She was going to fly away tomorrow. And nothing he did was going to stop her.
Jerking the tap off, he rubbed the water from his eyes and shook out his hair.
Then, wrapping a towel around his hips, he readied himself for the goodbye he was certain awaited on the other side of the door. Or more likely down in the living room. But definitely not on the couch.
Enough pussyfooting around.
He swung open the bathroom door, determined to face the music like a man—and rooted to his spot, stunned by the sight of Megan, swimming in her giant robe, feet tucked beneath her in the wingback at the far corner of the master suite.
“Okay,” she said, nervously wringing her hands. “I’ll be your wife.”
Megan was talking, but damned if he’d understood a word she said after I’ll be your wife. In a heartbeat he’d crossed the room and had her in his arms. Her mouth was still moving when his crushed down, silencing the words he hadn’t been able to follow. She could tell him later, when the adrenaline rush deafening him to everything but the roar of victory quieted inside his head. Until then, he’d keep her mouth busy with something more productive than talk.
Hands splayed over his chest, she pulled back from him, laughing even as he tried to follow her retreat. “Wait,” she pleaded, her hands moving from his chest to frame his jaw. “Wait, Connor. We need to get a few things straight before we go any further.”
Walking them back to the bed, he shook his head. “Later. Postnuptial agreement, whatever, we’ll work it out. Tomorrow.”
“No, that’s not what—” Then, twisting her head around, she looked behind her. “No, Connor. I’m serious. Not the bed—”
Only, he was already tipping Megan back onto it. “I know you liked the door idea, but give the bed a chance. You won’t be disappointed.”
And then his mouth was on hers again, his hand following the smooth line of her thigh to her bare hip. And hell, yes, she was arching into him, moaning around the thrust of his tongue, clutching at his shoulders and then his hair. Opening wider to him and following the retreat of his tongue with the light flick of her own.
She was so sexy. She was his.
And he was going to taste every...single...inch of her tonight.
His mouth was on her neck, his tongue sliding over the rapid beat of her pulse when Megan’s muffled curse, followed by an urgent wriggle and squirm, had him pulling back to meet her eyes.
“Damn it.”
Her face screwed up into a knot of acute frustration, making Connor pull back even more as, baffled, he watched her scoot from the bed.
“Now, Connor. We need to talk now. Because I can’t agree to everything. We need some ground rules.”
“Ground rules.” He didn’t like the sound of that. “Such as?”
Tightening the belt on her robe, she shifted her weight and squinted at him. “No sex.”
Connor’s teeth ground down as he drew a long breath through his nose. “You mean...tonight?”
But even as he asked, he knew the answer.
“No. I’m talking about at all. Through the three trial months.”
Forcing himself to laugh instead of swear, he shook his head. “Forget it, Megan. This is a real marriage we’re trying on, and sex is a healthy, normal part of it.”
“It’s too distracting,” she protested. “I couldn’t even think straight when you and I were—” her hand waved back and forth through the air between them “—on the bed. And I’m talking about changing the plans for the rest of my life. I need to be able to think.”
His brow furrowed. “You’ll have plenty of time to think, sweetheart. How about I promise not to ‘distract’ you when we’re discussing something important?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure your concession is going to be enough. When we’re together...even kissing...Connor, I can’t think enough to tell you to stop when my future is on the line.”
Okay, grinning like a fool probably wasn’t sending the best message, but damn, he liked what he was hearing. “You seemed to manage it pretty well...and more than once.”
“Barely!”
“Have I mentioned how happy I am you married me?”
“Connor, I’m serious—”
“I’m serious too,” he said, following her off the bed and taking her shoulders in his hands. “As far as getting pregnant goes, obviously we’ll wait until you’re confident this is the life you want. But sex? Not a chance. I’m going to seduce you, Megan.”
“I’ll say no,” she whispered, her eyes already drifting to his mouth.
“Fair warning—” his thumb moved to the pale pink line where her bottom lip became skin “—if you do, I’ll stop.”
She nodded, closing her eyes when the motion caused him to stroke across that bit of sensitive flesh. So pretty.
“I know you will.”
Her eyes opened, and this time she looked him over from damp head to precariously situated towel to toe and back again, as though steeling herself against temptation.
This was his wife!
The muscles in her throat moved up and down as she swallowed. Twice. Then those gorgeous blue pools blinked up at him, determination doing its downright best to put in a showing.
“I can resist you.”
Connor gave in to the slow grin pushing at his lips. “You can try.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR ever-loving mind?” Jeff demanded, his outrage reaching through the phone as clearly as if the man himself had crawled through the line to grab him and shake.
“Would you believe out of my mind, over the moon and totally in love?” Connor asked, shouldering his carry-on as he left the airport newsstand.
“No” was Jeff’s flat, less-than-amused reply.
“Yeah, well, you’re right.” Sidestepping a couple locked in a passionate embrace, he scanned the gates and checked his watch. “I’m perfectly sane. Grounded, with my feet planted firmly in reality, and married to a gorgeous, sexy, intelligent woman who happens to be everything I’m looking for in a wife.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize you were looking for a gold-digging brainwasher, Connor, or I’d have pointed out the throngs of them throwing themselves at your feet for the last decade. What the hell happened, man. Did she drug you?”
