Читать книгу Waking Up Married - Mira Kelly Lyn - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

THE QUIET HUM OF THE SHOWER came to a stop, leaving only the silence of the villa roaring around him. Connor stared out over the bedroom terrace and private Caribbean blue pool below, trying to anticipate what he would face when his wife emerged from her steamy refuge.

Megan had held it together through those first minutes of realization, even managing a few joking remarks between bouts of nausea—but as soon as she’d been strong enough to stand on her own, she’d asked for some privacy to clean up.

And he’d been waiting since. Listening to the lock snap on the bathroom door as it closed behind him. Contemplating the single muted sob he’d heard before the echoing spray of the shower drowned all other sound. Piecing together the events, revelations and resolutions of the night before. Trying to reconcile them with the here and now of the morning.

Megan wanted a lawyer.

It had been the only definitive statement she’d made regarding their marriage in those few chaotic moments they’d spent ensconced in their marble-and-brass hideaway. Granted, she was probably as hazy on the finer points of the night as he was, but something possessive inside him was growling in outrage at the thought.

She was his wife.

She’d married him. And not on some lark either, but because she’d recognized the potential between them, same as him.

So yeah, the alcohol may have played into the immediacy of his actions. But with every passing minute, the details of those critical hours they’d spent together and the woman he’d married sharpened in his mind, reaffirming his confidence in the decision to strike while the iron was hot.

And no, the irony wasn’t lost on him that after his patient, methodical approach to finding a wife had failed with Caro—Megan had just dropped into his lap. Sure, sure, he’d had to sell her on the idea once he’d seen the sense in it. But he was a man with a knack for identifying opportunity and the skills to convey the benefits of said opportunity to others. He could size up a situation and break down the key factors, without waiting for the proverbial knock at his door or encyclopedic pitch most people required prior to taking action. And what he’d seen in Megan told him she was the kind of opportunity he shouldn’t kick out of his bed for eating crackers— or, more specifically, downing half Nevada’s monthly import of vanilla vodka in one night.

Their agendas were simply too well aligned to ignore. The timing too right. The practical approach too perfect. And she’d been like-minded enough to see it and agree.

Megan fit him to a T, so he wasn’t prepared to admit he’d made a mistake. Not yet anyway. Though he supposed the next few minutes would be fairly telling on that count. A bout of hysterics, for instance, would most definitely have him reconsidering his stance.

The lock released with a loud click and Connor steeled his gut for what came next. Only, somehow the sight of Megan, towel dried, freshly scrubbed and swimming in a thick, oatmeal robe as she tentatively pushed a damp tendril from her brow, was something he had no defense against.

She was beautiful.

And the steady way she met his eyes proved she wasn’t a meltdown in progress. Though taking the rest of her body language into account—the crossed arms, one hand securing the overlap of panels high at her neck and the other wrapped tight around her waist—suggested she wasn’t quite ready to pick up where they’d left off the night before. She looked cautious. Alert. And cool.

She looked strong, and it had his pulse jacking as much as the sight of those sexy little pink toenails peeking out from beneath the hem of her oversize robe.

“Feeling better?” he asked, planting a shoulder against the sliding door rather than giving in to the urge to get closer. He wanted her comfortable. As quickly as he could make it happen.

“Yes, thank you.” Clearing her throat quietly, she glanced briefly around before returning her attention to him. “I needed that. Needed a few minutes to get my thoughts together. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting out here, though.”

Conscientious. Nice. “Not a problem. It’s been an interesting morning, and it started off a little faster than I think either one of us expected.”

Her brows lifted as she drew a long breath. “It did, but considering our situation, that’s probably for the best. We’ve got a lot to cover in a short time.”

And then before he had a chance to ask, that steady gaze filled with purpose and her thumb popped up like a bullet point as she began.

