Take Me

by Diane Alberts

  “Hey, wait for your hubby.” He caught up with her easily. “What? Can you blame me for wanting the boots? You look hot in them and an apron, even in my head. Tell me you’re not picturing it right now.”

  She wasn’t picturing that at all. No, she was picturing the look on his face if she greeted him dressed in that. And what he would do after he found her dressed the way he wanted. Shaking her head to clear it, she narrowed her eyes at him. “It’ll never happen.”

  “We’ll see about that.” When she headed for the doors that led outside, he stopped walking and pointed at the elevator. “We’re in the honeymoon suite, remember?”

  She hesitated. No, she hadn’t remembered. “Well, I’ll still need clothes. And toiletries.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to go get them.” He held the door open for her. “After you, wife.”

  She pushed through the door to the sidewalk. It might be after two in the morning, but Vegas was still in full swing. A drunk couple talking about gambling stumbled past them and an old, completely sober couple holding hands walked the other way. How cute. Could that be her and Mike if they waited this thing out?

  She headed for a parked cab, ignoring Mike’s outstretched hand. “Don’t you need some stuff, too?”

  “No.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I got my shit earlier while you were working. I also took off work, you know, to enjoy the honeymoon.”

  How cocksure could he be? He’d had no idea what her answer would have been. She was so indignant about his arrogance that she forgot to ask him what he did for a living. “And what if I said no to you?”

  He shrugged. “I’d have been fine up there alone if you refused me.”

  Yeah, but she doubted he would be alone. A guy like Mike didn’t have to try hard to get a woman interested in him. Or to get them to marry him, for the love of God. The only reason he was trying so hard for her was probably because she didn’t want him.

  Or…didn’t want to want him, anyway.

  “You would’ve had another girl up there quicker than I can do jazz hands, wouldn’t you?” She shook her hands next to her face and did a quick shuffle step to drive her point home, then slid into his Charger, ignoring her so-called husband’s laughter as he settled behind the wheel.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “I already told you last night. Jazz hands.” She gave him her address before turning her attention back to the previous discussion. “You act like you’re all sincere about wanting to be with your wife, and yet, you wouldn’t have even cared if I’d said no. You would have been at the bar all, ‘baby, my wife just left me. I’m so sad.’”

  “As much as I admire your imitation of me,” he said, an amused expression on his features, “When did I ever say I’d bring another woman up to our hotel room, or give you any reason to think I would?”

  “You don’t have to say it. I can sense it. I know guys like you. I am a guy like you, but without the set to prove it.” She poked at his arm. “Green light, yellow light, red light, remember? I heard that whole speech, including the fact that you don’t want to be married. Ever. But yet—”

  “We are.”

  “Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re the type of man who doesn’t get a broken heart because your heart never enters into the equation. You’re not willing or ready to offer it up to a woman, so you keep it safe. It’s simple math. And it doesn’t take much to know that at the end of the week, I’ll be leaving.”

  For a second, he looked at her as if she’d struck him physically. But then he smiled and held a hand over his chest. “Oh, babe. If you want my heart, try talking history instead of math. That might win me over.”

  “You like history?”

  “Of course.” He pursed his lips. “I do teach it, after all.”

  Her eyes went all wide. “Oh my God. You’re a teacher?”

  “Yep.”

  She crossed herself and mumbled, “God save America.”

  “Hey, now.” He gave a choked laugh. “I’ll have you know I’m quite good at my job. I’ve been teaching middle school students since I graduated college.”

  Even better. “I’m sure all the girls in your class think you’re the best teacher ever.” She sang the chorus of “Hot for Teacher.”

  “Oh, stop. If they do, I wouldn’t know. They are children after all.” He lifted a shoulder and flexed his fingers on the wheel. “They all seem equally enthusiastic to learn, if you ask me. As in, they don’t want to.”

  She could tell he didn’t like the current topic, which probably meant all the girls in his school were crushing on him. They’d have to be blind not to. But really, look at him. What young girl in her right mind wouldn’t be half in love with him?

  “Do some of them ask for tutoring, even when they have straight A’s?”

  He looked at her weirdly. “Sometimes, I guess.”

  “Then they like you.”

  He raised a brow. “Is that what you did to the cute teachers in your school?”

  No. She’d avoided them. She’d been an awkward child at best, more interested in dancing than learning. “And if I did?”

  “Then kiss me. I can tutor you all you want, free of charge.” He grabbed her hand and nibbled at her wrist. “All you have to do is ask.”

  She laughed and pulled free before burying her hand in his thick, blond hair. She loved the way it wrapped around her fingers. Giving it a gentle tug, she asked, “Oh, yeah?”

  “Mmm hmm. Lesson number one…”

  He stopped at the red light and leaned closer, his lids drifting shut. She closed the rest of the distance between them, and he kissed her, his tongue playing with hers in seconds. As she clung to him and returned the kiss, she couldn’t help thinking that if she needed help with anything, it would be learning how to keep him at arm’s length.

  Teach me how to keep my heart safe, before I lose it.

