty not letting her body soften against his. Not pressing herself against him and—
She cut off the tempting utterly foolish thought. He was a wealthy man who truly believed that every situation could be solved with money. “You said…” Her throat tightened around the words. “You promised me that things would, ah—” she broke off when he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her inner wrist.
Her head swam. Good gravy, didn’t she ever learn her lesson?
She yanked her hand free, scrambling inelegantly back until she thumped her rear against the marble vanity. “Platonic,” she blurted, her entire body raging with heat. “You promised.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Yes, I did.” He raised one hand, wrapping it around the doorjamb above his head. “I—”
“Just because I’ve obviously…been with one man, seeing as the proof is sleepin’ in the nursery, that doesn’t mean I’m going to hop into bed with you, even if you are catnip to a girl like me. So if that’s what you’ve had in mind, you can forget this whole crazy idea right this instant. I may be foolish, but I’m not easy.”
“You sure in hell aren’t,” he agreed. “I never once implied you were promiscuous.”
Embarrassed, annoyed, and still shaking because she couldn’t recall ever wanting to be with Jeremy St. James quite as badly as she wanted to feel Kyle’s body against hers, Emma crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “If you want some good lovin’, I’m sure Winter Cummings would be happy to accommodate you again,” she drawled, desperate to put some distance between them. Not physical distance, either. Though that wouldn’t hurt any.
His eyes narrowed and he dropped his arm from the doorway. “Again?”
“I could tell that day in the furniture store that you and she have…been together.” Regardless of what he’d led the other woman to believe about his marital status.
“You think Winter and I have been intimate?”
She forced a casual shrug. “I say easy, you say promiscuous. I say together, you say intimate. Sugar, even if I was inclined to…” She unfolded her arms long enough to wave a vague hand. “Well, I am the black sheep of my Tennessee family. I’d know better than to set my sights on a country-club type like you who probably doesn’t even own a pair of blue jeans.”
She thought for a moment she’d gone too far. His green eyes turned to chips of stone and his lips compressed. Her stomach fluttered, but not with fear.
Then his lips softened and his rigid stance eased.
The flutters gained speed.
He came toward her, his movements lazy and screaming, “Dangerous man approaching.” She took a hasty step back, but the marble vanity wasn’t budging.
One corner of his mouth curled. “For a black sheep you look a mite nervous, honey.”
She unfolded her arms and pressed her hands to either side of her, tilting her head back bravely. Even when he stepped right up to her, invading her personal space and encompassing her with his sensual scent.
“You’re a babe in the woods in comparison to a man like me,” he murmured. “And your ridiculous notion about Winter and me aside, I do like the way you cut to the chase.” Between his dark lashes, his narrowed eyes held a primitive gleam. “I want you. In my arms. In my bed. Under me. Over me.”
He ran his thumb along her jaw and all her bravado died a hasty ignominious death. She trembled, knowing that at that particular moment nothing could prevent what he described so simply, so devastatingly. Not even the fact that Chandler wasn’t yet a month old.
Then his hand dropped and he stepped away. Emma blinked. The dangerously prowling male had been replaced with the dangerously smooth male.
“But I like you,” he said quietly, “so I won’t do that to you. Just don’t poke that sleeping dragon too hard, Emma. When he awakens, it’s not easy to get him back to sleep.”
Chapter Nine
Emma endured the drive to Buttonwood in silence. If asked, she wasn’t sure she could put a name to what had transpired between Kyle and her in the luxurious bathroom. All she knew was that somehow something had changed.
She’d been so certain she had Kyle pegged. Yet he kept popping out the sides of the tidy box that her mind, her sense of security, had fitted him in.
And the fact that she’d had such preconceived beliefs about a man she’d met less than a month earlier horrified her. Heaven knew how many occasions she’d chafed at the opinions people formed about her without ever actually knowing her.
One more welfare kid of Hattie Valentine’s. The teenager who never quite fit in because she doodled with Handel and Rachmaninoff when her classmates were listening to Foreigner or Billy Ray Cyrus, sneaking their daddy’s smokes and joyriding on Friday nights.
The cheap little Southerner who’d tried to trap golden boy Jeremy St. James into marriage by getting in the family way.
None of which was really who she was any more than she could be certain silk ties, gold watches and alligator boots were who Kyle was.
Life was just too confusing sometimes.
