The door closed behind her and Dylan groaned and thumped his head against his high-backed chair. She was working on his guilt and trying to make him feel responsible for a situation he had no part in creating.
Still, in a way Katydid was right. It would be selling herself to get the house. She plainly wasn’t in love with any of those suitors she’d talked about, and they would expect far more from the marriage than she wanted to give.
Suddenly he couldn’t bear the thought of sweet little Katydid submitting to a man’s attentions simply because her grandmother had been a conniving witch. There had to be another way. The Douglases’ small social circle wasn’t populated with a single man worth a red cent in terms of character. And several of those guys weren’t very nice beneath their silk shirts and monogrammed money clips.
Dylan rushed to his feet and hurried through the outer office. He caught up with Kate on the street below just as she was getting into her disreputable car. Why she insisted on driving the beat-up old Volkswagen Beetle was beyond him. Granted, it was a classic, but the least she could do was have the thing properly restored. He supposed it was her way of rebelling.
“Kate, wait.”
She turned and the look on her face made him wince.
“What? More advice?” Her chin rose higher. “Believe me, I have all the advice I need from you.”
“Please, Katydid, we need to talk.”
“I think we’ve said everything. Of course, I won’t be bothering you anymore to buy fund-raising tickets. I don’t suppose that my husband, whoever he turns out to be, would like it anymore than he’d like you showing up to watch something on the VCR with us.”
Damn.
Dylan’s fingers itched with the illogical urge to throttle Kate’s theoretical husband. It would be a pain tying himself to a spoiled princess for a year, but on the other hand, he’d watched after Kate since they were children. Like the time he’d talked her down from the roof of her parents’ six-car garage after she’d convinced herself that she was really a fairy with invisible wings.
“Kate, there isn’t one man you’ve dated who you feel some affection for?”
Something flickered deep in her eyes—an emotion he’d never seen before—but it disappeared and he decided he must have been mistaken.
“There’s no one else.”
He let out a breath. “Maybe you could suggest the same arrangement to one of those guys, and they’d agree.”
“But you’re the only one I trust,” she said simply.
Oh, God.
He supposed it really was that simple. “Look, I’ll come over tonight, and we’ll talk about it some more. Talk, that’s all. I’m not making any promises.”
Kate hesitated, wanting to push, but she knew it would just make Dylan more unwilling, which was the last thing she wanted now that he seemed to be considering her proposal. “All right. I’ll order Chinese.”
“Nope, the last time you got calamari. Damn stuff was so rubbery my jaw ached for a week. I’ll bring pizza.”
She nodded and put her key in the lock. Asking a man to marry her was much harder than getting him to help her run away from home or go to another boring fundraiser. She’d like to believe that Dylan—who said he was allergic to marriage—was really crazy about her and didn’t know it. But Kate had learned not to fool herself. She just prayed that living together for a year would convince him that she was the love of his life.
If necessary, she’d resort to drastic measures. How hard could it be to seduce a man who’s bumping up against you day and night? But then, maybe she didn’t want to know. Dylan had always been depressingly resistant to her in that way.
“I’ll see you later,” she said.
“Yeah, maybe we can discuss why you won’t get a proper car for yourself.”
Kate patted the steering wheel of the VW. She loved her car. It had character. She’d bought it with the advance from the sale of her first children’s book. Hardly anybody knew she worked; it was one of the few things that was hers alone. Dylan might find out if they got married, but then again, maybe not.
It wasn’t like they’d be sharing a bedroom or anything. Darn it.
Chapter Two
“It’s the pizza guy.”
Kate’s pulse jumped at the sound of Dylan’s voice coming from the other side of the front door. She took a last look at herself in the mirror and smoothed a strand of hair at her temple.
She’d taken great pains to dress casually in off-the-rack clothing. There wasn’t any need to remind him about her family’s money. Of course, he was very successful now, and his oldest brother’s current financial status made the Douglas fortune look like pocket change, but that didn’t alter the fact that at one time she’d been rich when he was poor.
“I hope that pizza is still hot,” she said, opening the door. “I don’t tip for cold deliveries.”
Dylan grinned. “You shouldn’t open the door without being sure it isn’t some weirdo on the other side.”
“I knew it was you, so there wasn’t any doubt it was a weirdo.”
“You have a real way about you, Katydid.”
Kate stepped back so he could enter. Dylan always seemed so big to her, maybe because he topped her by at least ten inches and eighty pounds of muscle. Lord, he gave her a weak feeling in the tummy. He wasn’t as perfectly handsome as his brothers, but he had a raw sexuality that was powerful and completely irresistible.
A secret smile tugged at her mouth.
Dylan’s rugged good looks caused a stir wherever he went. It wasn’t any wonder that the women he met at fund-raisers were curious about him, and more than a little envious when she showed up on his arm. Of course, the old guard of her grandmother’s generation could be snotty, but she’d seen them bowled over by his charm, nevertheless.
“I brought some wine,” Dylan said, waving a bag.
“Okay,” Kate said unenthusiastically.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I know you prefer milk with pizza.” Instead of a wine bottle, he pulled a carton of milk from the bag.
Just like that, he made her feel ten years old again. Milk was for little girls and kittens, not sophisticated women.
“Maybe I’ll have beer tonight,” she muttered, walking into her kitchen. The converted apartment over the garage was the one place on her grandmother’s estate that she liked. The garage had once been a carriage house with living quarters above, and it was hidden from the main house by a stand of trees. She had a private entrance to the estate, so her friends had been able to visit without being scrutinized by Nanna Jane.
Really, her grandmother should have worked for the CIA. She would have made a great spy.
Dylan set the pizza box on the old farm-kitchen table she’d rescued from a junk heap. Kate automatically opened the cupboard to get some plates, then shook her head. Dylan always said regular people didn’t eat pizza off plates—they just grabbed a napkin and chowed down.
“Have you…mmm…decided…” Her voice trailed, instincts telling her that he wasn’t ready to discuss anything beyond dinner. “That is, do you want beer or wine? I have your favorite beer, and I think I have some red wine, too.”
Dylan restrained his grin. “Milk is fine. You don’t need to have a drink on my account.”
“I’m