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.