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The slight shake of her head had his focus honing and his critical skills tuning up. Man, he’d been thinking how much he might like to see her girl-next-door smile turn sultry, but now here she was making him work for her too? It didn’t get better.
“I should probably go. I’m not a casual-encounter kind of girl. And even if you were looking for something more than casual, I still wouldn’t be interested.”
Something about the way she said it had his curiosity standing up for a stretch. “Oh, yeah—how come?”
Her hand lifted in a sort of dismissive flutter, which stopped almost before it began. Then meeting his eyes, she said, “Sorry, it’s a little too personal for a fake first nondate.”
Connor grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “So why not make it a not-quite-so-fake first nondate. Or maybe a fake first date, though if we’re already faking it, we ought to go for a second or third date...when all the good stuff starts.”
Her smile went wide before giving way to a laugh out of line with the girl-next-door everything else about her. The laugh had his head cranking around for a second take. And sure enough, when her eyes were half closed, her lips parted for that low rolling sound of seductive abandon, he was the one left staring.
For a second.
Before he shifted back into gear. “Seriously, I’d like to know.”
He could see it in her eyes, in the tilt of her head and the way her body had already started to turn away. In her mind, the decision was made, and mentally, she was halfway to the door. Too bad.
But regardless, he didn’t want to leave her hanging after she’d mustered the nerve to come over.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, but she shook her head and smiled.
“Thanks, I’ll be fine, though.”
“Fair enough. I’m Connor, by the way.” He extended his hand, feeling like an ass offering to shake goodbye after the exchange they’d shared, but for some reason wanting to test the contact anyway.
“Megan.” She reached across the table and met his hand with her smaller one—and a flash of neon pink arced through the air, coming to land in his lap.
The hand in his clenched as he looked down and read the block lettering.
“What the—?”
Peals of laughter rang from the table where Megan had been sitting. The bridesmaids she’d been trying to escape. Or so she’d said.
His hand tightened around hers as, leveling her with a stare, he pulled her forward and then down into the open chair. “Sit. Now I need to know.”
Megan looked into his eyes, a thousand thoughts running through hers before she slumped back in the chair and said, “Okay, Carter—”
“Connor.”
She swallowed. “Connor. Right. Sorry. So here it is...”
CHAPTER THREE
Nine hours earlier...
“I THINK YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS is trying to tell you something.”
Megan grinned into her glass, trying not to laugh as she took the next sip. Sweet martini goodness coated her tongue, making her wonder how she’d gone through so much of her life without having tried one of these white-chocolate concoctions. They were delicious.
Oh, wait...the subconscious...
“Okay, what?”
“This trip to Vegas. It’s your subconscious screaming some deeply repressed need to take a chance. Do something crazy.”
They were back to this again. Megan shot him a knowing look, only to find his unrepentant one on the other end. “Or, this trip is about my cousin getting married.”
“Denial is a powerful thing.”
“Forget it. I told you already. I’m not running off and marrying you, so please stop begging.”
Carter—shoot, Connor, why couldn’t she remember!—let out a bark of laughter. They both knew marriage wasn’t what he’d been getting at. Just as they both knew he wasn’t actually serious.
He knew what her plans were. Had been truly interested when she’d laid them out, explaining her choice to pursue artificial insemination via sperm donor. And rather than back away slowly, he’d decided they both needed a night to cut loose and have some fun. The kind without consequences. The kind that revolved around easy conversation, harmless flirting and more drinks than were a good idea.
Knowing it would be the last, and finding a certain comfort in the utter lack of expectation from the man she was with, Megan agreed.
And she’d been near breathless with laughter ever since—milling through the grand casino, stopping at one attraction and then another, caught up in the sort of fun in which she never indulged.
Connor had been right. This was what she’d needed.
The palm of his hand settled lightly at the small of her back as he guided her toward an outcropping of slots. “I don’t know, Megan. Seems for a decision this big, you want to consider every option before dismissing it out of hand.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Then giving in to the impish grin tugging at her lips, she waved vaguely at the men around her. “And there are plenty of options to consider.”