When they drove by Mom & Pop’s diner,
Emma stifled a sigh. She missed the familiar. Missed her days, long as they’d often been, that she’d spent serving up coffee and pie and chicken fried steak to her regulars. Many who came from the complex across the street. Goodness knew Millie’s food was ten times better than anything served up over there in the cafeteria.
Kyle parked and Emma surreptitiously watched him round the vehicle to open her door.
“Do you want to get Chandler or shall I?” His voice was perfectly ordinary. As if nothing had happened between them at all.
As if she hadn’t stood beside him in her bathroom and felt the waves of desire emanating from him.
“Maybe you could get the stroller,” she suggested faintly.
He nodded and went to the rear of the Land Rover to pull out the stroller. Emma deftly unfastened Chandler, then turned to place him in the stroller when Kyle brought it up next to her. He slipped the strap of the diaper bag from her shoulder and looped it a few times through his fist, then walked with her toward the clinic.
They could have been any ordinary couple, taking their new baby in for a checkup. But once again appearances were deceiving.
Kyle stayed at her side right through the brief examination that set Chandler into an outraged crying fit from start to finish. Emma felt like crying herself by the time they were finished.
She cradled Chandler to her shoulder, trying to comfort him as Dr. Parker made some final notes on Chandler’s chart. Kyle stood near the closed door, one shoulder leaning against the wall, decorated in cheerful blue and red. One hand was pushed in the pocket of his perfectly pleated trousers, and she would have thought he was as calm as Donald Parker was in the face of Chandler’s outrage. But she could see the muscle jump in Kyle’s jaw.
“Good set of lungs there.”
Kyle gritted his teeth when Dr. Parker grinned and patted Chandler’s back, his hand touching Emma’s slender one. He suddenly straightened from the wall and settled his hand on Emma’s shoulder. He’d had enough of Parker’s none-too-subtle friendly overtures toward Emma. “Are we finished here?”
Dr. Parker’s brown eyes studied Kyle for a moment, seeming to take his measure. Then he clicked his pen, pocketed it in the front pocket of his white lab coat and folded up the baby’s medical file. “All set,” he said easily. “Emma, give me a call if you need me, but that little boy of yours is in great shape. And in great hands.”
Kyle knew how Emma worried about every little hiccup of Chandler’s, so he told himself it was reasonable that her shoulders would relax at the doctor’s assurance. But he still didn’t like the way the other man was looking at Emma. He pulled open the door to the examining room, grabbed the diaper bag and ushered Emma and Chandler out into the corridor.
He headed straight for the appointment desk so he could make arrangements for the bill and they could get out of there.
“Kyle.” Emma pulled back. “Where’s the fire?”
He slowed his steps, realized his fingers were too damn comfortable cupping the silky curve of her shoulder and dropped his hand. “There’s no reason to hang around, is there?”
Her eyes didn’t meet his. “There’s no reason to race out of here like the devil is at our heels, either.”
He handed the nurse behind the desk his business card. “Send the bill there,” he told her, then turned to face Emma. “You like that guy coming on to you?” he asked softly.
She looked at him then. Her lips parted. “Who?”
“Donald Parker.”
Emma’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “You must be joking. He wasn’t—”
“He was.”
Aware of the attention they were garnering, he put his hand on Emma’s arm and escorted her through the waiting room where the stroller was. He dumped the enormous diaper bag into the stroller and pushed it one-handed toward the exit.
Emma waited until they were in the main lobby. “Just because Dr. Parker is friendly doesn’t mean he has designs on me,” she said stiffly. “Good heavens, the man has nurses tripping over themselves to have a chance at him.”
“He wasn’t thinking of nurses when he was looking at you,” Kyle assured her. “Trust me, honey, I know where his mind was.”
“You’re being ridiculous. He is a professional! He wouldn’t—”
“He’s a man.”
Her soft lips compressed. Color ran high in her cheeks. “A person might think you’re feelin’ jealous, with all the fuss you’re causing.”
“You’re supposed to be my blushing wife,” he reminded softly. “The last thing I need is word getting out that my wife is seeing Dr. Lothario.”
Every drop of color drained from her face. She moved the diaper bag and settled the baby in the stroller. And without a word, she strode out of the building, silent pain shrieking from her with every swish of her skirt around her ankles.
Dammit to hell.
He started after her.
“Kyle? Kyle Montgomery?”
