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It wasn’t as if returning to an empty house was a new experience for him, but with Megan living there, he’d expected...something different.
Not that he was disappointed. He’d wanted an independent woman who wouldn’t make him feel guilty about the schedule he kept or as if her life was tied to his.
Wish granted!
Only walking through the empty house that had never felt lonely to him before, he had to concede a week into their marriage that he hadn’t anticipated getting his wish would suck quite this way.
Midway down the darkened hall, Connor paused, just outside Megan’s office door. A sliver of light leaked through the seam, and from within came the quiet yet distinct sound of keys tapping.
She was here.
Turning the knob, Connor opened the door to Megan’s sanctuary...and discovered his silk-clad morning fantasy staring hard at the monitor as her fingers assaulted the keyboard in front of her.
The sexiness of her sleep-rumpled look had gone mildly stale throughout the day, and yet Connor couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was intense, focused. And bobbing her lovely head ever so slightly to the beat of whatever she had pumping into her ears through those hot-pink little earbuds.
Never in a million years would he have expected to come home to a scene like this if he’d married Caro. She’d have been polished and primped. Attentive in the distant way he’d become so familiar with. Making small talk, much as they did with strangers through a cocktail party.
And he’d never have really known—in all honesty, would never have really cared—where her head was at.
Not like this, he thought with a bemused smile. Right now, he knew exactly where Megan’s head was. Deep in her work. The project she’d been waiting on must finally have come in.
Standing unnoticed in the doorway, he considered his alternatives.
He could walk across the room and take advantage of her distraction. Pull her blond mess to the side and start with her neck, close his mouth over the spectacularly sensitive spot behind her ear and work his way forward from there...
Or he could go order some dinner—because based on what he was seeing, he’d bet food hadn’t even crossed her mind. And when he took his kiss...he wanted Megan paying attention.
Running a hand over the back of his neck, he turned away.
“Connor?”
Her voice was overloud and she was staring at him, looking adorably confused.
He tapped his ear and she pulled the bud from her own.
“Hey, gorgeous. How was your day?”
He’d meant the compliment, but Megan seemed to have taken it tongue in cheek—her face blanching as her hands went to her hair and then those silky pajamas that told more secrets than they kept.
Only, then the most interesting thing happened. That flash of embarrassment faded and something that looked a lot like challenge took its place. “I get caught up in my work...I lose track. It can be irritating for some people.”
Ah, more with the disclosures. Whatever it took.
“You near a good stopping point if I call in Chinese?” he asked, sensing the time to wrap things up would put her in a better place to break for the night. It was how it would be with him.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Her eyes shot back to his, infinitely softer than they’d been only seconds before.
“I better not—tables’ll be turned soon enough.” No question. “I’ll order and grab a quick shower. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
At her slight frown, Connor stopped. “Something wrong?”
“You don’t want your kiss?”
“Oh, I want it,” he assured, giving in to the grin hovering around his lips. “But not until I’ve got your undivided attention. So wrap it up.”
* * *
The door closed and Megan stared at her computer, relieved by Connor’s easy acceptance of her distraction and yet unable to shake the doubts. The sense that if it wasn’t this that opened Connor’s eyes to a future he didn’t want, then it would be something else. Eventually.
She didn’t want to think that way. There was so much right between them, and yet, a part of her couldn’t buy in. A part of her saw the calm mask Connor wore when she showed him something he, by all rights, ought to dislike—and wondered what lay hidden beneath.
Sure, getting tied up with work this evening wasn’t such a big deal. But it didn’t seem to matter what she said or did. As if no bad habit or personal shortcoming even registered. As if maybe Connor was so determined to prove how perfectly suited for this marriage they were that he’d turn a blind eye to anything that didn’t fit.... Until one day he wouldn’t be able to do it anymore.
What happened then?
God, she wanted to believe. But with so much at stake, she needed Connor to acknowledge more than some illusion of perfection. She needed to know he was really seeing her.
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?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HE’D BEEN LOOKING for a fight, that much Connor could admit. Pulling around the corner to the house, he’d felt the gathering tension through his back and neck, the same kind of jacked pulse he got before walking into a major negotiation. The fact that his system was ramping for conflict in anticipation of seeing his wife only made it worse.
There hadn’t been any new “tests,” but the emotional distance, the guarded looks and speculation when she thought he wasn’t looking—and hell, sometimes even when she knew he was—had only increased. Something was coming.
Only, then he’d pulled through the security gate and seen the open garage, Megan’s car parked and her still in the driver’s seat. A quiet alarm began to sound in the back of his mind as he cut the engine and jumped out. All that jacked-up ready-to-go morphed into protective instinct.
This wasn’t right.
Rounding the car, he came up to her window and stopped short at the sight of tear-streaked cheeks and a bleak stare. And for the first time since they’d met, he saw something other than how strong Megan was. Beneath all that toughness was something fragile. Something she didn’t show to the world but here and now she couldn’t hide from him.
His gut knotted hard as the first question slammed through his head.
Had he done this to her? Pushed her too far? Asked too much? Broken her?
Heart pounding, he forced himself to knock on the glass instead of ripping the door off its hinges to get to her. Find out what happened, if he was to blame. Make sure Megan wasn’t hurt. Physically.
