Surrogate and Wife (6 page)

“T
his isn't what we talked about,” Kate muttered through clenched teeth forty minutes later as they stood in the private dining room of the 7
^th
Street Bistro. The bistro was one of the trendy new restaurants that had opened on the square across from the courthouse.

Tonight the private room was filled with the guests who had come to help them celebrate. Champagne toasts were being made to their happiness. Large platters of appetizers were being passed around.

Jake held a glass of champagne in one hand but kept his other arm draped over Kate's shoulder, partly for appearance's sake and partly to keep her by his side. The minute he let go, he knew she'd pull away from him.

“I hope this wasn't your idea,” she said under her breath.

He'd guided her to the back of the room by a table laden with a two-tier cake and a dozen or so packages wrapped in shades of white paper. They stood slightly
apart from the crowd, so there was no chance of being overheard. But they were being closely watched.

“Not a chance.” He leaned in to brush a kiss on her temple and caught the scent of her shampoo. Something sweet and fruity. Damn, she smelled good.

She nudged her shoulder against his chest. “Stop doing that,” she hissed.

“What?”

“Being all lovey-dovey. It's ridiculous.”

“This is our wedding reception,” he pointed out. “It'd be ridiculous if we
weren't
affectionate.”

She made a disgruntled noise. “So, if this wasn't your idea, then whose was it?”

“Your friend Kevin. He's the one responsible.” Just then Kevin caught his eye from across the room and smiled broadly. Not wanting to spoil the guy's fun, Jake raised his glass in salute before downing a healthy gulp.

“I'm going to kill him,” she muttered. “When this is over, I'm definitely going to kill him.”

“He just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

He studied her, genuinely curious about her reaction

“Nice?” Kate scoffed. “Nice would have been arranging for me to have the afternoon off. This is torture.”

“Ah, it's not so bad.”

“Not so bad? Half the town is here.”

“Thirty people is hardly half the town.” She merely glared at him, so he added, “Try to look on the bright side—”

“The bright side?” she asked sarcastically before he could finish.

He ignored her. “At least now everyone knows about the wedding. That was the idea, wasn't it?”

Turning to face him, she said, “Speaking of things
people know about. All of this might not have been your idea, but you knew about it, didn't you?”

He could lie, but what would be the point? “As soon as Kevin found out we were getting married, he started planning this. I found out on…oh, about Tuesday, I guess.”

“And you didn't put a stop to it?”

“Don't you think that would have seemed strange? Besides, what's the harm?”

“What's the harm?” she asked incredulously. “If we're not careful—if we slip up at all, any one of these people could put two and two together and figure out that we barely know each other. And that we're certainly not in love.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He nodded toward the room. “Look at them. Do any of them look suspicious? Even a little bit?”

She twisted to study the crowd, carefully examining each face. He allowed her a few seconds of paranoia before nudging her chin with his knuckle so she looked back at him. “The only thing that might make people suspicious is if we don't act like happy newlyweds.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she were considering a protest. Finally she snapped her mouth shut and just glared at him. She looked so damn cute when she was mad, he simply couldn't resist kissing her petulant lips.

Unlike the kiss after the ceremony, this time, she didn't put up much resistance. Too surprised, he supposed. Her lips parted beneath his almost instantly, and with one quick swipe of his tongue he felt her defiance give way completely.

She tasted just faintly of champagne.

When they first arrived at the reception, someone
had thrust a flute into her hand, and ever since then she'd been dutifully raising it to her mouth with every toast. Thankfully, no one else noticed the glass was full. Still, a few drops of the champagne clung to her lips.

The taste, so unexpected and sweet, surprised him. Just like she did.

He pulled back from her and studied her face. For a second she looked slightly shell-shocked. He suspected he did, too.

Then she shook it off and said, “Why did you do that?”

“Kiss you?”

She nodded.

“Because, we just got married. There are thirty people in this room who think we're so in love we couldn't wait long enough to plan a church wedding. Therefore, I should look like I can't keep my hands off you.”

Doubt flickered in her eyes and for a second, he thought she wasn't going to buy it. Finally she nodded. And with an expression of resigned determination, she slipped her arm around his waist and turned to face the crowded room, where the wait staff was just beginning to serve an early dinner.

He felt a surge of relief that she hadn't pressed him for another explanation. Sure, the one he'd given her worked, but it wasn't the whole truth.

Just now he'd kissed her because he wanted to. The ruse they were perpetrating hadn't even entered his mind.

He was in for a hell of a long six months.

 

Kate awakened to the unfamiliar sounds of someone moving around in her kitchen. After a split second of alarm, she remembered that someone was Jake.

With a groan she rolled over and buried her head in
her pillow, wishing she could go back to sleep. Or wake up to find she'd just had a nightmare.

She'd lain awake half the night, trying to find fault with Jake's logic. But no matter how she approached the problem, his solution was the only one. Whenever they were in public, they'd have to appear to be in love. Which meant more touches, more kisses and more restless nights knowing he was sleeping just a few feet away in her tiny bungalow-style house's only other bedroom.

After a few more seconds of squeezing her eyes closed, she sat up to face another morning without coffee. Boy, could she have used the caffeine this morning. At least her morning sickness had finally passed.

She had her arms halfway into the sleeves of her robe before it occurred to her that she really didn't want Jake seeing her in her pj's and robe. There was way too much intimacy between them as it was.

So she took the time to dress in a casual pair of pants and long sleeved shirt that she knotted low on her waist to distract from the slight bulge. Then she made a quick trip to the bathroom to twist her unruly hair into a semblance of an elegant knot and to run a toothbrush over her teeth.

She found Jake in the kitchen, barefoot, dressed in jeans and a faded black T-shirt, scrambling eggs. Lots of eggs.

