And then she had it. The first soft rub of his lips against hers. The gentle, coaxing hint of the hot demand to come.
God, she wanted this to last.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“NO SEX?” JEFF COUGHED through the line.
Hands tightening on the wheel, knuckles going white, Connor hadn’t missed the undertones of amusement, no matter how his friend tried to cover it.
Glad someone thought it was funny.
“Yeah, I can’t believe it either. But Megan...” He took a slow breath, glancing out over the cliffs down to the ocean beyond before returning his attention to the road in front of him. He’d been so sure he had her with the daily make-out quota, because when they kissed—he slid a finger into his collar, freed the button and loosened his tie—they really kissed. But true to her word, Megan held strong. “She doesn’t want her judgment clouded while she figures things out.”
“Right. I get it. Blow-your-mind bedroom antics have a tendency to confuse priorities. Give meaning to the meaningless. Make things seem ‘special’ when really they aren’t. Smart.”
Connor ground down his molars, not exactly sure what response he’d wanted from Jeff...but certain it wasn’t this.
“So aside from the fact that your fresh-from-the-chapel wife finds you totally resistible, how’s the rest of married life treating you?”
“Good. No surprises.” Not really, anyway. “Megan’s more reserved than she came across our first night. And she’s somewhat preoccupied with making sure I know what I’m getting into. You know, listing faults in the name of full disclosure because she doesn’t want to risk me stumbling over some deal breaker once she’s committed.”
After a few seconds’ pause, the joking tone was gone. “Deal breakers?”
“Relax,” Connor assured. “Minor stuff. Quirks mostly.”
After all, he couldn’t care less if she wasn’t a stellar cook or had a tendency to go overboard when she picked up a new hobby. But he sure as hell cared whether the woman he married was going to be straight with him. And every time they were together, she showed him she was.
Even so, he wanted her confidence back. The faith she’d put in herself and him when she’d spoken her vows. But every time she revealed some other fault, waiting a beat to see how he’d handle the news, whether it would shake him, he was reminded how that faith had been wrung out of her like a bar rag.
Didn’t matter. She’d see soon enough. And until then...well, he really couldn’t complain. She was strong. Smart. She knew how to protect herself.
“She makes me laugh. And she’s exceptionally easy to be with. Easy to talk to.” Easy to look at and easy to think about. Maybe even a little too easy on that last count.
But it was to be expected.
Megan was a challenge. And though he’d gotten her to give their marriage a chance, he knew she wasn’t sold. Which meant she was an unfinished project. A deal hovering on the brink of closure. Damn it, she was an itch yet to be scratched. He wanted her, and until he knew she was securely his, she’d be occupying more of his mind than he would typically allot to a relationship.
“Man, I’m glad you found a woman you can talk to. I know you’d always figured on a marriage that was more of a merger. And after Caro—”
“Look, I’m about home.” Connor slowed at the driveway, waiting for the security gate and garage to open. “Time to wear down the wife.”
“Got it.” Jeff laughed, not taking the abrupt end to the conversation personally. If he had something to say, he’d make sure he got another chance to say it. “And good luck... Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
Connor cut the call and jumped out of the car, a slow grin spreading to his lips as his mind latched on to the last sight he’d had of his wife before he left for work. He knew she wouldn’t look like the sexy kitten she’d been that morning, purring under the kiss he’d pressed against her lips before she’d been quite awake. Sleep mussed and warm. The silky pajamas she’d been wearing shaping over her nipples and riding high toward her ribs.
Small wonder she’d been on his mind the past eleven hours.
She’d be dressed by now. Probably all neat and tidy. Still, he couldn’t quite kick the salacious happenings taking place in the not-so-far-back of his mind. Silky, sleep-mussed happenings wrapped up in a welcome-home, I’ve-been-aching-for-you-all-day kind of kiss.
Yeah, fat chance.
Closing the door behind him, he called down the hall with a facetious “Honey, I’m home.”
The silence echoed back to him as he dropped his keys on the glass-topped table and kept walking toward the stairs. The second floor was dark and empty, with only a single dim bulb illuminated at the top of the flight. The third floor too. His brow furrowed as he checked his phone for messages. None.
It wasn’t as if returning to an empty house was a new experience for him, but with Megan living there, he’d expected...something different.
Not that he was disappointed. He’d wanted an independent woman who wouldn’t make him feel guilty about the schedule he kept or as if her life was tied to his.
Wish granted!
Only walking through the empty house that had never felt lonely to him before, he had to concede a week into their marriage that he hadn’t anticipated getting his wish would suck quite this way.
Midway down the darkened hall, Connor paused, just outside Megan’s office door. A sliver of light leaked through the seam, and from within came the quiet yet distinct sound of keys tapping.
She was here.
Turning the knob, Connor opened the door to Megan’s sanctuary...and discovered his silk-clad morning fantasy staring hard at the monitor as her fingers assaulted the keyboard in front of her.
The sexiness of her sleep-rumpled look had gone mildly stale throughout the day, and yet Connor couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was intense, focused. And bobbing her lovely head ever so slightly to the beat of whatever she had pumping into her ears through those hot-pink little earbuds.
