by Katie Meyer
The worst part, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, other than make her some eggs that she was much too grateful for.
It wasn’t like he could just show up and do Megan’s laundry for her on a regular basis, not without looking like some kind of stalker. Besides, he had the impression she needed a friend more than a maid or a meal. As she’d pointed out, she could always order a pizza if she wanted food. But what she didn’t have, as far as he could tell, was someone to share it with.
Despite all his good intentions about keeping things professional, he wanted to be that person for her. He wanted a hell of a lot more than that, too. Thoughts of what could happen after a shared dinner and drinks, of long nights that turned into early mornings, flashed into his mind like an erotic picture show. Gripping the spatula until his knuckles blanched, he forced himself back into the present.
The woman was exhausted and worried about her sick child and here he was fantasizing about her like some kind of sex-crazed teenager. Probably because, although their situations were worlds apart, the lack of a social life was one thing they had in common. The difference: he had a choice. If he wanted to go out with friends, or to hook up with someone, he could, and no one would be hurt other than himself. Megan didn’t have that luxury. Everything she did revolved around what was best for Owen. As it should be.
That was why the best thing he could do right now would be to feed her, to discuss the Lily situation, and to get out so she could get some sleep.
As if on cue, Megan stifled a yawn. “Sorry, I guess I’m tired enough that coffee isn’t going to make much of a difference.” She narrowed her eyes at the mug, as if the caffeine’s lack of effect was a personal affront.
“At least you’ll be able to fall asleep tonight.”
“Definitely.” She drained her cup and leaned back in her chair. “But I imagine I’ll be up checking on Owen a few times during the night. Just in case.”
“Do you need me to stay?” Only after the words were out of his mouth did he realize what his offer might sound like. “I mean to help with Owen. We could take shifts or something.”
She shook her head and smiled. “No need. I sleep with one ear open so I’ll hear if he stirs. Besides, you’ve done more than enough already. Above and beyond the call of duty.”
“I was glad to help.” He set two plates filled with scrambled eggs and toast on the table, along with forks and napkins. “Butter or jam for the toast?”
“Jam, but I can get it.” She started to rise and he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“Sit. Eat. I’ll get it.”
She stilled under his palm, her breath catching before she nodded. “Okay. It’s in the fridge, second shelf from the top.”
Reluctantly, he moved away, savoring the soft brush of her hair on the back of his hand as he let go of her. He’d love to spend time running his fingers through it, preferably while he kissed her thoroughly. Instead, he fetched the two jars of jam he found in the refrigerator and settled in the seat across from her, a safe distance away, before digging into his eggs. As long as his mouth was full of food, he couldn’t say anything stupid. Like how attractive he found her. How sexy she was. How, if her son wasn’t down the hall, he’d love to lick blueberry jam off her—
“Hey, are you all right?”
“Hmm, what?” With difficulty, he met her gaze, hoping his face wasn’t broadcasting his thoughts.
“I asked if you were okay. You looked awfully intense there for a second.”
Yeah, intense was one way to describe his desire for her. Also scorching, constant, and damned near painful. And the more he came to know her, the worse it got. Now, instead of just physical attraction, he was feeling things on a whole other level. He’d learned to control his hormones as a teenager. Trying to hide his emotions now was new territory, probably because until this moment no one had sparked such a deep chord with him. None of which he could share with her. So he lied, and hoped his short stint in church today canceled out any negative karma. “Just hungry, that’s all.”
Megan smiled nervously, moving her fork around her plate without actually eating. “Oh. I thought you were maybe thinking about our agreement. That maybe you’d made up your mind.”
He swallowed, relieved and yet disappointed by her assumption. Of course she’d assume he was thinking about that. Her mind was always on her son. For her, there was no other reason for him to be there. Despite his offer of friendship, she still saw him as a means to an end. It wasn’t a flattering realization. But this wasn’t about him, which was why he’d made the decision he had.
* * *
Megan’s stomach churned; her interest in food forgotten as she watched emotions flicker across Luke’s face. Maybe she shouldn’t have pressed him. For crying out loud, she could have at least let the man finish his dinner before bringing it up. Weren’t men usually in a better mood with a full stomach? But she was a ball of nerves and, between her lack of sleep and the emotional and physical toll of caring for a sick child all day, she’d run out of emotional reserves to be patient any longer.
Seconds passed and still he didn’t answer. The coffee that had seemed so heavenly a few minutes ago now threatened to burn a hole in her empty stomach. Acid and bile rose in her throat. For a split second, she thought she’d caught Owen’s bug, but knew the burning was just a physical manifestation of her angst.
Finally, after finishing his toast in two bites, he spoke. “I did. Decide, I mean.”
“And?” Her fingers gripped the table, pressing into the scarred wood. His answer meant everything. Did he understand that?
“And... Lily can come.”
For a second, Megan was afraid she’d heard wrong, that she’d wanted to hear yes so badly that she’d imagined it. But his smile was all the confirmation she needed. “Really? I mean thank you! You won’t regret this.”
His eyes sparkled as he stood to clear the table. “Yes, really.”
