Her first thought: “Who are you?”

It’s the morning after her cousin’s bachelorette party in Vegas and Megan Scott wakes up with the mother of all hangovers. Even worse, she’s in a stranger’s penthouse having woken up with something else as well - a funny, arrogant, sexy…husband!

Up until now, finding even a boyfriend had seemed impossible - been there, got the broken heart, sworn off men for good. Then a few martinis with Carter…no, Conner Reed and she’s gone from first meet to marriage in one night!

Megan wants a lawyer. But Connor’s shocking bombshell?

“I don’t want a divorce.”

Waking Up Married

“We need some ground rules.”

“Ground rules.” He didn’t like the sound of that. “Such as?”

Tightening the belt on her robe, she shifted her weight and squinted at him. “No sex.”

Forcing himself to laugh instead of swear, he shook his head. “Forget it, Megan. This is a real marriage we’re trying on and sex is a healthy, normal part of it.”

“Connor, I’m serious—”

“I’m serious, too,” he said, following her off the bed and taking her shoulders in his hands. “Not a chance. I’m going to seduce you, Megan.”

“I’ll say no,” she whispered, her eyes already drifting to his mouth.

“Fair warning.” His thumb moved to the pale pink line where her bottom lip became skin. “If you do, I’ll stop.”

“I can resist you.”

Connor gave in to the slow grin pushing at his lips. “You can try.”

Waking Up Married

Mira Lyn Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated with love to my dad, for always supporting my dreams—no matter where they took me!

(Okay, that’s far enough, Dad. No reading past here!)

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

FORCED TO LISTEN to one heaving revolt after another reverberate off the polished marble, Connor Reed cursed his conscience.

Talk about an inconvenient burden. No matter how his stomach rocked and his head slammed, there was no way he could make a bolt for the beckoning doorway to freedom at the far wall.

Wrenching his gaze back to his own slightly green reflection, he turned off the tap and wrung out a towel. Pushed some empathy into his expression and prepared to face the music.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he called, crossing over to the pitiful creature half leaning into, half clutching the toilet in front of her. “Feeling any better?”

Raccoon eyes peered out from beneath a blond rat’s nest as she reached for the damp cloth he held in offering. “Carter—”

“Connor,” he corrected drily, torn between amusement and what, by all rights, ought to be the very antithesis of it.

“We need a lawyer,” she gasped, barely finding the time to look chagrined before the next wave of revolt took her.

A lawyer. Not exactly a stellar kickoff to their honeymoon. But then, this wasn’t exactly a stellar situation to begin with. Of course, in the less than fifteen minutes since the warm body sprawled beside him had moaned—once, and not in a good way—then lurched from the bed to the bathroom, he hadn’t quite put all the soggy pieces of the night before into place. But based on the shocking evidence at hand—or more specifically, finger...and the band of glinting diamonds encircling hers—this was the worst-case scenario come to life. Cutting loose gone bad. Consequences in action. Yeah, in all likelihood, this was going to be a major hassle to clean up.

So a lawyer sounded like an ideal place to start. Once the upchuck portion of the morning concluded, at any rate.

“One thing at a time, babe. Let’s get through this, and we’ll worry about the rest later.”

Whatever her choked response was, he got the gist it was an agreement of sorts.

Damn, what a disaster.

Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Connor gave his blanching bride a not-so-subtle once-over.

Twelve hours ago she’d been “authentic” with her sharp wit and gently rough edges. Her too-wide smile, assortment of freckles and sexy laugh. Now, with her hair threatening to dip into God only knew, she just looked...rough. No gentle about it.

Still, even as he stared at the hot mess she was before him, fragmented images bombarded his mind with hints of who she’d been the night before. The girl-next-door giving in to a bit of wild. The perfect fit for his bad-boy mood. He’d thought she looked like a few hours of fun.

So how the hell had she ended up flipped over his shoulder, giggling about how crazy he was, as he toted her into one of those all-night chapels Las Vegas was famous for?

Megan turned, giving him a full-on frontal view of the too-tight, hot-pink T-shirt she’d been wearing when he’d stumbled into the bathroom after her.

Stamped across her bust in black block letters were two words: GOT SPERM?

Oh, right. That was how.

Hell.

* * *

What had she been thinking!

Megan peered up at the darkening scowl across Carter’s—no—Connor’s face and then down at what was probably a combined ten carats of diamonds adorning the fourth finger of her left hand...and heaved into the bowl again.

She’d had sex. With a stranger. Someone she maintained only the foggiest recollection of meeting. And then...she’d gone and married him.

Or maybe they’d waited...going the more traditional route and saving themselves for after the wedding. So it would be special.

Ugh!

So incredibly special the only detail of the entire consummation she remembered was the soft rub of fabric between her thighs, the heady weight of him above her and her intense frustration in getting her toe caught in his belt loop while trying to wrestle his tie loose.

And now, here she was on her knees, hurling her lungs out while this man, essentially a stranger, bore witness to one of the most intimate unpleasantnesses a person could endure. She wished he’d left when she’d told him to. But he’d stayed to make sure she was okay...like the good husband he was.

