His hand flexed in a protective gesture until sleep claimed him.
KAT ROLLED OVER AND STRETCHED without opening her eyes, her face buried in Andrew’s pillow. The warmth of his body and his scent lingered. Still fuzzy with sleep, she breathed in the increasingly familiar combination of expensive aftershave and Andrew’s own masculinity.
She turned her head and squinted at the nightstand. Six forty-five loomed at her from the digital readout. Closing her eyes, she snuggled deeper into the pillow, content to drift back to sleep.
“Wake up,” a voice rang in her ear.
Good God! The pillow not only smelled of Andrew, now it was sounding like him too! She jackknifed to a sitting position, slamming her head into a solid wall behind her.
“Ugh.” A groan sounded in her ear.
She whirled, now on her knees in the bed. The “wall” was Andrew. He stood by the bed, one hand nursing his right eye.
“Are you okay?” She reached forward to examine his face. Even dim-witted with sleep, she appreciated the still-damp crispness of his hair, the clean line of his freshly shaved jaw, the scent of soap and sandalwood. And the rapidly discoloring flesh around his eye.
He stepped back and snapped, “You could’ve warned me you were lethal first thing in the morning.”
“Only when I’m scared out of my wits!”
He felt beneath his eye and winced. “What scared you about a wake-up call?”
“I was asleep and the next thing I know the pillow’s talking.”
A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You thought the pillow talked?”
“Go ahead and laugh, you’re the one with a heck of a shiner coming up.” She mustered a grin that turned into a big yawn. “Just the thing for a successful attorney about to make partner.”
“Thanks, Kat. A new wife and a black eye, all in one weekend.”
She wasn’t a morning person. Never had been. Never would be. Her brain was mush first thing in the morning-overcooked oatmeal. She flopped back on the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin, prepared to resume sleep. She spoke with her eyes closed. “Did you wake me up just to harangue me?”
“No, I was hoping for a black eye.”
She curled into a fetal position. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“Kat?”
The laughter in his voice irritated her.
“What?”
“Today’s Monday.”
“Thank you. I’ll sleep better knowing that.”
Within a matter of seconds, the implication penetrated her brain. She threw off the sheet and leaped from the bed, yanking down the hem of her T-shirt. “Monday. It’s Monday. Mrs. Fitzwillie!” Kat raked her hands through her hair.
Andrew glanced at the bedside clock. “That’s it. Our first audience arrives in about ten minutes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she accused as she scrambled for the bathroom.
“That just happened to be the pillow talk you heard.”
Kat, incapable of a witty rejoinder at 6:50 a.m., contented herself with slamming the door on his smug, albeit swollen-eyed, countenance.
“YOU SHOULD’VE ICED your eye while I was in the shower. It would have helped the swelling.”
Andrew had never sported a black eye before. Although it hurt like the devil, he rather liked it. Stuffy guys didn’t walk around with black eyes. Not that he’d confess his surprising pride to his wife.
He opened the bedroom door and waited for Kat to precede him into the hallway. “And deprive my loving wife the opportunity to tend to my wound? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She snorted as he fell into step beside her. “Keep it up-there’s still that other eye you mentioned.”
Eight minutes flat. That’s how long she’d taken to pull herself together. Despite the frown tugging between her red brows, he realized his initial assessment of Kat had been wrong. He’d thought her plain. Actually, she enchanted him.
He laughed. “Has anyone ever mentioned you’re not a morning person?”
Andrew heard Mrs. Fitzwillie humming in the kitchen.
“Not and lived to tell about it.” She tilted her head coquettishly. “If you’d really wanted to play the loving husband, you’d have brought me a cup of coffee to wake up to-not sneaked up on me.”
The humming ceased.
He slipped his arm around Kat’s waist, pulling her to his side. He’d memorized every curve in the past two nights-intimately and with great satisfaction. Those curves tantalized him now. Soft and full and womanly. What had previously appealed to him in Claudia’s race-horse lines?
“Ah, honey, I love it when you say those sweet things to me.” His tone deliberately caressed for the benefit of Mrs. Fitzwillie.
Stopping in the kitchen doorway, he nuzzled the top of her head, his black eye turned away from Mrs. Fitzwillie. Kat smelled like bottled sunshine-clean and fresh.
Mrs. Fitzwillie beamed at the two of them from across the room.
Still averting his shiner, Andrew introduced the two women.
Kat disentangled herself and stepped forward to greet Mrs. Fitzwillie. “I’m delighted to finally meet you. Drew’s spoken so highly of you.”
Andrew blanched at the nickname, sure she’d used it deliberately. He moved toward the coffeepot. The quicker she got a cup, the better.
Mrs. Fitzwillie focused on Kat. “Oh, I just couldn’t believe it when the dear boy called me with the news.” Kat speared him a questioning glance over Mrs. Fitzwillie’s shoulder and he shrugged.
He’d phoned Mrs. Fitzwillie with the news because she deserved to find out from him, not read it in some newspaper.
“He’s been lonely so long. I’d almost given up hope. But now you’ve captured his heart.” She stared deep into Kat’s eyes and nodded, apparently satisfied. “I can see why.”
Andrew realized with startling clarity that he had been lonely-until Kat bombarded his well-ordered existence. Damn if he needed Mrs. Fitzwillie letting Kat in on something he was just finding out himself.
He pressed a steaming mug of coffee into Kat’s hand. “We’re fresh out of IVs today. This’ll have to do.”
“Thanks, Muffin.”
Drew, he could stomach. Muffin went too far. She’d pay for that. He sat down at the butcher-block table.
Mrs. Fitzwillie turned, took one look at him and screamed, clutching her chest. “Dear boy! What in the world happened to you?”
Andrew juggled his cup at her shriek. Occasionally he forgot Mrs. Fitzwillie’s affinity for melodrama.
Kat jumped in with a mischievous smile. “I’m afraid it happened this morning in bed.”
The little vixen, heaping fuel on Mrs. Fitzwillie’s fire.
Sure enough, Mrs. Fitzwillie’s imagination kicked in. “Goodness. My Burt and I used to have quite the frolicking time but never a black eye. My goodness.”
Mustering what he hoped was an I’m-so-in-love look, he gazed up at Kat. “You were just about to fetch some ice for it, weren’t you, Bunny?” He all but grinned at the grudging admiration that flickered in her eyes.
“I’ll hop right to it.” Kat filled a sandwich bag with ice, wrapped it in a dish towel and moved to stand behind his chair. With a gentle touch, she held the makeshift ice pack against his swollen eye. The softness of her breast brushed his shoulder and her hip pressed against his arm, giving rise to an ache an ice pack wouldn’t assuage.
Abruptly, Mrs. Fitzwillie threw open the kitchen door. “Yoo-hoo. Anton, come meet the new missus,” she bellowed at the top of her lungs.
Kat nearly jumped out of her skin, jamming the hard ice against his tender eye. Andrew stifled a yelp of pain. He vowed to avoid Kat around kitchen knives and power tools. The woman was dangerous.
“Sorry,” Mrs. Fitzwillie said. “Anton’s close to deaf.”