When she cleared her throat, he glanced over his shoulder. “Mornin', Katie.”

Letting the annoying nickname slide, she said, “I don't know what pregnancy books you've been reading, but although pregnant women do eat a lot, they generally don't eat two dozen eggs for breakfast.”

He chuckled. “God, I hope not. I couldn't afford to feed you. These are for the guys. Besides, it's not just
eggs, it's breakfast tacos.” He lifted the spatula from the frying pan and pointed toward the oven. “The first batch is in the oven. Help yourself.”

“Breakfast tacos?” she repeated dreamily. In her mind, nothing beat the sheer joy from consuming eggs, bacon, melted Colby-jack and spicy salsa all wrapped up in a warm tortilla.

“Yep. Those are bacon, egg and cheese. These'll be sausage, egg, and potato, if you want to wait. And there's decaf coffee in the pot.”

She was already fishing a couple of tacos out of the oven when he got to the part about the coffee. “Decaf? Is that what you normally drink?”

“Naw. Normally, I'm a double-shot espresso kinda guy. But Beth mentioned you'd given up caffeine. I figured, if you could do it, so could I.”

“My gosh, you're a saint for giving up coffee if you don't have to.” She dropped the tacos onto a plate and began gingerly peeling away the hot tinfoil he'd wrapped them in. “Where'd you get all this food? I could have sworn I didn't have five dozen eggs in the fridge.”

“I went out to the store this morning.”

She glanced at the clock. “It's only 8:30. How long have you been up?”

“Let's just say that inflatable mattress you blew up for me last night wasn't quite made for someone my size.”

“Ah. Sorry. Not having a proper guest bed means unwanted guests don't stay for long. Sorry you had to pay the price though. On the bright side, it does give us an excuse to move your bed and furniture into my guest bedroom.”

There hadn't been time before their wedding night to move in his bed. Which had left either the sofa or the in
flatable mattress. “By the way, when you said these were for ‘the guys' which ‘guys' did you mean exactly?”

“The guys from the station.” He dumped the scrambled eggs into the bowl of already cooked sausage and potatoes.

“Just so I know what to expect—” she spooned salsa onto her tacos “—will ‘the guys' be coming over every Saturday morning for breakfast?”

“No.”

“Oh, that's good.”

She'd been teasing, but as she took a bike of taco, it occurred to her: What did she really know about Jake, other than the fact that he was an arson investigator and had been Stew's best friend since the tenth grade? And he made kick-butt breakfast tacos.

Everything else was supposition and extrapolation. And yet she'd invited him into her home—into her life—for the next six months. What in the world had she gotten herself into?

And did it really matter as long as he kept feeding her like this? she mused as she took another bite of taco.

With her foot she nudged a kitchen chair away from the table so it faced the counter where Jake worked. She lowered herself into the chair, held a napkin under her chin so she didn't drip on her shirt and took another bite.

Man, oh, man, she could get used to this.

Freshly made breakfast tacos. Hot coffee waiting for her. Jake sure knew the way to a woman's heart.

“The guys are helping to move my stuff in. I offered to feed them as payment.” As he stirred the ingredients together, he studied her over his shoulder. “I told them—”

She looked at him over her taco. “What?”

“That's what you're wearing?” His eyebrows were raised, his expression dubious.

She glanced down, just to verify that her pants and shirt hadn't somehow morphed into a Big Bird costume. “What's wrong with what I have on?”

He looked her up and down with a thoroughness she found more than a little disconcerting. “Nothing. I guess.”

She looked down at her clothes again, then back up at him. “Seriously, what's wrong with this?”

He shrugged, turning his attention back to filling the tortillas. “It's just a little formal for a Saturday morning, don't you think?”

“No, obviously I didn't think so or I wouldn't have put it on.” She frowned at his back and added wryly, “But compared to your jeans and ratty T-shirt, I guess I am dressed somewhat formally.”

He gave her a cocky grin over his shoulder. “Hey, it's moving day. Jeans and a ratty T-shirt are perfect.”

“Yes, well, I don't have any jeans,” she mumbled around a mouthful of taco.

He stilled instantly, then slowly turned to face her, an expression of mock horror on his face. “You don't own any jeans?”

She lifted her chin defiantly and met his gaze. “No, I don't.”

“You don't own jeans,” he repeated. “That's the damnedest thing I've ever heard. Why don't you own jeans? I'm only asking 'cause you must be the only person in the U.S. under the age of ninety who doesn't.”

For a moment she gritted her teeth, then finally admitted, “If you must know, jeans don't flatter my particular body shape.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

“It's not stu—”

But he was laughing too hard for her to finish.

“What? You think they make your butt look too big or something?” When she didn't answer, he stopped laughing and studied her. “That's it, isn't it? You think jeans make your butt look big.”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.”

He looked her up and down appreciatively. “You don't have to, 'cause I know I'm right. But let me put your mind at ease, Katie. Your butt is most definitely not too big.”

She clenched and unclenched her jaw, unsure what annoyed her more: his use of the nickname Katie or the way his lingering gaze made her breath catch in her chest.

Finally she choked out the only response she could muster without embarrassing herself further. “My butt is not too big. I'll have you know that according to the current standards of the Surgeon General's Office, my pre-pregnancy weight was perfectly in line for someone my height and age.”

He nodded, smiling. “Well, it's good to know the surgeon general and I agree. Now that we've got that settled, we need to do something about your clothes.”

She looked down at herself again. “Isn't that what we've been talking about? Since I don't have any jeans, I don't see that there's much we can do about it.”

He propped his hip against the counter and studied her with his arms crossed over his chest. “No, you're right. But it's not so much your clothes as it is your general appearance.”

“Now you're insulting my ‘general appearance'? What's next—my personal hygiene? My politics?”