It was almost enough to make her laugh, only it really wasn’t funny and her body was otherwise engaged.

“There can’t be much left” came the gruff voice from behind her.

As the spasms subsided, she hazarded a glance at the man she’d married. Beyond the contemplative expression, those dark eyes didn’t offer up much to read.

“There isn’t...” she groaned. “I’ve been on empty for a few rounds already. This...is just my stomach making a point...I think.”

“Hmm. Really driving it home, I see.” The touch of dry humor pulled her focus back to him again. To the details she’d missed in the first pass. He was tall. And not because of her near-floor-level perspective. Tall enough so as he leaned against the open doorway, his free hand hung in a loose grip from the top of the frame mere inches from his head. And he was built in a powerful, lean-strength kind of way where the muscles across his chest, abdomen, shoulders and arms were well-defined but without the extreme bulk of serious bodybuilders. This guy just looked really fit. And as if that weren’t bad enough, he was classically handsome too, with a blade-straight nose, high cheekbones and an assortment of even features so appealing she suddenly wondered how long she’d been staring.

From her little hangout on the floor...by the toilet...where she’d been throwing up.

Ugh!

Really, the humiliation couldn’t get much worse. But it didn’t matter. This guy and all his good looks weren’t a part of her plan. So what if he was handsome, or that she’d seen hints of the kind of humor she typically appreciated, or that she was, in fact, married to him? She’d had enough close calls in her life with men she’d actually known, and she was through with the whole business.

Still, pride had her stumbling to her feet on limbs that were clumsy and tight from the combination of dehydration and kneeling too long. Limbs that weren’t quite working. Suddenly she was going right back down until two strong hands gripped her beneath her arms, holding her steady as she regained her footing.

The contact was awkward. Her, trying to hold herself apart; him, trying to support her without getting too close. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” And then after a pause, “Just one of the benefits of having a husband around, I guess.”

She nodded, exhausted, overwhelmed, but somehow more grateful than words could convey for that bit of superficial exchange. As much as they needed to, she wasn’t ready to talk about what happened last night. About how they were going to sort it out this morning and over the next however long it took to get an annulment processed.

Not until she’d at the very least had a shower, tooth-brushing, floss and several intensive minutes with the most mediciney mouthwash she could get her hands on. Glancing down, she added a change of clothes to her list. And then, committed to doing her part, she replied in kind, “Knew there was a reason I’d picked one up.”

The low answering chuckle had her daring another look over her shoulder.

It was the smile that did it. That brought the melee of vodka-soaked images into order enough for her to see at least a glimpse of the man from the night before rather than the near stranger she’d woken beside this morning.

Oh, God. What had she gotten herself into—and how fast could she get herself out of it?

CHAPTER TWO

Twelve hours earlier...

“OH, COME ON, screw the sperm bank.” Tina sighed with a dismissive flutter of her candy-apple acrylics. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Megan Scott tipped her glass, swallowing the last decadent drops of white-chocolate martini, then slumped deeper into the plush cushions of the lounge chair she’d taken up residence in some forty minutes before. Contemplating another drink, she did her best to ignore the incessant bickering her fellow bridesmaids had perfected through a lifetime of practice.

That it was her womb they were battling over was of as little consequence as the fact that Megan already had a plan and she was sticking to it.

“Um...the fun comes nine months later,” Jodie snipped back. “All tiny and new, wearing one of those little nursery beanies...and without any of the communicable side effects on offer with your plan...”

Tina’s plan, as Megan understood it, revolved around the T-shirt—hot off the silk screen and sporting the slogan GOT SPERM?—folded neatly on the cocktail table between them.

“I mean, seriously, who’s to say this total, random stranger enticed by your thirteen-dollar custom call for baby batter isn’t attempting to walk off the early stages of Ebola or worse? Casual, unprotected sex is stupid. And you’re trying to talk Megan into it. For God sake, why don’t you pick up a knife and stab her.”

Turning the glass upside down, Megan watched as a single last drop of martini goodness slid to the rim. Catching it with her tongue, she hoped the cocktail waitress would take her action as the plea for help it was and bring a refill. Fast.

“You’re such a prude. It’s pathetic.”

Eesh.

“What I am is too much of a lady to say what you are.”

“Girls, please,” Megan interjected before the volley of barbs got any more intense. “I totally appreciate you two looking out for me this way.” Okay, she was stretching the truth, but somehow her tongue let her get away with it. Honestly, she’d have rather been of such little interest they both got her name wrong all weekend and ignored her through dinner. But courtesy of her mother’s propensity to spill secrets, the family grapevine had guaranteed her Vegas arrival for cousin Gail’s wedding was met with a tempest of polarizing opinion regarding her decision to undergo artificial insemination in two months’ time. “Tina, I love—really love—this T-shirt, but the only place it’s going is into my scrapbook. And, Jodie, thank you for the support but—”

Jodie’s hand came up, cutting her off. “I don’t, really. Support what you’ve decided to do. You ought to wait to find a husband like the rest of us.”

