“Man, I love it when you get my name right.”
“Wait...what?”
“Say it again for me.”
“Okay,” she swallowed. “I believe you. You’re probably not gay.”
“Mmm. So sure?” he needled.
Make that definitely not. Like they definitely should have steered clear of the topic of sex altogether. Because having touched on it, now those hard-to-read eyes of his weren’t so hard to read at all. They were filled with a possessive sort of predatory heat...directed at her.
“I could convince you. Spend the next hour or two making my argument.” Leaning into her space, he added, “I’m a pretty compelling guy when I set my mind to it.”
“Connor,” she warned, trying not to give in to the laugh threatening to escape. She should be horrified. Traumatized. So why was it, in the aftermath of the worst decision of her life, this man’s totally inappropriate taunts and teasing were somehow making her feel safe.
As if he’d sensed the ease in her tension, something changed in the man before her. The joking and pretense were set aside. Connor was completely serious, and her soul-deep awareness of his shift in mood was more disconcerting than waking up next to a stranger had been.
“Megan, the reason we didn’t have sex last night was because you went from laughing and sexy and totally in the moment to not feeling so great. So instead of taking you to bed, I put you there. Simple.”
Simple. Somehow it didn’t feel that way.
He took her hand. “I should have realized how much you’d had to drink. I should have stopped us earlier.”
“I’m a big girl with better sense than this. I should have stopped myself. Obviously.” She drew a slow breath and pressed the heels of her hands against the dull throb at her temples. “Look at where it got me.”
“Married.” Connor’s warm palm cupped her cheek as he searched her eyes, his elusive smile nowhere to be found. “To a man who’s about as perfect an alternative to your plan as you can get. And you don’t even remember why.”
“But you do?” she asked, the quiet words sounding too sincere for the sarcastic tone she’d intended.
Suddenly she wanted that only-half-the-story smirk back, because this straightforward intensity she could actually feel thrumming through the air between them, pulsing against her skin as if it was trying to get inside, was too much to bear.
He was a stranger. Only, this stranger was looking into her eyes as if he knew exactly who she was.
“More every minute.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MEGAN’S LIPS WERE PARTED, revealing that bit of wet just beyond the pale swell he wanted to run his thumb across. But Megan didn’t remember him. Which meant, though she’d taken vows, signed her name, worn his ring and climbed all over him the night before...this morning, she didn’t belong to him.
He understood it.
Accepted it.
Only, when she looked into his eyes the way she was now. When her breathing changed the smallest degree, and the color morning had leached from her skin pushed back into her cheeks, it felt an awful lot like she was.
Like on some level she knew what they’d had between them. And wanted it again.
He could show her how it had been. Kiss her until they were both senseless and she was begging him like she had—
Her breath caught. “I should find my dress.”
Or he could wait. Damn it.
Moving back, Connor shoved his hands into his pockets.
Those big blue eyes were crawling away again, scanning the space around them as though salvation could be found in some dark corner of the room. Only, then they brightened as a small squeak escaped her, and Connor realized she’d found her dress.
“Thank God. I figure I pretty well earned this walk of shame, but seriously, I didn’t want to have to do it in a robe.”
Again Connor felt a smile pushing at his lips. She had a sense of humor. One he appreciated.
“Walk of shame, eh. I don’t know if married women qualify.”
Megan cringed at the words he’d been trying out on his tongue. Testing the feel of in his mouth.
They hadn’t been bad or bitter or totally out of place, and he wondered if they might be an acquired taste he was warming up to. Something to encourage his wife to try.
Megan worried her bottom lip. “Looking at this dress, I definitely qualify.”
As sexy and smooth as it had been draped over her curves the night before, the wrinkled garment barely ranked above a rag this morning.
“I can call down to the concierge and get you one sent up—”
Megan choked, “Wait, don’t—I’ll wear one of your shirts or something”
“I like the idea of you wrapped up in one of my shirts...quite a lot. But first let’s have breakfast.”
This time it was Megan at a loss for words, and he savored it for the full second and a half he had before she’d found her new tack. “I can’t stay for breakfast. I’ve got a wedding today. A real wedding.”
Connor stiffened. “As opposed to the fake—and yet legally binding—variety from last night.”
Apologetic eyes drifted back to him. “I only meant—”
He put up a hand, waving off her apology. “I know what you meant. One they’d planned. And I know you’re freaked out and more than a little desperate to get out of here and collect your thoughts, but, Megan, we’re married. We need to discuss this. You’ve got hours before Gail’s expecting you. We’ll have some food to settle your stomach. Talk. Call it a—getting-to-know-your-husband date?” At her hesitation, he asked, “Come on, you’re too much of a control freak not to have questions.”
The look in her eyes said it all. She had a million of them. But there was more than curiosity in those crystal depths. There was fear, as well. As if somehow, she was afraid of what she might learn.
“Megan, come on. I can’t be that bad.”
“I don’t think you’re bad. I’m just confused and overwhelmed and...” She squared her shoulders. “I’m not entirely sure a getting-to-know-you anything makes much sense, all things considered.”
All things considered.
Code for the lawyers again. Divorce.
Connor cocked his jaw to the left and crossed his arms, looking hard at the woman he’d married the night before.
No doubt a divorce would be the simplest solution.
