Uh-uh. No way.
“Megan?” His voice was soft. Would his lips be soft, too, if she were to kiss him?
Bad question. Irresponsible question. She had to stop thinking about kissing him.
He said her name again, even more softly than before.
“Um. Yeah?”
He was almost smiling—as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Would you like to see the kitchen?” He gestured toward the open door.
“Terrific. The kitchen.” She turned and stepped through the doorway into a roomy breakfast nook with a picture window that looked out, like the one in the laundry room, on the backyard. “Very nice.”
“Lots of light,” he said from behind her, and the sound of his voice seemed to vibrate all through her, it was so warm. And much too exciting.
She stared at the granite-topped peninsula that marked off the kitchen area. “A Viking cooktop,” she said on an exhaled breath. “Impressive.”
“Sub-Zero refrigerator,” he murmured, still behind her—closer behind her, as a matter of fact.
She felt the naughty smile as it tugged on the corner of her mouth. “Next you’ll be telling me that’s a Bosch dishwasher.”
“Two of them.”
“No…”
“Yeah. See? On the opposite side of the sink?”
“Wow.”
“It’s the latest thing. For busy families and time-crunched executives. You can live your whole life without ever putting the dishes away. You use them straight from one dishwasher, loading them into the other until it’s full. Then you switch.” He stood right behind her now. “I’m all for efficiency.” His whisper was as intimate as a caress.
“Uh, yeah. Me, too.” It took all the willpower she possessed not to lean back against him with a surrendering sigh, not to give in to the potent desire to feel those strong arms of his closing around her. “I love the light fixtures, too,” she said, breathlessly.
“That pleases me no end—that you like them.”
“I do.” I do? Was she out of her mind? Telling Greg Banning I do? This had to stop. She needed to…turn around, for crying out loud. Turn around and face him.
Somehow, she mustered the gumption to do just that. She turned and found herself looking straight at his power tie and his strong, tanned neck. She cleared her throat.
“What?” he said. Though she was looking at his tie and not his face, she knew he was smiling. She could hear that smile in his voice.
She tipped her head up and met his eyes. Gorgeous eyes. Standing so close, she could see a rim of ebony around the brown irises and little rays of gold coming off the dark pupils. “Time to…move on.”
He nodded. Slowly. “You got it.” And again he gestured—this time through the kitchen area to the arch that led to the dining room. She turned and pointed herself in the direction he’d indicated.
In the dining room, she admired the hardwood floor and the simple craftsman-style stained glass chandelier that hung over the place where the table should have been.
Before he could move too close and get her thinking about kissing him again, she kept going, into the great room, with its big brick fireplace, cherry mantel and twin tall windows looking out on the front yard.
“Beautiful,” she said, and, “Very nice,” as they moved through the central hallway.
He pointed at a shut door. “Half bath,” he stated.
“A must.”
He sent her a look that managed to be both humorous and sexy. Big trouble, oh, yes. She kept her mouth shut and answered his look with a shrug. He led her on to the master suite.
She didn’t linger there. Uh-uh. Even without a bed to get her thinking of all the intimacies she was never going to share with him, the master bedroom was still a dangerous place for the two of them to be.
She hurried on into the master bath. “Two sinks. A necessity.”
“Yeah. I thought so, too.”
There was also a huge shower and a sunken tub more than big enough for two, complete with spa jets.
Oh, my, yes. Too dangerous for words. With a smile and a nod she slipped past him, back out into the empty bedroom. She admired the walk-in closet and the roomy dressing area. And then, at last, he ushered her out of there.
The front hall was spacious and welcoming. Afternoon light, spilling in through the sidelights that flanked the front door, made the wood floor gleam.
She followed him upstairs, her hand trailing on the smooth cherry banister. There were two more bedrooms up there, each with a big walk-in closet. The bedrooms shared a central bath.
“That’s it,” he told her, as they stood in the upper hall, ready to go down.
“It’s lovely. Honestly.”
“Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind my asking…”
“Anything. Go for it.”
“Well, why, exactly, did you buy it?”
“I told you. I like Rosewood. I keep thinking that someday I might move back to town.”
“At least you’ve got all your window treatments,” she said. “I like them. They’re simple. Elegant. The plantation shutters—and the Roman shades and wood blinds. However…”
“I’m listening.”
“Before you move in, better buy some furniture. And dishes. Pots and pans. Towels. Sheets. Paper goods. Food. Those laundry supplies we talked about a few minutes ago. All that.”
He grinned. “You think so, huh?”
“Even two Bosch dishwashers aren’t a lot of good if you don’t have dishes to put in them.”
“Yeah. I know. I need to get started on all that. But the truth is I just never had the heart for it.”
“For buying furniture and stuff, you mean?”
“For being in Rosewood where so much went wrong for me.” Once again, he was standing close. She should move back. But she didn’t. He added, “I have to tell you, though…”
“Yeah?” She was sounding much too breathless again.
“There’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be at this moment, than here. In Rosewood. With you…” He moved then, a step closer still.
