The Millionaire Takes A Bride. Kate Little
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You needn’t sleep in your car. You can stay here, on the sofa.” As if on cue they both glanced over at her old couch. The lumps looked even larger than usual to Georgia and she had no doubt that his feet would hang well over the edge. She might feel sorry for him…if he wasn’t such a bullheaded pain in the neck. Besides, it certainly beat his alternatives. After the way he’d insulted her tonight—all in the name of his “quest”—he was lucky she’d allowed him to stay at all.
He must have been thinking the same. “Thank you. That’s a kind offer. All things considered.”
“Yes. All things considered, it is, isn’t it?” She brushed by and headed up the stairs to get some bedding. Then she remembered that his clothes were probably still wet and would be horribly uncomfortable. “Would you like a dry T-shirt or something?” she asked, stopping halfway up the stairs.
“Uh…sure. That would be excellent,” he replied, seeming surprised at her thoughtfulness. “That is, if you can find one that will fit me.”
“I think I can dig up something,” Georgia replied as she continued up the stairs. She had some super-large T-shirts on hand that she used for cover-ups while exercising or when she took Noah to the town pool. One of them should be large enough to fit her unexpected houseguest, she thought. There might even be some baggy sweatpants around, too.
She gathered the necessary bedding, clean towels, some toiletry items she thought he’d find useful and also a large black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. She returned with her armload to find Jackson in the rocking chair, his head tipped back, his eyes closed.
He was breathing heavily—practically snoring, she noted. But in sleep, his stern expression had relaxed, displaying his appealing features to full advantage. He’d opened his shirt to the waist, and Georgia felt herself blushing as she surveyed the contours of his muscular chest, covered with whorls of dark hair down to his flat belly.
Easy girl, she coached herself, as she pulled her gaze away. She released a small, quiet sigh, dumped her burden on the armchair, then quickly made up the bed.
She left the towels and other necessities on the end table, then stood next to Jackson. He was sleeping so deeply, she wondered if she should wake him. Then she thought she should, since she knew he’d wake up with a permanent dent in his back if he spent the rest of the night in that rocker, which certainly would not improve his cranky disposition.
She leaned over him. “Jackson?” she called quietly.
He didn’t open his eyes immediately, though she did notice a small smile shape his lips and guessed he had heard her.
“Come on, Jackson. Time for bed,” she called again, leaning closer.
“Georgia…” he murmured. She liked the way he said her name. As if he’d been calling to her in a dream. But when he added, “Yes…let’s get to bed, honey…” She straightened to her full height.
He suddenly blinked, coughed and stared up at her, his relaxed, soft smile replaced by a guarded look. “Guess I fell asleep,” he mumbled. He rubbed his face with his hand.
“Guess so,” she agreed. “The couch is ready, and there are a few things you might need on the end table. The bathroom is that way, just go left at the kitchen.”
“Left at the kitchen,” he repeated groggily. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Thanks again for the bunk…. No need to tuck me in,” he teased.
“That’s a relief,” she replied under her breath. She turned on her heel and started for the stairs. “See you in the morning.”
“Yes, tomorrow,” he echoed ominously. He got up from the rocker and stretched his long arms and legs. “Your wedding day. Of course, maybe my arrival on the scene has put a damper on the plans? Either way, I’ll guarantee you that you won’t be rid of me until I find my brother. I’ll camp out in your living room if I have to.”
“What a thought,” Georgia replied. She met his determined gaze, then looked away. Oh, dear. He was back on that again, was he? She honestly didn’t know how long she could keep up the charade.
She was suddenly tempted to admit all, then decided to leave her confessions for the bold light of day. There was no predicting how he might react. He might take off in the dead of night, still determined to hunt Will and Faith down.
No, let him stay right here in her living room, where she could keep her eye on him. And let him believe that she was the hopeful bride.
After all, Georgia reasoned, a man like Jackson Bradshaw deserved at least one torturous night on her sofa for trying to prevent her dear sister’s wedding.
Two
When Georgia came down the next morning, the couch was empty, the bedding neatly folded. The bathroom door was shut, and she heard the shower running. She had dressed in jeans and a dark-blue T-shirt after a quick shower upstairs. Her short honey-blond hair was damp and curling from the humidity. She hardly looked like a woman who planned to be married shortly, she reflected. Of course, try to tell Jackson Bradshaw that. His suspicious mind would reason that she was merely trying to trick him and perhaps had a wedding gown on underneath her outfit.
Never one to wear much makeup, she had taken the time to cover the dark shadows under her eyes with a dab of concealer and slap on a bit of lip gloss. She needed a little boost to her self-confidence this morning in order to take on the “dragon” again.
She swiftly got the coffee maker started and pulled out the ingredients for breakfast from the refrigerator. She was a good cook—a great cook, some said—and she now strategized that Jackson Bradshaw’s temperament might be improved by a tasty meal.
She imagined that he hadn’t eaten during his long, arduous journey last night and would appreciate a good breakfast—crisp bacon, blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice. And even if the good food didn’t mollify his contentious personality, the distraction of chewing and swallowing would at least slow down his interrogation.
For Georgia fully expected another interrogation this morning regarding the whereabouts of Will Bradshaw. Or perhaps Jackson thought all he had to do was hang around Georgia in order to catch the slippery groom?
She didn’t want him hanging around here all day, she reflected as she whipped the pancake batter with nervous energy. Something about the man positively…unnerved her. It wasn’t just his difficult personality. That she could deal with. If only he was short, paunchy, balding…why, she’d have no problem at all dealing with him. But no, he had to be so…so…outrageously attractive it made her brain blow a fuse when he so much as smiled at her. Thank goodness he was such a sourpuss he rarely did.
She lowered the heat under a skillet of simmering bacon and sliced some fruit into a colorful bowl.
No, she hadn’t been attracted to a man in such a way in a long, long time. It would have been funny actually, if it wasn’t so annoyingly perverse, that of all the men she’d met lately, she should have such a reaction to this one.
“Just my luck,” Georgia reflected wryly as she tested the griddle.
“What’s your luck?” a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.
Georgia looked up, trying to hide her surprise. “Umm…just talking to myself about the weather. It’s still pouring out.”
“Yes, I noticed…. Though they say rain is good luck on a wedding day,” he added pointedly.
“Oh, yes. My wedding. I nearly forgot,” she replied dryly. She lightly slapped her forehead. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“Not at all,” he replied politely.
She finally lifted her head and took a good look at him.
If he’d looked good last night in damp, rumpled clothes and a day’s growth of beard, he looked even better now. Fresh from the shower, he wore the borrowed black T-shirt that was attractively form-fitting