Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom. Jackie Braun
Читать онлайн книгу.
with good food.” She winked. “Stephen, he likes…” She seemed to search for a word, then broke into a broad grin. “Junk.”
“Junk?”
“You know.” She pointed to the refrigerator. “Meals that come from a freezer. He says he doesn’t have time to fuss with dinner.”
Something seemed obscene about having a kitchen a gourmet would be proud to own and heating up precooked dinners in the microwave.
“You’re pretty.” She made a little humming noise. “And so thin.”
“Thank you,” Catherine replied, not sure how else to respond to what might not have been a compliment.
“You’re not Stephen’s usual type.”
“Oh?”
She motioned toward Catherine’s hair. “Blonde. I don’t know that I ever remember seeing him with a blonde woman before.”
“I see.” Which, of course, she didn’t.
“Of course, I didn’t think Stephen would ever marry. He used to say as much whenever I’d tell him that a woman would make good use of this kitchen and all the fancy appliances he had put in here. ‘Men can cook, too,’ he’d say. But he never bothered to. And no wonder. It’s no fun cooking for one.”
She put away the groceries as she spoke.
“You look hungry.”
“I am, yes,” Catherine agreed. “I was just trying to figure out what to make for breakfast.”
“Dishes are in the those cabinets.” Rosaria pointed. “I brought eggs, and a nice fresh loaf of bread. I could make you an omelet, if you’d like. I’ve got a few minutes before I have to leave.”
“I can do it, but thanks.”
“Well, I’ll be going, then. Nice to have met you, Catherine.” The woman stopped in the doorway. “It’s not my place, I know, but Stephen is a good man. He deserves happiness, and there hasn’t been a lot of it in his life. I hope you will make him happy.”
It wasn’t a lie when Catherine replied, “I hope we’ll both be happy.”
She spent the Sunday doing something she rarely did: puttering. She figured she would play it safe and stay out of sight for the day. Then she put away the belongings she had brought with her and walked around her new home, trying to picture spending all her evenings and weekends there with Stephen. Degas followed her every step.
“What does he do to unwind?” she asked the dog. The words seemed to echo from the vaulted ceilings. “Is he a night owl, a morning person? Does he work late? What does he do most weekends?”
The dog nuzzled her hand, looking for an ear-rub.
“You’re about as talkative as your master.”
There was a lot she didn’t know about her husband, and his house, tastefully decorated as it was, revealed little. At the top of the stairs she turned left instead of right. One room remained to be explored. One room that might shed light on Stephen’s personality.
Catherine hesitated only for a moment before turning the knob. This wasn’t like her at all, invading someone’s privacy, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from stepping over the threshold and into what was aptly named the master bedroom.
The walls were painted a vibrant red, set off by thick white trim at the windows and tall white baseboards. Other bits of color were splashed around the room, and she couldn’t help but think he had saved all of it for this room, for so much of the rest of the house was done in less vivid hues.
She spied a photo on his nightstand and, though she had intended to venture no farther inside the room, she found herself crossing to it. It was his parents. She would stake her life on it. She sat on the edge of Stephen’s unmade bed and studied the people in the picture. His father had certainly been handsome, with hair just a couple of shades darker than Catherine’s and eyes as blue as a summer sky. But it was from his mother that Stephen had inherited his striking looks: the dark eyes, the fuller lips, the prominent cheekbones and slightly flared nose. His mother’s eyes held secrets as well, but her smile was warm and inviting.
The dog whined from the doorway. She glanced over and her heart began to pound. Stephen stood there, his expression unreadable, although she had a good idea what he must be thinking.
“Curiosity satisfied, Catherine?”
“I’m sorry. I have no business being in here.”
“None,” he agreed. “Unless you’d care to change the rules of our marriage?”
He advanced, and she felt her mouth go dry.
“You’ll find my bed comfortable and me…accommodating.”
She stood. “I’m sorry. I think I should leave.”
“Come now, don’t tell me you’ve never wondered if all the talk about Latin men is true?”
“I’d like to think I’m above that kind of immature speculation,” she replied stiffly.
“Does ice flow through your veins, Catherine?”
He rolled the R, and then he said something else in Spanish. The musical cadence of the foreign words made understanding them superfluous. And if there were ice in her veins it surely would have melted when he reached out to caress her cheek.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what? Touching my wife?” He took another step forward and placed both hands on her hips.
“Stephen, I…”
“You’re curious, Catherine. Admit it.”
“All right, yes. I’ll admit it. I’m curious about you. I don’t think that should come as any surprise. We’re married and we’re going to be living together.”
“I think it goes beyond that. I think you’re curious about this.”
Stephen intended the kiss to be punishing, but she responded to his boldness with surprising acceptance, shifting her position until their bodies touched from shoulder to thigh. He’d started out as the seducer and wound up feeling seduced, but his voice was steady when he said.
“I think you should go, querida. Before we do something that you’ll regret.”
Chapter Five
STEPHEN hadn’t asked Catherine to attend the meeting Tuesday morning that Derek had scheduled with Fieldman’s top brass. He’d mentioned it to her, of course, but not with the expectation that she would be there, especially after that fiasco in his bedroom. He simply wanted her prepared, in case Derek or some tabloid reporter called to confirm her marriage to Stephen. As of yet, word had not leaked out. So it shocked him tremendously when she walked through the door to his office fifteen minutes before nine o’clock. She looked fresh and lovely in a tailored silk suit the color of rich cream, her hair swept back and held in a pearl clip at the nape of her neck. He immediately wished she’d worn it loose.
“I hope I’m not late,” she said, casting Stephen a rueful glance. Then she smiled brilliantly before adding, “I haven’t been getting much sleep lately, so I’m afraid I didn’t hear the alarm go off.”
Derek and Marguerite had just settled into their chairs, sipping coffee, clearly pleased with themselves. At Catherine’s arrival Derek bobbled his beverage, sending a good portion of it down the front of his snowy shirt.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, scowling as he tried to mop up the mess. “We have an important meeting in just a few minutes. Anything you want to discuss with me will have to wait until later.”
“Yes, dear,” Marguerite said, trying to work up a look of sympathy on her frozen face. “It’s really poor form