‘We’re going to have to take our chances,’ he said dryly. ‘This microwave is built-in. Don’t think I can move it over there next to you so you can do button duty.’
She heard the microwave door shut, followed by a few beeps. Alex rummaged around a little longer, then approached her, extending an opaque glass toward her.
‘Here.’
She took it. Looked inside the squat rim. ‘It’s milk. I don’t drink milk.’
‘You’re pregnant. You’re supposed to drink gallons of it, aren’t you?’
She’d managed not to so far, courtesy of the prescription she took daily, which her obstetrician vehemently assured her were actually prenatal vitamins and not horse pills.
Alex’s expression was much the same as it always was: a hint of amusement underlying his otherwise impervious calm. There was no particular reason for her to take the glass. Certainly not because she wanted to please him or something.
That would be ridiculous.
She was pregnant, so he gave her milk.
She needed to stay off her feet, so he made sure she was able to do so.
Why?
She took the glass and began drinking. He pushed the mirror-topped, iron coffee table closer to her end of the couch before returning to the kitchen. Several minutes later, he was back again, tray in hand.
The mirror reflected his image as he leaned over to set the tray on the table.
‘Interesting decor,’ he murmured as he handed her a chunky white mug filled with soup. ‘Hope you like chicken noodle. It’s salt free,’ he warned. ‘Carmichael said your sodium intake needed to be minimal.’
Considering she’d just drunk nearly an entire glass of milk, she suspected she’d have eaten the soup, too, even if she didn’t like it. ‘It’s fine,’ she said truthfully.
In fact, she was suddenly starving, and it was all she could do not to attack the soup with him standing right there watching her. But as soon as he saw her scoop up a spoonful of slippery noodles, he went back to the kitchen.
A moment later, she heard him talking on his cell phone.
At least that was typical behavior for him. Alex and his cell phone had always been nearly surgically attached. The man was a serious workaholic.
Somewhat comforted by this small piece of normalcy, she devoured the soup. There was also a banana and two rolls on the tray, and she ate them, too.
Her gaze kept straying to the slice of kitchen she could see. Alex’s voice was a low murmur, too indistinct for her to make out words. Given the coziness of the cabin, she knew he was deliberately keeping his voice low.
A personal call?
Alex was forty-two and the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. He was also extremely wealthy.
Women always flocked to him.
She brushed a bread crumb from her chest and leaned her head back against the arm of the couch. It was no business of hers whatsoever who Alex was speaking to.
Was it Valerie?
Still?
She closed her eyes. But while she could block out the sight of the cabin for lovers, she couldn’t block out the low ebb and flow of Alex’s voice. And she couldn’t block out the thoroughly unwelcome fact that, while it was none of her business, she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t care.
She scooted down farther in the couch, wishing she could burrow beneath the red cushions and erase the past week.
Erase the past year, for that matter.
If she could, then Alex would still be the guy who changed women almost as often as he changed shirts. She’d still be working at his side, doing a job she really had loved, and keeping her own feelings for him sternly under wraps, because she was definitely too smart to think seriously about a man who sent nearly every woman off with some tasteful gift that Nikki had arranged for him.
If she could wish away the past year, Alex’s ex-wife, Valerie, wouldn’t have come back into his life, and Nikki wouldn’t have had to quit her job because of her own foolish behavior.
She wouldn’t be lying here now in this rabid honeymooner cabin, pregnant with the child of a man whose only appeal to her had been his strong resemblance to Alex.
Chapter Four
Alex couldn’t sleep.
He couldn’t blame it on the couch, though. It was comfortable enough, for a leather sectional large enough to host a cocktail party. No. It was the fact that he was listening for every sound that came from the massive bed on the other side of the fireplace.
He’d built a fire earlier that evening, but the logs had burned way down now. The only thing left of it was the warm scent and orange glow from the embers, which did nothing but illuminate the foot of the bed.
He wished the embers would die. Then he wouldn’t be lying here peering through the firebox at the way the dark bedspread spilled partially off the rounded foot of the bed. It’d be better if Nikki would just kick it all the way off, he decided blearily. As it was, the velvety red fabric clinging tenuously to the mattress made him think of the way a woman’s dress would cling to her shoulders as it was nudged off by her lover.
A woman?
He turned on his back, scrubbing his hands down his face.
Clearly, he’d been alone too damn long when he was thinking of his young former assistant in that way.
From the other side of the cabin, he heard a soft sigh. A rustle of bedding.
He slanted his gaze sideways.
Had the bedspread slid another perilous inch?
Annoyed, he swung his legs off the couch, knocking his ankle on the tacky coffee table. He cut off the none-too-quiet oath midsyllable.
What the hell was he doing here?
‘Alex?’ Nikki’s voice was soft and husky from sleep. ‘Are you all right?’
His jaw tightened, along with every other part of him. ‘Yeah.’ It came out more of a grunt. Good to know his Ivy League education was so useful. He gingerly rotated his foot. ‘Are you? What’s the matter?’
Again the rustling bedding.
God. He was something. The woman was having a crisis with her pregnancy and he was having visions of her peach-tinted skin draped in red velvet.
