by Judy Duarte - The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride (Return to Brighton Valley)
The kiss in the hallway had fueled their passion, and now that they were alone and behind closed doors, the intensity of their desire built until they were both on fire.
Clay took her by the hand and led her to the bed, where he kissed her again. As if eager to feel her bare skin against his, she reached for the zipper on her dress, tugging and struggling just a bit.
He helped her finish the chore, sliding the garment over her shoulders as she shimmied out of it. When it dropped to the floor, she kicked it to the side.
As she stood before him in a black lacy bra and matching panties, a sexy ensemble he never would have guessed she’d worn under that classy dress, his heart soared, and his blood raced. Her body, petite yet lithe, was everything he’d imagined it to be and more. And tonight she was his.
Following her lead, he removed his clothes and eased toward her. She skimmed her nails across his chest, sending a shiver through his veins and a rush of heat through his blood. Then she unsnapped her bra and freed her breasts, full and round, the dusky pink tips peaked and begging to be touched.
He took a nipple in his mouth, lavishing first one and then the other until she swayed and clutched his shoulder to stay balanced.
But why remain standing? He lifted her on to the bed. As all that gorgeous red hair he’d mussed with his fingers now splayed out over the pillow, he took a moment to drink in the luscious sight.
“You’re more beautiful than I’d ever imagined, Megan.”
A slow smile stretched across her lips. “So are you.”
She found the man inside of him attractive. Not his name or his money or his holdings. Determined to ensure that she’d feel the same way when he revealed the truth, he joined her on the bed.
After using the condom to protect them, he entered her. And as her body responded to his, arching and meeting his thrusts, taking and giving, nothing mattered but the two of them. When they both reached a peak, she cried out. He shuddered, releasing with her in an amazing sexual explosion. Talk about fireworks....
Making love with Megan had been all that he’d hoped for and more. And as he held her close, riding the ebb and flow, he wondered when to tell her that she’d just knocked it out of the park with Clay Jenkins, a man who could not only take her to the moon but buy it for her.
Should he tell her now? Or wait until breakfast?
As she snuggled in his arms, as they basked in what could be described only as a perfect afterglow, she whispered, “Oh, Peyton...”
And breakfast won out.
* * *
The clock on the nightstand read 7:25 a.m. While Peyton showered, Megan stretched out in the luxurious hotel bed, savoring the greatest night of lovemaking she’d ever had and running her foot along an expanse of sheets with what had to be the highest thread count she’d ever slept in. The sheer decadence made her want to call Peyton out from the steamy bathroom to partake in the silky smoothness with her.
They’d made love with urgency last night, then with slow excitement and awareness this morning. Peyton was an incredible lover, and she could get used to waking up in his arms.
She could also be tempted to call Caroline and tell her something had come up and she wouldn’t be able to get the kids until midday. After all, checkout wasn’t until eleven. But they had a long drive back to Brighton Valley, and Peyton had to open the shop. She also needed to get her jams and preserves ready for her booth at the farmers’ market tomorrow.
For that reason, Peyton had asked her to order them both something for breakfast before he’d kissed her and hopped into the shower. So she studied the room service menu and placed the call, hoping she hadn’t chosen too much. But he’d said he was hungry, and so was she.
When he came out of the bathroom, they changed places. And by the time she’d showered and walked out in one of the fluffy hotel robes, a waiter was wheeling in their breakfast on a white linen-covered table.
Peyton tipped the man. Then, when they were alone, he pulled out a chair for her.
“I’ve never had room service before.” Had she just admitted that? Great, now she sounded like the inexperienced country hick she’d feared he’d see her as.
“You should have someone cook for you and serve you—and often.” He winked, and her heart did a flip-flop.
Was he implying there would be more dates like this one?
“I hope I didn’t order too much food. I knew you liked bacon and eggs, as well as biscuits with gravy. But you also have a weakness for pastries.”
He reached over and squeezed her knee, which had slipped out of the robe, then gave it a sensuous caress. “That’s something that amazes me about you. You have a knack for knowing exactly what I want and when I want it. It’s like an instinct.”
“Ha.” Todd had told her that she never understood a man’s needs. “My ex-husband would disagree with you.”
Oops, she hadn’t meant to bring him up. That was certainly a buzzkill.
“I’m sure there are probably a lot of things your ex and I wouldn’t agree on.”
She smiled, but an awkward silence had already filled the room.
“Was it always bad between the two of you?” Peyton asked.
Megan wondered if he was comparing himself to her ex-husband, and while she didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want Peyton to think that she was lacking as a wife or to think that a relationship with her would end with the same result.
“Things were exciting at first, but we were so young and had no idea what the real world was like. I was mortified when I got pregnant while we were in high school, but I convinced myself that if I tried hard enough, then we’d be okay. But college was a difficult transition for him and married life was even tougher. He was used to being the big fish in a small pond. And when he only made second string, it really got to him. And his ego took a beating.”