She followed him to the sink. He rinsed the plates and she put them in the dishwasher, the mundane task at odds with the excitement building within her. “I can’t wait to tell Owen. When can Lily start?” She dried her hands on the worn checkered dishcloth Luke handed her, her mind going a mile a minute. “Is his teacher going to be okay with this? Should I schedule a conference with her or something? Or maybe I should—”
“Whoa!” Luke put his hands on her shoulders, as if to physically restrain the energy flowing through her. “Slow down. Given how Owen’s feeling, I’m guessing he isn’t going to be at school tomorrow anyway. Once he’s better, Lily can come with him. As for everything else, I thought we could sit down and hash out the details together.”
Megan flushed, as much from the physical contact as her excitement for Owen. Luke was so near and her emotions were so close to the surface. A dangerous heat warmed her, spreading from the skin beneath his strong hands down her body. It would be so easy to lean into him. Without thinking, she stepped forward, waited for him to back away, to break contact. Instead, his fingers tightened their grip and his eyes narrowed. The same intensity she’d seen earlier was back, and this time it was focused on her.
Her skin tingled under his scrutiny like it did whenever lightning hit too close. An apt comparison to a moment that was equal parts thrill and terror, where she knew she was in danger yet couldn’t move away.
“Megan...”
His voice was strained, and she knew it was because of her. She wasn’t the only one feeling...something. She didn’t want to stop and name it. There would be time to overthink and pick it all apart later. Right now, she just wanted to feel. To share an important moment with another adult human being.
Hesitantly, she raised one hand to his face, tracing the line of his jaw with her thumb. His neatly trimmed beard was rough, scraping her skin, and she relished the sensation. She’d forgotten how different a man’s body was. Exploring
his face with her fingers, she moved on to the contrasting softness of his lips. As she brushed lightly over first the top and then the bottom, Luke’s breath hitched and his eyes closed. Within her, a confidence blossomed, fueled by his reaction.
Boldly, Megan rose on her tiptoes, fisting her hand in his shirt for balance, and kissed him. His lips, which had felt so soft against her fingertips, were firm and warm against hers. He let her lead, but there was nothing passive about him.
Her last coherent thought, before sensation overtook reason, was that he wanted this as much as she did. She let the realization flow over her and then be washed away, overpowered by the wave of heat, need, and sheer awareness that surged through her like a rip current pulling her out to sea. She tried to remember to breathe, to hold herself up, but the strength of her own wanting disoriented her.
She clung to him with both hands, holding on to his hard, warm body like a lifeline, needing an anchor. His hands were on her, as well. Instead of steadying her, they excited her more as they skimmed her arms, then up and down her spine, moved through her hair and across the sensitive spot at the back of her neck. All the while his lips and tongue drove her to a place she didn’t recognize, didn’t remember. Had she ever felt so purely physical, so aware of every nerve ending, every brush of skin against skin?
Wanting—no, needing more, she released her death grip on his shoulders and slid her hands to his waist. Tugging at his shirt, she pulled it from his pants and burrowed her hands underneath. Luke hissed as she made contact, her fingers skimming across his flat abdomen and along his ribs, then back again. She smiled against his lips; pleased she had such an effect. But her pleasure was short-lived. Luke pulled back, using his own broad hands to still hers. “You’re killing me,” he groaned roughly, his tone sending shivers down her spine.
“I had no idea men were such delicate creatures, that a kiss could be deadly.” For half a second, Megan wondered at herself. Since when did she flirt with men in her kitchen? But that was a question for later, for whenever her brain came back online. Now was for feeling, touching, doing. Not for thinking. She tried to pull him to her, seeking his mouth, but he maneuvered her so that her face ended up buried in his neck instead. Fine, she could work with that. She nibbled at his throat and then used the tip of her tongue to gently taste him. She was rewarded with a nonverbal but very clear response, and the feel of his hardness against her made her want to see what else he liked. It was obvious he clearly liked this. So why was he trying to stop her?
“Megan.” His tone was harder now, although his voice sounded stressed. “Honey, please know that I am going to hate myself for saying this, but we have to stop.”
She liked the endearment. Everything that came after it, not so much. Tipping her head back, she looked him in the eye, squinting against the stark kitchen lighting. Somehow, the harsh brightness did what his words couldn’t and her brain started to sputter back to life, reminding her of their current situation. This was her kitchen. The one only a short hallway distance from her sleeping son. Her sick, sleeping son. “Owen? Did you hear him?”
Was that why Luke has stopped her, because he’d heard her son calling for her, and she’d been too far gone to notice? Untangling her hands from his shirt, she stepped back, fear and embarrassment crowding out any remaining desire. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been, that was the problem. For heaven’s sake, she was a mother! She couldn’t just turn off her brain because there was a hot man within arm’s reach.
“Megan, calm down.”
“I am calm,” she objected. If her clenched fists betrayed her words, he was smart enough not to mention it. “Also, for future reference, the phrase calm down has never actually made a woman more calm. Ever.” Leaving him with that tidbit, she turned and headed for Owen’s room.
Luke grasped her arm, his fingers on her skin a blazing reminder of the heat they’d just shared. “He’s fine. At least, he hasn’t made a sound. I was listening for him.”
