Waking Up Married Read online

  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 f
rom 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.”

  Playin
g 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.