Her Husband-To-Be. Leigh Michaels
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flush rose from throat to forehead.
“If I’d had any such intention, I’d certainly have stayed awake for the payoff.” His voice was dry. “As it happens, I got tired of waiting and of Joe’s taste in literature, and decided to get some sleep. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
And since she hadn’t turned on a light ...
“Good thing I didn’t choose the other side of the bed,” Danielle said wryly.
“Isn’t it, though?”
Danielle stared at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Look, if you think I saw you here and climbed in just for the sheer joy of sleeping with you... I’ve met some egos in my day, Oliver, but you take the—”
“The possibility never occurred to me.”
She was relieved, though still a bit wary. “That’s something, I suppose.”
“Because if that was what you wanted, you’d have made sure I woke up.” The last of the sandpaper roughness was gone from his voice, it was pure honey now. Warm honey, which seemed to ooze through her skin and trickle into her veins... “Which makes us even, doesn’t it?”
You can’t win, she told herself. And you’re an idiot to keep trying.
She turned on her heel, circled the end of the privacy wall and descended the stairs all the way to the kitchen. She knew perfectly well Deke was right behind her, almost in perfect step, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of any further reactions.
At the bottom of the stairs, he murmured, “You wouldn’t like to walk up again, would you? I’ll bet your skirt’s even more attractive from that angle.”
She tried to ignore him; Deke was chuckling as she opened the kitchen door.
The room smelled of coffee and frying ham. At the stove, Mrs. Winslow was carefully forking thick slices of meat from a skillet onto a couple of plates. Nearby, a bald man with thick glasses was buttering toast.
Mrs. Winslow grinned over her shoulder at Danielle and Deke. “I thought—under the circumstances—that you wouldn’t mind us helping ourselves. Want some ham and eggs?”
Danielle, absolutely speechless, shook her head.
Deke said, “Sounds wonderful to me. Can I pour you some coffee, my dear?”
Mrs. Winslow gave him an approving nod. “That’s the style. Take good care of her. Hand me the basket of eggs, Bill.”
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