head was insane

head was insane. It was one thing to think ... but she

couldn't actually say anything. Could she?

"So you ... still have this deadline hanging over your

head? He won't give you extra time because Devon

canceled the wedding?"

"Maybe." Luke scowled at a slice of prosciutto wrapped

melon. "Hard to say. He wasn't overly impressed with your

not-quite stepsister so he may cut me some slack. Or he

may not."

"When is your birthday?" Yes, that was good. She

sounded interested, casual. Not at all like someone on the

verge of losing her mind.

"Two and a half months." Luke set the melon slice down

and reached for the brandy. "Seventy-six days, to be exact."

"That's not very much time." She leaned forward and set

her glass on a coaster before clasping her hands together

and pressing them between her knees to hide their nervous

shaking.

"Not much time," Luke agreed.

"You could ... I mean... it's maybe a little odd but not

really any odder than the whole idea of ... Not that there's

anything wrong with ..."She realized she was babbling and

shut her mouth with an audible snap. Luke was looking at

her, one brow raised in question, his expression mildly

curious.

"What could I do that isn't any odder than marrying your

not-quite stepsister?" he asked.

Cat stared at him, thinking that she knew exactly how a

deer felt when it was caught in the headlights. Paralyzed,

helpless, watching doom rush toward it. Only she was her

own doom, and she was going to do it, going to say it.

"You could marry me instead."

Chapter Two

His housekeeper, Mrs. Bryant, had apparently slipped an

hallucinogenic into the shrimp, Luke thought. That would

explain what he thought he'd just heard. In fact, it might

explain this whole conversation. Maybe Devon's little sister

hadn't shown up to tell him that Devon had run off to marry

a dairy farmer from some state that began with an M.

Maybe he hadn't told her about his grandfather's crazy plan

to get him married before his thirty-sixth birthday. And

definitely she hadn't just said-

"What?" His voice came out as a croak, and he cleared

his throat before trying again. "What did you just say?"

"I said ... you could marry me instead." From the look in

her eyes, he was willing to her that Cat was almost as

shocked by the suggestion as he was.

"That's what I thought you said." Luke downed the last of

the brandy and leaned forward to set the snifter on the

edge of the coffee table before looking at her again. "You

don't look deranged," he said conversationally.

"It's not deranged," she protested. "If you think about it,

it makes sense."

"On what planet?"

"On this one." Her color rose, but her mouth set in a

stubborn line that made Luke uncomfortably aware of the

fullness of her lower lip. She had the most amazingly

kissable mouth. He hadn't let himself notice it before, on

the couple of occasions when Devon had dragged him to

her father's house for dinner. His engagement to Devon

might not have been the romance of the decade, but it was

an engagement, and it was just tacky to ogle your fiancée's

little sister over the dinner table.

With an effort, he dragged his eyes away from her

mouth. "It isn't like trading in a car for a new model," he

said, annoyance lending an edge to his voice.

"Actually, it is. Sort of." Cat leaned forward, her

expression earnest. "You and Devon had a business

arrangement, right?" She didn't wait for him to respond but

hurried on as if she had to get it all out at once. "You need

to be married before your thirty-sixth birthday, and it

apparently doesn't matter who you marry so ..."She gave

him a self-conscious little shrug. "Why not me?"

Why not her? There were so many reasons why not her

that Luke didn't know which one to mention first.

"You're too damned young for one thing," he said, coming

up with the first and most obvious problem. "How old are

you, anyway?"

"Twenty-one," she said indignantly, then bit her lip. "In

five months."

"Twenty? You're twenty?" Luke shot to his feet, snatching

up the brandy snifter on the way to the bar. "Do you know

how old I am?"

"Is this a test?" Cat turned to watch him as he splashed a

healthy dose of brandy into the snifter.

"I'm thirty-five," he said, ignoring her question. "I'm

twice your age."

"You're off by five years."

"Don't split hairs." He picked up the brandy snifter and

stalked back to the sitting area. He stood in front of the

sofa and scowled down at her. "I'm old enough to be your

father."

"Technically, I guess, if you were on the precocious side

but, since you're not my father, I don't see that we have a

problem."

Luke pointed the brandy snifter at her. "Thirty-five-yearold men do not marry twenty-year-old girls."

"Sure they do. I could be your trophy wife."

She said it with such bright good cheer that Luke was

startled into laughing. But he still shook his head. "No. I'm

not in the market for a trophy wife. The whole idea is

crazy."