New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess

1

ANDREW MARTIN WINTHROP III in the buff was a sight to behold. Bitsy had not told all. Of course, she probably hadn’t seen his spectacular, splendid bare butt in the past thirty years or so.

Kat lowered the binoculars unsteadily and popped a handful of M &M’s into her mouth. Get Andrew Winthrop III out of that starched shirt and those immaculately creased trousers, and there was more to him than she’d supposed.

She washed down the M &M’s with the worst coffee imaginable. She sighed. What she wouldn’t give for a good cup of joe right now.

Kat squinted through the binoculars again, not that she was trying to be voyeuristic and catch another glimpse of Andrew III’s well-formed buns. This was research. She could have hired a P.I. to investigate him, but since he topped her marriage list-okay, he was her marriage list-she’d decided to check him out herself. If he happened to move around sans clothes, she’d consider it a bonus. She scanned the bedroom, but Andrew had disappeared.

She settled in behind the oleander at the edge of his property and reached for the one-pound bag of chocolate candies beside her on the ground, scanning the house once more. Still no sign of Mr. “Stiff as His Shirt Collar” Winthrop III. His elegant yet sedate Mercedes sat in front of the cottage. He’d probably be starched and buttoned-down before he ventured out for the Sunday paper.

Bitsy had suggested she introduce herself while he was at his beach house for the weekend. She theorized he’d be more relaxed here than at his in-town home or office. If she only knew!

Kat trained her binoculars on the kitchen. She’d wait until just the right time to introduce herself. Maybe he’d gone in to fix a sandwich. Would he wander around his kitchen in his altogether? Hmm, interesting to find out…

Suddenly, a masculine arm wrapped around Kat’s midsection and hauled her to her feet, making her spill bad coffee and her M &M’s, and momentarily scaring the wits out of her. She registered a general feeling of male hardness and warmth before she instinctively flipped her assailant and planted her knee in his throat.

Gray eyes regarded her steadily with more than a hint of annoyance. She’d seen him across the room at the cocktail party and tailed him from a distance, but none of that prepared her for the impact of his gaze up close and personal. It was almost as powerful as his rear view.

“If you would kindly remove your knee from my windpipe, perhaps we could discuss why you’re training those binoculars on my house.” His voice was as cool and steady as his eyes.

Kat complied and stepped back as Andrew picked himself up, brushing sand off his magnificent backside. She gathered she wasn’t making a good first impression.

She glared at him. “Don’t grab me again.”

He towered over her, glaring in return. “You were sneaking around my beach house in the bushes. I believe I have a right to confront you.”

Even barefoot and in sweats-which she was amazed he owned since they couldn’t be starched-Andrew Winthrop exuded icy arrogance.

Kat drew herself up to her full height, all five feet four and a half inches, and tilted her chin. “I certainly was not sneaking. And you spilled my coffee and my candy.”

His thin, hard lips compressed even further. “Oh, pardon me. What do you call lurking behind shrubbery?” He stepped closer, watching her carefully as if he thought she might try to flip him again.

She retreated, the soft, white sand sifting into her canvas sneakers. God, she loathed sand in her shoes! “I wasn’t lurking.”

“Well, pray tell, what were you doing then?”

Checking you out because my biological clock has hit warp speed and I want you to father my baby. Seemed a little early for that. She raised her head, stared into his gray eyes and lied brazenly.

“Bird-watching.”

He raised a sardonic dark brow, his short laugh reflecting skepticism rather than amusement. “Bird-watching?”

Probably not the best lie she’d ever come up with, but she actually didn’t lie often. She’d have to practice when she got back home.

Andrew gently but firmly took her arm. A shiver of awareness raced along Kat’s nerve endings. Andrew Winthrop’s touch wasn’t nearly as cool as his eyes and his voice.

“I’m very interested in hearing more about your bird-watching.” He steered her back toward the cottage. “Especially since you watched for birds at my office yesterday, as well.”

Uh-oh. He’d spotted her yesterday. Had he seen her follow him today? She narrowed her eyes. “If you knew I was out here, why’d you parade around without your clothes?”

Amusement thawed the Arctic depths of his gray eyes. “Parade around?” He shook his head in mock consternation. “Showers are usually more efficient without clothes.”

“Oh.”

Andrew ushered her up the weathered deck. “I’m afraid ‘Oh’ isn’t going to do, Ms…” he said as he threw open the back door to reveal a minuscule kitchen. “Why don’t we start with your name?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but it did reveal perfect teeth. She’d figured as much. “I trust, given your extensive, um, bird-watching, you know who I am.”