Images of Barry and the two years they’d dated flashed through her mind, threatening to suck her into a vortex of churning emotions she wouldn’t allow herself to surrender to. Shame, embarrassment, anger and helpless frustration.

“Megan, I swear I didn’t even realize it myself. Not until right that minute...and suddenly I knew. I’d never stopped loving her.”

She wasn’t going there again, wasn’t wasting another precious second on the man who’d left for a conference talking about starting a family with her and then come home married to someone else.

Spine stiffening, she reined herself in.

She didn’t need Barry.

She didn’t need any man to have the child she’d always wanted—well, at least not for more than five minutes of quality time with a plastic cup.

Jodie sighed, a faraway look settling over her features. “Wait for your Prince Charming and you’ll have someone to share your special moment in the nursery, making it all the sweeter.”

“Well, actually,” Megan started, but Jodie wasn’t finished.

“You’re what’s wrong with our society. I mean, life isn’t about getting everything you want the instant you want it. Some things are worth waiting for. That said, in a toss-up between bedding down with the next patient zero or hitting the drive-thru for prescreened sperm...I’ll back the bank.”

Megan felt the telling wash of heat rush through her cheeks, but thinking about Gail and what kind of wedding she’d have if all three of her bridesmaids were at each other’s throats, she tamped it down. “Okay. Well, thank you...for your thoughts on the issue.”

Tina’s less-than-delicate snort sounded from beside her, and Megan craned her neck in search of their waitress. Only, rather than the leggy server with the no-nonsense attitude, she found her attention snared by the man walking past their table. Hand raised in casual greeting, mahogany eyes fixed on someone across the room, he was tall, dark and handsome in the most traditional sense. Broad and tapered, chiseled and cut. All clean lines and classic good looks. The balanced symmetry of him so flawless, it might have made him bland.

If not for his mouth.

This guy had one of those slanted smiles going on. The kind so lazy only half of it bothered to go to work. And yet, something about the ease of it suggested a near permanence on his face, while its stunted progress implied—well, she supposed that was part of the lure. It could really imply anything.

That smile was the kind women got lost in while trying to unravel its mystery.

Only, Megan was through trying to read signs and figure guys out. Which was why she pried her eyes loose from the table where this one had settled in with a friend or associate or whomever, and forced herself to refocus on Tina and Jodie...who were totally focused on her.

In tandem they leaned forward, resting on their elbows.

“Window-shopping the gene pool, Megan?” Tina asked with a knowing smirk as one pencil-thin brow pushed high. “See something you like?”

Jodie’s eyes narrowed. “His suit is too perfectly cut to be anything but made-to-measure. The suit, the watch, the links. This guy has quality catch written all over him. Megan, quick, cross your legs higher and give up some thigh. Tina, get his attention.”

Megan’s lips parted to protest, but Tina was a woman of action. “Wow, Megan, I knew you were a gymnast, but I didn’t think anyone’s legs could do that!”

Tina’s face took on an expression of benevolence and she crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat. “You’re welcome.”

Needles of tension prickled up and down her back as she struggled for her next breath. Eyes fixed on the tabletop in front of her, Megan held up her empty martini glass and prayed to the cocktail gods for a refill. When she thought she could manage more than a squeak, she cleared her throat and replied to anyone within listening distance, “I’m not a gymnast.”

At which point Tina and Jodie burst out laughing.

* * *

“It may not seem like it now, but you’re better off without her...”

Connor Reed shifted irritably in his chair, swirling the amber and ice of his scotch as he listened to Jeff Norton forfeit his status as one of the guys. “Noted.”

And not exactly a news flash.

“...You and Caro were together for almost a year... It’s okay to be hurt...”

Hurt? Connor’s eye started to twitch.

This wasn’t guy talk. It wasn’t the promised blowing off of steam with which he’d been lured to Sin City.

It wasn’t cool.

“...a blow to the ego, and for someone with an ego like yours...”

Growling into his glass, he muttered, “We need to get your testosterone levels checked.”

“Whatever,” Jeff answered, unfazed. He was as secure with his emotional “awareness” as he was with his position as Connor’s oldest and best friend. “All I’m saying is you were ready to marry Caro two weeks ago. I don’t believe you’re as indifferent as you make out to be.”

“Yeah, but you never want to believe the truth about me,” Connor replied with an unrepentant grin. “Seriously, though, Jeff, like I told you before, I’m fine. Caro was a great girl, but hearing what she had to say...I’m more relieved than anything else.”

The following grunt suggested Jeff wasn’t buying it.

And to an extent, the guy might be right. Just not the way he figured.

Connor wasn’t heartbroken over the end of the relationship because his heart had never played into the equation. Callous but true. And something Caro had understood from the first.

Connor didn’t do love. All too well he understood the potential of its destructive power. He knew the distance of its reach, had experienced the devastation of its ripple effect. No thank you. He hadn’t been signing on for more.