“So, we’ll both need a lawyer to navigate the legalities involved in granting an annulment. But I’d be willing to bet the front desk has at least some cursory information available about the process, this being Vegas and all. I’ll ask when I run down to make copies of whatever documentation we got from the...chapel?”

Connor offered a short nod, his frown deepening as she ticked off to-dos with her fingers.

Independent. He admired it...but she was working in the wrong direction. Megan had made it to four before he’d pushed off the wall and caught her slender hand in his own. “Hey, slow down a second.”

Her breath caught and her eyes went wide. “The fourth was this,” she said, her voice coming quieter as she wiggled the offending digit in his grasp. “Your ring. I was afraid to take it off until I could give it back to you.”

Connor’s brow furrowed as she began to slide the platinum-and-diamond-set band free.

“Wait. Let me look at it on your hand.”

Her gaze lifted to his, questioning and wary.

“It looks good on you.” Worth every considerable grand he’d sunk into it the night before.

Megan nodded, the corner of her mouth curving in quiet appreciation. “The most stunning ring I’ve ever seen. I wish I could remember more than how incredibly it sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights in the wedding-chapel bathroom.”

Connor let out a low chuckle, playing with the band where it sat on her finger. And then stopped, suddenly not finding her words funny at all.

Staring down at the little crease working its way between her brows, he asked, “Megan, you don’t remember me buying you this ring?”

She swallowed, and the crease deepened. “You can’t even imagine how much I wish I did. But no. I don’t actually—” Seeming to think better of it, she cut off her words with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Like hell. “Megan, it matters to me. Do you remember when I asked you?”

“No.” Not a blink, not a waver.

“The wedding?”

“I’m sorry. No.”

Connor stared at her, his mind stalled on the seeming impossibility of what he was hearing. Yeah, she’d obviously had a few too many—they both had. Hell, he’d been hit hard enough where more than a few minutes had been required for the details to shuffle into place, and he probably had at least seventy-five pounds on her...but blacking out?

“Megan,” he started, working to keep the urgency out of his voice. “Exactly how much of last night do you remember?”

“A few minutes here and there.”

Alarm spreading through him like wildfire, he waited for her to say something more. Waited for her to finish her sentence with “seem to be missing.” Only, then the ring was free, being pressed into his palm, wrapped tight beneath fingers Megan had dutifully closed for him. And she was peering up at him, those blue pools searching his eyes for something...anything maybe.

“I remember seeing you at a bar and thinking how handsome you were. I remember laughing...a lot, and at another point, talking over waffles, though about what I couldn’t say except you looked serious then. I remember you joking about us picking out china patterns. And I remember knowing with all certainty you weren’t serious. There weren’t any maybes between us. It simply wasn’t like that.” Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink as she looked away. “I remember knowing I should slow down because I don’t really drink much, but ordering another round because I didn’t want the fun to end. And I remember signing my name in the chapel, thinking—God, I don’t even know what. So, I guess, not really thinking at all.”

Connor stared, stunned as she turned away, a flush still blazing in her cheeks even as her shoulders remained straight. The air left his lungs on a hot expletive as he watched her nudge at the decorative pillows and shams littering the floor around the bed with her foot.

No wonder she was treating their marriage like some throwaway Vegas souvenir. This woman had a plan, and she didn’t remember a single one of the reasons Connor had given her for changing it. Hell, she barely remembered him. And yet, she’d somehow managed to hold it together, remaining calm and focused throughout.

She was strong. Tough.

Everything he wanted.

Her mouth pulled to the side. “I don’t suppose you happen to know where I might find my dress?”

Images of that superfine, silky bit of blue hitting him in the face flashed through his mind; only, where the dress went after had been as low a priority then as it was now.

“Megan. I’m sorry. If I’d realized, I would have been telling you everything, trying to fill in the night, explaining what happened. Why didn’t you ask?”

* * *

Closing her eyes, Megan drew a steadying breath.