He stood behind her, waiting for her to enter the cottage.

She crossed the threshold.

He stationed himself next to the open door and awaited her answer. So far lying hadn’t worked very well for her. She might as well give him her name.

“Devereaux. Kat Devereaux.” She watched him mentally process the name, searching for an association or a link. Coming up with nothing, Andrew folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter.

“Okay, Ms. Devereaux, what kind of bird were you looking for exactly?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly looking. I was watching.”

He lifted a skeptical black brow. “What were you watching for?”

She shrugged. “Anything, everything, nothing.”

“And how did you come to be watching the fascinating habits of this particular bird?”

With each passing second he impressed her as the perfect candidate to marry. Arrogant. Stuffy. Irritating. There was absolutely no possibility she’d become emotionally involved. Perfect.

“Fascinating? That’s definitely a stretch.”

“Let’s stick to the subject at hand. How’d you find out about this bird?”

Kat found herself at a loss as to how to broach the subject. Should she start with the part about his sister and her being friends? Should she start with her overwhelming need to be a mother?

Kat sidled toward the doorway, and stood close enough to Andrew to catch the clean tang of sandalwood soap. It was one thing to watch the man from a distance, but being this close to him sent her mind skittering in directions it didn’t need to go.

“I need to secure Carlotta and fetch Toto, and then we can talk.”

Andrew wrapped his hand around her upper arm, his touch halting her in her tracks. “Hold it. Exactly who are Carlotta and Toto?” He dropped his hand to his side and Kat absently rubbed at the tingling spot. Emotionally he might not appeal to her, but he scored high in the physical reaction department. Either that or she’d hit premature menopause and was hot flashing.

“Carlotta’s my car.”

“You mean that wreck you followed me in? I believe it’s safe unless someone mistakes it for scrap metal.”

Kat drew herself up and stared down the length of her nose. Unfortunately, she had to tilt her head way back, because Andrew was considerably taller than five feet four and a half inches, which ruined her attempt at haughtiness.

Carlotta, as she’d christened her ’79 Toyota, had been a good friend to her-steadfast and loyal. Kat had a deep and abiding affection for her. “I’ll thank you not to refer to Carlotta as a wreck. She runs beautifully.”

Except for the clicking noise her motor made, her backfiring muffler and the fact that her air-conditioning hadn’t worked for the past five years. But, really, those were trivialities. Just thinking about them made Kat squirm at her own disloyalty.

Andrew ignored her disclaimer with a wave of his hand. “I’m scared to ask, but what or who is Toto?”

As inopportune as it was, she appreciated the elegant line of his hand, the sprinkling of dark hair on the back.

Kat turned at the first step of the deck stairs. “Toto’s my dog.”

A frown marred the perfection of his face. “A dog? You’re bringing a dog in here?”

The prospect of a dog in his house seemed to upset him more than being flipped onto his back by an unknown woman. She skipped down the last three steps. “Toto’s more than just a dog. Just wait, you’ll love him.”

Behind her, Andrew muttered something indistinguishable, although she was fairly certain it wasn’t complimentary. Just wait until he met Toto. Everyone loved Toto.

ANDREW WATCHED the petite bundle of energy bounce along the road. He ran his hand over his jawline, contemplating the mystery of Kat Devereaux-who she was and why she was shadowing him. Shadowing wasn’t exactly correct. Following him, none too discreetly, was a more apt assessment.

He’d first spotted her yesterday, lurking behind an abstract sculpture in the lobby of his office building, wearing the prerequisite dark shades and tan trench coat. Fortunately for him, she hadn’t worn a wig. Her riotous ginger curls had heralded her presence all the while she’d trailed him. She’d darted behind him like some exotic bird for two days now and he’d had enough. Despite himself, she intrigued him.

She was probably just another determined female who’d read the article naming him one of Florida’s top five eligible bachelors. Andrew rued the day he’d given in to impulse and agreed to be interviewed. He had a neat, orderly life-he loved his work, played handball three times a week and casually dated. Impulse was not in his vocabulary. Perhaps he’d entertained a faint inkling of discord and discontent at the very orderliness of his life. And for once he’d given in to impulse and allowed himself to be identified as a prime male candidate. That had taught him a lesson. He had enough on his plate trying to maneuver himself into a partnership. He didn’t need Kat Devereaux hanging out behind the sculptures. And he’d get rid of her-just as soon as he satisfied his curiosity.

