Chapter 5
He was halfway down the curving spiral staircase when it occurred to him that he was creeping stealthily instead of walking with confidence.
Hissing out a breath, he chalked this down to another offense against the irritating woman he was chained to.
She had brought him to this. He was goddamned Kyle Anthony McCreary and had as much or even more right to be here.
And he was going to get himself a goddamned sandwich, chips, some cold cuts or something else if he wanted to.
She was holed up in that room, anyway, poring over architectural designs. What the hell did he care?
Straightening his broad shoulders, he descended the stairs with his usual grace and paused as he reached the last step. He had been so tensed and agitated that he never had time to really see the downstairs. He took the time now.
Windows, large, graceful arches of them dominated the rooms, allowing the occupants the luxury of a stunning backdrop of trees and the buildings of the city spearing upwards.
It had darkened since they arrived, and the streetlights vied with the brilliance of what seemed like thousands of stars scattered over a velvety blue sky.
It was an open concept, which was a very good idea as it gave the illusion of more room.
To the left of the staircase there was the large living room with its huge fireplace dominating one wall.
The wallpaper was a shimmering blue-green and reminded him of the ocean.
He knew that there was a fully stocked library, two offices, a theater room, laundry and mud rooms, two powder rooms, an extra space if they wanted to have live-in help and a fully-equipped gym.
A townhouse to beat all, expensive but worth every penny.
And suitably tailored for the young executives leaning towards having a family.
Pine floors gleamed in the lights from the moon, giving it an extra shine.
Making his way to the arched doorway of a surprisingly old-fashioned kitchen, he was brought up short at the sight of the woman standing around the gleaming blue-green malachite counter. She was wearing nothing more than an oversized white t-shirt and woolen socks.
He could clearly see her profile, and he realized that she had yet to notice his presence.
Probably because she was wearing earbuds, tapping her feet, and wriggling her butt to whatever she was listening to.
Awareness of her slapped into him and left him staggering.
The shirt came to mid-thigh, leaving the rest of her bare except her feet.
Her skin glowed in the lights from overhead.
She was chopping up lettuce and tomatoes for what looked like a sandwich.
Her hair was piled in one untidy heap on top of her head.
The scent of her, sharp and tangy from her shower, assailed his nostrils and the hot lust curling in his belly pissed him off.
He wasn't attracted to her, he told himself viciously.
It's just that he hadn't been with a woman in more than three weeks and this was the result of his abstinence.
She was a woman, and he was a man. He was not dead, as made obvious by the thudding of his heart and the aching of his loins.
It could have been any woman, and the reaction would be the same. He was desperate enough to believe it.
Just as he was contemplating sneaking back upstairs and going to bed starving, she turned.
She caught sight of him, her eyes widening in surprise before narrowing with wary calculation.
The music continued to pulse in her ears, but she yanked out one earbud and fixed him with a steady look, not bothering to hide her annoyance at the interruption.
For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretching between them alongside the sharp scent of tomatoes and the distant hum of city traffic.
But then she raised her chin, offering him a nod that was equal parts challenge and invitation, as if daring him to claim his piece of the kitchen or retreat.
"I, er," he cleared his throat and after taking one look at the wide nipples delineated through the thin material, he kept his eyes on her face. "I was hungry."
It pissed him off that he was explaining himself to her and tried to assert his authority. "I have a damn right to be here as much as you do."
All she offered in response was the lifting of one tapered brow and went back to her chopping. "There's enough for two."
Her cultured voice was cool, making him feel gauche and stupid.
What the hell was wrong with him? Every time he was around her, he felt like an awkward schoolboy facing the cheerleader with no idea what to say to her.
Hissing out a breath, he marched into the mile-wide kitchen and went for the double-sided fridge.
Yanking the door open, he grabbed a drink at random.
Iced tea. Shit. He hated the damn thing and now was stuck with it.
Twisting off the cap, he crossed to the counter and sat down.
He was damned if she was going to run him off.
