Waking Up Married

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  * * *

  Gone. Nine in the morning and already she was gone. The house quiet and still beneath the rusty sound of Connor’s breath sawing in and out of his lungs.

  Goddamn it.

  He’d thought she would wait. Thought her conscientious core of respect and sensitivity would be enough to ensure she wouldn’t leave without talking to him. Telling him to his face it was over.

  At least, trying to.

  But as sensitive and respectful as Megan was, beneath all that softness, she was smart. Too smart to give him the chance to talk her out of anything.

  So she’d worked through the night. Packing only what she could take with her. Organizing the rest for his convenience.

  He wanted to topple every damn piece of furniture in the place.

  He couldn’t freaking believe she’d actually done it.

  She wasn’t supposed to leave. She was supposed to calm down enough that he could talk sense to her. Remind her of the kind of life they could have together.

  But instead, she’d caught some red-eye out, leaving him to find the life he’d planned for them dismantled into piles and labeled in her hand.

  To hell with that.

  Hands curling into fists at his sides, he stormed out of the dark office that still smelled like sunshine.

  It wasn’t over.

  She might have left, but it wasn’t as though she was out of reach. The only reason she would have gone without talking to him was that she’d been afraid he’d be able to coerce her to stay if they’d been face-to-face.

  He was going to prove her right.

  Go after her. Make her see reason. Make her come back. Forget about some halfhearted kiss that stopped nearly before it began. He’d seduce her. Completely. Start with his mouth and tongue. Back her against the wall because it drove her completely wild— and yeah, he wasn’t above using his body to exploit the weaknesses of hers.

  And once he had her mindless, breath breaking against his ear, her hands clutching at his hair, her pleas filling the space around her, he’d use that leverage—

  “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you go...”

  The echo of those decades-old words from a man he hated to the woman who hadn’t been able to resist them had his steps grinding to a stop, the blood burning through his veins running cold.

  He was just like him.

  No matter how Connor swore he wouldn’t let him be, that bastard was a part of his DNA.

  How many times had his mother tried to leave his father? Tried to break things off and start a life separate from the man who would never make her properly part of his?

  He thought about that morning so many years ago. The too-small, too-still shape of her curled in on herself in the middle of her bed. The knowledge, even before he reached out to try to wake her—

  What would it have meant for them if his father had respected her wishes and let her start living her own life without him?

  Could she have pulled herself together? Found the will to just...live?

  Opening the fist he’d had clenched since he’d torn through the house and found Megan gone, he stared down at the band of diamonds in his palm.

  This was the second time she’d returned it to him.

  The second time he’d completely ignored what she wanted.

  Raking his hands through his hair, he balled them at the back of his skull and stared out the windows at the ocean beyond.

  He wasn’t his father. He’d spent his life proving it to himself and anyone who dared connect the Reed name. He’d stood at the door of his father’s office that last day and turned down his money. His job. His grudging recognition.

  Told him he wouldn’t accept any of it. The only thing he would take were the memories of how this man had ruined his mother’s too-short life with his selfishness.

  And those only because, try as he might, he couldn’t make himself forget.

  An awful pain settled deep within him. He had to let Megan go.

  It would be better for them both.

  Forcing his breathing to level out, he turned around and walked back to her suite of rooms.

  Once this space was cleared of her things, he’d be fine. Move on, just as he always did.

  Even if always had never been like this.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MEGAN HAD THOUGHT the phone call with Connor two nights earlier uncomfortable.

  Yes, she’d expected they would need to talk, say the things her absence had already announced, work out the return of her belongings and discuss a divorce. And they had. But what she hadn’t expected was the call to go the way it had.

  So very easily. Peaceably. Politely.

  Connor’s casually conversational tone—

  “Do you have a lawyer already or can I get one for you?”

  “Sounds like the earliest the shippers can get there is Friday. Going to be okay until then?”

  “You sure you don’t want any of these clothes? This blue dress was dynamite on you.”

  —working her over in a way no amount of hostility, accusation or railing could have accomplished. It had nearly killed her to leave, but the hurt of knowing how little her departure had affected him was so much worse. He’d turned off all emotion...in a single day. Been so unaffected, the call had unfolded more like friendly chitchat than the first step in the end of a marriage.

  Back at the house, he’d been ready to “talk” her out of leaving, but he’d still been in the fight at that point. Once she’d gone and the loss was confirmed...it was as if he’d simply shrugged it off. And she’d been wrecked to have all her suspicions so quickly confirmed.

  But, as brutal as having her heart crushed again was, the fresh pain of it was exactly what she’d needed to alleviate her doubts about artificial insemination and her choice to forgo relationships in the future.

  She would never doubt again.

  So the call, as uncomfortable as it was, had been worth it.

  Or so she’d thought right up until sixty seconds ago, when she’d opened the door expecting to find the shippers on her stoop, but instead faced Connor smiling that aggravating smile at her.