Never in a million years would he have expected to come home to a scene like this if he’d married Caro. She’d have been polished and primped. Attentive in the distant way he’d become so familiar with. Making small talk, much as they did with strangers through a cocktail party.
And he’d never have really known—in all honesty, would never have really cared—where her head was at.
Not like this, he thought with a bemused smile. Right now, he knew exactly where Megan’s head was. Deep in her work. The project she’d been waiting on must finally have come in.
Standing unnoticed in the doorway, he considered his alternatives.
He could walk across the room and take advantage of her distraction. Pull her blond mess to the side and start with her neck, close his mouth over the spectacularly sensitive spot behind her ear and work his way forward from there...
Or he could go order some dinner—because based on what he was seeing, he’d bet food hadn’t even crossed her mind. And when he took his kiss...he wanted Megan paying attention.
Running a hand over the back of his neck, he turned away.
“Connor?”
Her voice was overloud and she was staring at him, looking adorably confused.
He tapped his ear and she pulled the bud from her own.
“Hey, gorgeous. How was your day?”
He’d meant the compliment, but Megan seemed to have taken it tongue in cheek—her face blanching as her hands went to her hair and then those silky pajamas that told more secrets than they kept.
Only, then the most interesting thing happened. That flash of embarrassment faded and something that looked a lot like challenge took its place. “I get caught up in my work...I lose track. It can be irritating for some people.”
Ah, more with the disclosures. Whatever it took.
“You near a good stopping point if I call in Chinese?” he asked, sensing the time to wrap things up would put her in a better place to break for the night. It was how
it would be with him.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Her eyes shot back to his, infinitely softer than they’d been only seconds before.
“I better not—tables’ll be turned soon enough.” No question. “I’ll order and grab a quick shower. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
At her slight frown, Connor stopped. “Something wrong?”
“You don’t want your kiss?”
“Oh, I want it,” he assured, giving in to the grin hovering around his lips. “But not until I’ve got your undivided attention. So wrap it up.”
* * *
The door closed and Megan stared at her computer, relieved by Connor’s easy acceptance of her distraction and yet unable to shake the doubts. The sense that if it wasn’t this that opened Connor’s eyes to a future he didn’t want, then it would be something else. Eventually.
She didn’t want to think that way. There was so much right between them, and yet, a part of her couldn’t buy in. A part of her saw the calm mask Connor wore when she showed him something he, by all rights, ought to dislike—and wondered what lay hidden beneath.
Sure, getting tied up with work this evening wasn’t such a big deal. But it didn’t seem to matter what she said or did. As if no bad habit or personal shortcoming even registered. As if maybe Connor was so determined to prove how perfectly suited for this marriage they were that he’d turn a blind eye to anything that didn’t fit.... Until one day he wouldn’t be able to do it anymore.
What happened then?
God, she wanted to believe. But with so much at stake, she needed Connor to acknowledge more than some illusion of perfection. She needed to know he was really seeing her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“SHE MADE YOU WHAT?” Jeff choked through the line.
Connor shook his head at Megan’s latest attempt to confront him with a reality she expected him to reject. Her latest failed attempt.
“Creamed tuna on mashed potatoes. With peas.” Canned, boxed and frozen. He knew because she’d left the containers in plain view on the counter. “Apparently it’s one of those old family favorites she just has to have once in a while.”
“No. Way.”
The last time he’d heard that kind of awe in Jeff’s voice, the man had just watched a supermodel bungee off the Verzasca Dam in Ticino, Switzerland, tossing him a wink and blown kiss before taking air.
“Damn, she’s serious about shaking you.”
Connor bristled, reining in the growl currently threatening his cool. “If she’s so serious she ought to come up with something more substantial than dinner. Like I’m going to bolt because she served me less than five-star cuisine. Come on.”
It was an insult to both of them.
“You ate it?”
“Of course I ate it,” he scoffed, surprised Jeff would even ask. “She made it for me.”
And he’d finished every bite, as if it was manna from heaven.
Then giving in to a reluctant chuckle, he added, “But I have to admit that gelatinous puddle—which even Megan didn’t eat, by the way—was without question the worst thing I’ve ever shoveled into my mouth.”
“Dude.”
Half an hour later, thoughts of tests and frustrations had been put aside. Connor strode into the kitchen, working his tie and collar open, stare locked on the delectable curve of Megan’s backside, showcased in a pair of clingy yoga pants as she—oh, hell—checked what looked like a lasagna in the oven...but smelled, wow, more than a shade off.
Not. Again.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, announcing his presence a second before sliding his hands over the sweet curve of her hips. He needed a reminder as to why he was going to choke down the coming atrocity. An incentive of sorts.
With his hands coasting over her hips and waist, she swung the steel door closed and started to turn as he said, “How about my welcome-home— Gah!”
Connor’s head jerked back as he was hit with the one-two punch of Megan’s smiling face covered in some kind of bottom-of-the-vegetable-drawer-looking half-dry paste...and the accompanying rotting stink of it.
