“No. At least I don’t think so. It all happened so fast. And I’m beyond giggly and happy. I mean, I’m giggly and happy, but I’m also totally and completely freaked out.” She told Tracy about the blind date, the Christmas party, and the tingles she experienced every time she imagined his tall, hard body and rugged facial features. “He invited me to his house tomorrow night for dinner. Just the two of us. I don’t know what to expect.”
“Honey. You know what he expects. Are you sure you’re ready for this? By God, girl it’s about time, so I hope to hell you are ready.”
“What if I’m not ready? What if I panic like I did the night after his banquet? I can’t be made a fool of again.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I think so. Well, more than I expected. But I don’t trust myself yet.”
“So tell him. You’re allowed to have dinner and not sex. It’s not common, but it does happen.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I love you, Meg. Don’t go if you’re not ready. But it’s been over twenty years. You have to start living your life sometime.”
Their conversation left Meg confused. Tracy was right. It was time for Meg to move on. But why did she have to fall for the type of guy she’d been avoiding all these years? And why did she have to be his superior? Why couldn’t a computer geek, a plumber, or a grocery store clerk make her weak in the knees and froth at the mouth? Nothing in her life ever came easily. Not even a simple date.
“I’m heading out to the movies with Paige now, ’kay Mom?” Emma came barreling down the stairs at six-thirty and planted a kiss on Meg’s head. The television did nothing to calm her nerves over the past hour as she impatiently waited for her daughter to leave so she could get ready. “Don’t wait up.” Even though Emma was an adult and living more like a roommate than a daughter, she still treated her mother with respect and left notes stating when she would be home. A no exception rule growing up, one Emma had not grown out of, and that made Meg smile.
“Sure. Have fun. Love you, sweetie.” As soon as the door closed behind Emma, she bolted up from the couch and took the stairs two at a time to her bedroom. She forgot to ask Tracy what she should wear tonight. Casual. They were staying in. Connor may be a casual guy, but she was not. Dark jeans, nice sweater, and boots. Emma picked out a similar outfit for her two weeks ago when Meg went out to dinner with Annie.
She lathered her legs and arms with lotion and lightly sprayed herself with a citrus perfume Tracy sent her for her birthday last year. A little touch-up of makeup, a quick brush through her hair and she was ready to slide into her clothes. “Underwear.” Meg looked down at her white cotton briefs and shook her head. Flinging them off and tossing them into her hamper, she opened her lingerie drawer and enjoyed the silk as it caressed her body. Compliments of Tracy, of course. The matching red silk underwear and bra had yet to be worn. She had a drawer full of silky undergarments she’d only worn a handful of times. Mostly when she had an interview and needed to feel powerful. How sexy lingerie made her feel powerful was beyond her. But it did. Tracy was right. As always.
With a final glance in the mirror, Meg grabbed her keys and headed out the door. During the drive to Connor’s she second-guessed her feelings a hundred times. He wasn’t the type of man she envisioned falling for. Heck, she never thought she would fall in love. Not that she loved Connor McKay. Lust after? Yes. Desire in a way she didn’t think possible? Oh, Lord, yes.
The directions were easy to follow, and she made it to Connor’s house in less than ten minutes. The long driveway curved and led her to a massive log home decorated with big open windows overlooking the water. Meg glanced down at the directions again. This couldn’t be his home. It was more like an estate. The fancy car, the huge house, the NFL player. Shoot, why couldn’t he be a plain ol’ teacher? He was a Prada while she was a flea market knock-off.
Meg ran her hand through her hair, smoothing any strays, popped another Tic Tac, and got out of her car. The cold air helped cool her flushed cheeks but did little to slow her heartbeat. Before she could ring the doorbell, Connor, in all his glory, opened the door. The light from the great room shone behind him and made him glow like a Greek god. Minus the toga. Too bad. But he did know how to fill out a pair of jeans.
“It’s about time,” he said as he pulled her close and kissed her quick and hard on the lips.
“I’m not late, am I?” Meg looked around for a clock and Connor laughed.
“You’ve probably never been late for anything in your life,” he teased, leading her into a kitchen twice the size of her rental home.
“Wow. Your home is gorgeous. A woman could live in this kitchen.”
“Be my guest. I know my way around the kitchen place, but you look a lot better in here than me.” Connor opened the wall oven and took out three large potatoes. Meg leaned against the granite counter and admired the sexy man in the kitchen.
“Can I help?”
“Sure.” He gestured with his head. “You can open the wine. Glasses are to the right of the sink.”
Meg walked to the tall cabinets admiring the simple lines of the modern kitchen and the complex figure who stood over the indoor grill, seasoning steaks. He caught her staring, and she watched his light blue eyes darken. Nervously, she opened the bottle of Shiraz and poured two glasses of wine. She cleared her throat and took a sip, “Mm, the food smells wonderful.”
The large island separated them, but she could sense the heat coming off of his body. Or maybe it was the grill. No, definitely, him, she thought. Their hands touched as she reached across to hand him his wine, and if the sparks firing off in her loins were any indication of what it would be like to be with this man, then she was in deep.
Real deep.