Connor’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding down.
He’d known what people would think. The conclusions they’d draw. And he’d told himself he didn’t care. That neither of them would. Hell, Megan wasn’t afraid to fly in the face of convention any more than he was. But just as at the wedding, that protective instinct had him ready to throw down over those disparaging comments.
“Not even close. In fact, I suppose the case could be made I actually drugged her.”
There she was. Back from the coffee bar, a tray loaded with a couple of roadies and a pastry bag in one hand, a laptop backpack hanging from the other. He slowed his steps, preferring to get this cleared up out of earshot.
“Um...Connor, what are you talking about?”
“I let her drink too much and she ended up blacking out most of the night.”
“Let me guess,” came Jeff’s dry reply. “She remembered the part about getting married, though.”
“Yeah, but unfortunately she didn’t remember why she’d thought it was such a great idea at the time. Took some effort on my part to remind her. Even now, she’s still on the fence, but she’s willing to give it a chance. We’re on our way to Denver to pack her things.”
“You’re serious?”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Jeff’s voice squeak that way, and the sound of it pushed the smile he’d started this call with back to his lips.
“As a heart attack. You’ll have to take my word for it, but, Jeff, I know her. And I like her a hell of a lot.”
Then because he simply couldn’t pass on the opportunity to goad an old friend when the opportunity was right there, he added, “Back on the horse, like you said.”
“Spea
king of... Does she know about Caro?”
“She does. I told her the first night.” He cleared his throat and looked out over the tarmac. “Then again yesterday.” He’d been damn lucky she’d asked him about any serious relationships during their refresher course in Know Thy Mate. Caroline had been the dead-last thing on his mind, and something told him it wouldn’t exactly have fostered the trust they were building if he hadn’t gotten that tidbit on the table. And even now, he realized there were details he should fill in. Specifics that didn’t actually change anything, but—hell, Megan’s capitulation in giving this marriage a try had been a close thing. Too close. He wasn’t willing to risk some unfortunate chronology putting her off, at least not until they were on more solid ground.
“Can’t believe you didn’t introduce us yesterday. I want to meet this woman...now that I know she didn’t drag you down the aisle at knifepoint,” Jeff clarified.
Connor grinned and started walking again, raising a hand when Megan turned his way, her too-wide smile doing too many things to him at once.
“Soon. For now, I’m ready to get her home.”
“Good to hear it. But I want details. Start at the beginning.”
“You’d been gone about thirty seconds when the ‘gymnast’ shows up at the table, with this whopper of a line.”
“The gymnast? Dude!”
Megan met him halfway and, apparently having overheard the last bit, arched an amused brow. Leaning toward the phone, she piped in, “I’m not a gymnast.”
Connor ducked and dropped a quick kiss at her temple, relishing the faint blush in her cheeks. “Only, she’s not a gymnast, and it’s not actually a line...”
* * *
Megan woke to the steady thud, thud of Connor’s heart beneath her ear, the constant weight of his arm around her waist and the whirl of a mind anxious to put sleep behind it.
After two nonstop days in Denver, they’d packed the bulk of her apartment, leaving only the barest essentials behind. Laughter and fun like she’d never known had punctuated intense negotiations, strict limits and hard deadlines as a plan for the next three months came together. Sleeping arrangements, travel and social obligations, their respective professional commitments and myriad other details of this life they were embarking on had to be addressed. With so much to do, and so many decisions to make...it had been after midnight when Connor finally carried her over the threshold of his spacious San Diego home and about five minutes after that when they’d collapsed into bed.
Now Megan was blinking the sleep from her eyes, a silly grin curving her lips as the phrase “Today is the first day of the rest of your life” came to mind. Squinting around the unfamiliar room, she located a clock at the far corner and winced at the realization today was beginning at the ungodly hour of four.
Megan made a stealthy escape from the bed and padded down the stairs, flipping on one light after another as she tried to familiarize herself with a house not yet her home, searching for clues about the man she’d married along the way. What she’d discovered was an immaculately decorated showplace, where each room had a central piece of artwork around which everything else flowed. Horses in charcoal tore across an open plain in the massive study, a bronze figurine capturing the essence of a weary rider atop his mount was the central focus in a reading room, and aged leather behind glass in the living room revealed her husband had the heart of a cowboy.
Such a contrast to the clean lines and neat cut of his made-to-measure everything else. At least everything she’d seen so far. But perhaps that had just been Vegas.
There was so much left to learn.
Her mother’s parting words from their previous morning’s conversation whispered to her.
“You’re going to have to step up your game if you want to hang on to this one...”
She shook her head. Some advice.
There was no game. There never had been.
She knew better, thanks to the lessons learned at her mother’s knee.
Turning from the relic of the Old West, her gaze caught on the floor-to-ceiling glass doors making up the southwest wall. The inky black of the early hours had faded to blue and the landscape around them had begun to take shape. Palms stretched like dark cutouts against the morning sky and elusive streaks of white rushed the shores.