“Your kiss?” She laughed, patting him gently on the chest and then casting him a mischievous wink as she stepped out of his hold. “Sorry to surprise you with the swamp-thing mask, but I do one weekly,” she offered with a little shrug.
“Weekly.” God, he couldn’t even imagine coming face-to-face with this odor on a regular basis. Daring a closer look, he leaned in and ran his finger along one tacky cheek. “What’s it do?”
Megan shrugged. “Um...well, it tightens your pores. And removes impurities. Keeps the skin looking smoother. Younger. More healthy.”
Hmm. Half the time he was with her she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she was beautiful. Her skin flawless with those pale freckles sprinkled around it. Maybe it was the mask?
“Interesting.” Then waving his hand in front of his face, he asked, “So what other beauty secrets should I be looking forward to?”
He’d never asked any of the other women he’d dated about their mysterious feminine rituals, but then, he’d never been curious before. And of course, he’d never been this up close and personal to one either.
Arms crossed, she gave him a scrutinizing look. After a beat, “Waxing.”
“Really.” His gaze drifted down the line of her body, curiosity on the rise about every potentially smooth, bare strip of skin.
This time it was Megan circling a hand round her face, her all-challenge smile gone full tilt. “Really.”
Confusion first. Then understanding. His chin snapped back. “Really?”
Megan arched a delicate brow at him. “Why, it doesn’t bother you, does it?”
He might have mistaken her look as playful—if not for the glint of steel in her eyes.
His good humor and amused intrigue shut down.
Another test.
Three weeks and he hadn’t proven a damn thing to her. Hadn’t made the slightest headway in easing her concerns. And it was starting to chafe. Pull and rub against the seams of who he was—to the point where something had to give.
But not him.
“I know what you’re doing, Megan.”
She stared at him a beat. Bracing.
Good idea. She was going to need it, because he had a point to make.
He started toward her, letting his mind peel away the layers of defense she’d erected. The mask, the tests, until the only thing he saw was the woman who’d stared up at him that first night. “I know what I want, Megan.”
She was backed against the counter, the breath rushing past her lips in a way that called to his most primitive self.
“And if you think the threat of some smelly mask or not-quite-so-sexy waxing ritual is going to keep me from getting it...” He stroked the shell of her ear, tucked a few wayward strands behind as he took the caress down the line of her neck.
He leaned farther into her space and let the edge back into his voice. “...you’ve got another think coming.”
Wide eyes within a flaking mask of putrid green held with his.
Ready not only to meet her challenge, but raise hers as well—Connor closed in, breathing solely through his mouth. “I’ll have my kiss now.”
* * *
Okay, that hadn’t gone the way she’d intended it. Not by a long shot.
Breathless and trembling with unfulfilled desire, T-shirt bunched around one elbow, Megan stared down at herself draped across the polished granite of the center island in utter disbelief as Connor coolly strode out of the kitchen. Whistling to himself!
As though he’d claimed some victory instead of crawling off this countertop himself, covered in disgusting flecks of algae mask, his tailor-made shirt missing half its buttons and the tent in his suit pants threatening irreparable damage to his fly.
She’d resisted him!
Granted, it had taken her a while to come to her senses. And possibly only then because in the midst of that tempest of passion, she’d opened her
eyes to catch her green-faced reflection in the gleaming metal of a countertop bowl. But still, after a few breathless attempts, she’d managed his name. And a few minutes later, she’d even unhooked her ankles from the small of his back and said no.
Like she meant it. Sort of.
Connor had delivered one last, soul-searing kiss and then...dismounted.
Whistling.
Pfft.
So this revolting mask—that even she could barely stand but used religiously because, despite the stink, nothing worked like it—wasn’t enough to throw Connor off his game. In truth, she hadn’t really expected it to be.
The man she’d married was no lightweight. He was goal driven. Unafraid of confrontation, hard work or the pungent scent of swamp.
Megan swallowed hard.
She wanted him. But every time she found herself confronted with his unflappable, easy confidence—his smooth sell and I-don’t-back-down stare—she couldn’t stop the thoughts slithering through her mind.
He held too much sway, made all the right promises and left her feeling more vulnerable than she ever had before. Connor wouldn’t acknowledge anything out of line with his goal. He wouldn’t respond in any believable way. Which terrified her. Because by refusing to acknowledge who she really was, and curbing his every response, he was actually preventing her from seeing the real him, as well.
But she couldn’t make herself walk away. Because for every too-easily-dismissed fault, there were a hundred instances of sincerity. Moments too pure, too intense, to be anything but genuine.
God, she had to be careful.
* * *
Megan couldn’t believe it had come to this.
She knew which waffles Connor liked. Not only did she know which waffles he liked—she cared about which waffles he liked. And even worse—she’d spent the past ten minutes standing in the open door of the frozen-breakfast section determined to find waffles even better. So she could be the one to offer the best damn toaster waffle her husband had ever wrapped his tongue around.
Oh, this was bad. Very bad.
And totally embarrassing, now that she stopped to think about it. They were waffles, for crying out loud.
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