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“A few minutes here and there.”
Alarm spreading through him like wildfire, he waited for her to say something more. Waited for her to finish her sentence with “seem to be missing.” Only, then the ring was free, being pressed into his palm, wrapped tight beneath fingers Megan had dutifully closed for him. And she was peering up at him, those blue pools searching his eyes for something...anything maybe.
“I remember seeing you at a bar and thinking how handsome you were. I remember laughing...a lot, and at another point, talking over waffles, though about what I couldn’t say except you looked serious then. I remember you joking about us picking out china patterns. And I remember knowing with all certainty you weren’t serious. There weren’t any maybes between us. It simply wasn’t like that.” Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink as she looked away. “I remember knowing I should slow down because I don’t really drink much, but ordering another round because I didn’t want the fun to end. And I remember signing my name in the chapel, thinking—God, I don’t even know what. So, I guess, not really thinking at all.”
Connor stared, stunned as she turned away, a flush still blazing in her cheeks even as her shoulders remained straight. The air left his lungs on a hot expletive as he watched her nudge at the decorative pillows and shams littering the floor around the bed with her foot.
No wonder she was treating their marriage like some throwaway Vegas souvenir. This woman had a plan, and she didn’t remember a single one of the reasons Connor had given her for changing it. Hell, she barely remembered him. And yet, she’d somehow managed to hold it together, remaining calm and focused throughout.
She was strong. Tough.
Everything he wanted.
Her mouth pulled to the side. “I don’t suppose you happen to know where I might find my dress?”
Images of that superfine, silky bit of blue hitting him in the face flashed through his mind; only, where the dress went after had been as low a priority then as it was now.
“Megan. I’m sorry. If I’d realized, I would have been telling you everything, trying to fill in the night, explaining what happened. Why didn’t you ask?”
* * *
Closing her eyes, Megan drew a steadying breath.
Why? Because the details weren’t important and she could decipher the broad strokes on her own. This gorgeous, carefree guy had tempted her with all the things she’d sworn she could live without...the attention of a charming, desirable man, the chance to be utterly spontaneous, the indulgence in a night of reckless excess she wouldn’t even consider once she had another person dependent on her. And so her pickled mind had rationalized this one last adventure. Vegas-style.
Maybe her blocking out their time together was some sort of defense mechanism.
Looking at this man alone made her believe whatever happened between them could very well have been the kind of phenomenal a grown woman didn’t recover from, and her inner psyche was simply trying to protect her.
“Megan?” The deep, rich baritone cut into her thoughts an instant before the heat of his hands settled over her shoulders, jolting her back to the now. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
And then those strong hands were turning her around, gripping her tight. “You’re wrong. I don’t think you understand. Last night wasn’t just some goof to be rectified this morning.”
She blinked, trying to look away even as she felt herself stumbling further into the intensity of Connor’s dark eyes. He thought there was something meaningful between them? Some potential?
This wasn’t what she needed to hear.
“It has to be.” She couldn’t invest in potential again. She didn’t have the time and she didn’t have the will. “I have a plan.”
She’d expected him to back off a step, ask what she was talking about, but instead that single corner of his mouth turned up to the slightest degree. As if suddenly he found himself on better footing than he’d expected. “Yeah, but my plan’s better. Even you think so.”
She’d told him?
Her chin pulled back as she felt the sting of self-betrayal and cursed her inner psyche.
Was nothing sacred?
Images of the laughter came back to her in a sickening rush, and she couldn’t help but wonder if all her goals and intentions had been a part of the joke. Only, as she looked into Connor’s eyes, some instinctive part of her knew it wasn’t the case.
So what, then...
“Oh, my God.” Her throat closed tight, trying to strangle the words she didn’t want to say. “Did you volunteer to be my sperm donor?”
He was tall and handsome, without any obvious festering infections—
“No.” His brows, already drawn low over his eyes, went even lower, obscuring what little chance she’d had to try to read a man who wasn’t exactly an open book to begin with. “Not really. Not like you’re thinking.”
Not like she was thinking? Like what, then? she thought with a fresh wave of panic.
Her eyes fell to the empty spot on her ring finger. He’d married her. So maybe it wasn’t so much a donation at all. Donations were free and clear...and this guy had already tied her down with a fairly significant string.
He wanted dibs on her baby.
He wanted a claim.
Suddenly, her breath was coming faster than it should, and the air working its way in and out of her lungs felt thin and useless.
“Wait, Megan. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can tell from your face it’s wrong. Let me explain.”
“You’re gay.” What else would a guy who looked like this be doing with her?
“Uh...” That tilted smile was back and she knew she was right.
“Okay, so you don’t want your parents to know? You need an heir or something to keep your trust fund?”
“No—uh—I—uh—”
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. “Look, Carter, either way, it doesn’t matter. Whatever deal we might have worked out last night is off.”
She’d been heavily intoxicated. Even if she’d signed a dozen documents, they would never stand up. She could walk away, unless—
Her eyes shot wide as she stared up at him in horror. “Did you...try...to get me pregnant last night?”
Connor coughed, his amused expression morphing into shock, confusion and something she really, really didn’t want to believe was guilt no matter how much it looked like it.
His hand came up between them, but she didn’t care if he needed a minute to sort out his story or work through his defense. Spinning away, she banded her arms across her abdomen, sick with the knowledge of what she’d done. “Of all the stupid, self-sabotaging, dangerous—”
“Megan.” The way he said her name made it half plea, half laugh.
What had she done? Even if she wasn’t pregnant, she’d had unprotected sex with a man she didn’t know.
...patient zero...
Her stomach pitched hard. “He could have an STD,” she gasped, her own anxiety pushing the words past her lips before she’d thought to stifle them.
“Megan.” This time her name sounded strained coming through his lips. As though this guy was losing his patience.
Tough. Whatever he was thinking, he’d have to put a pin in it. She had bigger fish to fry than worrying about his patience when her best-case scenario was not pregnant, not infected, but still having to push back her plan by six months to ensure enough time for any STDs to show up in the screen.
“Damn it, Megan, look at me.” Those hands were on her again, spinning her around and holding her still as Connor got in her face.
“One.” He let go of her to bring his thumb up. “I do not have any sexually transmitted diseases. I always use a condom and following the breakup of my yearlong committed relationship had myself tested, as a precaution, regardless. Two.” His index finger was next. “Neither is there a trust fund nor some executor to appease regarding it. Every cent I have, I earned on my own. Three, where the hell do you get this stuff?” Another finger. “Four, I didn’t marry you to get my hands on a baby. I married you because we had similar goals and priorities and expectations...and damn it, I married you because I liked you a hell of a lot too.”
She shook her head, searching those impossible eyes. “But it doesn’t make sense—”
He waved her off. “And five, I absolutely did not try to get you pregnant last night. We didn’t have sex.”
Her jaw dropped.
So he was gay.
And why the revelation hit her like disappointment when she ought to be turning cartwheels, she couldn’t say. But she’d deal with it later.
Only. then that mishmash of backward thinking was in play again, rising up with a victorious laugh at a thought that should have spurred outrage. “But I was naked,” she challenged, recalling she’d literally stumbled over her panties and hideous T-shirt sprinting to the bathroom. A lucky break considering how fast on her heels Connor had been.
Naked and puking would have been a low she didn’t care to contemplate.
“Yeah, and I didn’t say nothing happened.” With that concession, his gaze burned a slow path down her body, leaving her with the sense the bulk of her robe was all but invisible. He’d seen her before. And right then, he was seeing her again.
“Connor!”
His eyes met hers, completely unrepentant. “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”
