by Cathryn Fox
“Okay, the first set of questions is to generally describe your personality.”
“Go on.”
“You have three choices for your answers—not at all, somewhat or very.” He nods, and I continue with “Bossy?”
He grins, and I click Very.
“I’m pretty sure I could have gotten that one right,” I say, and rest my head against the sofa pillow. “Remember that time we went to King’s Palace amusement park?”
He nods, and looks at the big window, like his thoughts are a million miles away. “It was right after you moved in with Sara.”
“You gathered up a few of your football friends, and we all went for the day.” He turns back to me and the smile that comes over his face is so genuine and happy, my pulse leaps. As I look at Alec now, I see the boy from my youth. I relax on the sofa and take another sip of my wine. I place it on the table and laugh. “You were so bossy. The guys all wanted to hit the race cars, but you said no, and we did every other ride in the park until it closed and it was too late for any of us to ride.”
“Megan,” he says, the smile falling fast from his face, a look of horror moving in to take its place. “You’d just lost your parents in a car accident. I couldn’t let...what if it reminded...”
“Oh, my God,” I say under my breath as the room spins around me. “I... I didn’t realize.” My heart crashes so hard against my chest, breathing becomes difficult. He did that...for me. “That was so...” Tears prick my eyes and I fight them off. “So considerate of you.”
He shrugs like it was nothing.
“The guys were so pissed off,” I say, my voice breaking a little. “I thought for sure Dillon Fraser was going to rip you a new one.”
“I’d rather that over you...”
“I had no idea.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Thank you.”
He finishes off his brandy and pushes to his feet. “Wine refill?” he asks, and averts his eyes.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, certain I’m going to need more alcohol to get through this. “But I’m a lightweight.”
“I know.” He picks my glass up and leaves, and I press my palms to my eyes hard enough to make me see stars, before I cry over the loss of a young, thoughtful boy who used to watch out for me. He comes back and hands me the wine. I take a huge gulp and find him studying me carefully as I set it on the coffee table.
“You’ve been asking all the questions, but I have one of my own,” he says.
“What?” I ask, unease moving through me.
“Why are you still single?”
Way to get right to the point.
“Well, you see, Alec. There are two kinds of people in this world, those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t.” I bite back a grin, and wait for him to get it. When a wide smile splits his lips, we both burst out laughing and the sound is music to my ears.
“How many times did we watch that movie,” he says.
“What About Bob?” I shake my head. “It definitely was our go-to movie.”
Our laughter dies down, and he turns serious again. “You still want it all don’t you. The family, kids, white picket fence.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s just that it’s not for me.”
He reaches behind his head and squeezes the back of his neck, and I want to ask why it’s not for him, but I don’t. When we were young, we shared our hopes and dreams, but having a family of his own was never something he talked about. That didn’t mean I didn’t think he wanted one, though. I just assumed it wasn’t something guys talked about. But I guess in the end it just solidifies that we want different things and would never work out.
“You deserve that, Megan,” he says in a voice so soft it wraps around my heart and hugs tight. While we might be different now, he was the one guy who got me, the one guy who understood I needed a family of my own. I can’t replace the one I’d lost, but I needed something that was just mine.
“I’m not seeing it happening anytime soon,” I say, and give an exaggerated sigh. “I work long hours and I’ve pretty much given up dating.”
“You haven’t been with anyone in a long time?” he asks, quietly.
“No,” I say, and look away.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Guys are assholes, I get it.”
That makes me laugh. “Takes one to know one,” I reply, teasing him with something we used to say when we were young.
“Hey, I resemble that comment.”
This time we both laugh, hard, and if I close my eyes really tight, I can almost pretend we’re back at his childhood home, hanging out in his bedroom.
But we’re not, and I’d be wise to remember this isn’t the Alec I once loved.
My heart thuds as I blink up at him. A second passes, then another, and then my laptop fan kicks in, pulling me back. I take a calming breath. “We better keep going,” I say, getting the night back on track. I quickly go over the rest of the traits, and avoid reminiscing, even though many of his answers bring back warm memories.
Alec shifts, moving a little farther down on the sofa. “Okay, now we’re on to how skilled you are at things.”
“Then we’re done, right?”
I snort. “No, we have a million more things to answer.”
He sighs. “You’re right. We are going to be here all night. In that case, how about a pizza, extra pineapple even though pineapple belongs nowhere near a pie?”
I laugh. He used to tease me about that so much when we were teens. “We don’t have to get pineapple. You don’t like it.”
“Yeah, but it could quite possibly be the only nutritious thing I’ve put in my mouth today.”
At the mention of putting things in his mouth, my nipples tingle, and another wave of heat rushes up my neck. Alec’s gaze drops to my pinkening flesh, no doubt aware that my thoughts might not be so pure. I bite back a groan, and work for casual when I say, “You used to be so health conscious back when you were playing football.” My gaze travels the length of him. “Not that your current diet isn’t working for you.”
