At least she hadn’t used her finger. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone bypass the bowl and go straight for the carton.” And she and his sister thought he’d actually consider living with her?
“For goodness’ sake, relax. It’s only a pint. It’ll be gone in no time. Now a half gallon would’ve been another story. Unless you wanted some.” She offered the open carton. “Do you want some?”
She stood before him, a cross between a pixie and Medusa on a bad hair day and, out of nowhere, his libido kicked into overdrive. He reminded himself they were talking about ice cream. He reminded himself she’d concocted a nutty scheme to marry him and bear his child.
“No, thanks.” To all of it. The ice cream. Her. Her plan.
“You’re sure?” She still held the carton toward him.
“Positive.”
Kat shrugged and spooned up another mouthful. “So, do you just not like ice cream, or is it Chunky Monkey you object to?”
“I didn’t say I objected to it, I simply said I didn’t want any.”
She nibbled at a walnut. “Let me guess, your favorite flavor is…vanilla. With the little bean specks in it, of course.”
Had she trailed him to the grocery store? Slipped in behind him at an ice-cream kiosk? And what if he did like vanilla? She made it sound criminal.
“Vanilla’s a good basic.” This was ridiculous! Getting defensive over ice cream. “But enough about ice cream. Why me? Don’t you know any eligible men?”
She ran her tongue catlike over the spoon and Andrew felt a totally unwelcome and unexpected stab of want.
Kat looked at him as if she were dealing with a child who couldn’t grasp a simple concept. “Of course I do. I have quite a few male friends.”
“So, what’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing’s wrong with them. That’s the problem. I like them. Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good friendship by marrying someone I like? And they’d want to stick around or at least be involved with the baby afterward. On the other hand, you and I would make a perfect match.”
“You’ve lost me on that one.”
Once again she waved the carton in front of him.
“Chunky Monkey. Vanilla. Carlotta. Gertrude.” She said, and went back to eating, as if no further clarification were necessary.
Lost. He was definitely lost. “Gertrude? Who in the hell is Gertrude?”
She brandished her spoon toward the front of the house. “Your car. I named her Gertrude. She looks like a Gertrude.”
She’d named his car now! “Gertrude?”
“Sorry, it just seemed to fit. But you could call her Trudy.”
“I won’t be calling it anything. But please explain.”
She spoke slowly as if he might have trouble following her. “You’re vanilla. I’m Chunky Monkey. You’re Gertrude. I’m Carlotta. You’re not my type. I’m not your type. We have nothing to worry about if we get married.”
He had to agree with her on that one. They had nothing to worry about because they wouldn’t be getting married.
“Pardon me for being so crass as to bring up such a minor point, but exactly why would I want to marry you?”
“Ah, that’s my point exactly. You don’t want a wife, do you?”
“No.” He’d give her points for that one.
“Exactly. And I don’t want a husband. Or, I should say, I only want one for a while.”
He was beginning to follow her thought process, which alarmed him in and of itself. His father had been adamant concerning a wife. Good old dad considered it part and parcel of his partnership. “Go ahead,” he said, now intrigued.
“Let’s take that skinny blonde you’ve been tooling around town with, Claudine…”
“Claudia.”
“There’re two?”
“No, one. Her name is Claudia.”
“Oh, okay. Anyway, let’s marry you off to her, hypothetically. How likely is Claudette-”
“Claudia.”
“Okay, okay. Claudia. Will she sign a prenuptial agreement? And what happens two years or five years from now when the marriage hits the rocks?” Kat made a slicing motion in midair. “Half of everything that’s yours walks out the door with her.”
He’d have to give her credit for her read on Claudia. No way she’d sign a prenup. Especially not with the proverbial ball in Claudia’s court-it had never been a secret how important a partnership was to Andrew. Andrew harbored no illusions about marriage and divorce. It formed the basis for his cynical view. Perversely, he found himself a little piqued Kat had so readily written him off as a failure at marriage. “Who says we’d wind up divorced?”
Kat arched a skeptical brow in his direction. “To begin with, the national average isn’t running in your favor and don’t forget to factor in you’re not exactly frothing at the bit to enter the esteemed state of matrimony.”
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, Ms. Devereaux, but you’ve got to build a stronger case than that.”
“Well, aside from the fact that I have no personal interest in you…”
Andrew’s brows shot up to his hairline.
“I suppose bearing your child might be considered personal, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I’ve got one other thing in my favor that Claudia doesn’t.”
His look both challenged and invited her to continue.
“Claudia is beautiful, sophisticated. She attends all the right functions. She has beautiful nails.” At his incredulous look, she defended herself. “I noticed…women notice these things. And then you have me. I’m not beautiful or glamorous and there’s not a sophisticated bone in my body. I loathe cocktail parties and I’d rather shovel manure for my garden than have a manicure any day.”
Andrew assessed her from her riot of red hair to the tips of her canvas sneakers. She’d accurately assessed herself. She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t glamorous. She wasn’t sophisticated. The chivalrous thing to do would be to deny it, but he wasn’t chivalrous. Instead he inclined his head in understanding.
“You and I both know Claudine is exactly the kind of woman your father wants you to marry. On the other hand, I met your father briefly once before. We both know he’ll dislike me intensely.” She leaned in closer and dropped her voice. “Wouldn’t that be sort of poetic justice, since he’s the one making you get married?”
He couldn’t suppress a smile at the Machiavellian beauty of her thought. Kat Devereaux was right. The old man would turn inside out if he married her. With her unorthodox, brash manner she was a far cry from what he knew his father had in mind in the way of a daughter-in-law.
Also, she’d hit the nail on the head. He didn’t want a wife. But he sure as hell wanted this partnership. That was an understatement. It had been his driving goal since boyhood. Or as his sister Bitsy summed it up-that partnership slot was his spot in the cosmic universe. And he was ready to take his place except for that small matter of a wife. This business with Kat Devereaux might prove a bit messy but perhaps not nearly as sloppy as a nasty divorce settlement.
Frighteningly, she was beginning to make sense.
2
KAT DRUMMED HER FINGERS on the countertop as she awaited a reaction other than Andrew’s smile, which hadn’t been a smile at all. Although he kept his expression shuttered,
