She cooked?
Beside her, the state-of-the-art dishwasher was open and there were actually dishes inside. He didn’t think a spoiled heiress even knew what a dishwasher was, much less knew how to use one.
Was it possible that he’d misjudged her?
“Good morning,” he said.
She turned to him and smiled a sweet smile that made him believe she was genuinely happy to see him. “Good morning.”
She was wearing the silk gown she’d had on last night and her feet were bare. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was free of makeup. She looked young and sweet and pretty, but from the neck down, she was all woman. Full and firm breasts, perfectly proportioned hips. He had to fight the urge to scoop her up in his arms and carry her back to bed. Having a little occasional fun was one thing, but they shouldn’t overdo it. He didn’t want her getting the wrong idea.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I made breakfast.”
“Starved,” he said. They had skipped dinner last night. “Can I help?”
“I’ve got it. Do you want coffee?”
“I can get it,” he said, but she shooed him away.
“Go sit down. Relax.”
Ooookay.
He took a seat in the nook by a window overlooking the pool, while she filled a cup that was already sitting by the coffeemaker.
“Milk or sugar?” she asked.
“Black, please.”
She laughed lightly and shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s just weird,” she said, crossing the room and setting the cup in front of him. “We’re married and I don’t even know how you take your coffee. I guess this just wasn’t the way I imagined my life.”
Amen to that. He never imagined himself ever getting married. He would have been happy playing the field the rest of his life. Having relationships on his terms. Living life by his own rules.
She walked back to the stove and he was mesmerized watching her hips sway, the curve of her behind under the silk gown. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was commando under there. If so, it wouldn’t take much to lift up the gown and pull her into his lap…
He gave his head a shake. He needed to stop with the fantasies and keep his hands to himself.
She scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate, added a few links of sausage and then set the plate in front of him. “Bon appétit,” she said, then sat down across from him and rested her chin on her clasped hands.
“Aren’t you eating?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I had something when I got up.”
He stabbed a forkful of eggs and shoveled it into his mouth…and nearly spit it back out. The eggs were so salty he almost gagged. He forced himself to swallow and chased it down with a guzzle of coffee, but almost choked. The coffee was so strong that if he didn’t already have hair on his chest, it would have put some there. He tried to cover the bitter flavor with a bite of sausage, but it was so overcooked and dried out he could barely chew it.
The meal was a total and complete disaster. And one thing was absolutely clear. Lexi did not know how to cook.
If he had a choice, he would dump the whole thing down the sink, or do like he had when he was a kid and feed it to the dog. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a dog, and she was gazing at him with such a hopeful look on her face, he didn’t have the heart to hurt her feelings. He pasted on a smile and said, “Delicious.”
He wasn’t sure what brought on this sudden attempt at domesticity, but, mind-boggling as it was, he gave her credit for the effort. He forced down every last bite of eggs and sausage, stopping just short of licking his plate clean, and he even asked for a refill on his coffee.
“That was really good. Thanks.” He stood to clear his place, but she stopped him.
“You sit. I’ll do it.”
She cleared away his dirty dishes and set them in the dishwasher. “I was thinking of making lamb for dinner,” she said.
If it was even half as bad as breakfast, he didn’t think his stomach could take it. “Why don’t you let me cook dinner?”
She frowned. “Why?”
He could see that he was walking a very delicate line here. One wrong step and he would hurt her feelings. “It’s only fair that we split the household chores while we’re here. Don’t you think?”
“But I’m your wife. I’m supposed to take care of you.”
That was the part he didn’t get. Hadn’t they agreed that this wasn’t a real marriage? That this was a business deal? This was the last thing he expected. “Why, Lexi?”
The space between her brows furrowed. “Because that’s what wives do.”
Real wives maybe, not pretend ones. Maybe she had caught a bug and wasn’t feeling well, or she was a little off due to jet lag. “You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
What was he supposed to say to that? You can take care of me in the bedroom anytime you like, but otherwise leave me alone? That was just…sleazy.
It was obvious that a sexual relationship was a really bad idea. And he hoped like hell that this desire for domestic bliss would wear thin. They would get back to Houston and settle into a life of servants and chefs, and live amicable but very separate lives.
“If it means that much to you, you can make dinner,” he said.
She sat back down at the table across from him, wearing a smile so full of relief it worried him.
What the hell was going on?
“So, what did you want to do today?” she asked. “We could walk to the village, or hire a car to take us on a tour of the island.”
“Actually, I was thinking of just hanging out by the pool.”
“Oh. Well, that sounds like fun.”
He meant alone. As in, by himself. He hadn’t even entertained the idea that she would want to spend the day with him. He figured they would just go their separate ways. But what was he supposed to say? Leave me the hell alone?
This was just too weird.
He rose from his chair and she stood up, too. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“And I have to clean this mess. Meet you outside in thirty minutes?”
She looked so eager, so desperate to please him, all he could do was smile and say, “I can hardly wait.” But he felt as if he’d climbed out of bed into an episode of The Twilight Zone.
When Mitch was gone, Lexi collapsed back down into her chair, dropped her head in her hands and blew out a relieved breath. Talk about stressful. Making Mitch think this marriage was real was going to be a lot harder than she’d anticipated. Especially if he refused to cooperate. She had the feeling that in her attempt to impress him with her domestic skills, she might have overplayed her hand just the tiniest bit.
Thank goodness Tara had answered the phone when Lexi called—considering it had been after midnight, Houston time—and knew how to make scrambled eggs. Although it had still taken Lexi a dozen eggs and six tries to get it right. But part of that was due to the fact that she wasn’t sure how