“I work out, try to stay fit, but there isn’t much time for eating healthy.”
“My best friend Amanda is a chef, remember. We can set you up with healthy meals delivered right to your door.”
He gives me a look I can’t quite decipher and for a minute I wonder if I’m overstepping boundaries as an event planner/matchmaker. “Not a bad idea,” he finally says, and pulls out his phone. He punches a bunch of buttons, and gestures with a nod to my computer. “Pizza will be here in thirty minutes. Next question.”
Okay, clearly he wants to get this over with. For the next half hour we run through the questions, and when a knock comes on his door, I pinch my strained eyes shut for a brief second to give them a break. Alec pushes off the sofa, and his hard body holds my gaze as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket and crosses the wide expanse of polished wood floor. I stand and stretch out my limbs.
A moment later he comes back with the pizza and drops the box onto the coffee table. The smell reaches my nose and I give a low moan. When I look up, I find him standing perfectly still, lips pinched tight, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
I open my mouth to ask if he’s okay, when he bends and flips the box open. “Mario’s does great pizza.”
“I’ve never had it,” I say, letting my question go as I look at the huge pineapple-filled pizza.
“It’s my go-to place. Dig in.” He waits until I pull a cheesy slice free, and then he grabs one for himself. We both plop back down on the sofa, a little closer this time, and I bite into my slice. I chew and swallow.
“This is so good.”
“Told you.”
I make a few more moaning sounds and note the way Alec is shifting uncomfortably beside me. Maybe he has that disorder I
recently heard about. What was it called? Misophonia. Yeah, that’s it. A hatred of sounds that causes negative emotions, even violence. I stop moaning, and chew as quietly as I can. Heck, I don’t want to be the one getting a fork in the eye. I wash my slice down with my wine, and the next thing I know my glass is half full again. A yawn pulls at me, but I stifle it. I want to finish this form here and now. Another hour in his apartment just might do me in.
“Another?” he asks.
“Pizza after the gym, now that’s conducive to staying fit.”
“You’re perfect, Megan.”
Perfect? Alec thinks I’m perfect?
Okay, maybe the alcohol is getting to him, and to me. Last time I had too much, I took my clothes off for this man.
I finish off a second slice and wipe my mouth with the napkins. “Should we get started again?” He nods. “Okay, now we’re on to, ‘How well do each of the following describe you?’”
“Can’t wait,” he says, and I laugh.
“You answer with not at all, somewhat or very.”
“Got it.”
“First one—you tell your partner everything. How well does that describe you?”
He goes quiet for a moment and my mind goes back to all the secrets we shared, all the hopes and dreams we only told one another.
“Very,” he says, and I like his answer. A person should be open and honest with their partner.
“You are good at keeping secrets.”
His hand goes to his jaw and he scrubs it roughly. “Very,” he says.
“Me, too,” I say under my breath.
“What?” he asks, and my gaze lifts to his.
He leans forward, finishes off his brandy. “Next question,” he asks.
All righty, then.
“Monogamous,” I say. “Answer with not at all, somewhat or very.”
He jumps to his feet, and paces to the window. “Is this all really necessary?” he asks, his empty glass dangling by his side. He angles his head to see me.
I stand and go over to him to take in the skyline. “I... Yes, it’s necessary,” I say, his blue eyes burning through me. As my body turns traitorous, and I’m no longer able to hold his gaze, I turn my attention back to the sky and work to pull myself together. His glass hits the table, and the noise cuts through the deafening quiet.
“Megan.”
I turn to face him, take in the stiffness of his posture. “Yes.”
“It’s late and you’re tired.” He leans toward me, and I wobble slightly, partly from the wine and partly from his close proximity. “Phillip has probably clocked out, and I don’t want you in an Uber alone this time of night.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl.”
“I know that but why don’t I just drive you home myself.”
He’s a big guy and the alcohol wouldn’t have hit him like it’s hit me, but I lost Mom and Dad in a drunk driving accident, and I’m sensitive about touching a single drop and getting behind the wheel. “We’ve been drinking,” I say.
He pauses, and nods in understanding. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I never should have suggested that. I know how you feel about it, and I feel the same way.” He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip as he takes a measured step closer to me. “I guess the only logical answer here is for you to sleep over.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Alec
SLEEP OVER?
Logical?
What the ever-loving fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t—can’t when she’s around—and therein lies the problem. But how the hell can I be expected to have clear thoughts, or reason with any sort intelligence, after all our reminiscing. Not to mention the fact that I no longer have any blood left in my brain. Christ, hanging out with Megan like this, talking and laughing about old times and listening to her make those sweet moaning sounds that have been imprinted in my brain for eight long years, is preventing my synapses from firing.
“I...” she begins, looking about as flustered as I feel.