  “Hey, gorgeous, got something these guys can prop the security door open with. Shouldn’t take too long—”

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped, too shocked to soften her demand.

  A careless shrug. “Didn’t know if you had anyone to help, and figured it would go more smoothly with a second body. You know, make sure there weren’t any problems.”

  Throat thick with emotion she didn’t want to face, emotion she needed to put aside, she shook her head. “Connor, you shouldn’t have come here. I left because—”

  “Call it marital privilege.” His smile stayed exactly as it was, but his eyes were hard as they scanned the guys unloading one box after another from the truck. “I’m still your husband, so might as well work it while I’ve got it.”

  Marital privilege—who was he kidding?

  She wanted to argue with him, tell him how much his showing up on her doorstep—when she’d left in the earliest hours of the morning to avoid seeing him again—infuriated her. But Connor wasn’t stupid. He’d known exactly how much this would upset her, and he’d chosen to come regardless because Connor always did what Connor wanted.

  “Anyway, I’m here,” he said, reaching over her head and wrapping his hand around the security door she’d been holding on to for dear life. “So, what do you say we haul this stuff up to your apartment and get these guys out of here?”

  She nodded, trying to ignore the way his casual work shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his chest, or how when he’d leaned in to take hold of the door she hadn’t yet relinquished, it put him close enough for the too-good scent of his soap and skin to tease her.

  Unable to resist, she drew a deep breath through her nose and held his delicious scent within her. Savoring it as she savored the memories it spurred. Memories of late nights, bare skin and pleasure that engaged her ev
ery sense.

  She’d fallen so far. So fast.

  Connor’s free hand closed over her waist, and she looked up into those dark brown eyes. It was a mistake. She shouldn’t be this close. Shouldn’t have allowed herself to be snared by the one lure sure to catch her.

  The hand at her waist coasted over the small of her back, shooting sparks of sensation across her skin, sparks that threatened to reignite a flame.

  “Megan,” Connor said, urging her closer to all his heat.

  She knew she should push away. Being this close meant getting burned, but— “Watch out, sweetheart, the guys need to get by.”

  Her head swung around to the first mover, who was edging around her, a box marked OFFICE in his arms.

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  She nodded, embarrassment blazing in her cheeks as she tried to step back from Connor’s hold and into the door. Only, he held her firm, until she had no choice but to meet his eyes again.

  This time she kept her head.

  “Let me go so I can tell him where to put everything.” So she could breathe and think and stand a chance at remembering all the reasons she needed to keep her distance from this man who wreaked havoc on her judgment.

  * * *

  His thumb slid in the smallest caress against the base of her spine, and then his attention shifted back to the men and the truck and the return of Megan’s life to what it had been before she’d met him.

  What the hell was he doing there? He’d decided to let Megan go.

  Had spent the entire damn day she left getting himself to a place where that possessive part of him all about keeping her was tamped down enough for him to be able to call. Talk to her without trying to talk her into anything. Make sure she’d made it back to Denver and was okay.

  He’d done it.

  Worked out a few logistics regarding the return of her things and hung up patting himself on the back for finally doing the right thing.

  And then he’d gone to bed and stared at the ceiling until he finally gave up and drove into work. Where he’d spent the next eighteen hours.

  When the shipping crew arrived, he’d supervised the packing of Megan’s belongings. Figuring once they were out of the house—the constant in-his-face reminder of what he’d wanted and what he’d lost removed—he’d be able to relax. The vise around his lungs would ease up. The persistent knot in his gut would finally loosen. But as the last box left the house, he’d found himself following behind. Checking the truck, grilling the guy in charge about how long it would take to arrive. What precautions were in place to ensure her belongings would be in the same shape when they’d arrived as when they left. If the men who’d done the loading were the same ones who would be unloading. How long he’d been working with them.

  When he realized no amount of reassurance would be enough, he decided to fly out and meet the truck in Denver.

  Make sure the movers delivered her things and got out of her apartment without a hitch.

  Simple. No ulterior motives involved.

  Yeah, sure, fantasies about getting her beneath him, on top of him, wrapped so sweet and tight and hot around him had been running through his head on a thirty-second loop. But did he have plans to act on those fantasies?

  No.

  At least, he hadn’t until she’d peered up at him from so temptingly close. Those eyes that had been filled with ire when she saw him waiting at her door going soft and warm as he’d gotten her out of the way of the mover.

  Fine. He still wouldn’t act. Her looking up at him the way she did, when he knew for damn sure she didn’t want anything, spoke volumes about the sway he held with her. Too much.

  And the emotion in her eyes? Yeah, no stroke to his ego had ever compared...but he still didn’t want a relationship with that kind of emotion. That kind of responsibility. What he wanted was Megan wanting him...but not needing him. Not vulnerable to him. Sure as hell not trying to leave him over and over again...and simply failing.

  Screw that.

  No. He’d make sure she was okay and then he’d be able to take off without looking back.

