“Of course not.” Owen managed to keep a straight face as he clicked the doors open on the Toyota. “We’ll stop on the way and get some ice cream.” Pickles he had already. “Then, when we get there, you can rest while I start moving boxes.”
“It’s not your job to move my stuff.”
“I’m your husband. Of course it is.”
She was quiet after that, while he opened the car door, put her inside, and got in on the other side. She didn’t speak again until they were out of the parking lot and on their way down the street. Maybe that word—husband—had affected her the same way it had affected him.
He was her husband. She was his wife.
And when they got home, he’d be moving her into his spare bedroom.
He cleared his throat. “While I’m dragging stuff from one condo to the other, we can order the pizza and have them deliver it. That way I won’t have to waste time picking it up.”
Kaylee nodded.
“And while you’re resting on the couch, you can start looking for an obstetrician. Any ideas who you want to see? Can your regular doctor or gynecologist recommend someone?”
“No,” Kaylee said. “I haven’t been getting my checkups regularly, since I haven’t had medical benefits. I don’t really have a doctor.”
“We’ll find you one. The city’s full of them.” And now that she’d have health care, good health care, she’d have her pick.
She nodded. “Thank you for this.”
He glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at him, but was busy pleating the skirt of her dress in her lap. It was a white dress, summery, with a scoop-neck and a swirly skirt. More romantic than he’d have expected, having seen the kind of clothes she usually wore. She was more the tight jeans and cropped tops type than the virginal white dress. He’d actually been a bit afraid she’d meet him at the door in something inappropriate—even if their marriage was a sham, they still had to keep up appearances—and he’d been very surprised to see her choice. She looked... if not like an ingénue, at least a little bit like a bride.
And very, very pretty.
“You’re welcome.” His voice came out a little froggy, and he had to clear his throat. “Nice dress.”
“I’ve had it a while,” Kaylee said. “Just never wore it much. It’s very... sweet.”
“Something wrong with sweet?”
She glanced at him, a quick look under her lashes. “Most guys don’t seem to appreciate sweet. They like hot better.”
Owen shrugged. “I like hot as much as the next guy. But sometimes sweet is nice too. Depends on the occasion.”
She nodded. They drove to the grocery store in silence, and went in for ice cream and—since they were there—milk and cereal and bananas and a few other staples.
“You’re eating all right, aren’t you?” Owen asked when they were back in the car and on their way to the townhouse. Home.
She nodded. “I drink a lot of milk and I try to eat vegetables and fruit. No alcohol. That’s one reason I was actually happy to lose the job at Peckers. It was hard to be around so many people smoking and drinking every night.”
“I don’t,” Owen said. And clarified, “Smoke. I drink sometimes. But I won’t do it in front of you.”
“It’s OK,” Kaylee answered. “I don’t want you to change your life for me. I mean, any more than you already have. Just pretend I’m not there.”
Easier said than done, especially when he was looking forward to—and halfway dreading—watching her wander around his condo in her underwear.
But since he couldn’t tell her that, he just nodded.
“What do you like to do?” Kaylee asked. “When you don’t work? I mean, are you home a lot? Do you have a lot of friends you like to hang out with? Do you have people over a lot?”
“I’ve lived next door to you for five months. Don’t you think you would have noticed if I did?” Or maybe she just hadn’t ever paid much attention to him. Unlike what he’d done with her.
Shit, he sounded like a stalker, didn’t he? Better make sure she didn’t realize how closely he’d kept an eye on her.
“I haven’t been there much,” Kaylee shrugged. “I always used to work nights. You weren’t home when I left, and you were probably asleep when I came home.”
Maybe. Not necessarily. Sometimes he’d stayed up to see whether she brought a guy home. Most often she didn’t, but it had happened once or twice, and the sounds from next door had kept him up most of the night, writhing with envy.
“No,” Owen said. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I’ve only been in town a few months.” And his coworkers at Norris tended to stay clear of him after hours, not surprisingly. “I grew up in Franklin. My mother’s from here, and my grandfather, but my father’s from there.”
Kaylee nodded. “I’m from Durham, north of Atlanta. I’ve been here two years.”
“And have you made a lot of friends?”
“Not so many that you’d notice,” Kaylee said honestly. “Melody and Alana, and that’s pretty much it.”
“You didn’t want them to come to the courthouse?” Was she ashamed of him? Afraid her friends would think she was crazy for marrying him?
“I’m sure they’re working,” Kaylee said. “And...” She hesitated.
Owen glanced at her. “And?” Didn’t she think he was handsome enough, or rich enough, even for a sham marriage?
She flushed. “I kind of... wanted to keep it to myself for a little while.”
He nodded. He kind of wanted to keep it to himself, too. Right now Kaylee was his, nobody else’s. Like a favorite rock he’d found on the way home from school, he wanted to keep her in a box with a lid and peek at her and enjoy having her all to himself before he shared her with anyone else.
Sick bastard.
They drove the rest of the way home in silence, and he carried the groceries in while Kaylee went next door to her own condo and changed out of the white dress. When she came back, she was dressed in leggings and an oversized shirt, and carrying an armful of clothes still on their hangers.
