Waking Up Married

by Mira Lyn Kelly

Megan crossed to him, a strained smile stiff on her lips, apprehension lurking in her eyes.

  Good news his foot. She’d been banking on the break.

  Taking her hand, he pulled her down beside him, leaving space between the crook of his knee and her hip, but keeping a light hold on her fingers. “Look, let’s forget about all the reasons I’m such a stellar choice for a husband right now and relax. Talk.”

  Her eyes narrowed on his mouth and she pulled back the slightest degree. “Why do I feel like you’re about to sell me some snake oil?”

  Connor didn’t release her fingers, but tightened his hold, reeling her back in. “Because you’re mildly pessimistic. Now, knock it off. You don’t remember, but if there’s one thing we do well...it’s talk. About anything.”

  To prove his point, he picked up one of the papers delivered with breakfast and tossed it into Megan’s lap. “So let’s get this ball rolling. Check the headlines and then give me the first thing that comes to mind.”

  * * *

  “You are so cheating!” Megan accused, her laughter doing little to back up the finger she jabbed at Connor’s chest.

  The finger he then grabbed and used to tow her off the knees she been perched on. And suddenly she was tucked in the small crease between Connor’s half-sprawled form and the back of the couch. Again.

  And again, she planted her palm on the center of his chest, refusing to admit how tempting it was to simply stay there, and pushed herself up.

  Connor shook his head, all who, me? “Cheating? We’re talking.”

  She shot him a skeptical look, not buying his wide-eyed-innocent routine for one minute. That he would even try it with a mouth like his was almost too much to bear. “Sure we are. Talking about our views on education. A topic we have remarkably similar beliefs on.”

  Another wry smile twisted his lips. “So I’d like our kids to live at home, attending private school. And you agree. What’s the problem?”

  “Mmm-hmm. And before schooling, extreme-adventure sports. Funny topic to spring up out of the blue. And so coincidental you would be of the same mind regarding risks of that nature being off the table once a child enters the picture.”

  “I told you, we have a tremendous amount in common.”

  “Yeah, and you’ve worked it all into this ‘casual’ conversation over the last couple hours—”

  “Come on, now, sweetheart, I’ve worked a lot of things into this conversation.”

  “—conveniently omitting anything we disagreed on.”

  Connor’s mouth kicked up another degree, his eyes heating in the way she’d found so startling at first, but was now beginning to look for. “Have I mentioned how sexy those smarts of yours are?”

  An unbidden belly flip had her glancing away before Connor could see how his words affected her. “I bust you for trying to play me, and this is your response?”

  “Yes.” The crook of his finger found her chin, and he pulled her back to his gaze. “But that doesn’t make what we’ve talked about any less true. I’m a motivated guy, set on making sure I don’t let something important slip through my fingers. I want you to know what I know.”

  She let out an even breath, hating the way everything Connor said made sense. Clicked, as if it was locking into some waiting place within her.

  It was crazy to think, even for a second, about buying into this.

  She’d sworn she wouldn’t do it again. Wouldn’t take another risk. And this...this was a risk unlike any she’d faced before. But staring into Connor’s deep brown eyes, all she could think was, what if this time the reward was worth it?

  A knock sounded from the front door, and Connor broke the eye contact to check his watch and then push up from the couch. “Got to be your dress.”

  A moment later a gleaming brass cart was parked in the entry and Connor was verifying the appointment for a stylist to do Megan’s hair and makeup. She’d tried to stop him, but he’d dismissed her protests, calling it a perk of being Mrs. Reed...said she should get used to it. Or at the very least use it while she had it.

  Fair enough. She’d given in. And now she had to admit she was looking forward to letting someone else work on her hair. In all honesty, her plate felt a little full already with the business of this marriage on it. And the herculean task of making her hair look good just wasn’t something she had room for.

  The door shut, and Connor, all tapered cut and balanced perfection, was closing in again. The skin along her shoulders began to tingle in reckless anticipation of that back-to-hard-chest-and-stomach stance he seemed to favor. And then he was there, running a thumb down the column of her neck. “Would you feel better if I shared a few points of dissent?”

  Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw his eyes were serious. And so close.

  “Yes, I would.”

  Looking back at the dress before she turned around completely and did something monumentally stupid—which, considering her marital status, was really saying a lot—she pulled open the thin, protective plastic. Stroked her fingers over the silver, above-the-knee sheath.

  Connor cleared his throat. “Camp.”

  She shot another look back. “What?”

  “I don’t like the idea of sending the kids away for extended periods of time.”

  “But camp’s a treat. Once they’re old enough, of course. They have so many incredible programs out there. Nature camps. Space camps—”

  “Yeah, arts, football, gymnastics, and everything else a little boy or girl could be interested in.” Shoving a hand through the dark silk of his hair, he let out a sigh. “I still don’t like the idea, but I’ve given on the point already.”

  Her brows lifted along with the corners of her mouth as she turned to face him completely. “Wow. Any other small victories I should know about?”

  “Christmas at home. Every year. All of us. Period.”

  She let out a small gasp, her hand moving to her heart in genuine shock. “You fought against...Christmas?”