What he’d been after was a family. The kind he’d only ever seen from the outside looking in, but coveted just the same. The kind his father hadn’t wanted some bastard son to contaminate, and his mother had been too deep in her own grief to sustain. So he’d been determined to build his own.

There were a lot of things he’d done without as a kid. Things he’d made it his purpose to secure as an adult. Money, respect, his own home...and the thriving business he ran with an iron fist that garnered them all. But a family...? For that, he needed a partner. One he’d thought he found in Caro. She fit the bill, fundraiser ready with the right name, education and background. Coolly composed and devoid of the emotional neediness he’d spent his adult life actively avoiding. Or so he’d thought, right up to that last day when she’d folded her napkin at the side of her plate and evenly explained she wanted a marriage based on more than what they had. She hadn’t expected to, but there it was.

Fair enough. He gave her credit for having the good sense to recognize she wanted something she wouldn’t find with him. And most important, before the vows were exchanged.

So, heartbroken? No.

Disappointed? Sure.

Relieved? Hell, yes.

“...I think you’re lonely. Sad...”

Throwing back the rest of his single malt, Connor relished the burn down his throat and spread of heat through his belly. If he weighed in fifty pounds lighter, it might have been enough to fuzz out the discomfort of this conversation.

But there was always the next one.

“...remember, there are other fish in the sea—”

“Come on, what’s next—hot flashes?” Holding up the empty, he scanned the crowd for the cocktail server.

“—hell, apparently the one over there is a gymnast.”

Connor quirked a brow, angling his head for a better look. “Which one?”

Jeff winked. “Just making sure you were listening. Care about you, man.”

Though he’d never figured out why, Connor knew.

That caring had been the single constant in his life from the time he’d been ripped out of poverty and drop-kicked into the East Coast’s most exclusive boarding school at thirteen. He’d been the illegitimate kid with a chip on his shoulder, a jagged crack through the center of his soul and a grudge against the name he couldn’t escape—and Jeff had been the unlucky SOB saddled with him as a roommate. Connor hadn’t given him any reason to cut him a break, but for some reason, Jeff had anyway.

Which was why, for as much as he gave his friend a hard time about being an “in touch” guy...he also gave him the truth. “Yeah, you too... Now, where’s the gymnast?”

* * *

Another two rounds and some forty minutes later, Connor leaned back in his chair watching as Jeff reasserted his status as a testosterone-driven male by smoothly intercepting the cocktail girl he’d been eyeing for the better part of an hour. Connor didn’t even want to think about the rap this guy had laid on her to get those lashes batting and her tray cast aside so fast, but whatever it was, it must have been phenomenal.

Jeff shot him a salute, and the deal was done.

Reaching into this breast pocket, Connor pulled out his wallet, tossed a few bills onto the table and then set his empty glass atop the stack.

The night stretched out before him with all its endless...exhausting possibilities.

He could hit the blackjack tables.

Grab a bite.

Pick up some company. Or not. With this apathetic indifference he was rocking—

“Excuse me.”

Glancing up, he’d expected another waitress ready to clear, but instead it was the blonde in the midnight dress from the other table. The gymnast, who most definitely wasn’t a gymnast if her height and the soft S-like lines of a figure draped in one of those clingy wrap numbers were anything to go on.

Very nice. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

Her smile spread wide as her big blue eyes held his. “This is going to sound like a line. A really, really bad one. But you’ve got to believe me when I say it’s not.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he readied for what inevitably was the rest of the line. Playing in, he gave her a nod. “Okay, you’ve got the disclaimer out of the way. Go for it.”

She nodded, releasing a deep breath. “I noticed you were about to leave. And I’d be more grateful than you could imagine if you wouldn’t mind walking out with me. So it looks like we’re leaving together.”

Right. “Just looks like we’re leaving together?”

Again her wide smile flashed, and Connor saw shades of girl-next-door. Not usually his type, but for whatever reason, there was something about the look of this one...

“Yes. My...friends saw me notice you earlier and...well...and you don’t even want to know what it’s been like since. I told them I’d come over and see if you were interested because I want them off my back. But I can tell from looking at you, that I’m not the kind of woman you’d be interested in...which is, actually, the only reason I decided to come over. I’d love to get out of here without them following me for the rest of the night.”

She’d been checking him out, eh?

Well, fair being fair, he gave his eyes the go-ahead to run the length of her and back, spending more time along the way than he’d done in his first casual glance. Very, very nice. Even with her scolding finger wagging at him on the return trip.

“None of that. You’re handsome, but I’m honestly working an escape strategy here.”

He shifted, the smile he hadn’t quite let loose earlier breaking free with the realization she was serious. Glancing past her, he noted her friends blatantly staring back.

“Subtle.”

She shrugged delicately. “So far as I can tell, subtle isn’t really their thing.”

He raised a brow. “So far as you can tell? What kind of friends are they?”

“The kind on loan until our bridesmaids’ obligations have been fulfilled, sometime before dawn on Sunday. I hope. They’re my cousin’s best friends from kindergarten.”

Ah. “And they’ve taken an interest in your love life because....?”