Why? Because the details weren’t important and she could decipher the broad strokes on her own. This gorgeous, carefree guy had tempted her with all the things she’d sworn she could live without...the attention of a charming, desirable man, the chance to be utterly spontaneous, the indulgence in a night of reckless excess she wouldn’t even consider once she had another person dependent on her. And so her pickled mind had rationalized this one last adventure. Vegas-style.

Maybe her blocking out their time together was some sort of defense mechanism.

Looking at this man alone made her believe whatever happened between them could very well have been the kind of phenomenal a grown woman didn’t recover from, and her inner psyche was simply trying to protect her.

“Megan?” The deep, rich baritone cut into her thoughts an instant before the heat of his hands settled over her shoulders, jolting her back to the now. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

And then those strong hands were turning her around, gripping her tight. “You’re wrong. I don’t think you understand. Last night wasn’t just some goof to be rectified this morning.”

She blinked, trying to look away even as she felt herself stumbling further into the intensity of Connor’s dark eyes. He thought there was something meaningful between them? Some potential?

This wasn’t what she needed to hear.

“It has to be.” She couldn’t invest in potential again. She didn’t have the time and she didn’t have the will. “I have a plan.”

She’d expected him to back off a step, ask what she was talking about, but instead that single corner of his mouth turned up to the slightest degree. As if suddenly he found himself on better footing than he’d expected. “Yeah, but my plan’s better. Even you think so.”

She’d told him?

Her chin pulled back as she felt the sting of self-betrayal and cursed her inner psyche.

Was nothing sacred?

Images of the laughter came back to her in a sickening rush, and she couldn’t help but wonder if all her goals and intentions had been a part of the joke. Only, as she looked into Connor’s eyes, some instinctive part of her knew it wasn’t the case.

So what, then...

“Oh, my God.” Her throat closed tight, trying to strangle the words she didn’t want to say. “Did you volunteer to be my sperm donor?”

He was tall and handsome, without any obvious festering infections—

“No.” His brows, already drawn low over his eyes, went even lower, obscuring what little chance she’d had to try to read a man who wasn’t exactly an open book to begin with. “Not really. Not like you’re thinking.”

Not like she was thinking? Like what, then? she thought with a fresh wave of panic.

Her eyes fell to the empty spot on her ring finger. He’d married her. So maybe it wasn’t so much a donation at all. Donations were free and clear...and this guy had already tied her down with a fairly significant string.

He wanted dibs on her baby.

He wanted a claim.

Suddenly, her breath was coming faster than it should, and the air working its way in and out of her lungs felt thin and useless.

“Wait, Megan. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can tell from your face it’s wrong. Let me explain.”

“You’re gay.” What else would a guy who looked like this be doing with her?

“Uh...” That tilted smile was back and she knew she was right.

“Okay, so you don’t want your parents to know? You need an heir or something to keep your trust fund?”

“No—uh—I—uh—”

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. “Look, Carter, either way, it doesn’t matter. Whatever deal we might have worked out last night is off.”

She’d been heavily intoxicated. Even if she’d signed a dozen documents, they would never stand up. She could walk away, unless—

Her eyes shot wide as she stared up at him in horror. “Did you...try...to get me pregnant last night?”

Connor coughed, his amused expression morphing into shock, confusion and something she really, really didn’t want to believe was guilt no matter how much it looked like it.

His hand came up between them, but she didn’t care if he needed a minute to sort out his story or work through his defense. Spinning away, she banded her arms across her abdomen, sick with the knowledge of what she’d done. “Of all the stupid, self-sabotaging, dangerous—”

“Megan.” The way he said her name made it half plea, half laugh.

What had she done? Even if she wasn’t pregnant, she’d had unprotected sex with a man she didn’t know.

...patient zero...

Her stomach pitched hard. “He could have an STD,” she gasped, her own anxiety pushing the words past her lips before she’d thought to stifle them.

“Megan.” This time her name sounded strained coming through his lips. As though this guy was losing his patience.