  Chapter Ten

  Mike slammed his hand down on the shrieking alarm, smiled, and stretched as far as he could in the confines of the blankets. Life was good. It was Wednesday morning, and he had his lovely wife by his side. Funny how the word no longer made him want to retch. In fact, wife was starting to sound like something he might enjoy—at least with Morgan anyway. Last night after they had sex, they’d just lain there, whispering secrets back and forth. Sharing the past and their dreams.

  A month ago, that would have been his description of pure hell. A month ago, he would have willingly castrated himself before agreeing to spoon after sex. But with Morgan, it felt different. With Morgan, there was no drama and fighting and tears. It was easy and straightforward. She wanted to dance, and he wanted her. No hearts involved or broken dreams.

  They could just be together.

  Wanting to feel her smooth skin under his fingers, he rolled over and reached for her, but came back empty. He sat up, unable to believe it. Sure, she had told him she wouldn’t stick around. Had reminded him ten million times. But he’d thought she would at least wait out the week with him. His heart pounded so loudly he couldn’t even hear his phone ringing at first. Once he finally registered that it rang, he picked it up and held it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “How long do you plan on staying in my hotel for free?” Brianna asked.

  Mike rubbed his eyes. “Uh, a couple more days?”

  Brianna choked on something. Probably her coffee. “Why? Did you forget to pay your rent and lose your place? Do you need help?”

  “When have I ever forgotten to pay my rent?” Mike asked sarcastically. “What kind of question is that?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Mike dropped his forehead and sighed. He didn’t know what to say. How to explain this without coming across as a complete idiot. “It’s a long story that, wel
l, I…” he broke off with a muffled curse. Oh, wait. Too late. He already sounded like one. “It’s a long story.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a note on the pillow. Picking it up, he scanned the elegant penmanship. She’d gone to work out and would be back soon. So she hadn’t run from him. Hadn’t called it quits yet.

  “Try me,” Brianna said. He heard the staple pound on her desk in the background. “I’m here early. Answer me or I’m coming up there with my manager’s key.”

  He flinched. “Fine. I’m with a woman.”

  “Morgan?”

  “Uh.” He winced. “Yeah.”

  Papers went in the shredder. “And you need the honeymoon suite because…?”

  “We got married.” He held his breath, waiting for the explosion he knew would come. “The other night.”

  Something heavy clattered on the floor. “You did what?”

  “Got married.”

  “Tell me everything!” Her chair squeaked. At least she hadn’t fainted. “Now.”

  He told her the whole story, leaving only bits and pieces out. By the time he finished, she was dead silent.

  “So, uh, that’s why I need the honeymoon suite for a couple of days. It’s not available to the public yet, right?”

  “It’s not about that.” Brianna sighed. He could picture her sitting there, at her desk, a look of sisterly concern on her face. “And you might want to stay married?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He hesitated. “We’re taking a few days to decide.”

  “That had to have been her idea, because the Mike I know wouldn’t be wasting a second in annulling the marriage.” The stapler struck again, louder this time. “The Mike I know wouldn’t be thinking about this at all.”

  He flinched. She was right, of course. But he wasn’t that Mike right now. He didn’t know if that was a bad thing or a good thing. The keycard beeped cheerily in the door, announcing the arrival of his bride. “We’ll talk later. I have to go.”

  “Mike, I’m worried—”

  He hung up with only a small amount of guilt choking him and lay back down in the bed, trying to make it look as if he’d just woken up. Morgan came into the bedroom quietly, her cheeks flushed and a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin. The tiny black shorts she wore didn’t leave much to the imagination, nor did the skintight light blue tank top.

  “Hey, you’re awake.” She picked up a towel and swiped it down her face. “I wasn’t sure what time you usually got up.”

  “On a work day?” He yawned. “Five thirty. I’m up, but haven’t made it out of bed yet since I took off work. Didn’t want to abandon my pretty little bride on our honeymoon.”

  “Are you off all week long?”

  “No, I couldn’t. I have to administer a big test tomorrow.” He patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Come here.”

  She laughed but didn’t approach. “I still can’t believe you’re actually a teacher. It’s so studious—totally obliterates your lady-killer image. I can’t imagine you being serious enough about anything, let alone teaching children. Do you even like them?”

  “Of course I do.” His pride took a little bit of a blow. Did she really think he was nothing but sex and empty promises? Had he given her a reason to think that, besides their first night together? He’d been the one chasing her, the one seriously contemplating keeping this marriage. “I love my job and I love kids.”

  His voice might have come out harder than he’d planned. She peeked at him over the towel, her brow furrowed. “Okay. I’m sorry if I hit a sensitive spot there.”

  He cursed himself inwardly. He needed to keep his cool. “I coach basketball there, too. With Garrett.”

  “Ah. The bachelor.”

  “Yeah. We’re kind of close.”

  She laughed and chucked the towel on the chair. “I kinda figured that out myself.”

  He observed her almost offhandedly. She seemed to think she knew everything about him, while he knew next to nothing about her. “My turn to ask a question. What do you do besides bartend occasionally and dance?”

  “I help out at a ballerina studio. It’s not ideal, but it pays the bills.”