“I’ll take those.” Owen jumped to help, but she held on.
“If I’m going to live here, I have to find my way around. Which one is my room?”
“The one in the back,” Owen said, following her up the stairs, arms out and ready to catch her, in case she stumbled. “Unless you want the room in the front?”
“Is that your room?”
He nodded. And then said, when he realized she couldn’t see him without looking over her shoulder and risking a misstep, “Yeah.”
“I’m not going to take over your bedroom.”
Too bad.
She gained the top of the stairs and headed down the hallway. Everything was the same here as in the condo on the other side of the wall, except mirror imaged. She’d slept in the room on the other side of the wall from his, on her side. It was slightly bigger than the bedroom in the back, and he would have been happy to give it up for her, but his furniture and clothes were already there, and since he’d had to fit his desk in, too, now that he’d lost his home office, he really needed the extra space.
And it was only for six months. She’d be comfortable enough. It beat sleeping on a friend’s sofa or at the homeless shelter.
Chapter Eight
HE HAD GOOD taste, Kaylee thought, looking around at what was now her room. A ten by ten box, slightly smaller than the master bedroom in the front, with a double window looking out over a line of trees, blushing red and orange now that it was October. The walls were the same pure white that she’d had next door, so maybe he hadn’t had the time or inclination to paint. But unlike the person she’d rented her apartment from—furnished—Owen had gone out of his way to make what must be his guestroom look pretty and inviting.
Feminine, even, when there was nothing feminine about him, or about the rest of his home.
Not that it looked like a frat house or anything. He had good taste, and Norris Industries must pay him pretty w
ell, because everything looked brand new and like it was good quality. But the furniture downstairs was manly: big, overstuffed leather sofa, dark wood coffee table, big screen TV. Pub table and chairs in the dining room. The door to his bedroom had been open a crack, and she’d snuck a peek on the way past, just enough to glimpse a king sized bed and matching chest of drawers, and a desk with a computer squeezed into a corner.
The room he was giving her had probably been his office.
Although she couldn’t tell by looking at it now. It looked like a bedroom. A very girly bedroom. Queen bed with a pale blue watered silk comforter, nicer quality than anything she’d ever owned in her life. Matching white chest of drawers over by the wall. A rocking chair in the corner—for her to rock the baby to sleep?
She turned to him. “Is this for me?”
He nodded. “Bedroom in the back. Like I told you.”
“But you bought this for me. Didn’t you?” There was no way it had looked like this before she agreed to move in with him. It wasn’t like he had girls staying over a lot. She’d lived next to him for more than five months. She’d never seen him bring a woman home. Other than her, that one time when they’d shared a pizza and watched a movie downstairs in the living room.
Maybe he had a sister? One who stayed with him sometimes? And this was her room?
That made a lot more sense. Of course he hadn’t done it for her. Marrying her was more than enough, he wouldn’t go to all this trouble, too.
Would he?
“Yeah.” He sounded embarrassed.
“When did you have time?” She’d been at home all morning today, and no one had delivered furniture to his place.
“Saturday,” Owen said.
“That was before I said yes.”
He grinned. “I’m an optimist.”
Obviously. She looked back at the room. “Thank you.” It came out with a hiccup, because she was fighting tears.
“You’re welcome.” He put a hand on her shoulder for a second, the touch and warmth comforting, before he took the armful of clothes from her and headed for the closet. “Make yourself at home,” he told her over his shoulder. “I’ll go change and then start moving boxes.”
“I can help.”
He shook his head. “Not in your condition. You just go sit on the sofa and start making lists. By the end of the day tomorrow, I want you to have scheduled an appointment with a doctor for a pregnancy checkup.”
“Yes, sir.” It just slipped out, she couldn’t help it.
He looked chastised. “Sorry. It’s just... that’s what this is all about, right? Getting medical benefits for the baby?”
Was it?
She’d thought so, although when he’d kissed her earlier—when she’d kissed him back—she’d felt like maybe it was about something else. Something more. Maybe he hadn’t just tried to do her a favor. Maybe he liked her, a little.
But it was probably just in her mind. He was waiting for her to answer, and he looked worried. She was the one who had deepened the kiss. Maybe he thought she was planning to pursue him now. That she didn’t realize he’d only kissed her because he had to, because the county clerk and hired witnesses would wonder why, if he didn’t.
She smiled. “Of course it is. And I’m grateful. For everything. You’re a good friend.”
“Right,” Owen said. He turned to the door. “You just settle in and get comfortable. I’ll get changed and start moving your stuff. When you’re ready to come downstairs we’ll order the pizza.”
He didn’t wait for her answer, just passed her, ducked through the door, and disappeared into his own room. The door shut behind him with a soft but final click.
AFTER AN HOUR of carrying boxes from Kaylee’s apartment to his own, Owen had simmered down a little, and come to terms with the fact that she considered him a good friend. Looking at it optimistically, it was more than he’d had just a few days ago. Then she would have probably told him he was a good neighbor.
Then again, he wasn’t her neighbor anymore. Now he was her husband.
And she was his wife, sleeping in the other room.
