Chapter 5 #3
“Right,” I said, proud of how strong my voice sounded. “You don’t leave this marriage without land and I don’t leave without a baby. What if that takes more than a month?”
That sounded callous.
His lips thinned at the word baby. “We have a month.”
“Biology doesn’t always listen to our deals.”
“I have an important job,” he said with a clipped tone.
“So do I.”
“One month, Autumn.”
I was raised a Bailey. I should be comfortable negotiating contracts and deals, but that was what my brothers did. Daddy had familiarized me with everything, but I didn’t work at the distillery full-time. Gideon’s tone was stone. Unmoving.
He’d seen that pathetic part of my life last night. I didn’t care to beg him to get me pregnant. “Good thing I’ve been off birth control for a while.”
His pupils flared again. “We have a few more details to hammer out. I notified my lawyer this morning we’ll be in need of a postnuptial contract.”
“A postnup?” The ramifications of an impulsive marriage were sinking in. Would Gideon have claim to my share of the ranch and Copper Summit? What about the portion of land Daddy had gifted me? Would I lose that?
Oh god, what had I done?
“Does the idea of a postnup bother you?” His expression was glacial and his tone had an edge, so at odds with his more casual look.
“No. I think protection is always good.” Why did that sound sexual?
The iciness was gone in an instant, replaced with simmering heat. “We’ll each leave this marriage with what we had when we entered it.”
Relief cooled the thud at my temples. “Oh, good.” I laughed and waved my hand at his expansive living room. “I won’t be stuck with half the view of the Strip.”
He blinked. Crap. Had I insulted him? He probably liked his view. Maybe it was something girls like Taya gushed about. I missed a neon-light-free view.
“He’ll also draw up divorce papers.”
Ouch. A little arrow to the heart in case I’d thought that Gideon would ever be smitten enough to marry me after a few hours of Bloody Marys and charcuterie. “More preparation. Awesome.”
“Now that the logistics are settled, we can discuss details.” His gaze dropped to my fuzzy socks, and I braced myself for the same distaste Taya had shown.
The hardness in his gaze softened only slightly.
“If I’m going to Bourbon Canyon, I’ll have to stay with you.
We’ll have to tell everyone that we met and fell madly in love. ”
I could play madly in lust well enough. “Desperately in love,” I said flatly, hating the longing deep inside my heart. “Do you think a month is enough time to convince your dad not to sell?”
“It’ll need to be enough to make him think I’ll move back and have kids.” He turned and dug in the fridge.
I stared at the way the denim molded around his ass. I could bounce a quarter off that thing. “Um, okay—about that . . .” This would be embarrassing. “If I do get pregnant, how is that going to work?”
He turned and set eggs and cheese on the counter next to a bowl of tomatoes I had assumed were for show.
“You cook?” I asked.
He lifted his vivid gaze to mine. “I had to cook, or I would’ve starved.”
Sympathy swelled in my chest. His dad was an alcoholic and the whole town knew how bad he’d gotten after Gideon’s mom died. “But you still cook?”
“I don’t like strangers in my place.”
I left my Really? stare on him.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Taya is not a stranger, and she will no longer have access. Do you want an egg wrap?”
My stomach rumbled. “Yes, please.”
He got a bowl out from a cupboard in the island. “As for the baby, we won’t do anything until you’re ready.”
I almost sagged with relief. I wasn’t ready, and I hated that it was obvious.
The baby part? So ready. Last night with the bourbon influence?
I would’ve climbed him like a mountain—three points of contact and one of them would’ve been my mouth.
But in the stark light of the morning? After having seen his ungodly beautiful coworker?
There wasn’t enough darkness to make me feel comfortable.
Besides, I remembered this morning. “You will have to sleep in the same bed as me, you know?”
He stopped cracking eggs. “Where do you think I slept last night?”
A tremble racked my body. Fear or desire?
“The guest room?” My voice pitched up at the end. He hadn’t slept with me . . . had he? I would’ve known.
Did I snore?
Drool?
Fart?
“The recliner?” I asked.
“I don’t have one.”
I craned my head around. The open floor plan taunted me with the lack of a recliner in his place. Would he look nearly as well-rested if he’d slept on the couch that had more angles than cushions?
He’d slept in the bed with me. He’d tried to use me without using me, and when he’d been busted, he’d still slept in the bed with me and then offered to make me breakfast.
He selected a tomato and dug out a cutting board and knife. I almost offered to help, but it was nice to have a guy treat me.
Things between us were fake, but he was making breakfast. No negotiations. He wasn’t hyperfocused and overly charming like when he’d broached the impulsive marriage topic. He was in his head, making plans for the next month. The considerate part of him seemed to be unconscious.
I was already having a hard time telling myself nothing about this was real. If I wasn’t careful, this deal between us could ruin me.