He flexed his right shoulder and winced at the stiffness. He’d be sure he got his answers from a distance.

Her car backfired from the driveway as she killed the engine. He flinched when she slammed the door. He hoped she hadn’t parked too close to his Mercedes. He wasn’t anxious to pick up any dents-and they could be catching from the looks of that thing she drove.

Andrew forgot all about dents as Kat Devereaux waltzed up the deck stairs, for all the world as if she were a dinner guest, a mass of fur running circles around her, yapping incessantly. She stopped when she reached the kitchen doorway. “We’re back.”

Andrew eyed the small, shaggy dog of indeterminate pedigree. “Toto, I presume.”

Hearing his name, the little dog perked his ears and paused before charging over to sniff and yap around Andrew’s legs.

“Be careful. Sometimes he…”

The lower leg of Andrew’s sweatpant suddenly grew warm and wet. He didn’t need to glance down, and he didn’t need to hear Kat finish her sentence to know what had just happened. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples wearily. This was going from bad to worse.

“No, Toto, no! Bad dog! Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Toto licked at Andrew’s bare toes while Kat grabbed a dish towel and dived for his wet pant leg. He threw up his hands to ward her off before she could come any closer.

“It’s a little late for that. If you’ll just call off Toto, I’ll change into something a bit drier.”

“I’m so sorry. Really I am.” Dancing blue eyes belied her contrite tone. Or maybe she was sincere in her apology, but she also thought it was damned funny. She scooped up the wriggling canine and sought to reassure Andrew. “He usually only does it once and that’s only if he likes you.”

“What does he do if he doesn’t like you?” Andrew quizzed on his way out the door. “No, never mind. I really don’t want to know. Just let me change pants and then, if Toto can contain his enthusiasm, you and I are going to talk, Ms. Devereaux.”

In the space of one brief hour she’d flung him on his back in the sand, and her dog had lifted its leg on him in his own home. It wasn’t a matter of living to regret having met Kat Devereaux and her little dog, Toto. He already did.

THIS WAS NOT going well at all.

Kat supposed she should scold Toto, but it really wasn’t his fault. Excitement and incontinence went hand in hand for poor Toto. Instead, she absently scratched him behind his ears while he burrowed into her shoulder. She’d hand it to Andrew-he’d handled the mishap with surprising grace.

She glanced toward the bedroom door where he’d disappeared to change clothes and heaved a sigh of relief. So far Andrew Winthrop was turning out to be exactly what he seemed, exactly what she needed: a stuffy, albeit attractive, lawyer with a degree from Harvard, a ton of money in the bank and a pressing need for a wife. She could offer him a temporary version of wedded bliss and he could give her the baby she so wanted.

Andrew padded back into the room, having replaced his sweatpants with a pair of worn but creased blue jeans. He still wore the faded Harvard T-shirt.

Kat bent and put Toto on the floor. Andrew eyed the little dog warily. “Once, right? He only does that once?”

Toto ran over to snuffle Andrew’s feet. “Usually…” Kat couldn’t resist teasing a bit. “Although he might make an exception in your case.”

Sardonic humor glinted in the depths of his eyes. “Only if I’m lucky.”

With one last sniff, Toto trotted off to discover parts unknown in the beach house.

Kat offered Andrew a friendly smile, which wasn’t a hardship, because she was overall a friendly type. It also seemed like a good lead-in to her proposal.

“Nice place you’ve got here. Cozy.” Actually she’d been here once last summer with Bitsy and her daughter. Bitsy’s husband, Eddie, also a lawyer, and Andrew had been out of town at a conference.

“I’m so relieved you like it. Now, why don’t we discuss your bird-watching?”

His voice might be pleasant and relaxed, but determination was written on his face with a bold marker. It was there in the hard line of his lips, the thrust of his chin.

Kat felt like a bug pinned to a board by Andrew’s piercing eyes. His suggestion hung between them, demanding an explanation. Kat’s stomach chose that moment to protest loud and clear. She glanced at him reprimandingly. “I’m hungry. You spilled my lunch earlier.”

Andrew stared at her as if he thought she was indeed a bug. “You call M &M’s lunch?”

“They had peanuts in them. That’s a protein source.” Really, all that money for a Harvard degree. You’d think he’d know his food groups.

“Shy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You know some people wouldn’t believe it, but I really am shy.” And nervous as hell. Her entire future hinged on this. Her baby hung in the balance. Her last-ditch effort at motherhood stood sexily before her.

His brows shot up to his elegant hairline. “Count me in as a nonbeliever in the shy business.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop.

