Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe(21)

"Some things transcend time and place," he said evenly. "And a promise is a promise."

Meg swallowed and tugged a little more at the bow.

"I sometimes think that promise was what I lived for," he said, almost  to himself, "what kept me hanging on when I should have died waiting for  the antibiotics to reach me."

She took another step back. His smile returned, knowing and tempting.  "If it helped, then I'm glad of it." The bow came completely undone in  her unsteady fingers.

He reached for the loose end, so that it became a connection between the  two of them. "Did you ever think of it? Or did you forget about me  altogether?"

She avoided the first of his two questions. "I didn't forget about you."

He pulled his end of the ribbon closer to him, bringing her hand with  it. Then he lifted her hand, supported it with his own and with a sudden  frown studied the ring that adorned her ring finger. "Our wedding  ring?"

Meg shrugged, though with him cradling her fisted hand in his palm,  nonchalance was the last thing she felt. "I had to have something.  People were asking. I bought it over the internet so nobody would see me  going to a jeweler's to get it."

"And this convinced them?" With the forefinger of his free hand he  touched the simple thin gold band. "I would have chosen something a  little more … expensive."

"Its importance is in what it symbolizes, not what it's worth. As I told  your friends, this was all I wanted. Its simplicity and purity were the  perfect representation of our relationship. Besides, I didn't want to  spend a lot."

He straightened her fingers and the velvet ribbon whispered to the floor between them. "You paid for it yourself?"

"Of course." She tried to ease her hand free, but he held firm. "It wasn't much."

"I can tell. And our engagement ring?" He looked from her hand to her face. "Where's that?"

She shook her head. "We weren't able to get a suitable engagement ring.  It was hard enough getting the wedding band, which we had brought over  from another island." She filled him in on the details of the story  she'd concocted for his friends. "You wanted us to choose the engagement  ring once you came home, but I was going to argue against that. I like  the band on its own."                       
       
           



       

"What else were we going to do once I came home?"

She swallowed. "Well, there was … our honeymoon. People asked about that."  Which now that his return was real would be a divorce instead. Meg  tugged at her hand and he allowed it to slide free.

Luke folded his arms across his chest and she could read nothing of his  thoughts, how he felt about the stories she'd had to make up because she  hadn't been able to tell people he married her out of desperation. It  had seemed important that nobody, and especially the half brother he was  so keen to disinherit, knew the true circumstances. "Do we know where  we're going for that?"

"You wanted St. Moritz or Paris, but I wanted Easter Island."

"So we compromised?"

Meg allowed a small smile. "Um … no. We settled on Easter Island because  you've been to St. Moritz and Paris before, but neither of us has been  to Easter Island. And besides, we both wanted to see the statues." They  had talked about the statues in one of their bedside conversations.

"I agreed they'd be amazing to see. Doesn't mean that's where I'd take  my bride. I'd definitely go for a little more luxury. A little more  hotel time, something a little more romantic."

"That's how people know how smitten you are with me."

"Smitten?"

"Hey." She smiled at his indignant expression. "It was my fantasy."

"Was it not supposed to be reality-based?"

"You're saying it's beyond the realms of possibility?" Her smile faded.  Of course someone like him, a multi-millionaire, consistently named in  most-eligible-bachelor lists, wouldn't really ever be interested in her,  Meg Elliot, nurse. "Your friends believed it," she said in her defense,  then frowned. "At least they said they did. They thought I was good for  you."

"That's not what I meant. I was talking about realistic honeymoon destinations, not the reality of you and me together."

But Meg was on a roll. "They said I'm not like the women you've dated in  the past-ones who don't challenge you emotionally, who let you shut  yourself off from them. You must have finally realized what's important  in life, must have trusted your ability to give and receive love."

"All my friends said that, or just Sally, who thinks one psych paper in college makes her Carl Jung?"

Meg hesitated, then sighed. "Mainly Sally," she finally admitted. But  she'd so wanted to believe her, wife of one of Luke's friends, that  she'd bought into her assessment.

Luke's sudden burst of laughter was the last thing she expected. "So, Easter Island, I can't wait to see those statues."

"It's not funny." He was still laughing at her. "I didn't realize when I  agreed to this pretence how complicated it would get. I thought I'd  come here and, well … I guess I didn't really think about it at all. But  there were people with questions and expectations and I had to tell them  something."

"I'm sure you did the best you could."

"But you would have handled it better? What would you have told them?"

"To mind their own damn business."

"You can't say that to people. And certainly not to your friends."

"I can and I do. And friends are the ones who take it the best."

"That's not my style."

"I guess I might have told them we were going somewhere private where I  could keep the island promise I made to my wife. That would have been  almost as effective at getting them to stop asking questions. They know I  don't make promises lightly."

And just like that any trace of levity left his face, but he had to be  joking still. Regardless, the sudden change threw her off balance, swept  away any sense she'd had that she might be in control of their  conversation.

To avoid the questioning intensity in his gaze and the confusion it  stirred, she stooped and picked up the ribbon and began rolling it up.  "That promise … " she said lightly, trying to inject a touch of dismissive  humor into her voice " … it seems like it was a lifetime ago. Like we're  not those same two people." She had the ribbon half rolled up when he  caught the end. She studied their hands, joined by a strip of red  velvet. His large and tanned, hers smaller and pale but thankfully  steady.                       
       
           



       

"Look at me, Meg. And let me look at you." He still sounded far too  serious for her peace of mind. She could almost imagine a trace of need  in his voice. "I held your face in my mind for so long. I can't quite  get enough of the real thing."

Which seemed the oddest thing to say about her. She had a talent for  blending in and going unnoticed. She was the type of person people often  forgot having met. Slowly, she looked up. He kept perfectly still as  her gaze tracked over his torso, settling inevitably on his face, on the  eyes that showed his wanting.

"I'm going to kiss you."

An even bigger surprise. She swallowed and shook her head. "That would  be a bad idea." Because if he kissed her, she'd kiss him back, and then  he'd know she wanted him. But while she knew she should just turn and  walk away, she didn't. Her feet wouldn't listen to her head. He lifted  the red velvet, drawing her hand up with it, and then he captured her  wrist, raising her hand farther till he touched her fingertips to his  jaw. A shiver passed through her and the velvet dropped again to the  floor.

She used to touch his jaw like that when he was sick and weakened and  feverish. But he was far from sick or weak now, and if anyone was  feverish, it was her.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. Warmth, heat, liquefied her bones. "I remembered your touch."

She couldn't stop herself, she cupped her palm around his jaw. So smooth  now, so strong. He framed her face with his hands and lowered his head  toward hers.

She had time to back away.

She stayed precisely where he was.

He kissed with exquisite gentleness. His lips were soft and seeking as  though he was savoring the taste of her in the same way she savored the  taste and feel of him. He kissed, drew back a fraction, kissed again,  brushing his lips over hers. He angled his head, deepened the kiss,  teased her teeth and tongue. Her mouth parted beneath his. His kiss  was … beautiful. It was perfection. The way they fit so naturally together  held an aching rightness. Made her feel that she'd been missing this,  him, for so long.