  He pictured her helping little girls in pink tutus spin around in circles and smiled. “Why didn’t you ever want to get married?”

  “It’s not some sad, dark tale of abuse or loneliness. I don’t even hate marriage, as a whole.” She sat down on the bed and clutched her knees. “But my mother got married young. Before my dad came along, she was a dancer. One of the best ballerinas in the world—until she met him. They fell in love and she hung up her pointe shoes to get married and have me. Then all of those dreams she had just kind of…went away.”

  Okay. He got that. But that didn’t mean it would happen to her. Or them. Oh, Christ. What was he thinking? Since when did he want to be a part of a them? Hell, he’d spent so long avoiding anything to do with being part of a couple that actively seeking one out felt wrong. Illegal, even.

  But still…

  “Was she happy with her decisions?”

  “That’s not the point.” She fidgeted on the bed. “I’m twenty-five. Did you know that a dancer’s stage career is over by the age of thirty-six? If we’re lucky to last that long, that is. Which means people in my profession have to cram a lifetime’s worth of performance career into a fifteen or twenty year window.”

  How could that be possible? He could easily picture Morgan dancing well into her sixties. “I can’t imagine—”

  “Well, imagine it. Because it’s true.” She stood up and paced in front of him, nibbling on her thumbnail. “In ten years my stage career will be as good as over and I’ll be reduced to teaching kids how to dance in a studio I can hardly afford, dealing with stage moms and all the drama that comes with them.”

  He couldn’t picture her doing that. It was obvious to him she needed to dance to feel alive. She’d told him that. “So, no kids of your own?”

  “Not unless I’m still fertile after my career is over.” She shrugged. “I’m not ruining my body for nine months, in the prime of my career. It would ruin any professional momentum I’ve gained. And even if I get pregnant, it’s not like it’s over after you pop the kid out. I’d have to take care of a child every day for the rest of my life. There would be the Mommy guilt if I left for too long, the diapers, the breastfeeding.” She sank back down on the bed. “I’d probably be too tired to even want to dance.” Meeting his eyes, she said, “Look, I don’t mean to sound cold. I don’t fault other women for their choices or for having families. But for me, dancing has always been my salvation—where I feel most at home, where I feel most alive. I saw the dreams my mom gave up to have me. She claims she doesn’t regret it, but…I’m not my mother. I want dancing more than I want kids. More than I want marriage and love, too.”

  More than she wanted him, obviously. Point well taken.

  But he couldn’t hate her for feeling the way she felt. Couldn’t deny how much her face lit up when she spoke of her passion for dance. If only everyone had something in their lives to make them that happy.

  “I see. Well, I guess that makes sense.” He held up a finger. “Except for one thing. Why can’t you have the marriage without the children?”

  “Husbands are just as needy as children.” She smirked and darted a quick glance at him. “No offense to my current hubby, of course.”

  “None taken.” He trailed a finger down her arm, watching the goose bumps rise over her flesh. “I’m pretty fucking needy.”

  She grinned, seeming to be pleased with his answer. “Then you see why I can’t be married. It’s not fair to you—especially if a real wife is what you really want. This is only fun for a couple of days or so and then I have to go back to reality at the end of the week. Back to my life.”

  He swall
owed his protestations. He didn’t see why they couldn’t be together, but he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with her yet. So arguing seemed futile.

  Especially when her arguments sounded so damn logical.

  She yanked her shirt over her head and all she had on underneath was one of those half-shirt, half-bra things women wore when working out. And, damn, he liked it on her. He could get used to seeing her do that every single day, thank you very much.

  She threw her shirt over his head and across the room toward her luggage. “I’m going to go shower. Feel free to join me, if you want.”

  She trotted off toward the bathroom, her steps light and airy. As if she bounced on air. She obviously liked hearing he wouldn’t argue with her at the end of the week. Obviously wanted to have some fun and leave. It’s what he wanted. What he’d always wanted.

  And yet now…it felt bittersweet, almost.

  He followed her into the shower, trying to ignore his annoying feelings. What the hell were feelings for, anyway? He didn’t need them in his life fucking everything up. What he and Morgan had going was perfect. No love or hearts. Just two grown-ups, playing honeymoon.

  And when their week was over, so were they.

  He undressed silently, put on a condom, and then climbed into the shower with her. Within moments, his mouth was on hers. He backed her against the cool tile, letting the hot water wash over them both. She moaned into his mouth and kissed him back, not fighting or arguing or telling him why she didn’t want to be with him.

  She just took what he had to give and didn’t fight it.

  He put everything into that kiss that he couldn’t say out loud. Kissed her in ways he didn’t fully understand, but she seemed to. She broke free, her blue eyes studying him from underneath wet, spiked lashes. “You okay?”

  “I will be in a second.” He tightened his grip on her hips and lifted her up. Insinuating himself between her legs, he slid inside of her without foreplay. “Now I’m fucking perfect.”

  A tender expression crossed her face. “So am I.”

  She gripped him tightly, her stare not leaving his until he moved deeper and her lashes drifted shut. But before her eyes closed, he thought he saw something he recognized. Something he had been feeling a lot of lately.