Marriage by Mistake

what it could be.

    CHAPTER SEVEN

    A disturbing report brought Dean home in time for dinner. He'd called Maggie, the housekeeper, from the office to check in, and could scarcely believe what she'd told him. Kelly knew exactly what Dean thought about her spending time with Robby.
    Five minutes before the dinner hour, Dean drove his Lexus into the estate's multi-car garage and rehearsed the set-down he intended to give Kelly. But as he got out of his car, he wondered if he was over-reacting. Robby had spent enough time with his father to have discovered for himself the disappointing nature of stepmothers.
    On the other hand, there was something about Kelly that invited a person to believe she was different from all the rest. Something...well, inviting .
    As the automatic garage door closed behind him, Dean shook his head. The woman was a menace. She had to be stopped. That was all there was to it.
    Approaching the house from the side, Dean used his normal route in of an evening, through the kitchen.
    Roberto, the cook, was alone in the room. He spoke before Dean could attempt a greeting. "It's what they said they wanted."
    "Excuse me?"
    "Hamburgers with French fries. It's what they said they wanted." Roberto turned to slap his spatula on the stove.
    The cook apparently wanted exoneration. "Hamburgers are fine," Dean said. Who cared what was being served? What he needed was something to ease the nerves tightening his stomach. He was going to see her. She was going to do that thing she did to him—to his hormones, that was.
    Determined to overcome his unruly nature, Dean spent another moment in the kitchen, straightening his lapels and taking in a deep breath. Then he pushed through the swing door to the formal dining room.
    The room was empty. But Dean heard the sound of laughter and a boy's chatter. If he wasn't mistaken, Troy's tenor was involved, too.
    Outside.
    Frowning, Dean went to the French doors of the dining room and pulled them open. On the stone walkway that abutted the house, a wrought-iron table had been set for dinner. Kelly, Robby, and Troy, all wearing shorts and T shirts, sat around it in animated discussion.
    So much for dressing for dinner. In the span of four short days Kelly had dispensed with that family tradition.
    Dean felt his righteousness return. And then his eyes met hers. Righteousness departed as his heart took a drop, and then sped.
    Dean lifted his chin. "Good evening, everyone."
    Troy and Robby turned to look at him then, and Dean heard how stilted he'd sounded, particularly compared to the casual style of conversation he'd interrupted. Kelly reacted first, a wide smile spreading over her face. Laughing at him, no doubt.
    "Hi, yourself!" she said. "Are you hungry?"
    He stared at her. Her legs were bare and long, and she wore something soft and drapy on top. Then, hamburgers , he realized. She was talking about hamburgers. His face warmed. "No, I...ate on the way home from the office."
    "Too bad." Robby reached to grab a handful of fries. "This is way better than the grub Roberto usually fixes."
    Before Dean could reply, Kelly tapped the back of Robby's hand. "Enough carbos there, my friend. Have a carrot peel."
    Dean saw Robby's expression change and braced himself for the boy's nasty retort. Instead, turning utterly complacent, Robby plucked up a carrot peel.
    Dean blinked. He knew Robby made an effort to control himself when he was living with his big brother, but this was something else again.
    "Well, pull up a chair, anyway," Kelly offered.
    Dean hesitated, still wondering about Robby's behavior. It reminded him that he wasn't here to socialize. Hardly. At the same time, he couldn't chew Kelly out right in front of everyone. So he shrugged and walked up to their happy table. Trying not to seem too awkward, he lowered into one of the wrought iron chairs.
    Kelly crunched down on a lettuce leaf. "We were just talking about what to do over the weekend."
    "Is that right?"
    "Oh, we understand that you'll be working, of course." Troy hooded his eyes at Dean.
    Dean hooded his eyes back at Troy. "A fair assumption. I usually do work on the weekends—unlike somebody else I know, who doesn't work any day of the week."
    Immediately, Dean was stunned by his own words. He never goaded Troy about his lack of employment. For one thing, it never worked. Troy would merely laugh and toss back some flippant reply.
    Today, however, a dusky color crossed Troy's face. As if he actually cared. He