Tough. Whatever he was thinking, he’d have to put a pin in it. She had bigger fish to fry than worrying about his patience when her best-case scenario was not pregnant, not infected, but still having to push back her plan by six months to ensure enough time for any STDs to show up in the screen.

“Damn it, Megan, look at me.” Those hands were on her again, spinning her around and holding her still as Connor got in her face.

“One.” He let go of her to bring his thumb up. “I do not have any sexually transmitted diseases. I always use a condom and following the breakup of my yearlong committed relationship had myself tested, as a precaution, regardless. Two.” His index finger was next. “Neither is there a trust fund nor some executor to appease regarding it. Every cent I have, I earned on my own. Three, where the hell do you get this stuff?” Another finger. “Four, I didn’t marry you to get my hands on a baby. I married you because we had similar goals and priorities and expectations...and damn it, I married you because I liked you a hell of a lot too.”

She shook her head, searching those impossible eyes. “But it doesn’t make sense—”

He waved her off. “And five, I absolutely did not try to get you pregnant last night. We didn’t have sex.”

Her jaw dropped.

So he was gay.

And why the revelation hit her like disappointment when she ought to be turning cartwheels, she couldn’t say. But she’d deal with it later.

Only. then that mishmash of backward thinking was in play again, rising up with a victorious laugh at a thought that should have spurred outrage. “But I was naked,” she challenged, recalling she’d literally stumbled over her panties and hideous T-shirt sprinting to the bathroom. A lucky break considering how fast on her heels Connor had been.

Naked and puking would have been a low she didn’t care to contemplate.

“Yeah, and I didn’t say nothing happened.” With that concession, his gaze burned a slow path down her body, leaving her with the sense the bulk of her robe was all but invisible. He’d seen her before. And right then, he was seeing her again.

“Connor!”

His eyes met hers, completely unrepentant. “Man, I love it when you get my name right.”

“Wait...what?”

“Say it again for me.”

“Okay,” she swallowed. “I believe you. You’re probably not gay.”

“Mmm. So sure?” he needled.

Make that definitely not. Like they definitely should have steered clear of the topic of sex altogether. Because having touched on it, now those hard-to-read eyes of his weren’t so hard to read at all. They were filled with a possessive sort of predatory heat...directed at her.

“I could convince you. Spend the next hour or two making my argument.” Leaning into her space, he added, “I’m a pretty compelling guy when I set my mind to it.”

“Connor,” she warned, trying not to give in to the laugh threatening to escape. She should be horrified. Traumatized. So why was it, in the aftermath of the worst decision of her life, this man’s totally inappropriate taunts and teasing were somehow making her feel safe.

As if he’d sensed the ease in her tension, something changed in the man before her. The joking and pretense were set aside. Connor was completely serious, and her soul-deep awareness of his shift in mood was more disconcerting than waking up next to a stranger had been.

“Megan, the reason we didn’t have sex last night was because you went from laughing and sexy and totally in the moment to not feeling so great. So instead of taking you to bed, I put you there. Simple.”

Simple. Somehow it didn’t feel that way.

He took her hand. “I should have realized how much you’d had to drink. I should have stopped us earlier.”

“I’m a big girl with better sense than this. I should have stopped myself. Obviously.” She drew a slow breath and pressed the heels of her hands against the dull throb at her temples. “Look at where it got me.”

“Married.” Connor’s warm palm cupped her cheek as he searched her eyes, his elusive smile nowhere to be found. “To a man who’s about as perfect an alternative to your plan as you can get. And you don’t even remember why.”

“But you do?” she asked, the quiet words sounding too sincere for the sarcastic tone she’d intended.

Suddenly she wanted that only-half-the-story smirk back, because this straightforward intensity she could actually feel thrumming through the air between them, pulsing against her skin as if it was trying to get inside, was too much to bear.

He was a stranger. Only, this stranger was looking into her eyes as if he knew exactly who she was.

“More every minute.”