Texan’s Wedding-Night Wager / The Oilman’s Baby Bargain: Texan’s Wedding-Night Wager. Michelle Celmer

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СКАЧАТЬ make up for it tonight. Got a load of paperwork to sift through.”

      Cara figured as much. He’d never let his work go, not even for a day. There were times he wouldn’t come to bed until two, the computer more of an enticement than she was. In the morning, she’d wake up to find him gone.

      She remembered those lonely days and nights. Those memories stayed with her and marred the pleasant day she’d just had.

      She remained quiet as Kevin took her back to the hotel, deciding it was a good idea not to invite him in. “I had fun today. Thank you for the invitation.” Her voice stiff and formal, Cara made up for her lack of grace with a little smile.

      Kevin didn’t seem to notice the change in her. “Me, too. It’s been ages since I went to a game.”

      “Because you’re too busy?”

      Kevin weighed her question, studying her. “I know how to delegate work now, Cara,” he said, his tone none too gracious. “I haven’t gone to a game because…hell, you’re gonna make me say it?”

      Stunned, Cara blinked. “Say what?”

      Kevin shook his head and cursed. “Because it’s what we did. Me and you.”

      “Oh.” She wasn’t sure she understood.

      “I went a few times with the guys,” he admitted. Then Kevin’s voice went deep, and he tapped her baseball cap twice, planting it farther down on her forehead. “But they don’t look as cute as you in a baseball cap.”

      Before she could react, Kevin leaned down and kissed her soundly on the lips, putting to shame the kiss they’d shared at the ballpark. After five minutes of making out hot and heavy at her door, Kevin backed away and caught his breath, his eyes devastatingly blue. “I’d better go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

      Cara slumped by the door, not knowing if she was glad he’d left or angry that, once again, his work took precedence over her.

      What difference did it make, anyway?

      Soon she’d be the ex Mrs. Kevin Novak, and what he did or didn’t do with his time wouldn’t matter.

      She clung to that thought and took it to bed with her, trying not to wonder when Kevin would call her again.

      Cara fumed for the next two days. Kevin didn’t call. She knew she should be glad that she’d been given a reprieve from the relentless attention he paid her, yet she thought it all a waste of time. He’d forced her to stay in Houston for two weeks to obtain his signature. She’d put her life on hold for him. She’d made umpteen calls to her dance studio, dealing with problems and making important decisions from her hotel room instead of being where she was most needed.

      Cara looked in the mirror and fidgeted with her unruly mop of hair, finger-combing strands back in place while she debated about going out for dinner or calling room service. Anger bubbled inside and she decided to take a brisk walk to cool off. She picked up her purse just as the hotel phone rang.

      She stared at it for a long while, debating whether to pick up. Finally, she relented. “Hello?” she said, tapping her foot.

      “Hi, Cara.”

      Cara winced when she heard Kevin on the other end. She wished she’d listened to her first instinct and not answered the phone. His voice sounded odd and distant, as if he were calling from a cave. “Where are you?”

      “Home. Do you still make that killer chicken soup?”

      “My grandma’s recipe? Yes, why do you—” Then it dawned on her. Kevin didn’t sound like himself. In fact, she’d never heard him sound so off. She put two and two together. “Are you sick?”

      “You could say that,” he whispered.

      “How sick?”

      “I’ve been in bed for two days and nights, going crazy.”

      Guilt washed over her and Cara was ashamed of how many unpleasant thoughts had entered her mind about Kevin. She had been certain that he’d been playing games and toying with her emotions, telling her he’d call and then deliberately avoiding her.

      “Do you have a fever?”

      “One hundred and two.”

      Oh, man. She softened immediately. “Have you eaten?”

      Certainly a millionaire living in a penthouse would have someone to cook and clean for him.

      “Toast, yesterday. Not much of an appetite. But I’m craving your grandmother’s soup.”

      Cara inhaled sharply. She was hardly Kevin’s nursemaid, but she was still his wife. And his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask, unless he really needed her help. She remembered that Kevin hated being sick, never took a day off to heal and was the worst patient she’d ever seen. “I’ll catch a cab and be right over.”

      “I sent a car for you. You can stop off and get the things you need. He should be there any minute.” Cara sighed. “Kevin, how’d you know I’d come?”

      “I didn’t,” he said, his voice trailing off. Cara backed away from giving him grief—he really sounded ill. “But a man can hope, right?”

      Kevin felt better already just knowing Cara was on her way. He didn’t know what had hit him since he rarely got sick, but he’d been knocked for a loop after taking Cara to the Astros game. He’d spent the next two days in bed, hating every minute of it. His fever had spiked and he hadn’t had a drop of energy. Today, he’d gotten up and worked from his home office until he couldn’t move a muscle. He’d climbed back in bed, cursing, and the only thing he’d thought of besides his rotten luck was Cara.

      In truth, since she’d come back to town she’d consumed his thoughts. His plan for payback was working exceptionally well. Maybe too well, because he’d spent the past two days dreaming of her and the dusky, molten look he put on her face every time they came together. Building up to their one night of lovemaking was killing him, but he enjoyed every torturous minute.

      Tonight, he decided, he’d call a truce. He couldn’t take advantage when she’d come so willingly to help him recover, but he felt no guilt whatsoever for the little fib he’d told to get her here.

      His fever had broken before he’d called her and he was feeling human again. But he hadn’t lied about his craving. He wanted to see Cara in his kitchen, cooking her grandmother’s hearty chicken soup. It was the best way to get her to his penthouse—he doubted she’d have come otherwise. But why the hell he’d pictured Cara in his kitchen in a little domestic scene instead of sprawled out across his silk sheets was a mystery to him.

      Kevin took a shower, hoping to wipe out the last remnants of his fever and bring some color back to his face. He soaped up and the cool spray of water raining down invigorated him. He shampooed hair that he’d let go for two days and, once he’d turned the faucet off, he toweled dry and stepped out of the shower. This was the most activity he’d had in two days. Looking in the mirror, he let out a groan. “Shabby, Novak,” he muttered, “and pale.”

      His beard served well СКАЧАТЬ