  With the last box delivered, Connor signed the paperwork, tipped the guys and then closed Megan’s door.

  Her apartment felt smaller than he remembered it. But then, there were boxes stacked in the center of each of the four rooms, eating up space. She hadn’t brought everything to San Diego. Not the furniture. But her keepsakes. Books. Knickknacks.

  Things he’d laughed about seeing as she unpacked them, but now wondered if he’d miss having them gone.

  Opening one odd-shaped box, Megan withdrew a lamp with a beaded shade, and he found himself watching intently as she returned it to the place it had previously occupied, curious about how her life fit together without him in it.

  Setting the lamp on the small table beside a reading chair, she plugged the cord into the outlet and stepped back, an unreadable expression on her face.

  He couldn’t tell whether she was happy to see it returned or not.

  She turned to him, and he knew what was coming next. Wasn’t ready for it and so cut her off before she could say goodbye.

  “Which room do you want to start with?” he asked, jamming his hands deep into his jeans pockets so she wouldn’t see his fists, and plastering an easy smile on his face.

  “Connor, thank you for getting my things returned so quickly, but I can handle the rest.”

  “I’m here,” he said, aware his voice had lowered. Taken a stern tone. “I’ll help. Let the office know I’ll be out a day or two—”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “We’ll order some pizza, pick up a bottle of wine for tonight. Throw in a movie.” He’d make it casual. Not intimidating. No demands. No pressure. Not really.

  “A pizza? Are you out of your mind or are you intentionally being cruel?” She was vibrating with tension now, and suddenly Connor was right there with her.

  “I’m trying to help. I want—”

  “It’s not about what you want, Connor! How can you not get this? I can’t be friends with you!”

  And then he was in her face, his hands wrapped tight around her upper arms, as he bellowed back, “I don’t want to be goddamn friends, Megan!”

  She blinked, as shocked by the break in his reserve as he was.

  “What do you want?” she asked too quietly for the way they were locked together.

  Seconds passed and then finally the breath he’d been fighting to contain shot past his throat with the only answer he had.

  “I want you. I want what we were supposed to have. I want the wife and the partner I found in Vegas. I want you to admit I can give you more than you can have alone.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” she held up her hands helplessly, too much pain and emotion shining in her eyes to be anything other than what came next “—I love you, Connor.”

  It wasn’t a surprise after what she’d said before moving out, or at least it shouldn’t have been. He’d seen the evidence in her eyes. In her hurt. In a million little things he’d given up trying to deny. But hearing the actual words on those lips he couldn’t get enough of—they hit him like a sucker punch, knocking the wind from him and leaving him stunned.

  Megan walked to her door and held it open, her eyes on the floor ahead of her feet. “Please, just go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MEGAN BACKED UP her files and then stared at her monitor. Too many sleepless nights and the desperate need to distract herself had the latest phase of her project complete well ahead of schedule.

  What was she going to do now to stave off those unwelcome thoughts? The insidious whispers slipping too fast through her mind?

  ...good morning, Mrs. Reed... I’ll take my kiss now...

  Some days she gave in to them, losing herself in the memories. The pleasure she’d found in those moments. Other days, like today, she fought against them, not wanting the pain that came with the underst
anding of what she’d lost.

  The monitor blurred.

  More tears. How long would it take before she cried the last? At the sharp ache in her heart, she wondered if it would be ever.

  The trill of her phone sounded. And, closing her eyes to wipe the last of her tears from evidence, she reached for the handset, welcoming whatever distraction waited on the other end.

  Maybe a credit offer?

  A survey?

  Whoever the poor sucker was on the other end of the line, they were going to be earning their check today. She’d keep them busy for the next hour and a half at least.

  “Megan Scott,” she answered, still having to force it past her lips.

  A pause, and she assumed it was some automated system registering the pickup and kicking her over to a live person. Only, then—“Scott? I realize it’s been a while since we spoke, but I’d have thought someone would have notified me if I’d gotten divorced.”

  Connor.

  How was it possible for a person’s heart to leap and fall all at once?

  “It may not be official yet, but it will be.”

  “Right. Sure.” He cleared his throat. “So I was over in New York a few days, but I’d been meaning to check in once you’d had a chance to get your things unpacked. Make sure there wasn’t any damage. You got everything?”

  A reasonable inquiry. Connor took his responsibilities and commitments seriously. That was all this was. Taking a steadying breath, she answered equally reasonably, “Everything was in perfect order. Thank you again for your help.”

  “Glad to hear it. You’ll let me know if you realize anything is missing.”

  “I don’t think there is.”

  “Terrific. So now that you’re settled back in, what are your plans?”

  Megan stared at the phone a moment. How could he ask? “Connor, you know what my plans are. After everything that’s happened...nothing’s changed.” Nothing except her heart was broken into a thousand pieces and every time she heard Connor’s voice, so casual and inquiring, it broke into a thousand more. “I—I really need you to let me go. I think it’s better if our lawyers handle the communication from here.”