The Tycoon's Marriage Bid. Allison Leigh
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reached a little farther and caught the leg in question. “Nope. No bells ringing there.” Just a cacophony of warning buzzers going off inside his head. He let go of her and stood. Shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is the bed comfortable, at least?”
“Yes. Except I feel like I might slide off the edge if I’m not careful. The sheets are pretty slippery. And I’ve, um, never slept on a round bed. It’s a little…”
“Kinky?”
“Odd.” Her voice sounded strangled. But she moved her feet again, and again he felt the sound like a physical thing. “I, um, I really could have taken the couch, you know. I didn’t mind.”
Shortly after lunch, he’d carried her from the couch to the bed, over her protests. “I’d mind.”
She made a soft murmur that seemed distinctly female, and as such, was completely incapable of interpretation.
“Do you want some water or something?”
She reached out and picked up the glass he’d given her already. “Still full.”
“Well, you should be drinking it,” he murmured. Her arms were bare. When he’d put her to bed, she’d been wearing a long-sleeved sweater.
“If I were drinking glasses of water all night long, I’d be constantly going back and forth to the bathroom,” she said huskily. “And since you’ve been dogged about carrying me there, too, you would get no more sleep than I would.”
“Be glad the doctor said you didn’t have to stay put so much that you needed a bedpan.”
He couldn’t see it, but he knew that she was blushing. Ornery bastard that he was, it made him smile.
“I’ll drink it later,” she assured him, holding up the sheet with the other hand. Making him wonder what she wore beneath it. He’d put her suitcase on a chair within reach of the bed. Presumably she’d had a nightgown in there or something.
“Let me know if the charley horse comes back.”
“Fine.”
“I mean it, Nikki.”
“Or what? You’ll fire me?” The tart comment seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. “I’ll let you know.” She slipped down to her side.
At the foot of the mattress, the bedspread gave up the ghost and sighed to the floor.
Alex’s hands fisted inside his pockets. He returned to his side of the fireplace, but didn’t bother lying down on the couch. He wasn’t going to sleep.
He went into the kitchen and turned on the small light over the stove. At least here, there was a wall separating the space from the bedroom. The light shouldn’t disturb Nikki.
He quietly carried an iron-backed bar stool from the minibar in the minuscule dining area and set it in the kitchen. His briefcase was already open on the counter next to the toaster, and he pulled out a stack of papers and envelopes—mail that he’d grabbed on his way out the door to the airport days ago and still hadn’t read— and dumped everything on the counter.
Then he poured himself a small measure of bourbon in one of the plentiful glasses the cabin was stocked with.
He sat down, propped his elbows on the counter and swirled the liquor gently in the glass.
The other advantage of the wall between the kitchen and bedroom was that he couldn’t waste any time wondering how long it’d be before a damn bedspread fell off a damn mattress.
He tossed back half the contents of the glass and set it aside. Too bad he didn’t have a handy wall inside his head, cordoning off the question that had been squatting there.
What kind of man could capture Nikki’s attention deeply enough to leave her pregnant?
And why the hell wasn’t the guy with her?
The heavenly smell of coffee woke Nikki the following morning. She didn’t even open her eyes at first. Just lay there still as a mouse, cradled in a soft jumble of pillows, as she slowly breathed in that wonderful, wonderful aroma.
Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a good dose of caffeine-rich coffee. But all caffeinated drinks and any foods that were remotely salty—and therefore flavorful—were now stricken from her allowable list.
So she lay there and savored the smell, and pretended not to notice that she was practically salivating all the while.
But lying there like a bump could only last so long before her back started to ache, so she turned over, stretching out her legs, pointing her toes. When she’d first seen the silver satin sheets, she’d been somewhat appalled. But the fact was, they felt pretty darn nice. Slippery, true. But nice.
So she swished her legs lazily over them a few more times, her head still buried in the pillow.
“I had a dog once who chased rabbits in his sleep.”
Nikki froze at the amused comment. The cool satin warmed beneath her still legs.
“Corkscrew would be nearly snoring, but his legs would be going a mile a minute. That’s what you remind me of.”
Since the earth wasn’t likely to mercifully swallow her whole anytime soon, she lifted her head out of the pillow and eyedAlex. “A dog named Corkscrew. How…flattering.” And trust Alex, the wine connoisseur, to have had a dog named Corkscrew. “What happened to him?”
“Died of old age. Now he’s chasing rabbits for eternity.”
She pushed her hair out of her face and propped her head on her hand. Looking at Alex was dangerous, but she couldn’t very well avoid doing so for the next few weeks.
He hadn’t shaved, but his wet hair was ruthlessly combed back from his face. He’d obviously showered, and the fact that she’d slept right through it gave her a moment’s unease.
She’d never lived with anyone. Not that she was living with Alex, of course. But she’d have thought she’d be more aware of sounds around her that weren’t made by, well, her.
He was wearing a thick, ivory fisherman’s sweater, which made his shoulders look about a mile wide. That wasn’t so odd in itself. Nor was it odd that he was unshaven. There’d been plenty of times when he’d worked all night and in the morning would pull out his electric razor, running it brusquely over his lean cheeks while they’d gone through the upcoming day’s business.
What was odd was that he was wearing blue jeans. Well-worn jeans, in fact. So worn they were nearly white in certain places. A person could purchase jeans in that condition these days, but Nikki had one stepfather, five stepbrothers and a brother-in-law whose jeans all looked remarkably similar, so she recognized the real deal when she saw them.
She wouldn’t have expected Alex to have a pair so broken in. Maybe he’d hired the task out to someone. A surrogate jeans breaker-in-er.
Good grief, did she ever need caffeine.
“Last one I ever had,” he mused, lifting his mug of that wonderful-smelling stuff to his mouth.
She moistened her lips. Was it the coffee that had her mouth watering, or was it the man drinking it? “Last what?”
His eyes crinkled a little at the corners. “Dog.”
She felt her cheeks heat. Corkscrew. “Right. I never knew you had a dog.”
“That’s because I was nine.”
She sat up a little more. She had a hard time envisioning Alex as a boy. “Why didn’t you get another dog?”
He shrugged. “Went away to boarding school. No point in having a dog if you’re not around to give it some attention.”
She felt as if she’d learned more about Alex in the last two minutes than she had in years. “Was your school far away from home?”