Megan stole a glance at Peyton, and his expression urged her to go on.
“After a while, it seemed that he spent more time with his teammates and at the gym—or so he said. It didn’t take a bloodhound to smell the alcohol on his breath. But I adored Tyler and was determined to make our family work. After graduation his football career was already in the tank, so he took a job in Houston, and we moved to the suburbs. Lisa was born a year later.”
“I take it things didn’t get better away from the university.”
“No, it only got worse. He once told me that I poured all of my heart into the home and the children and that I was no fun anymore, that I didn’t care about him. It seemed that the harder I tried, the more distant he became. Before long he came home so late at night that I didn’t even bother to keep his dinner warm anymore. It was getting more apparent that divorce was in our future, but I wasn’t raised that way and didn’t want to think I’d failed at having a family.”
“How could you ever think you were the one who’d failed?”
“Looking back, I can see that it was his problems, his insecurities and issues that led to our divorce. I was just coming to that conclusion when I received a phone call from a woman claiming to be his lover. Even though I knew the marriage was beyond salvaging, that revelation merely set off a series of events that let me know our whole marriage had been racked with lies.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Finding out about his wealthy girlfriend or a whole laundry list of other mistresses wasn’t the hardest part of our divorce.”
Peyton’s arched brow questioned her last comment.
“You see, his irresponsible lifestyle and spending habits had done a real number on our finances. I’d been so caught up with caring for the house and the children that I let him handle the checkbook—actually, he insisted, and I didn’t argue. But that proved to be a big mistake. I had no idea how far in debt he’d gotten us. In the end, I had no choice but to file for bankrup
tcy, which left me in a real bind, and he’s seen no reason to help me financially.”
“Where is he now? Why isn’t he sending you any money for the kids?”
“The court ordered him to pay child support, but before he’d written three checks, he left the state with that other woman and hasn’t been heard from since. I guess with a rich lover to fund his spending habits, he no longer needed his grandfather—a man who’d doled out more cash to his family than hugs.”
“I can’t believe he wouldn’t want to support his kids.”
“He figured I’d go to his family and ask for help, knowing his grandpa would contribute what he should be paying himself, but I refused to do it. I decided that, by letting his arrears mount up in court, eventually he’ll have to be held accountable to someone.”
“In the meantime, you suffer financially.”
“It’s not so bad. I’m getting by okay.”
Peyton clucked his tongue. “What an ass. Stepping out on you like that.”
“You know, by the time I found out about the other woman, I wasn’t even really that upset. I’d fallen out of love with him by then, so I was never really jealous. It was the lying and sneaking that broke my heart. I’ve always hated liars. They’re the most despicable and cowardly people. Why couldn’t he have just come to me and told me that he stopped loving me, that the marriage wasn’t working for him? I could have handled the truth. What I couldn’t stomach was the lies and the deceit.”
Peyton grew silent—stone-cold quiet.
Apparently he didn’t have an answer for that. Or more likely, he was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.
Megan kicked herself again for bringing it up, especially now. But heck, he’d asked the questions. And he’d appeared to be interested.
But maybe it was too much information too soon.
Somehow she needed to lighten things up. “Anyway, I got some job training after I moved back to Brighton Valley. And thanks to my jams and muffins, plus the extra income and the health insurance I receive from Zorba’s, I’m finally starting to see some light at the end of the financial tunnel.” And in case he thought she’d gotten too attached to him, she added, “The kids and I are doing just fine on our own.”
She dug into her scrambled eggs. As they ate, he remained quiet. She chalked it up to his focus on the delicious spread before them, but after a few minutes, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
* * *
Wrong? Hell, yes. But Clay couldn’t admit that. So he said, “No, not at all.”
He’d meant to confess his identity this morning, before taking her back to Brighton Valley. He’d planned to spring the news as a surprise. He’d thought that after a fine dinner and an amazing night of lovemaking, he would swoop in like Prince Charming and give her all the things she’d ever wanted.
He’d thought that she’d be pleased to know that all her financial worries were over.
But if all she’d ever wanted was a guy who was honest and up front, especially about who he really was...then maybe now wasn’t the time to tell her.
“These pastries are good,” he said, “but not as good as yours.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
Hopefully she hadn’t picked up on his guilt or his reason for feeling that way. He’d tell her, of course, and rid himself of that dark cloud that now hovered over him—over them.
But he couldn’t very well make his confession on the tail end of a revelation like that, especially when she’d professed how much she hated liars.
Still, he had to do it soon—before he tripped up or she found out before he had a chance to tell her himself.
Chapter Eleven
Clay hadn’t seen much of Megan after their night in Houston. The excuse he gave her, as well as himself, was that she needed to get ready for the farmers’ market. But that was a load of bull, and as Saturday afternoon wore on, he began to feel like a real jerk.
