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 a croissant, set it, a tiny ceramic crock of butter and another of jam on a china plate with a silver knife, and pushed it in front of her. “Eat.”
She looked at it warily, not really wanting to eat anything at all after the way her morning had begun.
She was nervous. Frustrated. And more than a smidgen concerned about Connor’s apparent commitment to this monumental mistake.
He didn’t want a divorce. She didn’t get it. It didn’t make sense.
“You don’t know me,” she began with a slow shake of her head. “Even if I’d talked your ear off from the minute we met until my little pilgrimage to the porcelain god...you couldn’t really know me. My beliefs, my hang-ups, my shortcomings.”