Читать книгу Just Say Yes - Mira Lyn Kelly - Страница 21

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.

Feeling suddenly conspicuous, she glanced down the aisle half expecting to find a crowd of snickering onlookers taking bets on which brand she’d opt for, only, instead her focus caught on a head of short salt-and-pepper curls topping a face she hadn’t seen in the two decades that had weathered it.

Her breath leaked out of her in a thin, chilled wisp. “Pete.”

She blinked, stepping forward before she’d even thought to curb the impulse. It couldn’t be him. In all the years, it was never actually him. But this time...she could swear it was.

Heart pounding, she felt a bubble of laughter rising in her chest. Did she hug him? Shake his hand? Tell him that even now she could feel the way she’d missed him all those years ago.

He had to live around here. Though, the way he loved to travel, maybe he was just passing through. Either way, she was already reaching for him when he said, “Say, Sprout, whadiya think about chocolate with peanut butter and marshmallows?”

She stopped, too confused to make sense of the words she was hearing.

Only, then he glanced over at her and let out a bark of surprised laughter as he took a quick step back.

“Oh, heck, pardon me, young lady. For a minute I thought you were my daughter.” His eyes crinkled around the edges. “Serves me right, not looking at who I’m talking to.”

Just then, a heavily pregnant woman rounded the corner rubbing her belly with one hand as she scanned her grocery list. “No marshmallows, Dad, but I’m down with the peanut butter.”

Pete gave her a nod and reached into the case to grab another carton. He dropped it into his cart and then looked back at Megan expectantly.

Because she was staring. And he had no idea who she was.

Of course he didn’t. Though he looked so much the same it hurt her heart to see him, she’d been a little girl the last time he saw her. “Pete, I’m Megan Scott. I mean I was Megan Scott. I got married. It’s Megan Reed now.”

Heat burned through her cheeks as she realized how much it pleased her to be able to tell him that she’d married. To think that she might be able to introduce him to Connor. They’d get along. She knew they would. It hadn’t really struck her until just that second, but there were actually a number of similarities between them.

Only, then her racing thoughts ground to a halt and all that excited energy died as the furrow between Pete’s eyes dug deep.

“Megan...Scott?” He glanced over his shoulder at his daughter, standing a few feet off wearing a pleasant smile on her face, and then snapped his fingers, looking back at Megan. “From the bank over on First?”