by Abby Gaines
He covered her hands with his. “You know?” And she still wanted to make love?
She blinked. “Like I said, Dad told me.” She stared at him. “How do you know?”
“From your father.”
She groaned and smacked his chest.
“Ouch.” Travis laced his fingers through hers, left them splayed on his skin. “What was that for?”
“I can’t believe Dad even mentioned it to you,” she said. “He had no right.”
In that moment, he realized they were talking at cross-purposes.
He slid her off his lap, back onto the couch. “What exactly did your father tell you?”
“That I’m on the short list for head of Merritt, Merritt & Finch.” She jumped up. “Now that you know…I have champagne in the fridge.”
He pulled her back down. “Jonah told you you’re on the short list?”
“At the bottom of the list,” she admitted. “But I’ll change that.”
“Where does making love fit in?”
She colored. “Travis, I care about you. I—I’m desperate to make love to you. But I can’t see how we can have a proper relationship.”
“Because you’re so hung up on your damn career,” he snapped.
“Because you won’t accept that a woman may not want kids.”
They stared at each other, breathing heavily. Stalemate.
Her breasts rose and fell beneath that delectably soft sweater. Travis could discern the outline of her bra, and just that chaste sight set him on fire. One night with her would never be enough. More than one night would lead to disaster.
“You know I need to get my life back on track,” he told her. “I don’t want to make the same mistake with a woman that I made with my job.”
“You’re calling me the female equivalent of PPA,” she said after a moment. “Don’t you care about me at all?”
She’d said she cared about him. A lot. What did that mean? Travis felt an odd ache in his chest.
“It would be a mistake,” he reiterated.
She drew in a sharp breath, destroying any hope that she might not have noticed he hadn’t answered the question.
“You’re just like my father,” she said slowly.
His chin jerked back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought—” she pressed her hands to her cheeks “—I thought you saw me for myself. Wanted me.”
“I did.” I do.
She shook her head. “You were right about Dad—I’ve always been afraid that something I do, or don’t do, will stop him loving me.”
He cursed.
“You’re the same,” she said. “You’ve made a decision to withhold love from any woman who won’t buy into your perfect family life.”
“That’s not true,” he snapped.
“I can’t believe I nearly…” She wiped her eyes. “Do you know, I was even wondering if we could compromise?”
His heart leaped. She’d thought that far?
“I can’t,” she said, on a note of revelation. “I won’t. I won’t love someone whose love is conditional on me being a certain kind of person.”
“I don’t—” He stopped. Why even have this conversation, when love wasn’t part of the equation. He looked around the room for an escape and saw that scrawny, plastic excuse for a Christmas tree. A sign? He needed a woman who would embrace family, build something lasting, something of real worth, with him…and their children.
“I’ve already loved like that, Travis,” she whispered. “I know how much it hurts. Never again.”
He left her sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around herself as if hers was the only love she could depend on. Her cheeks were pale but dry, although her eyes were suspiciously moist.
It wasn’t until he was in his own house, climbing into bed alone, that Travis realized he hadn’t told Megan he was on the short list.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MEGAN WALKED into Merritt, Merritt & Finch on Wednesday morning with her head held high and her spirits crushed. She had offered Travis pretty much everything short of her undying devotion and he’d thrown it back at her. Thank goodness she hadn’t been stupid enough to fall in love with him, because if this was how it felt to be rejected by a guy she cared about…
She rubbed her chest, then stopped when she saw Trisha watching. “Dig out a copy of the Hoskins prenup,” she ordered. Trisha raised her eyebrows at the peremptory tone. Too bad. Megan needed to hammer Barbara Hoskins in the divorce, and the prenup was her weapon of choice.
She stalked into her office. Travis had never been in here, so memories of him didn’t follow her around the way they did at home or in one of the meeting rooms. She unzipped her laptop case and set the computer on her limed Scandinavian oak desk. As she plugged in the power cord, she caught sight of a paperback book, its colorful cover incongruous among the legal tomes on her bookshelf.
Travis’s mystery novel, Silence in the Tomb. He’d suggested she’d enjoy it. She pulled the book from the shelf and opened it near the middle as she sank into her crimson, wool-upholstered chair.
Ugh, some man was being bludgeoned to death. By a woman scorned. Megan’s interest picked up, and she read a couple of pages. When her desk phone rang, she shut the book with a guilty snap.
“There’s a man here to see you,” the floor receptionist said, “and he’s carrying flowers.”
Travis! Could he have missed her as much as she’d missed him after he’d left? Could he have realized the mistake was in leaving, not in staying? Maybe she wouldn’t have to bludgeon him to death, after all. “Send him in,” she said. The moment she hung up, she wished she’d asked for a minute so she could check her appearance.
She was still patting her hair when her office door opened…to admit Nick Stanton, carrying an enormous bouquet of roses.
“Nick.” She caught herself just in time, put a lift in her voice. Smiled as she walked around the desk.
“I’ve been calling,” he said, “and not getting through. I thought you might need personal persuasion to a dinner date.”