By Sunday the guilt had really kicked in, and he couldn’t help thinking that he deserved whatever happened once he told her the truth. Finally, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he took a shower, got dressed and fixed a light breakfast. Then he walked to the town square in search of the booth where she’d set up her jams and preserves.
He’d offered to drive over to her place and help her load her stepdad’s truck with her wares, but she’d said that she had it covered and that he didn’t need to bother. He’d agreed to let her and Tyler handle it on their own, but now he wished he had insisted.
At a quarter to nine, Clay found her booth, which she’d decorated with a red-checkered tablecloth, wooden crates and baskets of homemade muffins.
She looked adorable in denim jeans and a fitted white blouse, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. But she was busy talking to a woman and her daughter about one of her preserves when he walked up, so he didn’t greet her with a hug or a kiss.
And that merely made him feel even more awkward than he already did.
Damn, if he had a tail, it would’ve been tucked between his legs. He’d waited long enough to tell her who he was. Dragging his feet wasn’t helping, and the sooner he got it over with, the better he’d feel, even if it angered her. After all, Peyton might have wooed her, but Clay had a way of keeping women around. Surely she’d get over it once she realized who he was and what he could give her.
After the woman made a purchase and walked off with her daughter, Megan spotted him, and their gazes met. Her smile nearly did him in—in part because he hoped she’d still look at him that way after he told her he’d been stringing her along for weeks even though he hadn’t needed to.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“It was a little slow at first, but things have really picked up.” She reached under the table and pulled out a foil-covered package. “I made you a breakfast burrito. I thought you might not take the time to eat.”
She was always thinking about him. “Thanks. As a matter of fact, I’m starving. But listen, I really need to talk to you. Can you take a break?”
Megan gave him a little shrug and smiled. “I usually sell out by noon. Is that soon enough?”
He supposed it would have to be. “Sure.”
Before she could respond, a middle-aged man wearing a pair of khaki slacks, a blue button-down shirt and a navy blue sports jacket stopped by the booth.
“Are you Megan Adams?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
He reached into his lapel and pulled out a business card. “I’m Harvey Swenson with Fowler Markets, a retail chain out of Dallas. While passing through town a couple of weeks ago, I stopped at Caroline’s Diner and had the pleasure of tasting your spicy peach preserve, the one you make with jalapeño chilies. It was so delicious I wanted to take a jar home with me, but the waitress told me they didn’t have any left. In fact, they always sell out of it early.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Swenson. If you’d like to take some with you today, I have a couple of jars left. I’m afraid it’s the first thing I run out of at the farmers’ market, too. I can’t seem to keep it in stock.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be interested in selling your recipe.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s been in the family for years, so it’s not for sale.”
“I figured you’d say that.” The man grinned. “But I’ll take all you have left, as well as several jars of each of your other jams and jellies.”
While Megan proceeded to bag the man’s order and total up the sale, Clay scanned the crowd of locals who’d gathered on a Sunday morning to roam the booths, looking at homemade quilts, produce, artwork and all the other things people had either made or brought to sell. He suspected the town square would really get hopping once the community church let out.
As Mr. Swenson walked off, another man approached. This one Clay recognized. It was Travis Bellingham, a guy he’d gone to school with at Washington High.
Travis had been one of Todd Redding’s friends, one of the jocks who’d harassed him when he’d been a freshman. He stiffened, wondering if Travis would recognize him, even though he doubted that he would.
“Hey,” Travis said to Megan. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad.” She straightened and placed her hands on her hips. “And you?”
“I’m all right. My dad took sick, so I had to come home and help out my mom on the ranch.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Megan reached for a jar of plum jelly. “Give this to your dad. He used to stop by the booth regularly. I wondered why I hadn’t seen him lately.”
“Thanks. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
Megan turned to Clay. “Travis, this is Peyton Johnson. He and I’ve been working together at Zorba the Geek’s.”
As the men shook hands, Megan added, “Travis and my ex-husband were good friends. They played football together in high school.”
“Yeah,” Travis said. “But I never was good enough to get a college scholarship like Todd did.”
Todd?
Clay’s gut tightened. No, it couldn’t be. Megan had dated a football player—and a quarterback. But she’d gone to Brighton Valley, not Washington High. And Clay had just assumed that the guy...
Hell, her last name was Adams. Maybe the only coincidence was that she’d dated and married a football player at BVHS whose first name was Todd.
When Travis had taken the gift jar of jelly and left, Clay asked, “So that was your ex-husband’s friend?”
“Yes.”
The knot in his gut twisted. “And you went to school with both of them....?”
“No, Todd attended Washington High. What I didn’t realize then but found out later was that he’d conquered most of the girls at his school. So he decided to move on to newer pickings in Brighton Valley, where no one knew of his reputation as a love-’em-and-leave-’em type. Since I’d been busy helping my mom with the orchard and with chores at home, I hadn’t dated much. What can I say? He was a charmer, and by the time graduation rolled around, I was pregnant.”