He looked at the middle-aged woman who’d entered the building only moments after Emma had exited. “Helen,” he greeted, hiding his consternation as he recognized Mrs. Payton Cummings. “What brings you here?” And how the hell had he not known she frequented the clinic?
“A friend of mine works here,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “Payton and I are looking forward to having you and your wife join us on Sunday. Is she here? Winter tells me you two have recently had a child.”
“I’m joining her shortly,” he said not untruthfully.
She tilted her stylish salt-and-pepper head. “I feel so silly that we were unaware you were married.”
Kyle’s nerves tightened. “Emma prefers not to get involved with the business.” He realized that could be taken in a not entirely flattering way. “She’s working toward her degree in music,” he added.
Helen’s blue eyes softened. “I do find it lovely when a man can be proud of his wife’s accomplishments even when they aren’t mirrors of his own.” She clasped her hands together over her purse. “How long have you been married?”
Kyle tucked his clenched hand in his pocket. “Not quite a year.”
“Newlyweds.” She sighed happily. “You must bring your wedding photos on Sunday,” she declared. “I simply adore looking at wedding photos.” Her lips pursed. “Since Winter shows no signs of wanting to walk down the aisle anytime soon, I have to have somebody’s wedding memories to pore over.”
She glanced at her watch, completely unaware of the pillar of stone Kyle had turned into. “I’ve got to run.” She gave Kyle’s arm a motherly pat. “Until Sunday. And don’t forget those photographs.”
Kyle watched her walk toward the elevators. Managed to smile faintly and sketch a return wave before the elevator doors shut and carried her safely out of sight.
He raked his fingers through his hair and headed out into the bright sunshine. The delay had been only minutes, but Emma had been moving, fast and furious.
He didn’t blame her.
But he did have a good idea of where she’d gone.
He headed down the street to Mom & Pop’s.
Emma was breathless by the time she pushed the stroller through the door of the diner. Millie, in her customary position behind the counter, spotted Emma right away. “You brought the baby!” she cried, delighted.
She set down the coffee carafe and hustled around the counter, giving Emma a quick hug before leaning over the stroller. “Oh, please tell me I can hold him.”
Dear Millie. So familiar, so wonderful. Emma felt her eyes sting and nodded. “Sure.”
Millie’s eyes lingered on Emma for a moment, then she turned her attention back to Chandler. He’d stopped crying as soon as she’d tucked him into the stroller and made her mad dash for the diner, and now he was bright-eyed and positively charming as Millie picked him up and carried him around to the regular customers, as proud as any grandmother.
Prouder, Emma corrected silently. Goodness knew her own mother had been less than pleased with Emma’s pregnancy. As Millie
showed off her little “sweet pea,” as she called Chandler, Emma folded up the stroller and set it out of the way of the door, then headed toward one of the empty booths. The lunch rush had passed, and about half the diner was occupied.
She’d just slid into the booth when two women stopped next to the table. Emma looked up, squelching a sigh. “Hello, Flo. Blanch. How are you today?” Florence Harris and Blanch Hastings had good hearts, she knew. But she didn’t think there were any two women in Buttonwood who knew more about other people’s business than they did. And the ladies, now in their sixties, seemed to take great pleasure in making sure everyone knew their opinions, too.
They slid into the bench opposite Emma. “Is it true?”
Hidden under cover of the table, Emma clasped her hands tightly. “Is what true?”
“That you’re living with that man,” Flo said, her hair practically bobbing with her agitation. “Blanch told me, but I said right back to her, ‘Blanch, that can’t possibly be so.”’
“That’s right,” Blanch agreed. “She said that.”
“Since we all know you were crazy in love with that law student last summer, I just assured Blanch that you wouldn’t go from the frying pan into the fire.”
Emma’s mouth parted, ready to respond. Somehow. Some way. But Blanch hadn’t finished.
“I hear he wants our little airport to be the next Denver Stapleton.” Blanch leaned over the table toward Emma. “Is it true he donated all that money to the clinic? That his sheets are silk and he has caviar for breakfast in his fancy house up on the mountain?”
Flo tsked. “Oh, Blanch, don’t be ridiculous.” She focused her intense gaze on Emma. “You’re too innocent for your own good, Emma dear. If your mother was here, she’d surely counsel you not to become involved like this with another man so soon after…well, after that unfortunate business last summer.”
Emma flushed. She looked over at Millie, hoping for rescue, but Millie was busy introducing Chandler to one customer while she served up chicken soup to another.
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