“I’m sorry, it’s been crazy around here.”
His gaze went to the novel in her hand. Megan tossed it in the trash. She took the proffered flowers and inhaled their perfume. “These are beautiful, thank you.”
“Beautiful enough for a date?” His blue eyes crinkled in that charming way he had. “I had a great time the other night.”
She set the flowers down on her desk. “Me, too.” Until Travis turned up and eclipsed Nick and every other man in the room.
But Nick was much more her usual kind of guy, with the bonus of being funny and interesting. And he liked her.
She noticed him casting an appreciative look down her legs, lengthened by her above-the-knee skirt and high heels. And when he looked back at her face, his smile widened.
Maybe that was what she needed…A reminder that Travis Jamieson wasn’t the only man in the world. “I’d love to have dinner.” She forced the words past the lump in her throat.
“Wonderful.” Impulsively, he took her hands. “Name the day.”
It was so nice to have an uncomplicated guy so openly interested in her. She was a hundred percent sure he wasn’t about to spring on her that she had to give up work and have his babies. Or…
“You’re not after a job at Merritt, Merritt & Finch, are you?” she asked in sudden suspicion.
His laugh was puzzled. “I’m working for my dad, like you.”
Of course he was.
“How about Saturday?” she said. “Barring any unexpected developments in the divorce case I’m handling.” She grimaced. “My work does take up a lot of my time, Nick.”
“As it would,” he said cheerfully. “You’re busier than I am at the moment, so I’ll fit in around you.”
What a guy.
TRAVIS THUMBED the elevator button for Megan’s floor. He might have made a royal mess of this whole thing, but he had to be honest with her right now. Nothing would stop
him.
Not that it would achieve anything, beyond a clearing of his conscience. And a lessening of her shock if he did happen to get that job…
“Travis Jamieson to see Megan Merritt,” he told the third-floor receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I—” He heard her laughter somewhere beyond the woman. Not loud, but because it was Megan’s laugh, Travis heard it. It came from the glass-walled corner office.
It took him a moment to focus through the vertical blinds that partially screened the office. Then he stiffened. He could see Megan standing close—too close—to a man who was grinning at something she’d said. A man who just happened to be holding her hands.
Travis took the phone the receptionist had picked up and put it back on its cradle, ignoring her protest. “I’ll announce myself.” He strode to the office and threw open the door. “What the hell’s going on?”
Megan jerked back from Nick, who’d just been telling her how much he liked her eyes. Her heart pounded at the sight of Travis.
“Sorry, Megan.” Anna, the receptionist burst in behind him. “He walked right past me.”
Nick let go of her hands, but he took his time about it. “Hey, Travis,” he said pleasantly, but with a hint of steel that suggested he found it more than coincidental that Travis had twice showed up in the same place as Megan.
“What are you doing here?” Travis’s gaze traveled to the roses. “Don’t answer that.”
“I had no intention of answering,” Nick said. “What are you doing here?”
“He’s here about the divorce case we’re both working,” Megan said. She caught Travis’s barely perceptible shake of the head. He wasn’t here on business. This was all personal.
Nick’s head swiveled from one to the other, clearly dubious. She wanted to tell him she’d see him on Saturday…but if Travis was here because he’d reconsidered…“Nick, I need to get to work,” she said. “I’ll call you later to finalize those details.”
Nick wasn’t thrilled. But he was a gentleman, so with a squeeze of her hand, he departed, along with the receptionist.
In their wake was a heavy, throbbing silence. And fury in Travis’s gorgeous dark eyes.
He’s here! He couldn’t leave me! There was no mistaking his reaction to Nick—jealousy, pure and simple.
She was still mad at him, but maybe, because no matter what he’d said last night, he was here now, she could meet him halfway. She sucked in a breath that steadied her nerves, then grabbed his arms. “Travis, just now, with Nick, it was nothing. I promise.”
She stepped closer until she was pressed against him. She felt his heart speed up and sighed with satisfaction. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
His chin jerked back, as if she’d landed an uppercut. “Megan, I’m sorry. I had no right to act so possessive just now. No claim over you.” He stepped away and released her with a deliberateness that sent a chill through the room.
“Tell me what this is about,” she said. “I told you how I felt about you last night, and I’m still feeling stupid. Did I just make a fool of myself again?”
“That job you want,” he said. “Running Merritt, Merritt & Finch.”
“What about it?”
“I want it, too.”
“You mean…you want me to have it?” She scanned his face in bewilderment. Was he saying he wanted her to stick with her career?
He clenched his jaw. “I don’t want you to have it. Megan, before I ever met you, I sent my résumé to your father…”
He went on to tell her things she’d never guessed. Unbelievable things about a goal of running Merritt, Merritt & Finch. About how as soon as he’d heard Megan was representing Theo, he’d pursued Barbara. About meetings with her father she knew nothing about. “Yesterday, Jonah agreed to consider my application.”
“To—to head up Merritt, Merritt & Finch?” She stumbled on the words, groped behind her for the edge of her desk. “I’m up against you?”
