everything she said? "Really, I'm just as much to blame as you are," she insisted in an aggressively reasonable tone.
Sam's smile tightened subtly and his eyes took on a faint chill. "I launched the hostilities in Max's office the day we met. You're not to blame for responding in kind."
Nikki fought to control her annoyance. Really, he was the most obnoxious man she'd ever met. And wasn't it typical of him to insist on having the final word and taking all the blame-Suddenly it hit her that they were actually on the verge of quarreling over who was most to blame for their past quarrels. The absurdity of it brought her eyes to Sam's face. The same thought must have struck him, because his eyes reflected her own surprise and disbelief.
"This is ridiculous. I can't even believe we're arguing about this," he muttered.
Neither could Nikki. She wasn't normally an argumentative woman. What was it about the man she'd married that brought out this side of her? And how were they going to dig themselves out of this latest hole?
"You're right, it is ridiculous. If you want to take all the blame, I won't stop you." She nodded her head graciously.
"Gee, that's big of you," Sam said dryly. "Thanks. I think."
"You're welcome."
Nikki saw the laughter in Sam's eyes, and a soft giggle escaped her. Sam chuckled. The moment of shared laughter banished the last of the tension between them.
"Maybe we can blame everything on the situation," Sam suggested. He shook his head as he reached for the coffee pot. "I thought arrangements like this only existed in books and movies."
He raised the coffeepot and gave her a questioning look.
"No, thank you. One cup is my limit."
"You'd never make it as a cop." Sam twisted the lid back onto the thermal pot and picked up his cup.
"Do you have to drink a lot of coffee to be a cop?"
"At least a pot a day," he confirmed solemnly. "We've got to have something to go with all those doughnuts."
"I can imagine." Though from what she'd seen of him— which, come to think of it, was a considerable amount—she doubted that Sam spent much time eating doughnuts. A man didn't end up with all that lean muscle by spending his time at Winchell's.
"Do you think we could manage to maintain this level of civility for more than a few minutes?" he asked, his tone pitiable.
Nikki shot a quick glance across the table, taking in the humor in his eyes, the warmth of his smile and the tousled thickness of his dark blond hair. She was shocked to realize that she didn't think it would be difficult at all.
"Maybe if we worked on it," she conceded.
"I'm willing to try if you are. A year is a long time to be at odds with someone you're living with. We could try and think of each other as roommates. My brother Gage has a woman roommate, and they manage to rub along together fairly well."
"In a way, I guess that's what we are," Nikki said slowly.
"Truce?" He offered his hand across the table.
Nikki hesitated only a moment before accepting the gesture. She felt an immediate jolt of awareness, the same tingling feeling that she'd had the first time they shook hands in Max's office. She'd had it again, only much stronger, when he'd kissed her in the chapel.
His fingers seemed to swallow her hand, making her very aware of how much larger and stronger he was. The thought should have been frightening. They might share a marriage license, but he was still a stranger. It wasn't fear Nikki felt, though. It was a deep feminine awareness of the masculinity of the man across from her, of the differences between them.
"Truce." She heard the breathy tone of her response and hoped Sam would attribute it to the surprise of finding them in agreement. She pulled her hand free.
"Maybe we'll make it through this next year without killing each other after all," Sam said, giving her another of those grins that made her pulse jump.
"It just might be possible."
Somehow, twelve months didn't sound nearly as long as it had a few minutes
Sam's smile tightened subtly and his eyes took on a faint chill. "I launched the hostilities in Max's office the day we met. You're not to blame for responding in kind."
Nikki fought to control her annoyance. Really, he was the most obnoxious man she'd ever met. And wasn't it typical of him to insist on having the final word and taking all the blame-Suddenly it hit her that they were actually on the verge of quarreling over who was most to blame for their past quarrels. The absurdity of it brought her eyes to Sam's face. The same thought must have struck him, because his eyes reflected her own surprise and disbelief.
"This is ridiculous. I can't even believe we're arguing about this," he muttered.
Neither could Nikki. She wasn't normally an argumentative woman. What was it about the man she'd married that brought out this side of her? And how were they going to dig themselves out of this latest hole?
"You're right, it is ridiculous. If you want to take all the blame, I won't stop you." She nodded her head graciously.
"Gee, that's big of you," Sam said dryly. "Thanks. I think."
"You're welcome."
Nikki saw the laughter in Sam's eyes, and a soft giggle escaped her. Sam chuckled. The moment of shared laughter banished the last of the tension between them.
"Maybe we can blame everything on the situation," Sam suggested. He shook his head as he reached for the coffee pot. "I thought arrangements like this only existed in books and movies."
He raised the coffeepot and gave her a questioning look.
"No, thank you. One cup is my limit."
"You'd never make it as a cop." Sam twisted the lid back onto the thermal pot and picked up his cup.
"Do you have to drink a lot of coffee to be a cop?"
"At least a pot a day," he confirmed solemnly. "We've got to have something to go with all those doughnuts."
"I can imagine." Though from what she'd seen of him— which, come to think of it, was a considerable amount—she doubted that Sam spent much time eating doughnuts. A man didn't end up with all that lean muscle by spending his time at Winchell's.
"Do you think we could manage to maintain this level of civility for more than a few minutes?" he asked, his tone pitiable.
Nikki shot a quick glance across the table, taking in the humor in his eyes, the warmth of his smile and the tousled thickness of his dark blond hair. She was shocked to realize that she didn't think it would be difficult at all.
"Maybe if we worked on it," she conceded.
"I'm willing to try if you are. A year is a long time to be at odds with someone you're living with. We could try and think of each other as roommates. My brother Gage has a woman roommate, and they manage to rub along together fairly well."
"In a way, I guess that's what we are," Nikki said slowly.
"Truce?" He offered his hand across the table.
Nikki hesitated only a moment before accepting the gesture. She felt an immediate jolt of awareness, the same tingling feeling that she'd had the first time they shook hands in Max's office. She'd had it again, only much stronger, when he'd kissed her in the chapel.
His fingers seemed to swallow her hand, making her very aware of how much larger and stronger he was. The thought should have been frightening. They might share a marriage license, but he was still a stranger. It wasn't fear Nikki felt, though. It was a deep feminine awareness of the masculinity of the man across from her, of the differences between them.
"Truce." She heard the breathy tone of her response and hoped Sam would attribute it to the surprise of finding them in agreement. She pulled her hand free.
"Maybe we'll make it through this next year without killing each other after all," Sam said, giving her another of those grins that made her pulse jump.
"It just might be possible."
Somehow, twelve months didn't sound nearly as long as it had a few minutes
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