He should be asking what the hell was the matter with him.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she assured him. ‘You’re the one who’s over there swearing.’
‘You feeling more pain? Dizziness?’
‘No.’ But she’d hesitated just a moment before answering. He reached over and grabbed his pants, hitching them up his hips as he rounded the fireplace.
There was a skylight above the bed, but the sky was so dark it didn’t help illuminate the bedroom.
There were only those orange embers casting their glow, softly enough for him to see the shape of her lying in the center of the round bed. ‘This isn’t going to work if you’re not honest about how you’re feeling,’ he told her.
She moved, and the rustling sound made Alex feel as if something was brushing against him. He shook off the sensation and stepped closer. He could see the way the sheet draped over her knees. She’d sat up against a mound of pillows at the padded leather headboard.
Details he could’ve done without.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
She exhaled. ‘I don’t lie.’ Her voice was tight.
Another few steps and he was at her bedside. He wasn’t certain, but the sheets didn’t look exactly white. More like silver. With a sheen.
He’d slept on five-hundred-dollar sheets that were smoother than silk, and five-dollar sheets that were as rough as sandpaper.
He’d never slept on satin sheets covering a round bed. There probably wasn’t a single member of the Reed family who had.
You’re not going to be the one to change that.
The voice inside his head was mocking.
‘Okay. So you don’t lie.’ Truth was, when she’d been in his employ, Nikki had been unfailingly honest, even when it meant tactfully telling him he was acting like an arrogant jerk. ‘But you can’t hold back things, either.�
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Her hands flopped on the mattress and he realized she hadn’t just drawn up her knees, she’d been hugging her leg. ‘I had a charley horse.’ Even husky from sleep, her voice managed to convey embarrassment.
He sat on the bed and stifled a sigh when she practically jumped six inches back. ‘Relax.’ He reached over and caught her leg through the sheet.
Satin. Definitely.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Where’s the cramp?’ His hand slid down her shin. Circled a very narrow ankle. He couldn’t say he’d ever noticed before how delicately formed they were.
She’d usually been dressed from head to toe in very conservative, very tailored pantsuits.
She twisted her foot, trying to brush his hands aside. ‘It’s gone now.’
‘And you wouldn’t admit where it was if it weren’t gone. It’s not a crime to accept help, you know.’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Yeah, but you don’t want to be.’
Her foot stopped moving. ‘And you do? Pull the other leg. It’s got bells on.’
He reached a little farther and caught the leg in question. ‘Nope. No bells ringing there.’ Just a cacophony of warning buzzers going off inside his head. He let go of her and stood. Shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Is the bed comfortable, at least?’
‘Yes. Except I feel like I might slide off the edge if I’m not careful. The sheets are pretty slippery.
And I’ve, um, never slept on a round bed. It’s a little ’
‘Kinky?’
‘Odd.’ Her voice sounded strangled. But she moved her feet again, and again he felt the sound like a physical thing. ‘I, um, I really could have taken the couch, you know. I didn’t mind.’
Shortly after lunch, he’d carried her from the couch to the bed, over her protests. ‘I’d mind.’
She made a soft murmur that seemed distinctly female, and as such, was completely incapable of interpretation.
‘Do you want some water or something?’
She reached out and picked up the glass he’d given her already. ‘Still full.’
‘Well, you should be drinking it,’ he murmured. Her arms were bare. When he’d put her to bed, she’d been wearing a long-sleeved sweater.
‘If I were drinking glasses of water all night long, I’d be constantly going back and forth to the bathroom,’ she said huskily. ‘And since you’ve been dogged about carrying me there, too, you would get no more sleep than I would.’
‘Be glad the doctor said you didn’t have to stay put so much that you needed a bedpan.’
He couldn’t see it, but he knew that she was blushing. Ornery bastard that he was, it made him smile.
‘I’ll drink it later,’ she assured him, holding up the sheet with the other hand. Making him wonder what she wore beneath it. He’d put her suitcase on a chair within reach of the bed. Presumably she’d had a nightgown in there or something.
‘Let me know if the charley horse comes back.’
‘Fine.’
‘I mean it, Nikki.’
‘Or what? You’ll fire me?’ The tart comment seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. ‘I’ll let you know.’ She slipped down to her side.
At the foot of the mattress, the bedspread gave up the ghost and sighed to the floor.
Alex’s hands fisted inside his pockets. He returned to his side of the fireplace, but didn’t bother lying down on the couch. He wasn’t going to sleep.
He went into the kitchen and turned on the small light over the stove. At least here, there was a wall separating the space from the bedroom. The light shouldn’t disturb Nikki.
He quietly carried an iron-backed bar stool from the minibar in the minuscule dining area and set it in the kitchen. His briefcase was already open on the counter next to the toaster, and he pulled out a stack of papers and envelopes mail that he’d grabbed on his way out the door to the airport days ago and still hadn’t read and dumped everything on the counter.
Then he poured himself a small measure of bourbon in one of the plentiful glasses the cabin was stocked with.
He sat down, propped his elbows on the counter and swirled the liquor gently in the glass.
The other advantage of the wall between the kitchen and bedroom was that he couldn’t waste any time wondering how long it’d be before a damn bedspread fell off a damn mattress.