"What kind?"
"Huh?"
She looked up at him as if just noticing he was still there. The woman was behaving as if he was invisible. Damn her.
"The sandwich."
He gestured towards the ingredients. "What kind?"
The lifting of that brow again and the coolly amused look on her round face made him feel as if he was two.
"Loaded. Ham, cheese, salami, lettuce, tomatoes. The list goes on. I did not have much to eat at that joke of a ceremony. You want?"
"Thanks. We both agree it's a joke."
"Oh, absolutely."
She had finished the dicing and slicing and was cutting off chunks of wheat bread. "I thought you would have been out of here by now."
"Where would I go?"
Lifting her head, she gave him an arched look. "You really want me to answer that?"
She had finished loading the sandwich. Sliding it onto a plate, she pushed it across to him.
"I have to be discreet."
He muttered. Picking up half the sandwich, he bit in and closed his eyes in satisfaction.
"I suppose. Poor Kyle and what's the actress' name?"
His eyes darkened at her amused tone.
"I refuse to talk about her with you."
Turning to grab another plate, she prepared her sandwich. "Are you in love with her?"
"That's none of your damned business. We're married in name only, so I don't owe you an explanation."
"In name only?"
A smile curved her lips, and he was made painfully aware that she had very sexy lips. The bottom one made him think of a juicy ripe plum. "You do realize that eventually we're going to have to have sex, right?"
Forcing himself not to jolt at the words, he tried to stare her down. "I don't want to think about it."
"The rents, as in the grandparents, expect us to copulate and produce an heir or two."
"And that doesn't bother you?" he demanded.
"Not really."
She shrugged and settled on the stool, intending to enjoy her sandwich.
"The way I see it, we plan for it. Not now, because," she bit into her sandwich and eyed him, eyes twinkling.
"We're going to have to get used to the idea.
And I have my work, projects up to my ears.
Another thing. Marriages in both sides of our families have proven to be unsuccessful or painful to say the least. At least we went into this with our eyes wide open.
We dislike each other and there's no pretense. "
He simply stared at her, unable to believe she could be so cool about the entire thing.
"It doesn't bother you that we're not in love?"
She laughed, a sultry low sound that sent his nerves dancing. Her teeth were very white, and her dimples dipped into her cheeks. My God, he thought dazedly. She was beautiful.
"Love."
She scoffed. "Something I can do without."
She eyed him curiously. "But it's obviously a complication for you and the actress."
She shrugged. "Tough deal."
Polishing off half of the sandwich, she reached for her glass of wine and nodded to the drink he had yet to taste. "Want some wine? I don't particularly care for sweet tea myself."
He had completely forgotten about the bottle he had chosen at random and nodded.
He watched as she hopped off the stool to get a glass and poured the rich dark red. Handing it to him, she sat back down. "You're one cold customer, aren't you?" he said bitterly.
Nothing in her expression betrayed the hurt his words had evoked.
She had learned from a very early age to hide hurt and pain.
"If you say so. I prefer to think of it as being realistic."
He considered her words, swirling the wine in his glass thoughtfully.
Something about her composure, about the way she masked every emotion behind a facade of indifference, made him wonder what really went on beneath that surface.
"Realistic, huh? I guess that's one way to cope," he said quietly, unable to shake the feeling that they were both playing roles in a drama that neither had auditioned for.
"I guess it is."
She studied him, ignoring the jolt to her system. He really was beautiful. Burnished brown hair was tousled as if he had spent some time running his fingers through the thick strands. His complexion was golden, his nose straight, lips full. "We come from very dysfunctional families."
She polished off the rest of the sandwich and used the napkin to dust her fingers. Reaching for the glass of wine, she leaned back and took a sip. "I've learned to live with it."
"And living with it means you accept this, this," he spread a hand. "This farce. You did not put up much of a fight."
That eyebrow lift again and the slight smile tugging at her lips as if she knew something he didn't.
"Did you?"
"I sure as hell did."