Kat stared at his hands. His fingers were long and blunt, his hands broad. She swallowed hard. Now was a bad time to develop a hand fetish. Actually, a fetish in any way, shape or form that concerned this man was not allowed.

She braced her hands on the countertop and hoisted herself up, which put her at eye level with Andrew.

“Could I have a glass of milk?” she requested from her perch.

“You’re a strange woman.” Andrew pulled out a gallon of milk.

Ha! I’m a strange woman? Kat had seen his sleek, plastic girlfriend and, excepting Bitsy, had a fair idea of the type of women who inhabited his world. After all, she’d lived in a similar world for her first twenty-four years. “Considering the women you probably know, I’ll take strange as a compliment.”

Andrew closed the refrigerator and studied Kat Devereaux. He wasn’t trying to insult her, it was simply what had come to mind. He’d never met a woman like her. He was used to sophisticated women who employed every available means to enhance their beauty, be it spa or salon or a discreet visit to a prominent Palm Beach plastic surgeon. Women who cooed and simpered and sought to impress.

God and Madame Mimi’s Spa knew that was modus operandi for his mother.

Kat Devereaux sat on his kitchen counter with her face devoid of makeup and her hair standing on end, and she certainly didn’t seem to care if she impressed him. Oddly enough, she did. She was pushy, opinionated, physically assertive and sexy as hell. Maybe it was a compliment, all things considered. Strange, intriguing, different, whatever she was, she had managed to divert his attention from the matter at hand. Regardless of how cute her nose was with its sprinkling of freckles or how shapely her legs were swinging from his countertop, he wanted some answers!

He topped off a glass with milk and presented it to her. “Here’s your milk. Now tell me why you’ve been playing Mata Hari with me.”

Whatever, or whoever, Kat Devereaux was, she wasn’t much of a liar. At least not a good one. Bird-watching! She’d be terrible at poker. Far too transparent. Even right now, he could almost see the wheels turning.

She stalled by drinking her milk. All of it. Without stopping.

Andrew folded his arms and waited expectantly-he had plenty of time. Kat placed the glass on the counter and smiled at him winningly, her blue eyes widening. A milk mustache ruined the effect. Andrew bit back a smile.

“So, you’re definitely not buying bird-watching, huh?”

Her sheer temerity arrested him. He gave in to the smile. “No. I don’t buy bird-watching.”

Kat abandoned her perch to pace the kitchen floor. “Okay-”

The front door slammed, interrupting her explanation.

“Yoo-hoo…Andrew, where are you?” Andrew recognized his sister’s singsong tone. He’d never get to the bottom of this. His frustration vented itself in sarcasm. “Come on in. Make yourself at home. We’re out here in the kitchen.”

Bitsy waltzed through the swinging door, barely spared him a glance and beelined over to Kat. “I spotted Carlotta out front. Have you talked to him yet?”

He glanced from one woman to the other. This was getting stranger by the minute. “Bitsy? Kat? You know each other?”

Bitsy remained next to Kat but turned to face Andrew and giggled. “Kat works at the school where I volunteer. She’s a dear friend.”

Red alert! That was not comforting news. His sister meant well, but trouble seemed to follow her like the wake behind a boat. He still marveled that they shared the same gene pool. Why was he not too shocked to find her involved in this wackiness? “Why don’t you two explain what the hell is going on?”

“Well, big brother-”

Kat threw up her hand to stop Bitsy. “Wait, Bitsy. We were just about to have this discussion when you arrived. Let me explain.”

Andrew was fast running out of patience. If one of them didn’t tell him something soon, he’d throttle both of them.

Bitsy glided over to a kitchen chair and plopped down. “Just pretend I’m not even here.”

“You could leave,” he suggested.

“Oh, no. I’ll be fine. I promise, you won’t even know I’m here.”

Kat offered him a sunny but nervous smile. “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

“How about the beginning?”

“Well, there isn’t really a beginning. I guess if you wanted a beginning it would be a couple of years ago when I turned thirty-”

Andrew cut her off. He didn’t want her life story. “Forget the beginning. Just try spitting it out somewhere around the middle.”

Kat narrowed her eyes at him. She obviously didn’t appreciate being rushed.

“Bottom line? I need a husband. You need a wife. Let’s get married.” She crossed her arms across her breasts. “There, was that brief enough for you?”

Andrew prided himself on his ability to maintain a poker face and this was no exception. However, he mentally gaped. Unless he was mistaken, a veritable stranger had just proposed marriage. What a preposterous idea!

