She’d sworn she wouldn’t do it again. Wouldn’t take another risk. And this...this was a risk unlike any she’d faced before. But staring into Connor’s deep brown eyes, all she could think was, what if this time the reward was worth it?
A knock sounded from the front door, and Connor broke the eye contact to check his watch and then push up from the couch. “Got to be your dress.”
A moment later a gleaming brass cart was parked in the entry and Connor was verifying the appointment for a stylist to do Megan’s hair and makeup. She’d tried to stop him, but he’d dismissed her protests, calling it a perk of being Mrs. Reed...said she should get used to it. Or at the very least use it while she had it.
Fair enough. She’d given in. And now she had to admit she was looking forward to letting someone else work on her hair. In all honesty, her plate felt a little full already with the business of this marriage on it. And the herculean task of making her hair look good just wasn’t something she had room for.
The door shut, and Connor, all tapered cut and balanced perfection, was closing in again. The skin along her shoulders began to tingle in reckless anticipation of that back-to-hard-chest-and-stomach stance he seemed to favor. And then he was there, running a thumb down the column of her neck. “Would you feel better if I shared a few points of dissent?”
Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw his eyes were serious. And so close.
“Yes, I would.”
Looking back at the dress before she turned around completely and did something monumentally stupid—which, considering her marital status, was really saying a lot—she pulled open the thin, protective plastic. Stroked her fingers over the silver, above-the-knee sheath.
Connor cleared his throat. “Camp.”
She shot another look back. “What?”
“I don’t like the idea of sending the kids away for extended periods of time.”
“But camp’s a treat. Once they’re old enough, of course. They have so many incredible programs out there. Nature camps. Space camps—”
“Yeah, arts, football, gymnastics, and everything else a little boy or girl could be interested in.” Shoving a hand through the dark silk of his hair, he let out a sigh. “I still don’t like the idea, but I’ve given on the point already.”
Her brows lifted along with the corners of her mouth as she turned to face him completely. “Wow. Any other small victories I should know about?”
“Christmas at home. Every year. All of us. Period.”
She let out a small gasp, her hand moving to her heart in genuine shock. “You fought against...Christmas?”
Those dark eyes softened, crinkling at the corners. “Please wipe the ‘he hates puppies’ look off your face. I didn’t want to count out a trip somewhere exotic. But your arguments were compelling, so it was a compromise easy to make.”
Wow, he was so—
Wait.
Her eyes narrowed on him. “And now you’re showing me how reasonable you are with all your willing concessions. Do you ever stop?”
Yes, she was fully aware of just how unreasonable her response to this man giving her exactly what she’d asked for was. But based on the twisted smile playing on his lips, Connor didn’t seem to mind.
“Not until I get what I want.”
She was getting lost in his eyes, feeling herself drawn closer with every minute they spent together. “And you want me.”
Connor leaned in, closing the distance between them until the heat of his body was licking over hers. She swayed, suddenly breathless. The palm of his left hand flattened against her spine.
“I’ve got you.” His voice was a low rumble against her ear, the contact between them almost a kiss before he stepped back and handed her the dress. “What I want is to keep you.”
WITH HER HAIR AND MAKEUP already done, Connor had barely gotten his arms through the sleeves of his tuxedo shirt before Megan was stepping out of the master bath again. This time decked out in the metallic-silver bridesmaid dress that left nearly the full length of her toned legs on perfect display.
Damn.
Megan shifted under his scrutiny, smoothing her hands over her hips with downward strokes probably intended to eke out a few millimeters of additional coverage.
Not happening.
“I had nothing to do with picking out this dress.”
As if he needed her to tell him. If Megan had been picking, he imagined she’d have selected something deceptively conservative. Like the dress she’d been wearing the night before. At first glance it had looked modest enough, but when he let his eyes linger for even a moment, the seductive hints had time to make an impact. The cut of the back, the line of the waist. The cling and fall, emphasizing all the right curves. Megan had an eye for what flattered her, but she managed it in a stylish, understated way. Something he liked.
Well, hell. He liked this dress too. But it was a different sort of appreciation happening here.
“Let me guess. Tina?” he asked, thinking it had to be she of the GOT SPERM T-shirt behind this kind of flash.
Megan smirked. “You’d think. But believe it or not, this was all Jodie. Something about the dress being a gift to us single girls.”
“Bridesmaid’s gift?”
“Jodie was convinced these dresses would give us the pick of the casino.”
Connor let out a bark of laughter. “Well, she’s got that right. And might I mention how utterly pleased I am you’ve decided to bring me along tonight. Especially considering the hard time I’d have had letting you out of my sight otherwise.”
A wash of pink tinged Megan’s cheeks as the smallest smile played at her lips. “Are you the jealous type?”
“Let’s call it possessive.” Her lids lifted, and seeing the pleasure in her eyes at his statement, he added, “But only when something is very important to me.”
Pearly-white teeth pressed into Megan’s lush little bottom lip as she turned away, fidgeting with the studs and links he’d set out on the polished mahogany dresser top. Her hair wound up the way it was, she couldn’t hide the pretty color suffusing the skin along her neck and ears. And he couldn’t fight the rush of pure masculine satisfaction at having driven it there.
After arranging everything into a neat row, Megan turned back to him. Her cheeks showing only the barest hint of her remaining blush. “I should get my shoes on. And you...”
She bent a little, reaching for the shoes set neatly at the wall. Stood, shifted and tried again. Pulled at the hem riding higher with each attempt.
Wow. Thank you, Jodie.