Too close…
Too wonderfully, deliciously close. His warm breath touched her cheek and he lifted a hand to brush a stray lock of hair back out of her eyes—oh, that was heaven. Just the touch of his fingers at her temple, on her cheek, guiding those strands of hair back behind her ear. She didn’t mean to raise her mouth to him—well, not exactly. And she didn’t mean to sigh in yearning. But she did.
And when she did, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter Five
Megan sighed some more and swayed closer to him. He gathered her into his arms.
Now, this. This was heaven. Pure heaven, right here in Rosewood, New York. Standing in the upper hallway of Greg’s empty house, wrapped in his arms, with his mouth—softer even than she’d dared to imagine—on hers.
He deepened the kiss, touching the tip of his tongue to the seam where her lips met. She instantly opened for him, sighing some more as his tongue brushed hers. He smiled against her mouth and that made her smile, too.
She slid her hands up over the fine fabric of his jacket, intimately aware of the heat and hardness of the chest beneath. She touched his crisp white collar, ran her fingers up the side of his throat and brushed his temples, where his hair was cut business-short.
Oh, he felt so very good. To hold, to touch, to kiss….
And about that…about the way the man could kiss.
How did he do it? Okay, she didn’t have a whole lot of experience with kissing, but still. A kiss, after all, was only a kiss….
Wasn’t it?
That would be no. Not with Greg.
With Greg, it was…different. With Greg it was so much more.
The miracle, the wonder, the beauty of his kiss was in the way he held her, so tightly and tenderly, as if he cherished her above everything and everyone. As if he’d never, ever let her go. It was in the way his lips brushed hers and then settl
ed in, deeper, harder, hotter….
He stole her breath and stopped her heart with that kiss of his, as his tongue stroked the secret places beyond her lips, and his hands roamed her back, rubbing, caressing, making all kinds of promises. Promises that didn’t need words. Promises made in the heat and the knowing pressure of his touch.
She could have stood there forever, drinking his kiss, kissing him back, feeling wanted—needed, even—feeling truly beautiful for the first time in her life.
But then he lifted his lips from hers a fraction and whispered her name. “Megan…”
And she whispered back. “Greg…”
And somehow, that did it—saying his name aloud. It made it all achingly, terribly clear.
This couldn’t go anywhere. She’d told him so and he had understood her.
This was impossible.
This was not going to be.
When he tried to claim her lips again, she shook her head. She flattened her hands on his broad chest and gently, firmly, pushed him away. He resisted, but only for a moment. His arms fell—and she wanted more than anything to sway toward him again.
But she didn’t. She stepped back and whispered weakly, “I’m…sorry. So sorry…”
He shook his head. “Sorry doesn’t help.” His lips were swollen, red, from kissing her.
She knew hers were the same. And she couldn’t stay here. If she did, she’d only end up kissing him some more. “We…we have to go.”
“Yeah. All right. Whatever you say.” He turned without another word and headed down the stairs. She stared after him, stunned at what had happened.
Now, after that kiss, the fact that there could be no more seemed so terrible. So totally wrong…
But no. It wasn’t wrong. There was Carly to think about. Carly, who trusted her. Carly, who had cried on Megan’s shoulder, revealing her heartbreak as she never would have done if she’d known about this…
At the bottom of the stairs, Greg looked up at Megan, his eyes hooded and his jaw set. “I need a ride back to the station.”
She shook herself. “Of course.” And hurried down.
In the garage, Megan trotted right over and climbed in the car while Greg reset the alarm and locked the inner door. She started up the engine and he got in. The garage door trundled up.
Carefully, because she was shaking and didn’t really trust herself behind the wheel, she put the car in reverse, peered back over the seat and slowly pulled out. Greg rolled the door down with the remote.
She backed—too slowly, with painstaking care—out onto Sycamore Street, carefully turning the wheel so the car was pointed in the right direction. She was so busy concentrating on her driving that she almost didn’t notice the two women in jogging shorts and sports bras walking their matching Yorkshire terriers on the other side of the street.
She gasped when she did see them. Ohmigod. Irene Dare and Rhonda Johnson, the two biggest gossips in Rosewood.
And they had seen her with Greg.
They’d stopped, stock-still, on the sidewalk, their little dogs yapping at their feet. They gaped from Megan’s face—flushed with pure guilt, she just knew it—to Greg’s, and back again.
Greg waved. The two lifted their arms in unison and waved back. Megan drove on down the street.
She couldn’t keep herself from looking in the rearview mirror as she turned the corner. Irene and Rhonda had not moved on. They stood in the same spot, their dogs jumping and barking around their feet. They were no longer staring, though. Now they were talking, urgently—Irene’s dark head bent down to Rhonda’s frizzy red one.
Dear Lord. Let this be the one time they keep their big mouths shut….
Even as Megan formed the little prayer, she knew it was hopeless. Rhonda and Irene would make sure everyone in the neighborhood—including Carly—heard about how they’d seen Megan and Greg together, coming out of that empty house on Sycamore Street.
Chapter Six
Greg stared out his side window, not speaking, as Megan drove the rest of the way to the station. She didn’t know which bothered her more, Greg’s chilly silence or the fact that Irene and Rhonda had seen them together.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said flatly when she stopped to let him out.