Bitsy snickered from the corner of the room.

Andrew ignored her. Being a calm, rational man, he wanted to hear the arguments they’d come up with to convince him. As he stared into the azure blue of Kat Devereaux’s eyes, he understood now why sometimes people couldn’t look away from a train wreck. “Perhaps we should go back to a few weeks before your birthday and take it from there.”

“As I was saying, a few weeks before the big three-o I started evaluating my life, which I think is a fairly common thing, and realized it was close to perfect. I love my job-I teach art to elementary school children. I’m disgustingly healthy, I treat myself to good vacations, and I have a comfortable place to live. There was only one thing missing.”

She paused and Andrew smirked to himself. A man. She wanted a man.

“A baby. I’ve always wanted children, or at least a child. It’s the one thing missing in my life.” She paused and stared at him expectantly. “Any questions so far?”

Andrew ceased smirking. A baby? She wanted a baby. He didn’t think so. “Several. But why don’t you continue and we’ll see how many you leave open.”

“That just sort of sets the stage. About two weeks ago Bitsy told me your father refused to make you a partner unless you got married.”

Andrew glared at Bitsy, who remained unrepentant. “I was in the library when you and Father had your little discussion in the study.”

Andrew didn’t take her to task for eavesdropping since it would have been a total waste of time. However, he refused to let her matchmaking go unchecked. And was his whole damn family obsessed with his matrimonial state or lack thereof? “That’s it, Bitsy. This time you’ve gone too far. I don’t need you discussing my private affairs with strangers.”

“Kat’s no stranger to me. And you know her family. Rand Hamilton’s her father and Jackson Hamilton’s her brother.”

“Nor do I need you soliciting a wife on my behalf.” Irritation tinged his tone.

Kat watched the interplay between him and his sister with avid interest, seemingly unperturbed at being the object of discussion. He’d never have pegged her as Rand Hamilton’s daughter. Rand was as much of a cagey manipulator as his own father. Her friendship with Bitsy made sense.

“Well, for goodness’ sake, if I didn’t do something you’d end up marrying that horrid Claudia. There are plenty of horrid people in our family already without you adding to the numbers.”

He had, in fact, spent some time assessing Claudia as a marriage partner. “What, dear sister, is wrong with Claudia?”

“She called Juliana a brat!”

Andrew considered the antics of his precocious six-year-old niece. “Juliana is a brat.” An indulgent smile softened the blow. He’d never been able to stay angry with his sister.

“I know she is. You know she is…but, it was the way Claudia said it!”

Kat piped up. “You wouldn’t happen to have any ice cream, would you?”

Andrew eyed her flat stomach. “You’re not…you know…that way already, are you?”

Kat rolled her eyes upward. “No. If I were, I wouldn’t consider marrying you. I’m just hungry.”

Andrew marveled at her matter-of-fact tone regarding the issue. Not that it mattered, because he wasn’t buying into their plan. He waved a generous hand, “By all means, help yourself.”

The electronic chirping of a beeper cut off Andrew’s sentence. Bitsy read the digital display and grimaced. “Well, kids, I hate to cut out on the fun but this is Juliana’s baby-sitter and she’s given me the 811 code.”

“Don’t you mean 9-1-1?” Andrew corrected.

“Nope, 8-1-1 is our code for brat attack. Last week she tried to tie the postman to a stake. Said she was playing Salem witch trials.” Bitsy stopped en route to the door to envelop Kat in a hug. “Welcome to the family, darling.” She bussed Andrew on the cheek. “Congratulations, big brother. You’re making a wise decision.”

Without further ado, she sallied out the back door.

Andrew ignored her parting comment. Reasoning with Bitsy was in the same league as turning the tide. But it didn’t mean he’d go along with this flaky scheme she’d concocted, even though he did need a wife because he damn well meant to get that partnership, whatever the cost. And his father had already named the price.

Kat threw open the freezer and rummaged about until she surfaced bearing a pint of premium ice cream like a trophy. She grinned at him as she pulled off the top. “Spoon?”

He indicated the silverware drawer.

“I can’t believe you buy this stuff. I hadn’t figured you for a Chunky Monkey man.”

Just what the hell did she mean by that? “Bitsy likes it so I always keep the stuff on hand.”

She flashed that saucy grin again. “A woman with excellent taste, your sister.”

Andrew watched in horrified fascination as she spooned a bite directly from the carton. She paused, her spoon in midair. “What? Why’re you looking at me that way?”

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.