Her nose wrinkled up as she scanned the ceiling. “Any chance you might just walk me out of here?”

Connor eased back into his chair, pulling out the seat Jeff had vacated with his foot. “Not if you want it to look convincing. I’ll walk you out of here...in ten minutes.”

The skeptical look said she’d figured out he was thinking about more than the next ten minutes.

As different as she was from the women he usually pursued, she looked as if she really might be exactly the kind of fun this night called for.

The kind who didn’t generally hook up with strangers. The corruptible kind, he thought, feeling less apathetic by the second.

“Ten minutes. We’ll talk. Flirt. You can touch my arm once or twice to really sell it. Maybe I’ll tuck some wayward strand of hair behind your ear. Your voyeuristic friends will gobble it up. Then I’ll lean in close to your ear and suggest we get out of here. Maybe do it in a way that has you blushing all the way to your roots. You’ll get flustered and shy, but let me take your hand anyway. And we’ll go.”

The look on her face was priceless. As though he’d gotten to her with this bit of scripted tripe.

“That’s...um...” She swallowed, her gaze darting around, landing on his mouth and lingering briefly before snapping back to his eyes. “More of an investment than I was really asking for.”

“The better for you.”

“Yeah, but what’s in it for you?”

Connor flashed a wolfish smile. “Ten minutes to convince you to give me twenty. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

The slight shake of her head had his focus honing and his critical skills tuning up. Man, he’d been thinking how much he might like to see her girl-next-door smile turn sultry, but now here she was making him work for her too? It didn’t get better.

“I should probably go. I’m not a casual-encounter kind of girl. And even if you were looking for something more than casual, I still wouldn’t be interested.”

Something about the way she said it had his curiosity standing up for a stretch. “Oh, yeah—how come?”

Her hand lifted in a sort of dismissive flutter, which stopped almost before it began. Then meeting his eyes, she said, “Sorry, it’s a little too personal for a fake first nondate.”

Connor grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “So why not make it a not-quite-so-fake first nondate. Or maybe a fake first date, though if we’re already faking it, we ought to go for a second or third date...when all the good stuff starts.”

Her smile went wide before giving way to a laugh out of line with the girl-next-door everything else about her. The laugh had his head cranking around for a second take. And sure enough, when her eyes were half closed, her lips parted for that low rolling sound of seductive abandon, he was the one left staring.

For a second.

Before he shifted back into gear. “Seriously, I’d like to know.”

He could see it in her eyes, in the tilt of her head and the way her body had already started to turn away. In her mind, the decision was made, and mentally, she was halfway to the door. Too bad.

But regardless, he didn’t want to leave her hanging after she’d mustered the nerve to come over.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, but she shook her head and smiled.

“Thanks, I’ll be fine, though.”

“Fair enough. I’m Connor, by the way.” He extended his hand, feeling like an ass offering to shake goodbye after the exchange they’d shared, but for some reason wanting to test the contact anyway.

“Megan.” She reached across the table and met his hand with her smaller one—and a flash of neon pink arced through the air, coming to land in his lap.

The hand in his clenched as he looked down and read the block lettering.

“What the—?”

Peals of laughter rang from the table where Megan had been sitting. The bridesmaids she’d been trying to escape. Or so she’d said.

His hand tightened around hers as, leveling her with a stare, he pulled her forward and then down into the open chair. “Sit. Now I need to know.”

Megan looked into his eyes, a thousand thoughts running through hers before she slumped back in the chair and said, “Okay, Carter—”

“Connor.”

She swallowed. “Connor. Right. Sorry. So here it is...”

CHAPTER THREE

Nine hours earlier...

“I THINK YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS is trying to tell you something.”

Megan grinned into her glass, trying not to laugh as she took the next sip. Sweet martini goodness coated her tongue, making her wonder how she’d gone through so much of her life without having tried one of these white-chocolate concoctions. They were delicious.

Oh, wait...the subconscious...

“Okay, what?”

“This trip to Vegas. It’s your subconscious screaming some deeply repressed need to take a chance. Do something crazy.”

They were back to this again. Megan shot him a knowing look, only to find his unrepentant one on the other end. “Or, this trip is about my cousin getting married.”

“Denial is a powerful thing.”

“Forget it. I told you already. I’m not running off and marrying you, so please stop begging.”

Carter—shoot, Connor, why couldn’t she remember!—let out a bark of laughter. They both knew marriage wasn’t what he’d been getting at. Just as they both knew he wasn’t actually serious.

He knew what her plans were. Had been truly interested when she’d laid them out, explaining her choice to pursue artificial insemination via sperm donor. And rather than back away slowly, he’d decided they both needed a night to cut loose and have some fun. The kind without consequences. The kind that revolved around easy conversation, harmless flirting and more drinks than were a good idea.

Knowing it would be the last, and finding a certain comfort in the utter lack of expectation from the man she was with, Megan agreed.

And she’d been near breathless with laughter ever since—milling through the grand casino, stopping at one attraction and then another, caught up in the sort of fun in which she never indulged.