Connor shook his head. “If you’re looking for a guy to close the deal, I’d steer clear of the slots,” he offered, totally deadpan. “Nothing says compensation issues like a man clinging too closely to a twelve-inch rod of metal.”
It took more than she’d thought she had to do it, but once Megan reined in her laughter, she pulled a mock scowl. “Seriously, how long have we known each other—and you think I’d hit the slots?”
This time it was Connor cracking the half smile that seemed his equivalent to a full-on belly laugh. “Right, I should have had more faith.”
She nodded, scanning the casino floor. “Roulette tables are where all the quality swimmers hang out.”
Another wry twist of lips. “I’m forced to disagree with you. Any guy lingering around a game based solely on luck is delusional. Probably believes in Santa and fairies. Doesn’t bode well for mental stability. You want the probability of psychosis spiraling through Junioretta’s double helix?”
Another stifled giggle. “No, definitely not. How could I have been so off base?”
“Sometimes I wonder about you.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. Couldn’t remember a guy she’d been so instantly at ease with. Of course, that last bit probably had more to do with knowing this wasn’t leading anywhere. Which took the pressure off tremendously. She could simply enjoy the attention of this incredibly attractive, charming man without worrying about...anything.
“Blackjack, then?”
They’d made it halfway across the floor when Connor caught a passing waitress, giving her their order before returning his attention to Megan. “Also delusional. He thinks he’s in control when it’s a game of chance. Unless he’s counting...and then you have a criminal element to consider.”
Playing devil’s advocate, she asked, “But wouldn’t counting suggest a higher level of intelligence?”
“So you’re a single mom, strapped from the cost of the private academy his ‘genius’ demands. How much time are you going to have for all those trips to visit little Buster in juvie?”
Megan let out her best indignant cough. “You’re implying my baby is going to be some kind of delinquent?”
One oh-so-arrogant brow shot high. Sexy and confident. “Not if you play your cards right.”
“Fine, fine.” She laughed, wiping the tears at the corners of her eyes with the backs of her thumbs. “So we’ve been through the slots, roulette and blackjack. If none of those are right, then what—offtrack betting?”
Connor drew to a stop, turning to consider her more closely than the question called for. Closely enough she could feel her body respond to the touch of his eyes at every point of contact. His smile was pure arrogance as he answered, “You want to win the genetic jackpot, then skip the pit stop at Gamblers Anonymous altogether. Obviously your best bet is me.”
* * *
Megan laughed, head thrown back, eyes closed, and the sound of it hit him right in the center of the chest. And when those big blue eyes blinked back at him, her cheeks a rosy red, the hot rush and warm pull of attraction firing through his body nearly knocked the reason right out of him.
Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice as she turned to accept her cocktail from the approaching waitress. “In the nick of time. I’ll definitely need another drink before I buy into that one.”
With a jut of his chin, he urged, “By all means, then, bottoms up.” Tossing back a swallow of his own, he grinned. “I’ve got all night.”
Damn, she had a gorgeous laugh. Even after it left her lips...echoes of it lit her eyes. Those sparkling eyes that were staring up at him like maybe he had the solution for anything. And suddenly, the idea of this strong, fiercely independent woman needing something from him appealed on an almost primal level.
“What?” he asked, chalking up the low timbre of his voice to a dry throat and remedying the obvious problem with a gulp of scotch.
Megan reached for the lapel of his jacket, her slender fingers curving around the fabric in a move both needy and intimate—a move that did something to him he wasn’t quite sure he should like quite so much.
Pearly-white teeth sank into the soft swell of her bottom lip before pulling free and he stopped breathing altogether.
“Megan.”
She sighed. “I’m starving.”
For a beat he stared down at her. And then those fingers tightened and she gave his lapel a little shake. “Star-ving.”
A single nod.
Food.
Yeah, he was pretty hungry too. For something, anyway. So it was time to stop staring down into her pretty, freckle-kissed face.
