Not really.

"Not really." Cat rose to her feet, apparently too

enthused by this crazy idea to remain still.

Luke told himself that the fact that she had legs a mile

long and curves in all the right places was not relevant to

the current discussion, but he couldn't help but notice that

he would only have to lower his head a few inches to kiss

her. Not that he had any intention of kissing her, but still, it

was ... interesting. His tastes had always run to short, busty

blondes, but he had to admit, there was something to be

said for a tall, leggy redhead with big green eyes and a

mouth that seemed made for temptation.

"It really makes perfect sense." She threw out one hand

for emphasis, and Luke found his eyes dropping to her

breasts. Was she wearing a bra? It was hard to tell under

the bulky knit of her sweater. Funny, how the over-size

sweater managed to conceal everything and still sexy as

hell. Or maybe it was just Cat who was sexy hell. He took a

sip of brandy and tried to pay attention to what she was

saying.

"I know I'm not as pretty as Devon."

No, but she had something that outshone her not-quite

stepsister's chocolate box prettiness. There was something

very real about Cat, an earthiness that made a man think

all kinds of things he had no business thinking when he was

definitely not going to do anything about what he wasn't

thinking about.

"And I'll tell you right up front that I can't do anything

about my hair."

Luke could think of lots of things he would like to do with

her hair, most of them X-rated.

"It's red and it's curly, and if I cut it short, it just frizzes

up like a pot scrubber."

"I like your hair," he said and caught himself before he

could reach for it.

"Really?" Cat looked doubtful, then shrugged, as if to say

it took all kids. "Good, because I'm stuck with it. And I've

got to tell you that if you have your heart set on marrying

someone with decorating talent, we might as well forget

the whole idea right here and now."

Hadn't he already said that? He wasn't actually

considering this insane idea, was he? If he wanted a

decorator, he could hire one, the way he'd hired Devon to

redecorate the company offices. "I don't need a decorator,"

he said, and was rewarded by Cat's smile.

"Good, because I have the decorating talent of an

amoeba. I've flipped through a bunch of Devon's decorating

magazines, but unless the room they're showing looks

exactly like the room I want to decorate―and it never

does―I can't figure out how I'm supposed to translate the

ideas in the picture to real-life."

A stray beam of late afternoon sunlight slanted through

the window and fell across her hair, turning it to pure fire.

Luke's fingers tingled with the urge to touch, to see if it

could possibly feel as warm as it looked.

"But I'm not a total loss as far as traditional wife stuff is

concerned," Cat continued, apparently through listing the

drawbacks to this insane idea of hers. "I can cook. Actually,

I'm a pretty good cook. You know Jack's Place on Melrose?"

She waited until Luke nodded. "Jack Reynolds is a friend of

mine, and even he admits I'm no slouch in the kitchen."

Luke didn't really care if she could boil water without

help, but he had to admit it was a pretty impressive

reference. Since it had opened three years ago, Jack's Place

had become one of the places to go in L.A. He'd taken

clients there a couple of times, and the food was superb. If

Jack Reynolds said Cat was a good cook, Luke would take

his word for it.

"And I'm good at managing things."

"Managing things?" Despite the fact that he'd already

made up his mind that this whole idea was crazy, Luke

couldn't resist the urge to pursue that comment.

"Household stuff, mostly," Cat clarified. "My mother

wasn't exactly the most practical person in the world, so I

sort of watched out for her, made sure she didn't spend all

our money on some spiritual quest and forget all about

buying food and paying the rent. And Larry is pretty much

the classic absentminded professor. If someone didn't look

after things, he'd probably cook the cat and put food out for

the pot roast." Her smile held affectionate amusement. "So

I've been managing things for him pretty much since Naomi

dumped me in his lap. Some people just aren't cut out for

dealing with day-to-day things."

Funny, how people like that always seemed to find

someone else to manage all those tedious little details for

them, Luke thought cynically. On the other hand, from what

little he'd seen of his almost father-in-law, he wouldn't be at

all surprised if the man needed help tying his shoelaces.

Cat's description of him as an absentminded professor

seemed pretty accurate.

"What about Susan?" he asked. "Can't she manage things

for him?"

Until today, he'd thought Susan was her mother. Maybe

he should have asked Devon for a guidebook to her family

relations.

"Susan is an artist," Cat said, as if that explained

everything. When Luke arched one brow in silent question,

she expanded. "She throws pots."

"At anyone in particular?" Luke asked, raising both

brows.

Cat laughed and shook her head. "She's a potter. She

makes vases and urns and stuff." Her hands shaped vague

curves as if to indicate the wide variety of pottery Susan

produced. "She's actually pretty well-known. People collect

her stuff, and she's got a couple of pieces in museums

somewhere. She's really very talented."

"So you manage things for Susan, too," Luke guessed