“I have lots of spare rooms,” I say quickly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea here, or the right idea, or... As my blood rushes south, I have no idea what’s right and wrong anymore, and so help me, if she gives me one sign, some tiny indication that she might want me to touch her, I’m not sure I have it in me to fight it. “I can call Phillip in the morning, or take you back myself,” I say in a firm voice reserved for the boardroom, a reminder to us both that what’s going on here is a business meeting and nothing more. “Whatever you prefer. Right now, I don’t want you in an Uber alone, and why wake Phillip when we have other options.”
She gives a wave toward her computer and stifles a yawn. “We didn’t finish answering all the questions. I guess if I stayed over we could do it first thing in the morning. That will save travel time and help get the ball rolling sooner rather than later.” She nods, like she’s fully convinced and continues with, “I want to get you married as fast as we can this coming summer. A lot of women get engaged in the fall or at Christmas. I want my name to be the one on the tips of their tongues.”
“Thinking like a true businesswoman. Then it’s settled,” I say, a knot in my stomach as the reality of what we’re really doing—finding me a damn wife—comes crashing over me. I take a distancing step back before I do something I can only regret later. Something like pulling her into my arms, kissing her sweet mouth and making love to her until morning. “I have some clothes you can wear.”
Her back goes straight and she frowns. “Alec, I don’t want to wear clothes that were left here by some woman you dated.”
“And I wouldn’t want you to either. I have some sweats that tie at the waist, and a T-shirt. It will be big on you, but should be okay to sleep in.”
Relaxing slightly, the alarm leaving her pretty face as her doe eyes soften, she says, “Oh, okay, that will work. Thanks.”
“For the record, I don’t have women’s clothes in my place. I’ve never brought a woman here before...” My home is my sanctuary, the one place where I can lock the world out and just be me, away from the watchful eyes of the paparazzi.
Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. What a load of shit.
She gives me a quizzical look, the freckles around her nose bunching. “I’m a woman.”
“I know,” I answer. Boy, do I ever know, but no need to go there with her. “Special circumstances and all, plus maybe it’s a good idea for me to have a woman here, trying it out for size since our goal is to find me a wife.”
The corners of her mouth turn up. “Looks like I’ll be popping your cherry.” Her brown eyes go wide. “Wait, I mean...”
“I know what you mean,” I say, coming to her rescue.
Flustered, her chest rises and falls, and a few curls fall from the clip at the top of her head. Damned if she doesn’t make that look sexy. My fingers itch to release that fastener, watch all those silky locks fall—over my pillow.
“My God, I don’t know why everything is coming out wrong tonight,” she says. “Must be the wine.”
“Must be,” I say, but I’m a negotiator, a man who reads others for a living, and right now, being alone in my place is fucking with her as much as it is with me, and I need to shut this shit down right now.
“I think I need sleep,” she says, and the slight blush that forms on her cheeks has my dick thickening in my pants.
Uh, hello, pal. Didn’t you just lecture yourself on shutting this shit down?
I take another measured step back to put distance between us. It’s a start, but knowing she’s in the next room, sleeping in my clothes, might call for a hot shower, and a little extracurricular activity under the spray. Otherwise I’ll never get a wink of sleep, and I have some reports I need to go over in the morning, after we finish the ridiculous questionnaire. What’s the point of it, anyway? No way am I going
to find the perfect match, not when she’s standing right before me and I can’t have her. For as long as I’ve known Megan, she’s had white picket fence all over her. She might still be single, and evaded my question on why that is, but she wants—needs—a family of her own. No one deserves it more than her, especially after everything she’s been through.
A guy like me, well, I can’t give that to her. The men in my family are unable to remain in a monogamous relationship. My father is still in my life since he left, as well as my younger brother, Will’s—when he’s not off honeymooning with a girl he’ll eventually leave. Christ, that man goes through women faster than a drunk goes through one-dollar bills at a strip joint. The mess he made of my mother when he left still haunts me, and no way would I ever want to rip a woman apart like that.
Honestly, I can’t even count how many times my father warned me I was just like him—that I didn’t have monogamy in me. None of the Carson men do. The sad thing is, my mother said the same, and warned me to walk away from sweet Megan Williams before I hurt her because in the end it was inevitable.
I’m truly holding out hopes for my cousin Tate. He and his wife, Summer, do seem happy together, but the Carson track record is an ugly one. Megan herself said I remind her of Granddad. That man is still going strong in his nineties. I’m pretty sure he hooked up with his old friend Delilah when they reconnected at Tate and Summer’s wedding in St. Moritz last summer. Although I really don’t want to think too hard on that. At the end of the day, I’m a chip off the old block, unable to be faithful, and I’d never, ever put Megan through that. She’s had enough to deal with in life already. It’s better for her to think I’m a prick, a hard-assed businessman who isn’t interested in love.
“Come on,” I say, and she follows me down the hall to my bedroom. She stays at the door, shifting from one foot to the other as I dig through my closet and come back with clothes for her.
“Thanks,” she says. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare toothbrush.”
“Yeah, in the bathroom off your bedroom. I keep it stocked for Will. Sometimes he crashes here. You should find everything you need.” I walk her to the room beside mine and open the door for her.