  Those dark eyes softened, crinkling at the corners. “Please wipe the ‘he hates puppies’ look off your face. I didn’t want to count out a trip somewhere exotic. But your arguments were compelling, so it was a compromise easy to make.”

  Wow, he was so—

  Wait.

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “And now you’re showing me how reasonable you are with all your willing concessions. Do you ever stop?”

  Yes, she was fully aware of just how unreasonable her response to this man giving her exactly what she’d asked for was. But based on the twisted smile playing on his lips, Connor didn’t seem to mind.

  “Not until I get what I want.”

  She was getting lost in his eyes, feeling herself drawn closer with every minute they spent together. “And you want me.”

  Connor leaned in, closing the distance between them until the heat of his body was licking over hers. She swayed, suddenly breathless. The palm of his left hand flattened against her spine.

  “I’ve got you.” His voice was a low rumble against her ear, the contact between them almost a kiss before he stepped back and handed her the dress. “What I want is to keep you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WITH HER HAIR AND MAKEUP already done, Connor had barely gotten his arms through the sleeves of his tuxedo shirt before Megan was stepping out of the master bath again. This time decked out in the metallic-silver bridesmaid dress that left nearly the full length of her toned legs on perfect display.

  Damn.

  Megan shifted under his scrutiny, smoothing her hands over her hips with downward strokes probably intended to eke out a few millimeters of additional coverage.

  Not happening.

  “I had nothing to do with picking out this dress.”

  As if he needed her to tell him. If Megan had been picking, he imagined she’d have selected something deceptively conservative. Like the dress she’d been wearing the night before. At first glance it had looked modest enough, but when he let his eyes ling
er for even a moment, the seductive hints had time to make an impact. The cut of the back, the line of the waist. The cling and fall, emphasizing all the right curves. Megan had an eye for what flattered her, but she managed it in a stylish, understated way. Something he liked.

  Well, hell. He liked this dress too. But it was a different sort of appreciation happening here.

  “Let me guess. Tina?” he asked, thinking it had to be she of the GOT SPERM T-shirt behind this kind of flash.

  Megan smirked. “You’d think. But believe it or not, this was all Jodie. Something about the dress being a gift to us single girls.”

  “Bridesmaid’s gift?”

  “Jodie was convinced these dresses would give us the pick of the casino.”

  Connor let out a bark of laughter. “Well, she’s got that right. And might I mention how utterly pleased I am you’ve decided to bring me along tonight. Especially considering the hard time I’d have had letting you out of my sight otherwise.”

  A wash of pink tinged Megan’s cheeks as the smallest smile played at her lips. “Are you the jealous type?”

  “Let’s call it possessive.” Her lids lifted, and seeing the pleasure in her eyes at his statement, he added, “But only when something is very important to me.”

  Pearly-white teeth pressed into Megan’s lush little bottom lip as she turned away, fidgeting with the studs and links he’d set out on the polished mahogany dresser top. Her hair wound up the way it was, she couldn’t hide the pretty color suffusing the skin along her neck and ears. And he couldn’t fight the rush of pure masculine satisfaction at having driven it there.

  After arranging everything into a neat row, Megan turned back to him. Her cheeks showing only the barest hint of her remaining blush. “I should get my shoes on. And you...”

  She bent a little, reaching for the shoes set neatly at the wall. Stood, shifted and tried again. Pulled at the hem riding higher with each attempt.

  Wow. Thank you, Jodie.

  Flustered, Megan cleared her throat. Clearly working to maintain her poise.

  “You should finish getting dressed yourself.” She waved at his open shirt, her eyes lingering even as she turned her head. “We’ve got to get going pretty quickly.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said again, making a mental note, once this better-than-a-late-night-cable-show was over and they left the villa, not to let Megan bend over for anything.

  Catching on to his level of distraction, Megan shot him a scathing glare...one that quickly dissolved into laughter. “This is ridiculous. Stop staring so I can get my shoes!”

  Then, eyes to the ceiling, she muttered something adorably mild about men and Jodie and wishing she had a parka.

  “Okay, low of me,” he conceded, not even trying to make it believable. “I’m sorry.”

  “Right.” She laughed, only, the sultry sound of it died on her lips as he stepped close, catching her hips in his hands, giving in to the temptation to flex his fingers...just once.

  Megan’s eyes went wide at the undeniably intimate contact, and he waited, gauging her response.

  When she didn’t push him away, he backed her toward the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll help you with the shoes.”

  * * *

  Megan perched at the edge of the bed, still reeling from the feel of Connor’s hands sliding over her hips, moving the fabric against her skin as he guided her to where he wanted her to be. She shouldn’t have allowed it. Should have done more than stare up at him helplessly. But something inside her wouldn’t react to Connor as a stranger.

  Her body remembered him...even if her mind did not.

  She wanted him. This sexy barefoot man, dressed in black tuxedo pants and a crisp, white shirt hanging dangerously open as he teased her. And for the first time, she understood the kind of mind-numbing allure that led women to make the worst decisions of their lives. And smile about it after.