“Right.” Downing the rest of his glass in one swallow, he handed off the empty to a passing server. “Then I’m your man.”
Seven hours earlier...
He’d thought it couldn’t get any better than the laugh. But then he’d heard the laugh coupled with the squeals of delight and gotten an eyeful of Megan’s sensational and perfectly displayed backside. Shimmying in some victory dance as her winning machine counted up at the far end of the waffle buffet their surprisingly reliable cabbie had recommended.
Damn.
She’d caught him by surprise. Again. Lulling him into too easy a conversation and then giving up the details of her life as easily as this machine had given up her winnings. All it had taken was the right question at the right time, and she’d opened up, revealing new insight into the engaging creature he’d managed to capture for the night.
She was a self-proclaimed recovering romantic. A woman who believed in love but had discovered through a lifetime of experience the heights of that particular romantic elevation to be beyond her reach. And she’d accepted it, wasn’t interested in the futility of an unattainable pursuit. She was a brainiac beauty. A freelance software engineer, successful in her own right. Confident where it counted and modest in the most appealing ways. Independent to an extreme and unafraid to buck convention when it came to the achievement of her goals. Kind, funny and sexy.
Now he stood behind her, their latest round of cocktails set aside—which maybe wasn’t such a bad thing considering the kind of detours his head had been taking—as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, giving in to the absurdly out-of-place bit of possessive insanity going nuts thinking about anyone else seeing this heart-shaped perfection.
“Here, put this on,” he said, slipping it over her shoulders.
“I can’t believe it!” she gasped. “I never win. I never, ever, ever get lucky like this.”
Connor grinned, watching as the bare length of her arms disappeared within the sea of his coat. Reaching over, he adjusted the lapels, telling himself she’d looked cold. Then before he gave in to the temptation to linger near that tantalizing V of feminine flesh, or God forbid let his knuckles skim the softness there, he moved on to cuff her sleeves. Rolling up the arms until the slim band of her wristwatch shone beneath the flashing lights of her winning machine. It was a delicate band, but a little plain. The way he’d mistakenly thought about her, when really this girl glittered like a diamond.
“Carter,” she said breathlessly, those blue eyes watching where his thumb stroked across the sensitive pale skin of her inner wrist.
“Connor.” What the hell was he doing?
Her eyes lifted slowly, following the line of his arm, across his shoulder, to the top of his tie and then his mouth.
Did she have any idea how seductive those few beats of time were when he could all but see her mind working through the possibilities of where her gaze lingered.
This woman was hot. And sweet. And smart. And funny.
And she was staring at his mouth like it looked better than vanilla vodka and white-chocolate liqueur.
Like maybe, after all, she might want a taste.
Or even more.
Another beat and her eyes met his.
“Connor,” she corrected, the good judgment wrestling in those blue pools, barely holding out against temptation.
Damn, he liked the way she said his name. Especially when she got it right.
He had an excellent idea for helping her remember too.
Repetition. And positive reinforcement—the breathless, moaning, pleading kind.
Hours of it.
He could push—turn on the seduction and he’d have her.
This flirtation he’d been playing at was nothing. For every easy compliment, he’d kept a physical space between them. For every suggestive line, he’d avoided eye contact. Because he’d known—had a sense about what could be between them, and he’d steered clear of it. Only, now...he wanted more.
Shaking his head, he glared at the half-empty glass on the counter beside them. Your fault.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he put the arm’s length back between them, the easy smile. The just-for-fun.
Moments later they were outside in the night air, surrounded by the bright lights, the drifting foot traffic and steady stream of cars. “You just cracked two machines in a row. We ought to head back to the casino and find you a real jackpot. Or would you like to try something different, like roulette?”
A deep sigh left her pretty mouth. “I don’t think so. For someone who doesn’t win very often, I’m happy to be coming out ahead the way I am. I don’t want to push my luck.”
“Something else in mind?” he asked. But he already knew, having seen the flash of resignation in her eyes.
Goodbye.