He was an idiot.
But as he walked back and forth, dropping off boxes and watching her open them and scatter the contents through her space, making it look lived in, he couldn’t hold onto his disappointment. Instead, excitement bubbled up inside him. She was beautiful, she was his wife, and she was here, in his townhouse, stuck with him for the next six months. With that much time and opportunity, surely he could make her see him as more than just a friend. Couldn’t he?
When the last box had been moved from next door and was stowed in the hall closet—extra bedding and blankets, things she didn’t need because he’d already outfitted her bed with the most beautiful sheets and comforter he’d been able to find—he turned to her. “Hungry?”
She nodded. “Starving.”
“You should have said something.”
“You were busy,” Kaylee said. “Moving my boxes.”
“I would have stopped if I’d realized you wanted me to.”
“I didn’t want to be even more demanding.”
He shook his head. “You’re not being demanding. You’re pregnant. You have to eat.” He reached for the phone. “Artichokes and olives, right?”
She nodded. He placed the order and disconnected. “Twenty minutes.”
“I’ll finish putting away the rest of my stuff,” Kaylee said.
“D’you need help? I don’t want you carrying anything heavy.”
She shook her head. “It’s just underwear and other little things. I’ll be fine.”
Owen nodded. “In that case, I think I’ll take a shower before the pizza gets here.” A cold one. And not just because carrying boxes had built up a sweat, but because the idea of Kaylee’s underwear—silky, frothy bits of nothing?—brought that always-budding arousal to full bloom, and he needed to do something to keep it in check. “Maybe there’s a movie on, that we can watch while we eat.”
She nodded, teeth in her bottom lip and her eyes big. Impulsively, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry. It’ll be OK.”
Her hair was silky and cool, her skin warm, and he allowed his hand to linger for a second before dropping. Kaylee took a step back. It could have been his imagination, but he thought there might be a touch of extra color in her cheeks.
“I’ll... um...” She glanced over her shoulder.
Owen nodded and watched her pass through her own door before heading for the bathroom and a lot of gallons of cold water.
HE CAME DOWNSTAIRS in time to pay for the pizza. The doorbell rang as he was on his way down the stairs, and he called out to Kaylee to stay where she was, curled up on the sofa in the living room with the television turned to... ESPN?
“The Braves are playing,” she told him over her shoulder when he appeared in the doorway with the pizza box. “Do you mind?”
Of course not. What guy ever minded watching baseball? He wasn’t a particular Braves fan—he’d always had a soft spot for the Yankees, truth be told—but he shouldn’t be surprised that Kaylee was, after she’d told him she’d grown up near Atlanta.
He put the box on the table. “What d’you want to drink? Milk? Soda? Juice?”
“Milk,” Kaylee said, “please.”
“D’you mind if I have a beer?”
She glanced at him. “Of course not. I told you, I don’t want you to change your life for me.”
Too late for that. “I’ll be right back.”
He left her there, on the leather sofa with her hair flowing over one of the arms. But when he came back with a roll of paper towels tucked under one arm, a glass of milk in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, she had unwound from her comfortable curled-up position and was sitting stiffly upright on one end of the couch, leaning on the arm she’d had her head against earlier.
Owen glanced at the TV screen. Was something exciting going on? So exciting that she hadn’t
been able to relax?
But no. It was the bottom of the 8th, the Braves were up by two runs, and nothing seemed to be happening.
He handed her the glass of milk and put the roll of paper towels on the table next to the—still closed—pizza box. “What’s wrong? Did you lose your appetite?”
“I didn’t want to presume,” Kaylee said, her cheeks pink.
“This is your home. If there’s food on the table—or in the fridge—it’s there to be eaten.” He took a seat on the couch. Not so close that she’d feel crowded, but not far enough away to hug the arm, either. And since she didn’t move, he flipped the lid on the box himself, and fished out a piece of pizza, liberally deco-rated with olives and artichoke hearts.
Yum.
Kaylee leaned forward and grabbed a piece of her own and bit into it. Owen followed suit. It didn’t turn out to be as bad as he’d feared, although he’d be happier when Kaylee’s cravings extended to pepperoni and sausage again.
“I didn’t know you liked baseball,” he ventured after a few minutes.
She shrugged and swallowed. “It’s not the game so much as the pants.”
“The pants?”
But she didn’t say anything else, just blushed. Owen turned to look at the screen. The pants, huh?
“I played in college,” he volunteered after a minute.
Kaylee slanted a look at him. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Although not very well. He hadn’t gone to university on a baseball scholarship. He’d spent most of his time in the bullpen. “I’m sure I have the uniform somewhere. If you want, I’ll dig it out sometime. See what you think.” He grinned.
It took a second, but then she smiled back, a bit tentatively.
“Let me guess,” he added. “You were a cheerleader?”
She looked like one, with her blonde hair and upturned nose and big... smile.
But she shook her head. “Only the popular girls were cheerleaders. I was trailer trash.” She didn’t look at him as she said it, and he didn’t pursue the topic, since he could tell, from the brittle undertone of her voice, that it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about.
Friends With Benefits Page 6