She made the same sound in her throat that he'd heard once or twice before. As much for her sake as his own, he held up a hand and backed off. "You're going to hurt yourself if you hit me again."
Her gaze shifted, lingered on the kitchen block filled with black-handled knives. He didn't believe it, not for an instant. But he stepped between her and the sharp implements.
"Now, I'm going to guess that the phone woke you up, and it was Lottie. And Lottie, by the way, is not a tramp."
"I say she is, and either way, you're still a lying, two-timing scum. How long did you expect to get away with telling her I was your housekeeper? And just what were you going to tell me she was?"
He studied his beer for a moment, tried to keep the gleam out of his eyes when they met hers. "My sister."
"Oh, very original. I'm out of here."
"Not so fast." It wasn't much of a challenge to grab her one-armed around the waist and haul her to a chair. She was kicking, swinging, but he managed it easily. "Lottie," he said as he shoved her in place again, "is my sister."
"You don't have a sister named Lottie," she fired back. "You idiot, you told me your sisters' names just a few hours ago. Suellen, Meg, and—"
"Charlotte," he finished, and didn't bother to conceal the smugness. "Lottie. She's a pediatrician, married, three kids. And she has just the kind of warped sense of humor that might make her appreciate having my lover call her a tramp." He watched the embarrassed blush stain Kate's cheek. "Want that beer now?"
"No." Voice strained, pride forfeited, she got to her feet. "I apologize. I don't normally jump to conclusions. It's been a difficult and emotional day."
"Uh-huh."
Damn him. "I was asleep when she called, and she never gave me a chance to say anything."
"That's Lottie."
"And I just assumed. I was asleep," she said, furious. "Disoriented. I was—"
"Jealous," he finished and backed her up against the refrigerator. "That's okay. I like it—to a point."
"I don't like it, to any point. I'm sorry I hit you."
"You're going to have to work on those arms if you want to have any impact." He put a hand under her chin to lift it. "You wouldn't have gone for the knives, would you?"
"Of course not." She slanted her gaze toward them, shrugged. "Probably not."
He let his hand drop, took another swig of beer. "Honey, you terrify me."
"I'm sorry, really. There's no excuse for behaving that way. It was knee-jerk." She pressed her hands together. Confession always hurt. "I was involved with someone a couple of years ago. I don't get involved easily, and he wasn't what you could term the faithful type."
"Did you love him?"
"No, but I trusted him."
He nodded, set the beer aside. "And trust is more fragile than love." He cupped her face in his hands. "You can trust me, Kate." He pressed his lips to her brow, then eased back with a grin on his face. "I would never risk having you slice off any important appendages with a chef's knife."
Feeling both soothed and foolish, she settled into his arms. "I would never have used it." Her lips curved against his. "Probably."
Chapter Fifteen
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"This is so incredibly dumb." Naked, Kate fidgeted and blew the bangs out of her eyes. "I feel like an idiot."
"Leave your hair alone," Margo ordered. "I worked too hard on it to have you screw it up. And stop gnawing on your lip."
"I hate wearing lipstick. Why won't you let me see my face?" Kate craned her neck, but Margo had draped the mirror in the wardrobe room. "I look like a clown, don't I? You made me look like a clown."
"Actually, it's more like a twenty-dollar hooker, but it's such a nice look for you. Hold still, damn it, so I can get you into this thing."