Читать книгу Daddy On The Doorstep - Judy Christenberry, Judy Christenberry - Страница 11

Nick followed her from the bedroom to the linen closet filled with Bess’s beautiful quilts.

“Andy? There’s plenty of cover on the bed. It’s not going to be that cold tonight.”

“Good,” she said as she pulled a sheet and several quilts from different shelves. “I’ll need one of your pillows, please. Would you get it for me?”

“Where do you think you’re going to sleep?” he demanded, his hands on his hips when she turned around.

“On the sofa.”

She shut the closet door and headed toward the living room, with Nick following right behind her. She would’ve run if she’d thought it would do her any good. But he’d always been faster than her.

Feeling his glare in the middle of her back as she reached the sofa, she tried to send him away. “The pillow, Nick? Would you get it for me?”

“No!” he roared, frustration lacing his voice. “I won’t get the damned pillow for you. Andy, you’re being ridiculous, thinking you’re going to sleep here on an uncomfortable sofa when there’s an entire king-size bed in the other room.”

“Thinking I’m going to sleep here?” she repeated, her voice rising. “How are you going to stop me, Nick? Unless you learned some kidnapping techniques from your jaunt to Africa.”

Too many times in their marriage, she’d given in to his dominance, wanting to please him, to keep their marriage strong. All it had done was encourage him to take advantage of her, she’d finally decided during the past lonely month. No longer would she allow him to order her around.

Her response seemed to dumbfound him. Finally, after shifting his weight several times, he muttered, “I’m trying to take care of you, Andy. You look like a small puff of wind would blow you away. You need your rest.”

She stiffened her backbone against his tenderness. “Thank you, Nick, but I’ll be fine on the sofa.”

Turning her back to him, she began to make a bed for herself. If she worked hard at it, she could pretend she was alone, that the man she adored more than any other wasn’t watching her, trying to persuade her to share his bed.

When his hands seized her shoulders and inexorably pulled her away from the sofa, she struggled against him. “Nick, what—”

“Relax. I’m going to sleep here. You go get in bed.” Stepping around her, he bent over the sofa to arrange the bedding.

Tears gathered in her eyes. How could she resist such caring? Just as she was about to agree to their sharing a bed, under certain conditions, of course, a suspicion crossed her mind. Was that his plan? Charm her and get his way? Not this time, Nick.

“I don’t think you’ll fit, Nick. The sofa isn’t long enough for you,” she reminded him, giving a little shove with her hip as she moved to the sofa.

Unfortunately her hip didn’t connect with his. Instead, it brushed against the front of his jeans and his arms surrounded her. He buried his face in her hair and muttered, “Andy.”

“No!” she protested, pulling away before her desire could overpower her. She’d learned six months ago that a woman’s desire could be just as powerful as a man’s.

They stood there staring at each other.

“Come on, Andy,” he finally whispered.

“No, I won’t. We’re not husband and wife anymore and—”

“Damn it, would you stop saying that?”

The pain in his voice almost awakened her sympathy, her matching suffering. Almost. “No, I can’t stop saying that because it’s true. And I mustn’t forget it.”

“Why? What did I do that was so terrible? You muttered a lot of mumbo-jumbo that last night. Crazy things about your freedom, your time. What do you want, Andy?”

What did she want? She couldn’t tell him the truth, because she couldn’t have what she wanted. She already knew that. So she only told him part of the truth.

“I want me, Nick. That’s all I want.”

“Another cryptic message, I suppose,” he replied with sarcasm. “Is this another test, like coming after you? Because I don’t like to be tested, Andy. I expect my wife to trust me. Of all the people in the world, she’s the one person who must trust me.”

Andy almost laughed, but she was working too hard to hold back the tears. “I know,” she whispered. “I know. Go to bed, Nick.”

He didn’t move. “Come with me, Andy. I’ll even promise not to touch you.”

From his voice she could tell that promise hadn’t been his original intention when he’d first invited her to his bed. The shiver that coursed through her had nothing to do with the coldness. “No, Nick. Go to bed.”

This time he did as she asked, stalking from the room as if he were a six-year-old unfairly punished. Again, Andy covered her stomach with her hands. Perhaps one day she’d see the same reaction again, with a real six-year-old.

With a faint smile, she continued preparing her bed, trying to think about the future, not the past.

A soft thud pulled her from her thoughts and she saw the white pillow as it landed on the other end of the sofa. She looked up to discover Nick glaring at her from the doorway.

“Thank you for remembering,” she called softly.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, and closed the door with extra emphasis.

Andrea settled among the covers, her head resting on the pillow, and smiled again. Yes, definitely a six-year-old. But one who was well nigh irresistible. She’d be well advised to keep her distance.

Andrea awakened the next morning with the covers twisted around her and one foot exposed, her toes feeling frozen. She sat up to cover the poor cold foot and realized she hadn’t brought any crackers to bed with her.

