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
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.
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.”
The weathered, slight man ambled across the patio and entered the kitchen. Andrew settled into the background. Mrs. Fitzwillie clearly itched to handle the introductions. She dragged the wizened man across the kitchen.
“Anton, the dear boy got himself married this weekend, and this is Kat, his wife,” Mrs. Fitzwillie boomed. “Kat, meet Anton Brock, master gardener and grounds-keeper.”
Age-opaqued eyes studied her. “You are the one in my shed this weekend? You are responsible for this?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the mass of color gracing the patio. Though Andrew had known him for years, Anton’s harsh voice still sounded at odds with his kind face.
Kat fidgeted with the ice pack on his eye. Andrew winced and stilled her hands. “Yes. I’m sorry if I-” she began.
A broad grin split the lines of Anton’s face. “Finally! For years, I try to talk him into a little color here, a little color there, and always ‘No, Anton. Color goes away. Always count on the green.’ Now, after all this time, you bring color.”
Andrew didn’t need his landscaping preference discussed with his wife, especially as if he weren’t present. He tried to quell Anton with a scowl. The man ignored him.
“You don’t mind if I use the potting shed?” Kat smiled with charm.
“No, no! Everything you bring in a pot.” He cast her a sly glance. “Maybe we will put some color in the ground, yes?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Kat glanced at Andrew. “Let’s talk about it later.”
Once again, Andrew felt the odd man out in his own home. He hadn’t planned on Kat turning things upside down this way.
The old man grinned. “I begin the plans now.” He waved a hand at Andrew’s frown. “Simple. A bed here. A bed there.” He turned and hurried toward the potting shed with a bowlegged gait.
Andrew grimaced. “Something simple? I doubt it. Anton’s probably off to plan south Florida’s botanical extravaganza.”
Mrs. Fitzwillie began unloading the dishwasher. “He may indeed. And he’ll have a grand time designing it. Even if a plant never goes in the ground.” She sighed. “Oh, Missus Kat. You’re just what the dear boy needed. You’ll bring this place to life.”
Andrew pulled away from the ice pack and Kat’s touch, scraping his chair back. “I’ve got to go or I’ll be late.”
He’d had all he could take of hearing how much he needed Kat in his life. All he needed from her was a means to his partnership. It would still be integral to his life ages after the dust had settled from Kat leaving. Andrew had long ago learned what you could count on.
He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.
“Have a good day.” Kat sounded subdued.
Before he managed to leave, Mrs. Fitzwillie stopped him. “Now dear boy, I know you want to kiss your bride goodbye before you leave. Don’t mind me. Go right ahead.” She planted herself against the sink and waited expectantly.
Kat didn’t budge from beside the table. Andrew stood at the door.
Mrs. Fitzwillie waved a pudgy hand. “Go ahead, go ahead. I won’t mind a bit.”
Andrew had the odd feeling, intensified by the glint of suspicion in Mrs. Fitzwillie’s eyes, that he and Kat were facing a test. He knew a peck on the cheek wouldn’t pacify Mrs. Fitzwillie. He leaned his briefcase against the wall at the same time Kat took a step and they met halfway.
He slid his hands around Kat’s waist to rest in the small of her back. His fingers brushed the soft satin of her skin where her shirt gaped from her shorts. He knew the taste of that very spot and his body tensed at the memory.
Standing on tiptoe, Kat linked her arms around his neck and murmured against his mouth. “Relax. It’s a kiss. Not an execution.”
Easy for her to say. He died a slow death of want every time they touched. Lowering his head, he captured her mouth with his and sampled her full lower lip. She trembled as she leaned into him.
He raised his head to break the kiss. For a fraction of a second, her lips clung to his. Drawing on every vestige of willpower, he pulled away. Kat slid her hands from his neck to frame his face, and pulled him back down to her. Bypassing his mouth, she gently touched her lips to his swollen, discolored eye. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” Her tender caress threatened his composure.
Kat lightly traced his jawline with her fingers before she dropped her hands to her side.
