was a stranger. Only, this stranger was looking into her eyes as if he knew exactly who she was.
“More every minute.”
MEGAN’S LIPS WERE PARTED, revealing that bit of wet just beyond the pale swell he wanted to run his thumb across. But Megan didn’t remember him. Which meant, though she’d taken vows, signed her name, worn his ring and climbed all over him the night before...this morning, she didn’t belong to him.
He understood it.
Accepted it.
Only, when she looked into his eyes the way she was now. When her breathing changed the smallest degree, and the color morning had leached from her skin pushed back into her cheeks, it felt an awful lot like she was.
Like on some level she knew what they’d had between them. And wanted it again.
He could show her how it had been. Kiss her until they were both senseless and she was begging him like she had—
Her breath caught. “I should find my dress.”
Or he could wait. Damn it.
Moving back, Connor shoved his hands into his pockets.
Those big blue eyes were crawling away again, scanning the space around them as though salvation could be found in some dark corner of the room. Only, then they brightened as a small squeak escaped her, and Connor realized she’d found her dress.
“Thank God. I figure I pretty well earned this walk of shame, but seriously, I didn’t want to have to do it in a robe.”
Again Connor felt a smile pushing at his lips. She had a sense of humor. One he appreciated.
“Walk of shame, eh. I don’t know if married women qualify.”
Megan cringed at the words he’d been trying out on his tongue. Testing the feel of in his mouth.
They hadn’t been bad or bitter or totally out of place, and he wondered if they might be an acquired taste he was warming up to. Something to encourage his wife to try.
Megan worried her bottom lip. “Looking at this dress, I definitely qualify.”
As sexy and smooth as it had been draped over her curves the night before, the wrinkled garment barely ranked above a rag this morning.
“I can call down to the concierge and get you one sent up—”
Megan choked, “Wait, don’t—I’ll wear one of your shirts or something”
“I like the idea of you wrapped up in one of my shirts...quite a lot. But first let’s have breakfast.”
This time it was Megan at a loss for words, and he savored it for the full second and a half he had before she’d found her new tack. “I can’t stay for breakfast. I’ve got a wedding today. A real wedding.”
Connor stiffened. “As opposed to the fake—and yet legally binding—variety from last night.”
Apologetic eyes drifted back to him. “I only meant—”
He put up a hand, waving off her apology. “I know what you meant. One they’d planned. And I know you’re freaked out and more than a little desperate to get out of here and collect your thoughts, but, Megan, we’re married. We need to discuss this. You’ve got hours before Gail’s expecting you. We’ll have some food to settle your stomach. Talk. Call it a—getting-to-know-your-husband date?” At her hesitation, he asked, “Come on, you’re too much of a control freak not to have questions.”
The look in her eyes said it all. She had a million of them. But there was more than curiosity in those crystal depths. There was fear, as well. As if somehow, she was afraid of what she might learn.
“Megan, come on. I can’t be that bad.”
“I don’t think you’re bad. I’m just confused and overwhelmed and...” She squared her shoulders. “I’m not entirely sure a getting-to-know-you anything makes much sense, all things considered.”
All things considered.
Code for the lawyers again. Divorce.
Connor cocked his jaw to the left and crossed his arms, looking hard at the woman he’d married the night before.
No doubt a divorce would be the simplest solution.
He could let her go. Put a couple of his lawyers on it, have the whole situation resolved quietly and quickly.
She didn’t remember him. Them.
So really it would almost be as if the whole thing never happened.
Except he’d remember. He’d know.
Putting up a shrug, Connor made a decent show of nonchalance as he pulled the ace from his sleeve. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, if you need to talk, I’m sure Jodie and Tina would be happy to lend an ear. You’ve got, what, four hours to kill before they get their hands on another distraction?”
Megan’s startled gaze snapped to his. “Do they know?”
Oh, yeah, wifey wasn’t going anywhere. Not for a while, anyway.
“They know you and I left the bar together. And you didn’t come back to the suite you were sharing last night. So I’d say they know enough to make me the lesser evil on option this morning.”
“The lesser evil?” Her brow quirked, leaving her mouth to hint at the smile and laughter that had gotten them into this mess. “Wow, you sure know how to sell yourself.”
Making him want more.
“Don’t have to,” he said, crossing the bedroom. “Not when I’m up against those two.”
Her stare narrowed on him as she followed. “Fine. You win. Let’s play getting-to-know-you.”
Connor did his best to rein in the victorious grin working over his mouth, and swung open the bedroom door.
The master suite was situated at the end of the second-level hall, overlooking the main living space where marble and glass gleamed in contrast to rich jewel-toned fabrics, heavily carved wood and silk-covered walls.
Megan’s steps faltered, the shock on her face this morning even better than it had been the night before.
“So, Megan. The first thing you should know about me...”
“Uh-huh, yes?”
“I don’t want a divorce.”
* * *
“Just give it a try?” Megan asked, sputtering at the insanity of Connor’s suggestion, casually tossed out as he’d perused an elaborate breakfast spread in the dining room. “You’re crazy.”
Glancing up from the coffee he’d stirred a generous portion of cream into, he grinned. “Exactly what you said last night. Of course, there’d been a whole lot of breathless ‘yes, please’ tied up in ‘you’re crazy’ then.”
Her eyes rolled skyward. She could only imagine the circumstances. Didn’t want to imagine them. But couldn’t seem to help it. In fact, every time her gaze touched on those criminally captivating lips...she started imagining all over again. Imagining, but not remembering.
“Last night I was forty percent alcohol by volume. Last night doesn’t count.”
Another shrug. “It counts to me. And if you’ll sit down and have something to eat, I’ll tell you why it counts to you too.”
Handing her the coffee, he nodded at the tray of pastries, fresh fruit, cheeses and breads he’d brought to the table. “Trust me on this, you want the food in your stomach first.”
Connor selected