“Rats!” she moaned, and made a run for the kitchen sink.

The next few moments were unpleasant, but she’d grown used to the morning routine. It served her right for not remembering the crackers. When she did, she was sometimes able to avoid the daily upheaval.

She was washing her face when she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling around, she discovered a frowning Nick.

“Did I wake you? I—I woke up starving and thought I’d fix some breakfast,” she said brightly, hoping to fool him.

“I’m not surprised. You didn’t eat enough dinner last night. Sit down and I’ll fix breakfast.” He moved toward her so she hurried out of his way.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” They’d had a housekeeper, one who’d been with Nick a number of years. Andrea didn’t think he’d ever seen the inside of a kitchen.

“Of course, I can cook. Do you think Aunt Bess would forget to teach me?” He was bent over, searching, she supposed, for a frying pan. Andrea shook her head when she realized her gaze was concentrated on his well-defined butt instead of their conversation.

“Um, if you’re going to cook, I think I’ll go back to bed. I didn’t sleep too well.” Besides, if he fried bacon, she was afraid she’d have another round of sickness.

He gave her a strange look as she edged toward the door. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

She nodded, afraid to trust her voice.

“Okay, go back to bed. I’ll bring you your breakfast when it’s finished. In fact, go get in Bess’s bed where you’ll be more comfortable.”

Her eyes widened and she struggled to find an answer.

“I’m not planning on joining you,” he added. “You’ve made your point.”

He thought she didn’t want him? Before she could burst into hysterical laughter at the idea, she whirled and left the room. She hesitated, though, when she reached the foot of the big bed. The slight indentation in the center of the mattress, where Nick always slept, filled her with longing. Rounding the bed, she reached out and touched that area, not really surprised to find a lingering warmth.

Her mouth watered as she remembered the nights wrapped in Nick’s arms. He was hot enough to heat all of Chicago, she reflected, and then giggled. And that could be taken several ways.

“You okay?” Nick called.

Quickly she scrambled into the bed and pulled up the covers. She didn’t want him checking on her. “Yes, I’m fine,” she shouted. “I’m in bed.”

Now if she could only keep from throwing up when he brought her the unwanted breakfast, she’d count it a successful morning.

When she awoke the next time, she could’ve eaten anything Nick cooked, but there was no Nick in sight and she could smell nothing cooking. A quick check of her watch showed that she’d slept several hours.

“Nick?”

He appeared in the doorway, dressed in tight jeans and another sweatshirt. “You’re awake.”

“Yes. I’m sorry I fell asleep while you were cooking breakfast. You changed clothes. Where did you find those?”

“Down in the basement. I left them here a long time ago. At least it’s a change from the overalls. Are you hungry now?”

“Starved.” Her gaze kept traveling up and down him, drinking in his masculine appeal.

“I’ll start lunch.”

He turned to go and Andrea called out to him. “I’ll fix lunch if you want, Nick.”

“Nope, I’ll do it. There isn’t a lot else to do.”

“Do I have time for a quick shower?”

“Sure. Take your time.”

She took Nick at his word. The only thing that drove her from the eye-awakening steamy shower was the growl from her stomach. She had discovered that once she was past the morning sickness, her hunger was incredible.

When she joined Nick in the kitchen, he had the food on the table. “I’m so impressed with your domestic abilities, Nick. I had no idea you were so talented.”

One black brow slid up as he gave her a cool stare. “You think I should’ve spent my time in the kitchen instead of amassing a fortune?”

Andrea looked away from his challenge. “It might have made you appear a little more human,” she finally muttered.

He slapped a plateful of food in front of her. “But it wouldn’t have paid for the penthouse.”

“I prefer Bess’s house to the penthouse,” she asserted, raising her chin in challenge.

“And the clothes, the furs, the jewels?”

“I don’t believe I ever asked for those things. You told me I had to have them for your image.”

“I didn’t hear you complain about wearing them,” he growled, joining her at the table.

She had the grace to blush. There had been a part of her that had enjoyed the luxury, she would admit, but it was a small part. “They were nice, but not—” She broke off. Their conversation was pointless. And painful.

“Not what? Obviously they weren’t important enough to hold you, unless you have plans to buy your own with the divorce settlement.” The bitterness in his voice was reflected on his face, turning his handsome features into something to be feared.

The sandwich he fixed for her tasted like cardboard as she thought of her response. She didn’t want his money, or at least, not much of it. But she couldn’t make the dramatic statement that he could keep all of it. She’d need some help.

“Hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?” he persisted. “Somehow I hadn’t pictured you as a gold digger, sweetheart.”

His last word hurt. It had the sharp edge of a knife, slicing through her heart.

But she wasn’t going to reveal such weakness. “I guess it just proves even the great Nicholas Avery can make mistakes.” She tried to avoid looking at him, but out of the corner of her eye she saw his hard, speculative gaze concentrated on her face.