She jumped in her seat as he opened the door, her eyes darting around the interior of the car before landing on him. The arms that had been hanging limply in her lap jerked up, and then she was wiping at her cheeks, mumbling some kind of unintelligible apology as she emerged from her daze.
Resting a staying hand on her shoulder, Connor crouched beside her seat, searching for clues in a face his wife was rapidly trying to clear. Only, with each sweep of her thumbs, another tear slipped free.
“Megan, what’s going on, honey?”
She sucked in a shaky breath, swallowed and then bowed her head. “It’s so stupid. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like this. I just...saw someone I used to know.”
Connor’s muscles bunched. It wasn’t him, then, making her cry—and the relief he felt over that was immense. But it was nothing compared to the outrage pouring through him that someone else had done this to his wife.
Someone she used to know.
“Barry?” The idiot who’d run off and married another woman when he’d been making plans with Megan. The one he’d believed wasn’t important enough to merit this kind of sorrow. Did the guy have some kind of hold over her heart Connor hadn’t realized?
Was he in California to get Megan back?
She shook her head, valiantly trying to force a smile to lips that couldn’t bear the weight of it. “No. His name is Pete. And for about a year, a very long time ago, he was my dad.”
Her dad.
Connor was at a loss. He knew Megan had been raised by her mother, a serial bride who didn’t have much of a track record when it came to keeping husbands. Megan never talked about any of the guys her mother had married, and he’d gotten the sense they hadn’t been of particular importance in her life. Only, now he was wondering just exactly how off base he’d been.
“What happened?”
“He didn’t remember me.” Megan winced and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was blinking fast. Giving her head one of those thought-jarring shakes. As though she was physically trying to throw off the emotion. She wanted to be strong. And hell, he admired her for it. But as the tears continued to fall, the heartbreak in her eyes was unmistakable. And damn it, he’d seen that kind of pain before. Knew the kind of soul-deep wound it stemmed from. Feared it.
The kind where a person’s whole heart was tied up in the hope of something they understood they couldn’t have. The kind another person couldn’t fix or fill or make up for...could only pray they were strong enough to withstand.
She was strong.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
“It was so long ago. I don’t know how I expected he would remember me, but I was practically ready to throw my arms around—” Her voice broke, and she glanced away.
Damn. Megan looked so lost and vulnerable, he couldn’t stand it. Needed to do something. Ground her in some way.
Taking her hand, he stroked a thumb over her knuckles. “Let’s go inside.”
She nodded and he stepped back, helping her from the car. Her eyes shifted toward the house, and he half expected her to simply draw herself up and walk away. Retreat to a place he couldn’t reach her.
Only, then she closed her eyes and turned into him, pressing her face against the center of his chest, so there was nothing to do but wrap his arms around her trembling shoulders and hold her close. Stare down in disbelief as Megan clung to him.
Pulling her in closer, he laid his cheek against the silky strands at the top of her head and stroked a hand over her back.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he promised, rocked by the depth of meaning behind his words. He wanted to protect her in a way he’d never experienced before. And that she wanted his protection and comfort—could accept it—was profoundly satisfying.
“I told him my name and he couldn’t place it. I mentioned my mom and the connection clicked. But it was...so awkward.”
Connor ushered Megan inside and up to their room where they lay in bed together with her head resting in the crook of his arm. They spoke in hushed tones, watching the shadows fill in around them as the light faded and the quiet of night replaced the cacophony of day.
“They were all good guys,” Megan whispered in response to the question he’d just asked, her breath warming the spot above his heart still damp from her tears. “That was the thing. Mom never picked jerks we could only pray would take off sooner rather than later. They were all nice men we hoped would stay, even though deep down I knew they wouldn’t.”
“There were seven?”
“Seven she married.”
Which meant there were more she hadn’t.
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a little girl to have a revolving door of father figures passing through her life that way, or how her mother could have let it go on. But he knew all about women who couldn’t control their hearts—even for the sake of their children. Even for the sake of themselves. At least Megan’s mother had been resilient enough to bounce back. Move on.
“When she brought Pete home, I barely even spoke to him. It was terrible, but I think it had only been a couple of months since the one before had left, and I didn’t want to—care, I guess. Only, Pete was sort of relentless. He wanted to win me over—do everything to make this new family work. So he told jokes and stories. Took me fishing. Talked to me and actually listened to what I said. He made me feel...special. Like I was more than just the kid who came with the woman he’d married. Like I was his friend too. Thinking back on it now, though, I wonder if maybe it wasn’t more a case of me being the perfect project for finding common ground with a wife with whom he otherwise didn’t share much.”
Connor tightened his hold around Megan’s shoulders, giving her whatever time she needed to go on.
“When he left I thought it would be...different. I thought he might stop back so he could say goodbye to me. Maybe call to tell me he missed me or that he was sorry he had to go. But he didn’t and I figured it was because of my mom’s rule about severing ties. Still, he’d said he loved me, so I kept waiting and hoping. And maybe I never stopped, because when I saw him at the store this afternoon, I was so— Oh, God, Connor, I was such a fool.”
“No, Megan. Not you.” That she even thought so— Connor silently cursed this Pete and Megan’s mother both for what they’d put her through. For not recognizing the impact their careless actions would have. The guy told Megan he loved her. He made her believe it and then walked away. A little girl whose tender heart had already been bruised time and again.