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smile. “That hurt. I prefer to think I’m being considerate to my wife’s needs.”
    “I’m just dying to hear how you reached that conclusion.” Shaking her head, she pushed her front door open and stepped inside without giving him the boot.
    He took that as an invitation and followed. Victory pulsing inside him, he checked out the space she called home for clues about her. The more he knew the betterhis chances. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again of letting her keep him in the dark.
    The living area was airy and open with high ceilings in keeping with the historic-reproduction feel. Her tastes ran to uncluttered, clean lines with a beach theme—white walls, wood floors and rattan furniture with cushions in a muted blue, tan and chocolate. And of course books—in end tables, shelves, curio cabinets. She’d always carried books in her purse in Spain, reading during breaks.
    Her reed roll-up shades covered the windows from outdoor eyes. Only the French doors gave a glimpse to a garden patio with an Adirondack chair and ferns. Did she lounge there and read? Soak up the sun?
    What he wouldn’t give to take her to his penthouse suite with a rooftop pool and deck where they both could do away with restrictive bathing suits.
    He slid his jacket off and hooked it on the coatrack made from a canoe paddle. “Nice place.”
    “I’m sure it’s not near the luxury level you’re used to, but I like it.”
    “It’s lovely and you know it. Don’t paint me as a bad guy here just to make it easier to dismiss me.”
    She glanced back over her shoulder, her purse sliding from her shoulder onto the island counter separating the kitchen from the living space. She tossed her keys beside the bag, the cluster jangling to rest. “Fair enough.”
    He’d spent more than a few nights in tents or trailers during the early, intense stages of a restoration project, but he didn’t intend to make excuses to her. “Would you like more luxury in your life?”
    His brothers showered their wives with pampering extras and while his sisters-in-law vowed they didn’t need them, he’d noticed they always used those spa gifts.
    He thumbed a thick silver binder with an engagement photo of Audrey Taylor and her fiancé. “You said earlier you’re swamped with wedding plans.” He tapped the three-ring binder. “If we stay at my suite, you won’t have to cook or clean. You can indulge in the spa. A massage would take care of your stress at the end of the day. You and your sister and all the bridesmaids could avail yourselves of the salon the day of the wedding, my gift to the bride, of course.”
    She slid out of her gold strappy heels and lined them up side by side on the floor mat by the patio door. “You can’t buy me off any more than my father could.”
    He took his cue from her and toed off his python loafers, nudging them near the coatrack. How much further could they take this undressing together? “I was brought up to believe it’s not what a gift costs, it’s whether or not the gift is thoughtful. Needed.”
    “That’s nice.” She relaxed a hip against a barstool.
    “Then pack your bag and let’s go to my penthouse.”
    She stiffened again. “I’m not leaving.”
    “Then I guess I’m bunking on your sofa.” He stifled a wince at spending the night on the couch at least six inches too short.
    “You can’t tell me you actually wanted me to stay together?” Her eyes went wider with shock. “Every woman on that site in Madrid knew what a playboy you are.”
    “Were. I’m a married man now.” He still had his ring and hers in a jeweler’s box in his suite. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought them.
    She shook her head slowly with a weary sigh. “I’m too tired for this tonight, Jonah. Go back to your hotel. We’ll talk tomorrow when we’ve both had a good night’s sleep.”
    “Honestly? I don’t trust you.”
    “Excuse me?” she gasped in outrage.
    Then something else shadowed through her eyes.