Five minutes later she entered the kitchen. She’d slipped her jacket back on, but if she thought it would provide some sort of protective shield she was very much mistaken. The fine material might have veiled the bare shoulders and firm breasts beneath her camisole top, but the clingy fabric couldn’t fully conceal the outline of that willowy figure beneath her short skirt.
She caught him looking at her and her blue eyes flared before darting away to nervously glance around the room.
Look at me again, he wanted to say, then immediately severed the thought.
Don’t look.
Don’t touch.
“This is a magnificent kitchen, Matt,” she began to chatter, still looking everywhere but at him. “Your housekeeper is sure to love it.”
“She’s your housekeeper, too,” he pointed out.
Her gaze flew to him. “But I’ve never had a housekeeper before.”
“You’re a Valente now. You’ll have to get used to it.”
Anger flashed in her eyes; then her chin angled. “Actually, I’m keeping my own name. Megan’s the Valente now, not me.”
The comment shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. Most women he knew would jump at any chance to be Mrs. Valente.
He frowned. Or was her show of independence merely for his benefit? She might not have wanted this marriage, but she certainly knew how to take advantage of an opportunity.
“So you’re a liberated woman?” he drawled, not bothering to make an issue of it. He had her measure.
“I don’t see any point in taking on a name I have no intention of keeping.”
He gave a careless shrug. “Fair enough.”
She stared for a moment. “You’re not going to argue about it?”
“No. I agree. It makes sense.”
“Oh.” She seemed to be at a loss. “Good.” Then she swung away and viewed the selection of food on the marble countertop. “This all looks very appetizing.”
The muscles at the back of his neck were taut. The only thing that looked appetizing was her. “My mother thought we might be hungry.”
“That’s sweet of her.”
Funny, his mother had called Lana sweet. It worried him. He didn’t want his family drawn in or upset by her. His parents would be shocked if they knew what she was really like. It would be a hard pill to swallow knowing that the mother of their grandchild was so untrustworthy.
He gestured for her to sit on one of the tall stools. “Help yourself to the food,” he said tightly, moving around the other side of the countertop, not wanting to be too close to her right now.
She slid onto the stool and picked up one of the delicious-looking sandwiches, appearing to be at ease, but he knew she was anything but.
He took one of the sandwiches for himself. “Speaking of my mother, you were having a good chat with her this evening,” he said casually, remembering how he’d watched them and felt the urgent need to part the two women.
A wary look crossed her face, then vanished. “Were we?”
“You both looked deep in conversation.”
“Then we probably were,” she said, and took a nibble of her sandwich.
His brows drew together. It appeared as though she was hiding behind that sandwich, not eating it. That made him suspicious.
“I hope you’re not planning on worming your way into her good books.”
Her eyes widened and the sandwich lowered from her mouth. “Why would I do that?”
“My mother is predisposed to liking you. That makes her vulnerable to being hurt.”
She frowned. “I don’t plan on hurting her. Or anyone else for that matter.”
“Don’t you?”
She slowly put the sandwich down on the plate and shot him a glare. “You know, you really are a bastard.”
All at once everything within him rose like bile. “No, my daughter was the bastard.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“You don’t like to hear the truth?” The air held tight with tension. “I’m suddenly married to a treacherous beauty who not only stole money from my family, but who stole almost a year of my daughter’s life from me. I think I have fifty thousand and one reasons to be pretty damn angry right now, don’t you?”
Her chin angled. “You may think that, and that’s your choice, but you’ve also got one very good reason for at least showing me some respect as your wife. And she’s in that bedroom back there.”
Megan.
Reluctant admiration fought his animosity, and lost. “Admit you stole the money. That’ll make me respect you more.”
“I can’t confess to something I didn’t do.”