Connor had been right. This was what she’d needed.

The palm of his hand settled lightly at the small of her back as he guided her toward an outcropping of slots. “I don’t know, Megan. Seems for a decision this big, you want to consider every option before dismissing it out of hand.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Then giving in to the impish grin tugging at her lips, she waved vaguely at the men around her. “And there are plenty of options to consider.”

Connor shook his head. “If you’re looking for a guy to close the deal, I’d steer clear of the slots,” he offered, totally deadpan. “Nothing says compensation issues like a man clinging too closely to a twelve-inch rod of metal.”

It took more than she’d thought she had to do it, but once Megan reined in her laughter, she pulled a mock scowl. “Seriously, how long have we known each other—and you think I’d hit the slots?”

This time it was Connor cracking the half smile that seemed his equivalent to a full-on belly laugh. “Right, I should have had more faith.”

She nodded, scanning the casino floor. “Roulette tables are where all the quality swimmers hang out.”

Another wry twist of lips. “I’m forced to disagree with you. Any guy lingering around a game based solely on luck is delusional. Probably believes in Santa and fairies. Doesn’t bode well for mental stability. You want the probability of psychosis spiraling through Junioretta’s double helix?”

Another stifled giggle. “No, definitely not. How could I have been so off base?”

“Sometimes I wonder about you.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. Couldn’t remember a guy she’d been so instantly at ease with. Of course, that last bit probably had more to do with knowing this wasn’t leading anywhere. Which took the pressure off tremendously. She could simply enjoy the attention of this incredibly attractive, charming man without worrying about...anything.

“Blackjack, then?”

They’d made it halfway across the floor when Connor caught a passing waitress, giving her their order before returning his attention to Megan. “Also delusional. He thinks he’s in control when it’s a game of chance. Unless he’s counting...and then you have a criminal element to consider.”

Playing devil’s advocate, she asked, “But wouldn’t counting suggest a higher level of intelligence?”

“So you’re a single mom, strapped from the cost of the private academy his ‘genius’ demands. How much time are you going to have for all those trips to visit little Buster in juvie?”

Megan let out her best indignant cough. “You’re implying my baby is going to be some kind of delinquent?”

One oh-so-arrogant brow shot high. Sexy and confident. “Not if you play your cards right.”

“Fine, fine.” She laughed, wiping the tears at the corners of her eyes with the backs of her thumbs. “So we’ve been through the slots, roulette and blackjack. If none of those are right, then what—offtrack betting?”

Connor drew to a stop, turning to consider her more closely than the question called for. Closely enough she could feel her body respond to the touch of his eyes at every point of contact. His smile was pure arrogance as he answered, “You want to win the genetic jackpot, then skip the pit stop at Gamblers Anonymous altogether. Obviously your best bet is me.”

* * *

Megan laughed, head thrown back, eyes closed, and the sound of it hit him right in the center of the chest. And when those big blue eyes blinked back at him, her cheeks a rosy red, the hot rush and warm pull of attraction firing through his body nearly knocked the reason right out of him.

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice as she turned to accept her cocktail from the approaching waitress. “In the nick of time. I’ll definitely need another drink before I buy into that one.”

With a jut of his chin, he urged, “By all means, then, bottoms up.” Tossing back a swallow of his own, he grinned. “I’ve got all night.”

Damn, she had a gorgeous laugh. Even after it left her lips...echoes of it lit her eyes. Those sparkling eyes that were staring up at him like maybe he had the solution for anything. And suddenly, the idea of this strong, fiercely independent woman needing something from him appealed on an almost primal level.

“What?” he asked, chalking up the low timbre of his voice to a dry throat and remedying the obvious problem with a gulp of scotch.

Megan reached for the lapel of his jacket, her slender fingers curving around the fabric in a move both needy and intimate—a move that did something to him he wasn’t quite sure he should like quite so much.

Pearly-white teeth sank into the soft swell of her bottom lip before pulling free and he stopped breathing altogether.

“Megan.”

She sighed. “I’m starving.”

For a beat he stared down at her. And then those fingers tightened and she gave his lapel a little shake. “Star-ving.”

A single nod.

Food.

Yeah, he was pretty hungry too. For something, anyway. So it was time to stop staring down into her pretty, freckle-kissed face.

“Right.” Downing the rest of his glass in one swallow, he handed off the empty to a passing server. “Then I’m your man.”

Seven hours earlier...

He’d thought it couldn’t get any better than the laugh. But then he’d heard the laugh coupled with the squeals of delight and gotten an eyeful of Megan’s sensational and perfectly displayed backside. Shimmying in some victory dance as her winning machine counted up at the far end of the waffle buffet their surprisingly reliable cabbie had recommended.

Damn.

She’d caught him by surprise. Again. Lulling him into too easy a conversation and then giving up the details of her life as easily as this machine had given up her winnings. All it had taken was the right question at the right time, and she’d opened up, revealing new insight into the engaging creature he’d managed to capture for the night.

