Married to His Business (Millionaire of the Month #5)(21)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

"Sure I have. I do it all the time."

She shook her head. "No, you don’t."

"Yeah," he countered, a little more defensively than he would have liked. "I do."

Still smiling, she crossed her arms over her midsection. Inevitably, he noticed how, when she did that, the outline of her bra was just discernible enough through the pale fabric of her shirt to allow him to see that it was lace. He never would have pegged Kendall as the lacy lingerie type. She seemed like the Hanes-all-over type. Hell, there’d been times when she was working for him that she seemed like the boxer short type. And during one particularly daunting week, the jockstrap type. But now that he realized she was the lacy lingerie type…

Hmm. Actually, he found the idea kind of arousing. He also found himself wondering if she was the type to match bra to panties. Or, better yet, bra to thong bikini.

"Name one frivolous thing you do in your spare time," she challenged.

Figuring Kendall meant besides pondering the mysteries of her underwear, he opened his mouth to rattle off a dozen things he did for enjoyment, then realized he couldn’t think of even one. Other than looking through the telescope, which he’d done only since coming here.

Finally, "I play squash," he said. "And tennis. And I play an occasional round of golf."

"And you use them all for networking and wheeling and dealing."

Yeah, okay, she had a point. So sue him.

He bristled at her suggestion that he was a man who found no enjoyment in life outside his work. Mostly because he couldn’t honestly deny it. "Frivolity is overrated," he finally said. "And there’s no point to it. I like working. It gives me pleasure. I don’t need anything else in my life."

Her smile fell at that, and he realized he had been speaking with more vehemence than he intended—not to mention more than he felt. She’d just hit a sore spot with him, that was all. Why did everyone criticize people who were enthusiastic about their work? So what if he defined himself by how successful he was, and how hard he worked? So what if he was the kind of person who would be lying on his deathbed worrying that he hadn’t worked enough during his life. There was nothing else in his life but work. Why was that such a terrible thing?

Kendall dropped her hands to her sides, her smile gone now. An awkward moment followed where neither seemed to know what to say. So Matthias forced himself to relax and said, "So how about dinner?"

For a minute, he thought—feared—she was going to decline and ask him to take her back to the inn. Finally, however, she nodded.

He roused a smile for her, tilting his head toward the kitchen. "Come on," he said in a lighter voice. "I’ll have it on the table in ten minutes."

It actually only took about half that time, since all

Matthias had to do was remove food from containers in the fridge and arrange them on two plates. Opening the wine was the most time-consuming part of the task, but the cork left the bottle of Shiraz with a nice crisp pop. He poured them each a glass and carried those, too, to the table.

Kendall surveyed the food on the plate—a strip steak, green beans and new potatoes he’d picked up at a gourmet carryout place about ten miles down the road—a little warily.

"It’s cold," she said.

"No, it’s tartare," he countered as he sat in the chair on the side of the table that was perpendicular to hers. To show her it was fine, he lifted his fork and knife and sliced through the tender beef, then halved a potato with the side of his fork. "See? Looks delicious, doesn’t it?"

"Tartare means uncooked," Kendall corrected him. She pointed at the plate. "This has been cooked. It just hasn’t been heated up. I mean, even the vegetables are cold. Why don’t you just pop the plates into the microwave for a couple of minutes?"

He sighed heavily. "The microwave is broken," he admitted. "And so is the oven," he added when she was about to mention that.

She looked over her shoulder at the appliances in question, the former set into the cabinets above the latter. "They look brand-new," she said as she turned back around again.

"Yeah, well, whoever built this place obviously cut corners on the appliances, because none of them work. But trust me, food like this tastes great cold."

Kendall smiled. "In other words, you’ve been eating your meals cold all week because you can’t figure out how the microwave or stove work."

His back went up at that—figuratively and literally.

"No, I’ve been eating my meals cold because the microwave and stove don’t work."

She gazed at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher, then stood and picked up both their plates. She strode over to the microwave, set one plate on the stovetop as she opened the door and inserted one, then picked up the other and put it in beside the first. Then she looked at the keypad—which Matthias knew was completely incomprehensible to anyone except the rocket scientist who designed it—punched a few buttons with a beep-boop-beep and the microwave suddenly came alive.

He rose from his chair and crossed the kitchen to where Kendall stood. "How did you do that?" he demanded. "That thing hasn’t worked since I got here."

"Well, it’s fine now," she said. Then, with another little smile he wasn’t quite sure how to figure out, she asked, "What else have you been having trouble with?"

"Why do you assume I’ve been having trouble with anything else?"

"Well, you did just mention that none of the appliances work."

"Right." He’d forgotten about that. He thought Kendall was insinuating that he had problems with small appliances. Which was completely ridiculous. He was, after all, a captain of industry. Now, if someone would just promote him to colonel of technology, he’d be all set.

He pointed over his shoulder, at the most pressing of his concerns. "The coffeemaker," he said.

She nodded knowingly. "I should have figured that out when you cooked up that bogus contract problem to trick me into bringing you coffee."

"I never—"

But she ignored him, only smiling more sweetly, as if in sympathy. "Poor Matthias. Not getting his morning coffee every day. It’s a wonder you’re not a drooling mess."

"Drooling mess?" he echoed. "I’ve never been a drooling mess. Over coffee or anything else."

"Of course you haven’t."

He eyed her narrowly but said nothing. Hey, he knew he wasn’t a slave to caffeine. He could quit any time he wanted. Caffeine addicts were weak. He was strong. Hell, there were days when he didn’t even go near a Starbucks. He just, you know, couldn’t remember the last one, that was all. Besides, real caffeine junkies drank cheap, grocery store coffee, and they drank it all day long. Matthias bought only the premium gourmet blends, and he drank only in the morning. Except on days when he needed a little extra something to get him through the afternoon. Hey, he could afford it. He still looked good. He was still healthy. Besides, there had been plenty of studies that said it was good for you. Plus he had all those issues with his father, and coffee helped take the sting out of those.