Under other circumstances she might have laughed, but not now. She glared at him. She was trying to rescue the embarrassing situation, but he wasn’t going to let her. “Jack is not my husband and never was,” she stated, feeling defeated already. And we were never together on any tropical island, either, she wanted to add, but didn’t. They’d only looked at travel brochures and fantasized a lot.
Sam stretched out his long legs and made himself more comfortable in his chair. “He seemed to think you two had eloped.”
“We did.” Oh, God she didn’t even want to think about her stupidity. She gulped down some water.
“You did?”
“We started out eloping, we just didn’t finish.”
“Ah,” he said meaningfully. “What happened?”
She’d seen the error of her ways in the nick of time. Jack’s car had expired from old age in the middle of a small town in New Jersey. Stranded by the road without money, listening to Jack suggesting they steal the car parked nearby, she’d finally seen the light.
Kim decided to give Sam the short version.
“His car broke down, and I got a headache.”
He nodded understandingly. “That’ll do it.”
He was laughing at her. She’d had enough. Enough of him, enough of men in general. She came to her feet.
“You might as well go, too, Sam. There is no point in wasting your time here.”
“You promised me dinner.”
“I’ll give you money for a hamburger.” Her knees were trembling. She wanted him out. She wanted to be alone to lick her wounds in a dark corner.
One dark eyebrow lifted fractionally. “Why are you angry with me?”
“You’re laughing at me! I hate men,” she added to her own surprise. She had never said that before; it was a rather sweeping statement. “I’m going to ensconce myself in an ashram somewhere and learn to meditate and get in touch with my higher self and forget about men. No more men.”
“I thought you were coming to Java with me.” He took a leisurely drink of wine. He seemed so calm, so relaxed, she couldn’t stand it.
“I imagine you’re seriously regretting your decision, so I’ll let you off the hook.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wished he’d get up and leave. She was feeling dangerously fragile, as if she might break down any minute. It was not a good feeling.
He rose and stood in front of her. “I thought you wanted to go to Java,” he said quietly. “What’s going on here, Kim?”
It was the tone of his voice, the quietness that suddenly made her throat close. Tears pressed behind her eyes. She could not believe it; she wasn’t the weepy type. She hardly ever cried.
And she wasn’t going to do it now, not even standing in the rubble of her hopes. She swallowed the constriction in her throat, blinked her eyes, composed herself. Well, she tried.
“You don’t want somebody like me working for you. Somebody flighty and incompetent who holds company with clowns and derelicts.” To her horror, her voice shook. Then, to her surprise, she heard him laugh.
“Ah, the drama, Kim,” he said. “You didn’t come across as flighty and incompetent at all when you booted those two jokers out the door. That was quite an impressive performance.”
Well, it had been, actually, come to think of it. Her spirits lifted marginally.
Sam took her hand and smiled. “Fix me that dinner you promised me,” he said. “And afterward I’d like to talk about my house.”
For a moment her breath would not come. All she was aware of was his face and the warmth of his big hand holding hers, and his dark eyes as they gazed into hers.
I’m a fool, she thought. I’m such a fool.
“So, who shall we say I am?” she asked. “Your personal assistant? Your interior decorator? Your housekeeper?”
They were sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee. Kim was feeling better, much better. She’d cooked him her delicious little dinner, executed to perfection. He’d studied her portfolio, admired the decor of the loft and they’d discussed his requirements, likes and dislikes concerning dwelling places and their interiors. Her confidence had returned and she was beginning to feel like her normal happy self again.
“Somehow I don’t think anyone will believe that,” he said, giving her an amused look.
She could well imagine what people might think. Personal assistants, interior decorators and housekeepers were readily available locally and importing one from the other side of the world might raise questions. She smiled. “Saying I’m your sister, Yasmina, is not going to work, either.”
He laughed, reaching out to touch her hair. “Not with your coloring, no.”
He only barely touched her head and she hardly felt his hand, yet it seemed such an intimate gesture that her heart turned over in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. She looked into his eyes and couldn’t tear her gaze away. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her, she who had sworn off men.
“I suppose we could say you’re my mistress,” he said evenly, “which is not the truth, but they’d believe it.”
The devilish glint in his eyes belied his level tone and she knew he was playing a game with her.
“Mistress? Me? Not on your life. I’m not going to be a kept woman, not even a pretend one.”
He raised a brow in question. “Why not?”
“I find it distasteful,” she said loftily. “In the extreme.”
“Because it would imply you’d be having a sexual relationship with me?” He leaned back against the sofa cushions, apparently curious rather than offended.
Just like a man not to understand this. She sighed. “No.”
“Oh, good,” he said, quasirelieved. “I was beginning to think you found me unappetizing.”
Oh, sure, she thought, looking at his handsome face, seeing the faint smile.
“Why then?” he asked.
“Because,” she said patiently, “it would imply that I was getting paid or maintained in return for sexual favors.”
“Ah,” he said. “I understand. You have a high moral code.”
A high moral code. It sounded so saintly. She didn’t feel saintly in the least, but if he wanted to think that, okay, why not. She smiled breezily. “My mother taught me well,” she said for good measure.
He laughed. “Of course, I should have known.”
“However,” she went on, “since I’ll be looking for a house and furnishing it and doing all those cozy housewifely things, we could just tell them I’m your wife. It will simplify matters.” She could play the game, too. She smiled innocently.
His eyebrows shot up and she laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry,” she said sunnily, “I have no designs on you.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “That was eleven years ago. Boy did I have designs on you then.”
He nodded in agreement. “You owe me big,” he said with dry humor in his voice.
The answer was not what she had expected. “Owe you?”
“You tempted me mercilessly and I had to be good.”
“You had to be good?”
“You were my friend’s little sister and I was offered hospitality in your home, which was very valuable to me, since your mother was an excellent cook. Needless to say fooling around