She was a self-proclaimed recovering romantic. A woman who believed in love but had discovered through a lifetime of experience the heights of that particular romantic elevation to be beyond her reach. And she’d accepted it, wasn’t interested in the futility of an unattainable pursuit. She was a brainiac beauty. A freelance software engineer, successful in her own right. Confident where it counted and modest in the most appealing ways. Independent to an extreme and unafraid to buck convention when it came to the achievement of her goals. Kind, funny and sexy.

Now he stood behind her, their latest round of cocktails set aside—which maybe wasn’t such a bad thing considering the kind of detours his head had been taking—as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, giving in to the absurdly out-of-place bit of possessive insanity going nuts thinking about anyone else seeing this heart-shaped perfection.

“Here, put this on,” he said, slipping it over her shoulders.

“I can’t believe it!” she gasped. “I never win. I never, ever, ever get lucky like this.”

Connor grinned, watching as the bare length of her arms disappeared within the sea of his coat. Reaching over, he adjusted the lapels, telling himself she’d looked cold. Then before he gave in to the temptation to linger near that tantalizing V of feminine flesh, or God forbid let his knuckles skim the softness there, he moved on to cuff her sleeves. Rolling up the arms until the slim band of her wristwatch shone beneath the flashing lights of her winning machine. It was a delicate band, but a little plain. The way he’d mistakenly thought about her, when really this girl glittered like a diamond.

“Carter,” she said breathlessly, those blue eyes watching where his thumb stroked across the sensitive pale skin of her inner wrist.

“Connor.” What the hell was he doing?

Her eyes lifted slowly, following the line of his arm, across his shoulder, to the top of his tie and then his mouth.

Did she have any idea how seductive those few beats of time were when he could all but see her mind working through the possibilities of where her gaze lingered.

This woman was hot. And sweet. And smart. And funny.

And she was staring at his mouth like it looked better than vanilla vodka and white-chocolate liqueur.

Like maybe, after all, she might want a taste.

Or even more.

Another beat and her eyes met his.

“Connor,” she corrected, the good judgment wrestling in those blue pools, barely holding out against temptation.

Damn, he liked the way she said his name. Especially when she got it right.

He had an excellent idea for helping her remember too.

Repetition. And positive reinforcement—the breathless, moaning, pleading kind.

Hours of it.

He could push—turn on the seduction and he’d have her.

This flirtation he’d been playing at was nothing. For every easy compliment, he’d kept a physical space between them. For every suggestive line, he’d avoided eye contact. Because he’d known—had a sense about what could be between them, and he’d steered clear of it. Only, now...he wanted more.

Shaking his head, he glared at the half-empty glass on the counter beside them. Your fault.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he put the arm’s length back between them, the easy smile. The just-for-fun.

Moments later they were outside in the night air, surrounded by the bright lights, the drifting foot traffic and steady stream of cars. “You just cracked two machines in a row. We ought to head back to the casino and find you a real jackpot. Or would you like to try something different, like roulette?”

A deep sigh left her pretty mouth. “I don’t think so. For someone who doesn’t win very often, I’m happy to be coming out ahead the way I am. I don’t want to push my luck.”

“Something else in mind?” he asked. But he already knew, having seen the flash of resignation in her eyes.

Goodbye.

He didn’t want the night to end, but she had a plan, after all. He respected her for it. Admired the sense of priority, forethought and commitment she’d put into it. Hell, that plan was probably half her appeal.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight.” Megan shifted in front of him, her gaze skating away as her fingers slid down the lapels of his suit jacket, to where they idly played with the top button.

“Me too. Of course, this is Vegas. It’s still early.”

Her eyes pulled back to his, flickering only once to his mouth. “Early morning.”

And then her shoulders were straightening, her features falling into an altogether too-polite expression. “And I’ve got a big day ahead of me.”

“Big day of attending.”

“Yes. And making up elaborate lies about our night together.” This time her grin was pure imp. “Give Jodie and Tina something juicier to chew on than each other.”

“Wow, you’re going to lie about me?” he asked, settling his hand at the small of her back as they approached the curb in search of a cab. “I’m flattered.”

Nothing available, but one would come along any minute.

Megan shot him a wry smile. “Actually, probably not. I want to. It would be so great. But lying gives me hives. Even for a good cause like keeping the peace at my cousin’s wedding, I’m not sure I’d be able to do it.”

“So you’re one of those perpetually honest types?” he asked as they walked in the direction of the casino where they were staying.

“Pretty much. Not always convenient. But I guess it keeps me out of trouble most times.”

Uh-huh, but if she didn’t stop worrying that sexy bottom lip between her teeth—nothing would keep her out of the trouble he had in mind.

Only, then she noticed the way he was watching her, and looked away.

He didn’t want to lose her attention. Not yet. “With women like Tina and Jodie, I’m thinking not saying anything at all would be as effective as telling them what a stallion I am—which, incidentally, is one hundred percent accurate. Leave them to stew in their curiosity. Speculate to their hearts’ content. And give them nothing.”

