Read Online Surrogate and Wife by Emily McKay - Free Book Online Page B

Saturday morning, don’t you think?”
    â€œNo, 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.”
    â€œYes, 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.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œIt’s not stu—”
    But he was laughing too hard for her to finish.
    â€œWhat? 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.”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œNow you’re insulting my ‘general appearance’? What’s next—my personal hygiene? My politics?”
    He stroked his chin, seemingly unaware of how insulting this all was. “It’s not that there’s anything wrong with your appearance per se. It’s that you don’t look particularly…satisfied.”
    Humph. What was that supposed to mean?
    She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Well, I’ll certainly look a lot less dissatisfied if you stop insulting me.”
    He pushed away from the countertop and crossed the kitchen to stand before her, all the while sporting one of his arrogant grins. “Oh, I think we can do a lot better than ‘less dissatisfied.’”
    With him standing over her as she sat, he had her at a distinct disadvantage. So she bumped her chair back and stood. Unfortunately, that only brought her closer to him.
    But she refused to be intimidated by his height. Or his nearness. Or the delectable way he smelled—like coffee and bacon and freshly showered man.
    â€œI’ll have you know, I think there’s nothing wrong with my