Just this.
The perfect end to a night she wished didn’t have to.
Seconds later there was a breath between them—passing back and forth in a soft wash of warm and wet.
“Connor,” he murmured, close enough she could almost feel the vibration on her lips.
Megan blinked, but didn’t step back as she peered up into his eyes. “What?”
The corner of his mouth tipped. “Wanted to make sure you remembered my name.”
“Connor.” She sighed, closing her eyes to savor the moment just a little longer before she left. “That was very nice.”
Catching her with a crooked finger beneath her chin, Connor brought her gaze back to his. When their eyes met, she had to blink. It wasn’t the bittersweet sort of resigned longing she felt that was shining in his eyes. Not by a long shot. It was cocky arrogance and a sharply focused anticipation.
“Not really,” he said, curving his hand so it cupped her jaw. “That was getting you used to the idea.”
Her lips parted to protest, but before she had the chance to backtrack or reword her response, he’d swooped in again. Closing the bit of distance between them without hesitation. Taking her mouth as if it was his to do with as he pleased, making it his own in a way that had Megan’s hands rising of their own volition, her fingers curling into his tailored shirt, her moan sliding free of her mouth and into his. There wasn’t anything even remotely nice about this kiss. It was hot. Explosive. Consuming and intense.
It was the kind of kiss for behind closed doors. The kind she’d never in her life believed she would have allowed to take place in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. But then, she’d never been faced with the need to break away from something so damn good.
And then she wasn’t thinking about what she should be doing at all. Where she was. Or where she was going. There was only the hot press of Connor’s body as he pulled her closer. The skillful exploration of a part of her that suddenly felt like undiscovered country. The slow lick of his tongue against hers.
Delicious.
So good.
Another wicked lick was followed by a slow, steady thrust, and she was lost to it. Her hands moved against the hard planes of his torso in restless anticipation of what more he could give her.
She might regret this tomorrow...but not nearly as much as she would regret walking away tonight.
When Connor pulled back, she was breathless. Hungry. Desperate.
This time, the elusive tilt to Connor’s lips was gone. He drew a slow breath, his brows seeming to draw lower through every passing second until his eyes had become fathomless depths, so dark she wondered if, once she fell in, she’d ever make it back out again.
“Okay, yeah,” he murmured, as though having reached some internal understanding with himself.
“Yeah, okay,” she whispered, nodding. “But we have to go back to your room. I’m sharing a suite with Tina and Jodie.”
Only, then his head lowered to hers, and he pressed a single slow kiss against her lips before moving close to her ear. “I’ve got an even better idea.”
A second later his hands had clamped around her hips and she’d been hoisted over his shoulder, where she bounced with his long strides. Delighted by this show of caveman antics, she breathlessly laughed out a demand for an explanation.
“I’ve got a plan...” he answered, confident and excited. “I’ll tell you about it on the way. It’s up here on the right.”
THE QUIET HUM OF THE SHOWER came to a stop, leaving only the silence of the villa roaring around him. Connor stared out over the bedroom terrace and private Caribbean blue pool below, trying to anticipate what he would face when his wife emerged from her steamy refuge.
Megan had held it together through those first minutes of realization, even managing a few joking remarks between bouts of nausea—but as soon as she’d been strong enough to stand on her own, she’d asked for some privacy to clean up.
And he’d been waiting since. Listening to the lock snap on the bathroom door as it closed behind him. Contemplating the single muted sob he’d heard before the echoing spray of the shower drowned all other sound. Piecing together the events, revelations and resolutions of the night before. Trying to reconcile them with the here and now of the morning.
Megan wanted a lawyer.
It had been the only definitive statement she’d made regarding their marriage in those few chaotic moments they’d spent ensconced in their marble-and-brass hideaway. Granted, she was probably as hazy on the finer points of the night as he was, but something possessive inside him was growling in outrage at the thought.
She was his wife.
She’d married him. And not on some lark either, but because she’d recognized the potential between them, same as him.
So yeah, the alcohol may have played into the immediacy of his actions. But with every passing minute, the details of those critical hours they’d spent together and the woman he’d married sharpened in his mind, reaffirming his confidence in the decision to strike while the iron was hot.
And no, the irony wasn’t lost on him that after his patient, methodical approach to finding a wife had failed with Caro—Megan had just dropped into his lap. Sure, sure, he’d had to sell her on the idea once he’d seen the sense in it. But he was a man with a knack for identifying opportunity and the skills to convey the benefits of said opportunity to others. He could size up a situation and break down the key factors, without waiting for the proverbial knock at his door or encyclopedic pitch most people required prior to taking action. And what he’d seen in Megan told him she was the kind of opportunity he shouldn’t kick out of his bed for eating crackers— or, more specifically, downing half Nevada’s monthly import of vanilla vodka in one night.
Their agendas were simply too well aligned to ignore. The timing too right. The practical approach too perfect. And she’d been like-minded enough to see it and agree.
Megan fit him to a T, so he wasn’t prepared to admit he’d made a mistake. Not yet anyway. Though he supposed the next few minutes would be fairly telling on that count. A bout of hysterics, for instance, would most definitely have him reconsidering his stance.
The lock released with a loud click and Connor steeled his gut for what came next. Only, somehow the sight of Megan, towel dried, freshly scrubbed and swimming in a thick, oatmeal robe as she tentatively pushed a damp tendril from her brow, was something he had no defense against.
She was beautiful.
And the steady way she met his eyes proved she wasn’t a meltdown in progress. Though taking the rest of her body language into account—the crossed arms, one hand securing the overlap of panels high at her neck and the other wrapped tight around her waist—suggested she wasn’t quite ready to pick up where they’d left off the night before. She looked cautious. Alert. And cool.
