Read Online Married By Mistake by Abby Gaines - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Abby Gaines
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than he had any right to see. Her navy T-shirt hugged her curves, and she’d pulled her rich, honey-colored hair back into a loose ponytail that made her look like an eighteen-year-old.
A hot eighteen-year-old.
He sighed. He’d know she was there, all right.
* * *
T HEY TOOK A TAXI from the Peabody to Adam’s home in Germantown, an upmarket district about ten miles from downtown Memphis. Casey peered out her window as the cab drove through wrought-iron gates toward a three-story brick house. Make that a mansion. Yet the impressive pillared, Georgian-style structure had a welcoming look to it, enhanced by rolling green lawns and patches of colorful shrubbery.
She noted the high stone wall that edged one side of the property, and the thick hedge of poplars on the other. “I’ll bet you never even see your neighbors,” she said.
No one would be knocking on her door several times a day to borrow something or to ask if she could “mind the kids for an hour.”
Adam looked alarmed. “No, I don’t. And if I come home and find you’ve arranged a getting-to-know-you party or any such thing, this marriage will be over.”
The taxi driver’s eyes met Casey’s in the rearview mirror.
“No neighbors,” she promised, putting a hand on her heart for effect. For the taxi driver’s benefit, and to Adam’s further alarm, she added, “Sweetheart.”
Adam helped her out of the car while the driver retrieved their bags from the trunk. “I’ll show you around before I head to the office.”
She preceded him through the front door into a two-story lobby, breathing in the smell of beeswax from the gleaming oak parquet floor. Adam deposited their bags at the foot of the staircase and directed her into the living room.
Casey guessed the lobby and the living room between them were almost the size of her father’s whole house in Parkvale. Having just escaped her long-time role of cook and cleaner, she shuddered.
Adam noticed. “Something wrong?”
She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the Persian rugs, classic furniture and eclectic artwork. “This place is beautiful, but it must be a nightmare to clean. You might want to think about that next time you’re looking for a wife. Any woman who took this on would have to be crazy. Or masochistic. Or...”
Too late she recognized the warning in his eyes and the signal in the barely discernible tilt of his head.
Casey turned and realized she’d come face-to-face with his housekeeper. A gray-haired, gray-faced woman in an apron regarded her with pursed lips and open disapproval.
“—or very well paid. Or a saint,” Casey concluded, with an apologetic smile she hoped would redeem her. There was no answering smile. How dumb of her, not to have guessed Adam would have a housekeeper. She stuck out a hand to the woman, who took it reluctantly.
“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. The house looks wonderful. You obviously take pride in your work. I’m Casey Greene—Casey Carmichael.”
“Selma Lowe,” the woman said. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael.”
A barefaced lie, if ever Casey had heard one. “Please, Selma, call me Casey.”
Going by her sucking-a-lemon lips, Selma didn’t take kindly to the suggestion.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lowe, that will be all,” Adam said. “Don’t go upsetting her,” he warned Casey when the woman had gone. “She’s worked here for years and I don’t want to lose her. She’s the most organized woman in Memphis.”
“I’ve never upset anyone in my life.” But it wasn’t worth arguing the merits of nice over organized, Casey decided as she followed Adam upstairs.
He showed her to a guest bedroom with a colonial-style king-size bed covered by a hand-stitched gray-and-white quilt. The window shutters had been flung open to let in the morning sunlight. Casey longed to slip out of her shoes and curl her toes into the plush navy-blue carpet.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” Adam
A hot eighteen-year-old.
He sighed. He’d know she was there, all right.
* * *
T HEY TOOK A TAXI from the Peabody to Adam’s home in Germantown, an upmarket district about ten miles from downtown Memphis. Casey peered out her window as the cab drove through wrought-iron gates toward a three-story brick house. Make that a mansion. Yet the impressive pillared, Georgian-style structure had a welcoming look to it, enhanced by rolling green lawns and patches of colorful shrubbery.
She noted the high stone wall that edged one side of the property, and the thick hedge of poplars on the other. “I’ll bet you never even see your neighbors,” she said.
No one would be knocking on her door several times a day to borrow something or to ask if she could “mind the kids for an hour.”
Adam looked alarmed. “No, I don’t. And if I come home and find you’ve arranged a getting-to-know-you party or any such thing, this marriage will be over.”
The taxi driver’s eyes met Casey’s in the rearview mirror.
“No neighbors,” she promised, putting a hand on her heart for effect. For the taxi driver’s benefit, and to Adam’s further alarm, she added, “Sweetheart.”
Adam helped her out of the car while the driver retrieved their bags from the trunk. “I’ll show you around before I head to the office.”
She preceded him through the front door into a two-story lobby, breathing in the smell of beeswax from the gleaming oak parquet floor. Adam deposited their bags at the foot of the staircase and directed her into the living room.
Casey guessed the lobby and the living room between them were almost the size of her father’s whole house in Parkvale. Having just escaped her long-time role of cook and cleaner, she shuddered.
Adam noticed. “Something wrong?”
She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the Persian rugs, classic furniture and eclectic artwork. “This place is beautiful, but it must be a nightmare to clean. You might want to think about that next time you’re looking for a wife. Any woman who took this on would have to be crazy. Or masochistic. Or...”
Too late she recognized the warning in his eyes and the signal in the barely discernible tilt of his head.
Casey turned and realized she’d come face-to-face with his housekeeper. A gray-haired, gray-faced woman in an apron regarded her with pursed lips and open disapproval.
“—or very well paid. Or a saint,” Casey concluded, with an apologetic smile she hoped would redeem her. There was no answering smile. How dumb of her, not to have guessed Adam would have a housekeeper. She stuck out a hand to the woman, who took it reluctantly.
“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. The house looks wonderful. You obviously take pride in your work. I’m Casey Greene—Casey Carmichael.”
“Selma Lowe,” the woman said. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael.”
A barefaced lie, if ever Casey had heard one. “Please, Selma, call me Casey.”
Going by her sucking-a-lemon lips, Selma didn’t take kindly to the suggestion.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lowe, that will be all,” Adam said. “Don’t go upsetting her,” he warned Casey when the woman had gone. “She’s worked here for years and I don’t want to lose her. She’s the most organized woman in Memphis.”
“I’ve never upset anyone in my life.” But it wasn’t worth arguing the merits of nice over organized, Casey decided as she followed Adam upstairs.
He showed her to a guest bedroom with a colonial-style king-size bed covered by a hand-stitched gray-and-white quilt. The window shutters had been flung open to let in the morning sunlight. Casey longed to slip out of her shoes and curl her toes into the plush navy-blue carpet.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” Adam
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