Slowly she stepped forward, wanting to put her mother’s words and the memories they spurred behind her. Lose herself in the beauty revealed by the approach of the rising sun. Only, the past had already taken hold. All the “daddies” who’d walked through her life. The great guys Gloria Scott had been willing to do anything—be anyone—to keep ahold of. The wild changes to her mother’s personality and personal goals heralding the arrival of each new man. Megan’s own determination not to let this one get too close—no matter how nice or fun he was—because it wouldn’t last. It never lasted. The tug at her little girl’s nerves once things started to slip. The sidelong looks, the downward pull of a mouth. The hope that maybe she was wrong. That maybe if she was good enough, if she tried hard enough, this one wouldn’t leave.
But they all did.
Eugene, Charlie, Pete, Rubin, Zeke, Jose and Dwayne. Seven husbands come and gone, and still her mom hadn’t figured it out. A person couldn’t make something last if it wasn’t meant to, like a person couldn’t be someone they weren’t. And trying only prolonged the inevitable.
Some were easier to let go. And some—she let out a heavy sigh as the memory of sun-crinkled eyes winking at her from across a worn dock squeezed her heart—the echoes of their absence were so deeply ingrained in her psyche they touched every relationship she’d ever attempted.
Her fingers trailed the wood frame of the sliders as a thread of anxious tension stitched through Megan’s belly. In spite of her determination not to, was she just repeating her mother’s mistakes?
She’d married a man she’d known for less than a day. A man who’d been so sold on the woman he met that first night—a night she couldn’t remember—he was determined not to let her get away. Sure, Connor thought he knew her. But what if he was wrong? What if she hadn’t been herself and he was so caught up in the hard-won victory he was after that he simply hadn’t realized it yet?
How long before he saw past the illusion of who he wanted her to be—and actually saw her?
Would it be within the span of this trial or would it be after she’d finally let herself believe—
“You’re up early.”
Megan spun around to find Connor watching her from the hall, a pair of light cotton gray pajama bottoms hanging dangerously low on his trim hips. The bare expanse of his cut chest was emphasized by the casual way he’d leaned one arm at the edge of the open frame doorway.
“So are you.”
God, he was gorgeous with his mess of silky hair standing every which way and a day’s growth roughing up the perfection of his square-cut jaw, giving him a sort of roguish look to match the smile and eyes.
“My bed got lonely,” he offered with a wink that did something crazy to her insides and reminded her of how impossible it was not to get caught up in this man’s convictions when they were together.
He believed in them. Was so ready to take that headlong dive into their future. Made it seem so simple.
Just jump.
When he looked at her the way he was right then, it made her want to jump too. Made her want everything he was offering. But wanting something didn’t necessarily mean it was right. She had to keep her head.
“Lonely.”
He grinned. “Yeah, well, I also figured you might like a tour of your new home. Some coffee maybe?”
She let out an involuntary moan. “Coffee, yes, please.”
Laughing, he walked over and caught her hand. “My ego’s demanding the next time you make that noise, it’s not going to be because of coffee. Come on.”
In the kitchen, she rifled through the freezer as Connor got the pot brewing.
“I’m not much of a cook, in case I didn’t
mention it already, but frozen waffles I can do,” she offered over her shoulder.
Connor closed in behind her, one arm reaching past to swing the freezer door shut. “In a minute.”
Her heart skipped a beat and her belly fluttered.
“Connor,” she warned, taking a step in retreat.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he soothed, catching her hips and backing her to the neat square kitchen table, then popping her up to sit atop. “All I’m after is my previously agreed-upon good-morning kiss.”
Their compromise on physical intimacy.
It had been a point of contention between them, with Megan determined not to let seduction sway her thinking about the marriage, and Connor wanting—well, everything. In the end, neither of them had been interested in the kind of precedent three months of strictly platonic set—trial or not. So they’d settled on a daily kiss count of four, with good-morning, have-a-good-day, welcome-home and good-night kisses to be granted at the corresponding times.
Four. She could totally handle four kisses.
Her body warmed at the knowledge it was time to pay the piper.
Parting her knees, he stepped between them. Leaned in close. Closer. And closer still until he’d braced one hand on the hardwood behind her and wrapped the other around her waist, leaving Megan no choice but to cling to his shoulders.
“One kiss, Connor,” she whispered, already feeling drugged by the sleepy bedroom scent of him.
“One kiss. Any way I want to take it.”
Breathless, she stared up into his eyes. “And you want it on the breakfast table.”
Letting out a low groan, Connor ran the bridge of his nose along the line of her jaw to below her ear. “God, yes. But I’ll settle for the kiss if it’s all you’re ready to give me.”
“Just the kiss.” She’d tried to keep the pleading quality from her tone, but she wanted to be reminded of the chemistry. The magic. What this was leading to if everything worked out. Or maybe all she wanted was Connor’s mouth on hers again.
That cocky smile cranked another notch, Connor’s lids dropping slumberously low. “We’ll see.”
Waking Up Married Page 9