It scared Meg to death, but she knew someday she had to trust her instincts, and tonight could prove to be the night to take that fateful step forward.
Thankfully, Connor returned his attention to the steaks and made light conversation during dinner. They talked about Emma and her new love of horses, and he shared more stories of growing up on a horse farm. He didn’t pry, and Meg didn’t volunteer much information about her childhood.
After the dinner dishes were washed, they retreated to the living room and sat at opposite ends of the couch; Meg’s legs propped in his lap as he gently rubbed her feet.
“Tell me about Emma’s father. What happened in high school?” The question made her nervous and she pulled her feet out of his lap, but he grabbed onto her ankle and held her firm. She squirmed and fidgeted with her sweater, her hair, the pillow, to keep her hands busy, but she stayed quiet.
“Meg, I’ve told you all about my childhood, my family, but I know so little about your past.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? Then why do I feel like you’re keeping some dark, secret past life from me when my life is an open book? You can trust me.”
“There are parts of my life I don’t want to share. They’re in the past and don’t have anything to do with who I am today.”
“Bullshit.”
His tone made her jump, and this time she pulled herself away from him. Reaching her boots on the floor, she slipped them on, zipped them up, and then stood. “I really should go now.”
“No.” His grasp stayed firm on her shoulders. “Don’t go. I won’t push. Promise. Just don’t leave.” He kissed her softly and all thoughts of an argument quickly dissipated. He tasted like wine and chocolate and sincerity. She hugged him tightly as he ran his hands through her hair. “Trust me, babe. Talk to me.”
Those words brought her back to reality, and she stepped away from his embrace.
“You know, you have quite a few secrets from me as well.”
“Come on, don’t start this. I like kissing you a hell of a lot better than fighting with you.”
“Tell me about your life before you started teaching.”
Connor put his hands on his face and sighed. “My life is an open book. I’m
not keeping secrets. You could have asked anyone and they could have filled you in on whatever it is you wanted to know. Newhall isn’t exactly the place to live if you want to lead a private life.”
Which concerned her. She couldn’t have a private relationship with Connor without it impacting her career. “I’m not asking anyone. I’m asking you.”
He walked to the fireplace and put another log on the orange flames, sat down, and then pulled Meg on to his lap. “I was drafted by the NFL my senior year in college. I married young, played pro-ball for eight years, got injured, left the league, got divorced, and then spent a few years drinking my self-pity away.”
“Oh.” She didn’t realize he had played football professionally, or much about his marriage or divorce, until Emma broke the news a few weeks ago. Surprisingly, the marriage bothered her more than the football career. For more than half her life, she stayed as far away from the world of football, but the Connor she knew didn’t eat, sleep and talk sports; if he did, she wouldn’t be here in the same house, much less the same room as him. “Why did you come back to Newhall?”
Meg lifted her head and gazed into honest eyes. He kissed her briefly and tucked her back under his chin. “I came back here after my injury. I was twenty-nine and pretty damn cocky.”
“You?” she teased.
“I know. Anyway, when I realized my football career and my marriage were over, I turned angry, hostile, spent too much time in bars, picking up women. I couldn’t stand being around my teammates and listening to them whine about double sessions or hear them celebrate a win. I moved back home where I could be a star again and turned into an ass,” he interrupted before she could speak. “No comment needed from you.” He kissed her head. “Thankfully my family was there to kick me in the ass. My mom suggested I help out with the high school football team and work on my teaching degree. With my major in history, all I had to do was take a few courses and next thing I knew I landed myself a job.”
“So…you were married?”
“Wow, you really are out of the loop, aren’t you?”
“Hey, I didn’t even realize you and Annie were related until a month ago!”
“That’s what I like about you. You aren’t into local gossip or trying to kiss up to anyone.”
“I’m a private person, Connor. You love the limelight, which may be a problem for us.”
“No, that was my problem with Amy.”
“Amy?”
“The ex-wife. We dated in high school, and she followed me to Texas. She waitressed while I studied and played ball. She never had a desire to go to college, just be a part of the parties and crowds. She liked the fame and fortune. I was a football star around here in my high school days, and she liked the legacy of being with me.”
Meg went rigid and wanted to pull away. Just like Brittany. Too many coincidences, too many similarities, but Connor continued stroking her back, oblivious to her need to escape.
“We married after I graduated, right before I started playing pro. She loved the life. Money, big house, jewelry. While I worked, she played. We basically co-existed for a few years. As soon I was injured and my fame dwindled, she moved up the food chain. Caught her in my bed with the QB from Miami.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. So the fact that you don’t care about the fame and fortune is actually quite a turn on. And speaking of…” Connor gently turned her head toward his and kissed her with an urgency she hadn’t felt before. He worked magic with his tongue and leaned into her body, pushing her back onto the couch. His hard body lay on top of hers as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, and his large hands touched her waist and rubbed along the sides of her breasts. It didn’t take long to get lost in the allure of Connor McKay’s touch.
The contrast of the soft, lush couch on her back and strength of the man on top of her made Meg dizzy with lust, but when she felt his arousal rub against her thigh, all fears of the past pushed those thoughts aside. “No!” She shoved until Connor sat up and she scrambled to climb out from under him. The fire. The dark. The music. She felt trapped. Fear of the past came rushing over her.