And she hadn’t been.
Maybe he hadn’t meant it that way. Probably not. Still, the implication was there. This was exactly why she didn’t date. Not that fooling around after sharing scrambled eggs was a date. Clearly, she wasn’t capable of adding one more thing to her already overloaded life. Obviously, other women could balance motherhood and a sex life, but she couldn’t even handle a freaking kiss without losing track of all her responsibilities. And that wasn’t fair to her son.
“I think you had better go now.”
“Wait, I didn’t mean—”
“This was a mistake, that’s all. Please, let’s just forget it happened.” As if she’d ever be able to forget that kiss. No way. But that didn’t mean she wanted to discuss it to death, either.
“Fine.” He nodded, his tone making it clear things were definitely not fine. “What about Owen?”
She bristled. “He has nothing to do with—” she gestured between herself and Luke “—this.”
His jaw clenched. “I mean what about him bringing Lily to school? We were going to go over the details, remember?”
Yeah, she remembered now. He’d wanted to set “guidelines” or something like that. “Send me an email. I’ll look at it in the morning. Right now, I’m going to go check on my son and then get some sleep.” Or more likely, lay awake and ponder all the ways tonight went wrong. “I’m sure you won’t mind letting yourself out.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back on him and whatever had just happened, and walked on shaky legs down the hall and back to her normal life.
Chapter Seven
Luke was still fuming the next morning. He wasn’t upset with Megan. Yes, he was disappointed that she’d refused to talk to him last night after they had kissed, but he also knew she’d been emotionally and physically spent. He would wait to hash things out after she’d had a chance to regroup.
No, his anger was entirely self-directed. He’d blown it big-time. Megan had been vulnerable, needy, and he’d been insensitive. He didn’t regret the kiss, he was still a guy, but he should have handled things better. He should have stayed in control, found a way to slow things down without slamming on the brakes and freaking Megan out. Normally, he was pretty good at handling himself, but when she’d started to undress him, he’d nearly lost his mind. It had taken all his willpower to hit pause for a minute and put some space between them. He’d wanted to regain control, not to scare her away completely.
Her icy tone had made it clear she either hadn’t understood or hadn’t cared. And now, with Owen sick, he wouldn’t get the chance to see her today. Instead, he was supposed to email her. Fine, he could be professional about it. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
“Dr. Wright?” Ms. White, the school secretary, peeked her head around his office door.
“What is it?” he grumbled.
She frowned at him. At least two decades older, she was not the least bit intimidated by his surly attitude. “Mr. Edwards is here to see you. Unless,” she continued primly, “you’d like me to send him away?”
Damn, he’d forgotten about Grant coming. “I’m sorry. Yes, please send him in.”
She smiled, as quick to forgive as she was to rebuke. “Happy to.”
During his research into service animals in schools, one of the administrators he’d spoken with had offered to share their waiver of liability form. After how well Lily had behaved this weekend, Luke wasn’t anticipating any problems, but it was his job to make sure all the bases were covered, just in case.
That was why he’d asked Grant Edwards, a fishing buddy and contract lawyer, to look it over and make any needed changes. The plan had been to meet with him first thing this morning and then have Megan sign whatever they came up with when she arrived with Owen. After everything that had happened this weekend, the appointment had slipped his mind. He supposed he could include the forms in that email Megan had
asked for as she’d kicked him out of her house.
Hell. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, feeling a headache building.
“Man, you look rough.”
Luke looked up to find Grant staring down at him, a cocky grin on his face.
“Gee, thanks. Nice to see you, too.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Grant settled into the chair across from Luke’s desk as if he had all the time in the world. There was something disconcerting about his being decked out in a fancy suit instead of the old T-shirt and board shorts he wore whenever they went fishing. But under the expensive clothes, the attitude was the same. Full of life and confidence to burn.
“So, seriously, what’s up? Hangover? Sick? Woman troubles?”
“None of the above,” he lied. “Just a headache, probably got too much sun this weekend or something.”
“Yeah? Doing what? I didn’t see you at the pier on Sunday.”
The kiss with Megan flashed back into Luke’s brain, searing him with heat all over again. “Went for a run Saturday and got a bit overheated, so I stayed inside on Sunday.”
“That’s right, now that you mention it, I heard you were seen at church Sunday morning.” Grant leaned back, obviously enjoying himself. “I’ve never known you to skip fishing for church. Work, yes—you definitely work too hard. But church? Only one thing I’ve ever known to get a man to trade a fishing pole for a Bible, and that’s a good-looking woman.”
Luke stifled a groan. He so did not need this right now. “I do happen to work for All Saints, you know. It’s good for me to put an appearance in now and then.”
“Maybe,” Grant conceded, pretending to ponder the idea. “From what I heard, you did indeed make an appearance, for the first half. But then were seen exiting quickly, hand in hand with a woman. A pretty one, too, according to my sources. And it just so happens that that very same woman is the one you asked me to draw up the papers for.” He grinned, knowing he’d hit home. “So it seems my theory stands. The only reason a man trades fishing for religion is if there is a woman reeling him in. Trading one catch for another, you could say.”