“No problem.”
“You’ve got all my numbers.” He’d given her his card that first day, in the city. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“Greg, I—”
He put up a hand. “Are you about to tell me you’ve changed your mind?”
All she could do was shake her head.
“Then don’t say anything.” He opened his door. “Bye, Megan.”
“Bye….” She didn’t allow herself to watch him walk away from her. Still shaky—and absolutely miserable—she turned her car for home. She was so absorbed in thoughts of him, of what she longed to have with him, what she wasn’t going to do with him, what Irene and Rhonda were going to say about seeing them, that she got all the way home before she remembered the kids.
Forgetting the kids. That had to be a first.
Thoroughly put out with herself, she started up the car again and headed for Rosewood Park, where she collected the kids, took them back to the house, changed into her comfy at-home clothes, and kid-sat until Angela arrived from work at five-forty.
It was then that Megan had to deal with her promise to Carly: a full report on how the presentation to the Banning’s executives had gone. Facing poor Carly. Now there was something Megan had zero desire to do. She almost chickened out and returned to the office to get a head start on the Banning’s project.
But no. She had promised.
Maybe a phone call….
Uh-uh. A call would be just too cowardly and small. So she grabbed the cake stand Carly had brought over on the Fourth and headed for Tara—aka the McMansion.
As Megan walked up the wide front steps between the two huge pillars, her courage deserted her. She was just about to set the cake stand by the arched front entryway, ring the bell and make a run for it, when Carly opened the door.
“Oh! There you are.”
Caught, Megan thought, trying not to cringe.
“I’ve been waiting to hear how it went….” Carly grabbed her by the arm and hauled her into the soaring marble-tiled foyer. “Did you like the cake? Oh, I hope you did.”
Megan stared into Carly’s hopeful face. Say something. She sucked in a big breath and laid on the compliments. “It was amazing. I think it actually tasted better than it looked. Which is pretty hard to believe, considering how good it did look.”
Carly took the cake stand and set it on the foyer table. “Well. I’m just glad y’all enjoyed it.”
“Oh, we did. We definitely did.”
“Come on in the den….” Carly turned. Megan, longing to be anywhere but there, stared after her until she turned back, smiled so sweetly and waved her on. “Come on….”
So Megan went where Carly led her, into the most comfortable room of the huge, overdone house. “Have a seat.” Carly gestured toward a leather recliner. Megan obediently dropped into it. “Now, what can I get you? Coffee? I made a simple little pineapple upside-down cake this morning and I can just—”
“No. Nothing. Really.”
“You’re sure…?”
“Yes. Positive.”
Carly perched delicately on the edge of the couch. “Now, then.” Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. “How did it go?”
“It, um, well, it went beautifully.”
Carly laughed and clapped her hands. “So…?”
“It’s official. We got the contract.”
“Oh, my! Well, isn’t that terrific?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty jazzed.”
“Oh, I’ll bet. Tell me everything.”
So Megan launched into a description of the meeting in her offices. When she mentioned Gregory, Sr., Carly sat forward. “How is Gregory?”
“Well, he liked what we had to show him. But I can’t say he’s the mo
st outgoing guy in the world.”
Carly looked serious. “Yes. It’s true. He’s a…difficult person to get to know.” Carly’s frown deepened. She seemed vaguely distressed.
“Are you…all right, Carly?”
She blinked. “Oh, yes. Fine. Go on….”
Megan did, wrapping it up as quickly and simply as possible, ending at the point when the Banning’s executives got in their limousines and headed back to the city. She totally failed to mention the central fact that Greg had stayed behind.
Instead, she waited, certain that Carly was going to ask about Greg, and promising herself that she wouldn’t lie, that she’d tell the whole truth and face the music right there and then.
But Carly only said, “That’s great. Really great.”
Guilty relief poured through Megan. “Thank you again. And, you know, I’ve really got to run…” She felt awful. Small. Like a liar and a coward. Probably because she was both of those things.
And Carly seemed—what? Disappointed. Yes. That was it. Disappointed that Megan had nothing to volunteer about Greg. Disappointed, but apparently unwilling this time around to actually ask about him. She offered yet again, “A piece of cake? You’re sure?”
“Thanks, but no.” Megan bounced to her feet and headed for the foyer. “Just wanted to, you know, tell you how it went….”
Carly rose and followed her to the door. “I’m just thrilled it turned out so well.”
“Yes. Thank you for everything. It’s terrific. I’m excited.” Oh, and did I mention I’m also a big, fat liar and a snake in the grass…?
“Glad I could help.” Carly opened the door for her and Megan escaped with a quick wave and a last, lying smile.
Megan hardly slept at all that night. Guilt and shame and self-disgust will do that to a person.
She lay in bed hating herself for what she had done with Greg that afternoon, and the way she had lied, by omission, to Carly. Megan despised herself—well, when she wasn’t longing for the man she was never going to have.
She relived that forbidden kiss a hundred times. And each time she did so, she promised herself she was putting Greg Banning strictly out of her mind.
The Reluctant Cinderella Page 6