“And several other candidates who are favored over us,” he said.
The pieces fell into place in Megan’s head, more slowly than they should have. “All this time you’ve been trying to get to my father.”
He nodded.
Words and images bombarded her. Travis watching her in The Jury Room—except, obviously, his focus had been her father. The basketball game, where he’d guessed her ambition. His questions about her career goals and her personal life; winning her sympathy with his story about his family and his desire to restore his town’s pride in him; letting her introduce him to her father, letting her urge Jonah to see him as partner material; his kisses; his refusal to make love to her…
She felt a peculiar emptiness somewhere deep inside her.
Megan teetered dangerously on her heels; Travis’s traitorous hands reached to steady her. Evading his grasp became her sole mission. Sheer willpower stiffened her spine, enabled her to put one foot in front of the other and walk to the door of her office. Which she opened.
“Out.” The word emerged not far above a whisper.
Travis didn’t move. When had he ever done anything that didn’t suit him? “I should have told you sooner,” he said. “I didn’t realize how complicated things would get between us. I’m sorry.”
All this time—all this time—he’d been deceiving her. Megan knew the full impact of what he’d done would hit later, after he was gone.
Travis cursed. “Stop looking as if I’ve drowned your kitten. Until yesterday, I wasn’t even on the radar for this job, and neither were you. No matter what either of us wanted.”
“But you knew you wanted it, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you now. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry enough to withdraw your application?” she snapped.
He hesitated, his jaw tense. “This is my chance to make my parents proud, my hometown proud. You told me yourself, you’re last on your dad’s list. What’s the point of me pulling out, just to give someone like Grayson a better chance?”
“That’s what you had against Robert.” She clutched her head. “I thought you were jealous.”
“I was jealous. And worried about you.”
She snorted. “Why are you still here?”
“I have no idea.” He headed for the door, stopped right in front of her, so close she could see twin lines of strain etched at the corners of his mouth.
“Good luck with the job, Megan,” he said.
TRAVIS WAS DEPRESSED—and reluctantly impressed—by Megan’s ability to be in a meeting with him, yet not be in it. Twice during the week that followed his revelation, they had meetings with the Hoskinses. Travis couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t block out her melodious voice, imagined he could smell the scent of her clear across the room. And, dammit, not just when they were in the same room. All day, every day. All night, every night.
But Megan was a consummate professional, shaking his hand with no more emotion than she showed toward his client. Her face, always so easy for him to read, was calm and blank.
He sat in his office late on Thursday night, rereading the Hoskins prenup for what felt like the hundredth time, and admitted she was driving him nuts.
To make matters worse, despite their studied politeness, the tension between him and Megan was affecting their work—progress had stalled on the Hoskins negotiations. Jonah wanted to make a decision by Christmas; he wouldn’t be impressed with either of them over this delay. Plus, if they didn’t break through before Christmas, they’d be in court in the New Year, airing the Hoskinses’ dirty laundry to the world. Travis didn’t want to do that to his client, and he had to assume Megan didn’t want it, either.
He didn’t know for sure, because she wouldn’t take his calls. They were communicating via cool, formal e-mail—at least, hers were cool and formal, starting Dear Mr. Jamieson—and through her assistant phoning his assistant.
On one front, at least, things were going well. Travis had had
another meeting with Jonah, where he’d talked through his ideas for the firm. Jonah had asked the kind of questions Travis excelled at. He’d managed not to rush his replies, taken time to lay out the pros and cons. Jonah had interjected, questioned…and approved, judging by his short, sharp nods. Travis had seen that nod before; Megan had the exact same mannerism.
Dammit, could she please butt out of his mind? Apparently not. He found himself remembering her humiliation, her shock, her sense of betrayal.
How had his attempt to restore his integrity ended in him violating the trust of a woman he…cared for?
What a damn mess.
Travis fanned the pages of the prenup, a testament to one couple’s lack of faith in their own future. How many times had he lectured Megan about the importance of working at a relationship? He dropped the prenup in the trash.
He might have blown it with Megan as far as their personal relationship was concerned—he didn’t even want to think about the gut-ache that gave him—but if he was going to be able to live with himself, there was only one thing he could do. He wasn’t sure how, but he had to give her every chance to get that job.
AT SEVEN THE NEXT MORNING, Travis called Megan’s direct office line from his home. He withheld his number, in case she had caller ID and wouldn’t pick up from him. He stood next to the kitchen counter, too nervous to sit on one of the bar stools.
“Megan Merritt, hello?” She sounded tired, as if she’d just got in and hadn’t yet had her first cup of that damned espresso she drank to impress her father.
A nervous sweat broke out on Travis’s forehead. He visualized her sitting at her desk, bitter brew in hand, brushing a strand of honey-blond hair back behind her ear, maybe smothering a yawn. He wanted to be with her.
“Hello?” she repeated.
“It’s me,” he said, his words rough. “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear you when you’re not talking in that damn polite, blue-chip lawyer voice.”