He tossed back half the contents of the glass and set it aside. Too bad he didn’t have a handy wall inside his head, cordoning off the question that had been squatting there.
What kind of man could capture Nikki’s attention deeply enough to leave her pregnant?
And why the hell wasn’t the guy with her?
The heavenly smell of coffee woke Nikki the following morning. She didn’t even open her eyes at first. Just lay there still as a mouse, cradled in a soft jumble of pillows, as she slowly breathed in that wonderful, wonderful aroma.
Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a good dose of caffeine-rich coffee. But all caffeinated drinks and any foods that were remotely salty and therefore flavorful were now stricken from her allowable list.
So she lay there and savored the smell, and pretended not to notice that she was practically salivating all the while.
But lying there like a bump could only last so long before her back started to ache, so she turned over, stretching out her legs, pointing her toes. When she’d first seen the silver satin sheets, she’d been somewhat appalled. But the fact was, they felt pretty darn nice. Slippery, true. But nice.
So she swished her legs lazily over them a few more times, her head still buried in the pillow.
‘I had a dog once who chased rabbits in his sleep.’
Nikki froze at the amused comment. The cool satin warmed beneath her still legs.
‘Corkscrew would be nearly snoring, but his legs would be going a mile a minute. That’s what you remind me of.’
Since the earth wasn’t likely to mercifully swallow her whole anytime soon, she lifted her head out of the pillow and eyedAlex. ‘A dog named Corkscrew. How flattering.’ And trust Alex, the wine connoisseur, to have had a dog named Corkscrew. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Died of old age. Now he’s chasing rabbits for eternity.’
She pushed her hair out of her face and propped her head on her hand. Looking at Alex was dangerous, but she couldn’t very well avoid doing so for the next few weeks.
He hadn’t shaved, but his wet hair was ruthlessly combed back from his face. He’d obviously showered, and the fact that she’d slept right through it gave her a moment’s unease.
She’d never lived with anyone. Not that she was living with Alex, of course. But she’d have thought she’d be more aware of sounds around her that weren’t made by, well, her.
He was wearing a thick, ivory fisherman’s sweater, which made his shoulders look about a mile wide. That wasn’t so odd in itself. Nor was it odd that he was unshaven. There’d been plenty of times when he’d worked all night and in the morning would pull out his electric razor, running it brusquely over his lean cheeks while they’d gone through the upcoming day’s business.
What was odd was that he was wearing blue jeans. Well-worn jeans, in fact. So worn they were nearly white in certain places. A person could purchase jeans in that condition these days, but Nikki had one stepfather, five stepbrothers and a brother-in-law whose jeans all looked remarkably similar, so she recognized the real deal when she saw them.
She wouldn’t have expected Alex to have a pair so broken in. Maybe he’d hired the task out to someone. A surrogate jeans breaker-in-er.
Good grief, did she ever need caffeine.
‘Last one I ever had,’ he mused, lifting his mug of that wonderful-smelling stuff to his mouth.
She moistened her lips. Was it the coffee that had her mouth watering, or was it the man drinking it?
‘Last what?’
His eyes crinkled a little at the corners. ‘Dog.’
She felt her chee
ks heat. Corkscrew. ‘Right. I never knew you had a dog.’
‘That’s because I was nine.’
She sat up a little more. She had a hard time envisioning Alex as a boy. ‘Why didn’t you get another dog?’
He shrugged. ‘Went away to boarding school. No point in having a dog if you’re not around to give it some attention.’
She felt as if she’d learned more about Alex in the last two minutes than she had in years. ‘Was your school far away from home?’
‘An hour or so.’
The baby shifted when she tucked a pillow beneath her knees under the sheet. ‘Did you go home on weekends?’
‘Rarely. How do you want your eggs?’
‘Emily, one of my sisters-in-law, went to boarding school when she was a teenager. But it was back east somewhere, I think. She says she hated it.’
‘Some people do. Over easy or scrambled?’
‘I’m not sure how I feel about you cooking for me.’
‘Scrambled it is.’
Her lips parted as he turned away. She saw his legs through the fireplace when he walked through the living area on the other side. Then she couldn’t see him anymore, but could hear him in the kitchen.
Opening cupboards. Rattling pans.
‘Over easy,’ she called after him. ‘Thank you.’
She heard his cell phone beep and then his low voice. ‘Hi, babe.’
Great. If it wasn’t Valerie, it could have been any other dozen women he was addressing. She didn’t want to overhear another word, and she started to swing her legs off the bed, intending to go to the bathroom.
The tips of her toes were engulfed in shaggy animal-print carpet before she stopped. She slowly drew back her feet until they rested on the mattress, and her knees would have been under her chin if not for the bulge of the baby.
She wasn’t supposed to walk anywhere. How could she forget that? Just because Alex was talking to his latest squeeze?
She pushed both hands against her temples, then raked back her hair, holding it behind her neck, and studied her reflection in the mirrored wall opposite the bed. The football jersey she wore was old, the once-deep red now faded to a milky, tomato soup color.
The Tycoon's Marriage Bid Page 4