  Connor swept up her shoes with a finger through the straps and then knelt in front of her to lift her foot. “Do they hurt after all the walking last night?” he asked, running his thumb around her heel and then up through her arch.

  She stared, too caught up in the intimacy of the scene and how shockingly good it felt to respond with more than the barest shake of her head.

  “Good.” Eyes locked with hers, he slipped the point of her shoe over her toes, gently fitting the heel and running a lazy circle around her ankle with his thumb. She watched, breathless, as his large hands deftly worked the delicate glass-beaded strap through its buckle.

  So unbelievably sexy.

  It was unreal.

  It was...a fairy tale. Which was bad.

  This man was telling her their marriage was based on the kind of up-front honesty and pragmatic realism that kept expectations attainable. And yet, everything about him—his incredible looks, his wealth, his knack for saying exactly what she needed to hear and, most of all, his romantic overtures—screamed too good to be true.

  So what was she doing buying into the charade?

  Letting herself see them years from now, chatting as they dressed together for some coming event.

  Connor’s finger slipped beneath the buckled strap. “Okay?”

  “Perfect.” Like everything else he’d shown her. Only, nothing and no one were actually perfect.

  Connor’s mouth pulled into a rueful slant. “You make perfect sound like it’s not such a good thing. And like you aren’t talking about your shoe.”

  But she was talking about the shoe, only not the way it fit.

  “You’re telling me this marriage between us is going to work because we aren’t bringing any fairy-tale expectations into it. But here you are, down on one knee, fitting a glass slipper on my foot. Everything you do and say is like some fantasy come to life...which makes it hard to know what reality is actually going to feel like.”

  Connor gave her a thoughtful nod and set down her bejeweled foot. “I admit, I’m making every effort to sweep you off your feet. I want you to fall for me.”

  He picked up her other foot, giving it the same attention as the first. “But if it puts your mind to rest, I’m pretty sure Prince Charming wasn’t using the old shoe excuse just to get his hands on his wife’s leg.”

  Buckles complete, he let his hands skim up over her calves, stroking a light path behind her knees as he went on. “What’s more, based on the target audience for those stories, I’d really hope he wasn’t entertaining the kind of thoughts running through my mind as I watched you wrestling your short skirt. Because there was nothing PG about where my head was at.”

  “Really?”

  A nod. “Strictly X stuff. I promise.”

  “Connor.” His name was a plea on her lips, and the moment it sounded, the humor in his eyes faded and the lines of his face hardened.

  “We’re good together, Megan. It’s not about glass slippers or fairy tales or love at any sight. It’s not about private schools or mutual goals or any of the other things we’ve talked about today. It’s about you and me fitting together. It’s about this feeling of rightness you told me about last night. The one I’ve had since I met you. And I keep seeing signs of it today. Tell me. Tell me you feel it too.”

  “I feel it.” The connection was there. Undeniable between them.

  But whether feeling right together for one day was the same as actually being right together through the rest of their lives...

  “I just don’t know—” The words died in her throat at the sight of the burning heat staring down at her. The desire blazing in his eyes. Desire for her.

  The same desire firing through her body, spilling hot through her center and filling her mind with a smoky haze. Suddenly she wanted those big hands everywhere on her. She didn’t want to worry about good judgment or long-term consequences. She simply wanted this man, whose promises sounded too good to be true, to deliver on the one in his eyes.

  “Connor,” she whispered, drawing her leg slowly in, and the man with it. “You make me
want...”

  God, she couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think it. All her rational thought was tangled up in the rising awareness between them, the slow glide of his touch over her skin, the need simmering between them.

  And then he was off the floor, one hand moving from her leg to brace on the mattress beside her hip. The other climbing to the outside of her shoulder, so all she could do was lie back, staring into his eyes as his large body moved over her own. His knee replaced his left hand at her hip, and she was surrounded.

  He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, the wash of his breath against her jaw, the tickle of his open shirt grazing her arms. Decadent. Intimate. Too seductive to resist. Her fingers closed around the draping fabric, pulling him toward her until only the barest space remained.

  She pulled again. A subtle nudge. Then a stronger tug, but all it earned her was another one of those devastating half smiles and the slow shake of Connor’s head as he reached into his pocket and withdrew her ring.

  Braced on one arm and his knees above her, Connor slid his free hand up her left arm, rolling the glinting diamond band along the path of her skin until he held it poised above the tip of her ring finger, so close she could feel an almost magnetic pull from the wanting.

  It would be so easy to give in. Give him what he wanted. What, on some level, she wanted too.

  Let him slide that platinum band over her finger, and say yes to what would inevitably feel good in the moment, but had the potential to devastate if she wasn’t careful.

  Forcing the air in her lungs to move again, she managed a single word. “Wait.”

  Connor’s smile quirked suggestively. “Nervous? I promise I’ll be gentle. I’ve done this before.”

  Her eyes closed as she once again found herself relieved by his sense of humor and ability to lighten the mood without undermining the seriousness of what was at stake.

  Finding more breath, she whispered, “We can’t. Not yet.”

  “Why not? We’re already married.” His voice dropped lower as he lightly teased the diamond band around the tip of her finger. “I can tell you want it.”