“Meg, it’s okay.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, Connor. I can’t.” She ran to the coat closet and shrugged both arms into her black pea coat. “I have to go.”
“You’re a hypocrite.”
“What?” She stopped at the door but kept her back to him.
“You want me to tell you about my scandalous past because you say it interferes with us. But you’re stalling because you don’t want to come to terms with your past. It’s your past that keeps getting in the way. Not my divorce. Not my past love of beer and women. Not my career. You’re scared and I want to understand why.”
“Just leave me alone. I want to go,” Meg cried, reaching for the front door, but he reached out and held the door shut. Her eyes widened with fear and she started to hyperventilate.
“God, Meg, what’s wrong? I’m not going to hurt you.” He pulled back and put his hands up, surrendering.
She closed her eyes, wanting to hide her fear, but a stray tear trickled down her face. Breathe in. Breathe out. Stay calm.
“Meg. Meg! Look at me. I’m not some monster. I won’t hurt you.” He wrapped his arms around her resistant body and held her until she was too weak to fight him. “Talk to me. Trust me.”
The way he held her, touched her, talked to her. It was different from the perilous night years ago. Connor McKay would not hurt her.
“I’ll never be a normal person,” she murmured into his shoulder. “He ruined me. But I’ll tell you what happened over twenty years ago.”
Chapter 11
Twenty-two years ago…
High school can be rough. Especially when you’re fifteen, under-developed, and in AP Chemistry surrounded by eighteen-year-olds. Meg had been too naïve to understand the joking that went on behind her back. It was her second and last year in high school. Being somewhat of a gifted child had its challenges. She wasn’t that bright; she wasn’t considered a prodigy, but she was definitely smarter than the average kid. Scoring a 1500 on her SATs at fourteen and already having an acceptance letter from every elite and Ivy League school in the northeast, Meg considered herself lucky, but nothing special.
Special was Brittany Lovely. She even had a pretty last name. Head cheerleader, popular with the girls and boys, a good enough student to make honor roll, and she had boobs. Meg got her period this past summer, and maybe the boobs would come next. That’s what the books said. Brittany wore little shirts showing off her tanned, flat belly and overdeveloped chest and tight jeans that showed off her small butt and long thin legs. Meg’s wardrobe mirrored the Amish. Her grandmother thought she looked older when she wore long skirts, buttoned-down blouses and glasses. But instead of blending in with the teachers, she looked like a ten-year-old in completely outdated, unstylish woman’s clothes. And oh, she had no boobs.
Meg had been popular in her own right. Most of the boys didn’t know her name; they called her the “whiz kid” or “Four-eyes Fulton” behind her back, but always wanted to work with her in groups. They fought over her as a lab partner and congregated around her desk at school. Students flocked to her right before tests. But she never used her knowledge to cheat. They stopped asking her to do their homework after her first month in school. But at fifteen, Meg was too naïve to realize no one cared to be her friend, that she was being used for her brains.
There were never birthday invitations for her. Not that high schoolers sent out birthday invitations, but she still sensed the rejection. Meg overheard the gossip in the halls. She heard about the parties, and who hooked up with whom. She didn’t understand what hooking up meant. She assumed dating, holding hands, the occasional kiss. That’s what high school kids did, right?
Meg didn’t watch television or read contemporary books, just the classics. Being raised by her old-school grandparents didn’t help matters either, not that she truly believed there was a “matter.” Content
with her life, but wishing she had a confidant, a close friend, Meg passed her time reading and studying. Her best friend in elementary school, Theresa Haskell, moved away in fifth grade, and Meg never found a replacement. And that’s when her thirst for learning grew. It started out of boredom. She read. And read. And read. She asked questions, looked up the answers and never stopped wanting to learn more.
By the time she was twelve and in seventh grade, she had aced the algebra curriculum and walked across the street to the high school to take statistics and physics. She skipped eighth grade and went straight to high school, taking classes filled with sophomores and juniors; chemistry, calculus, advanced placement English and history. She could have graduated then, but she stayed an extra year to take advantage of all the advanced placement courses Central High offered.
At fifteen, her college picked out and paid for through scholarships, looking forward to her driver’s test and high school graduation, Meg turned her attention to the girls and boys she spent six hours a day with. She slowly started to notice the clothes they wore, the music they listened to, and the way they talked. And then a life-altering opportunity dropped in her lap. James Spiller, the starting quarterback and captain of the football team, sauntered over to her while she stacked her books in her locker.
“Hey, Whiz Kid, got plans this weekend?” He leaned his shoulder against the lockers and crossed his arms. The letterman jacket making him appear to be tough and confident.
Meg pushed her glasses up farther on her nose and ran her hands down her khaki skirt smoothing out the invisible wrinkles, “Uh, no. Do you need a tutor for your geometry test?”
James, popular among the students and staff at Central, wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but had athletic talent and every college in the tristate area had been scoping him out. They never shared a class together, so it surprised her when he said her name. He didn’t actually call her by her name, but she was surprised he knew she even existed.
False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1) Page 11