“Oooh, it’ll drive them insane,” she gasped, nearly bouncing beside him and making him wonder how deep her wicked streak went. And if it ever blurred the line into naughty. “God knows their imaginations are more colorful than mine.”

Giving in to another smirk, he offered, “I could help with that.”

He was joking. Mostly.

Megan stopped and shook her head, the straight ends of her hair brushing softly across her shoulders. “I’m sure you could.”

Even beneath the lights and glitz of the Strip, he could see the rise of a deep blush in her cheeks, read all the subtle signs of hesitation as they came. He could see her talking herself out of every maybe, what-if, just-a-few-more and only-this-once idea popping into her pretty head. He could feel the tension as she wrestled with her conscience about extending a night they’d both enjoyed.

He knew she wanted to... “But you have a plan.”

Honest. Intelligent. Funny. Independent. Megan was all that and more, with the kind of practical approach to love he couldn’t get out of his head. Eyes to the sky, he pushed out a long breath—that stopped abruptly when his focus caught on the neon sign flashing over her right shoulder.

She had a plan...but maybe it wasn’t the only one.

* * *

God, she didn’t want the night to end. But there was only one place it could go. And as much as the idea of falling into this man’s bed appealed to her, it wasn’t how she lived her life.

It didn’t matter that he seemed more soul mate than stranger. Or that she’d never be in a position to let go like this again. If she gave in, she’d regret it tomorrow.

And when she thought about this night, she didn’t want there to be any regrets.

So she swallowed and did what she had to do. “I have a plan.”

The words opened an emptiness inside her, different from the one that had been so much a part of her every day.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening, Carter.”

His mouth tilted in another one of those unreadable half smiles.

Tempting. So tempting.

“Megan, about your plan.” He caught her elbow in a loose hold. “There’s one thing I’m curious about.”

Facing him, she asked, “What’s that?”

His fingers slipped from her elbow down her arm in a soft caress and, catching her hand in his, he tucked it low against her back. Stepped in and, dropping his stare to her mouth, murmured, “Just this.”

And he kissed her.

At first, the shock of contact was all she could register. And then the slow, back-and-forth rub of his mouth against hers. The firm pressure. The gentle pull. The low-level current riding all the places they touched.

Yes.

Just this.

The perfect end to a night she wished didn’t have to.

Seconds later there was a breath between them—passing back and forth in a soft wash of warm and wet.

“Connor,” he murmured, close enough she could almost feel the vibration on her lips.

Megan blinked, but didn’t step back as she peered up into his eyes. “What?”

The corner of his mouth tipped. “Wanted to make sure you remembered my name.”

“Connor.” She sighed, closing her eyes to savor the moment just a little longer before she left. “That was very nice.”

Catching her with a crooked finger beneath her chin, Connor brought her gaze back to his. When their eyes met, she had to blink. It wasn’t the bittersweet sort of resigned longing she felt that was shining in his eyes. Not by a long shot. It was cocky arrogance and a sharply focused anticipation.

“Not really,” he said, curving his hand so it cupped her jaw. “That was getting you used to the idea.”

Her lips parted to protest, but before she had the chance to backtrack or reword her response, he’d swooped in again. Closing the bit of distance between them without hesitation. Taking her mouth as if it was his to do with as he pleased, making it his own in a way that had Megan’s hands rising of their own volition, her fingers curling into his tailored shirt, her moan sliding free of her mouth and into his. There wasn’t anything even remotely nice about this kiss. It was hot. Explosive. Consuming and intense.

It was the kind of kiss for behind closed doors. The kind she’d never in her life believed she would have allowed to take place in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. But then, she’d never been faced with the need to break away from something so damn good.

And then she wasn’t thinking about what she should be doing at all. Where she was. Or where she was going. There was only the hot press of Connor’s body as he pulled her closer. The skillful exploration of a part of her that suddenly felt like undiscovered country. The slow lick of his tongue against hers.

Delicious.

So good.

Another wicked lick was followed by a slow, steady thrust, and she was lost to it. Her hands moved against the hard planes of his torso in restless anticipation of what more he could give her.

She might regret this tomorrow...but not nearly as much as she would regret walking away tonight.

When Connor pulled back, she was breathless. Hungry. Desperate.

This time, the elusive tilt to Connor’s lips was gone. He drew a slow breath, his brows seeming to draw lower through every passing second until his eyes had become fathomless depths, so dark she wondered if, once she fell in, she’d ever make it back out again.

“Okay, yeah,” he murmured, as though having reached some internal understanding with himself.

“Yeah, okay,” she whispered, nodding. “But we have to go back to your room. I’m sharing a suite with Tina and Jodie.”

Only, then his head lowered to hers, and he pressed a single slow kiss against her lips before moving close to her ear. “I’ve got an even better idea.”

A second later his hands had clamped around her hips and she’d been hoisted over his shoulder, where she bounced with his long strides. Delighted by this show of caveman antics, she breathlessly laughed out a demand for an explanation.

“I’ve got a plan...” he answered, confident and excited. “I’ll tell you about it on the way. It’s up here on the right.”

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.”

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