Wide shoulders jerked free from between the lapels of the now-ruined shirt. The belt was gone next and then Connor was on the bed, crawling up her body even as his hand slid under her bottom and pulled her down to meet him.
* * *
Connor had to have her.
His wife didn’t flaunt it for everyone to see—thank God—but she was the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
If he’d had an ounce more patience, he would have gotten the damn pants off before he’d gotten on top of her. Only, the business with the belt and the lip biting about did him in. He needed contact. Now. Needed to feel those gorgeous heels at his back and the soft cradle of her thighs around him. He needed the wet sanctuary of her mouth and the sharp tug of her fingers in his hair.
Again he pulled her against him, rocking into the sweet spot between her legs. Torturing himself with the layers remaining between them because he couldn’t make himself break away from the too-necessary contact.
Only then Megan snaked her hands in to work his fly—a look of utter concentration in her eyes as she caught the waist of his tuxedo pants and boxers with her heels and pushed them down his body.
When she’d gotten them as far as she could, he kicked them free and met her eyes. “Impressive.”
The smile on her face was priceless, as if she’d accomplished the greatest feat imaginable...or the most critical task at least...by divesting him of his pants—hands-free.
The pink tip of her tongue wet her bottom lip as she held his gaze.
“I’ve got mad skills,” she stated breathlessly.
“So you do.” The smile curving his lips might have seemed out of place in the midst of this kind of sexual urgency, except fun always seemed to find a place when they were together.
Megan’s eyes went to his mouth and then her fingertips drifted to the same place, feathering softly over his lips. “Beautiful.”
Women had been complimenting his looks for most of his adult life, but never had such a simple statement had such a profound effect. Looking down into her eyes, he wanted to get lost in them. Wondered how he hadn’t had to fight off a thousand men in Vegas to get to her himself.
And then he realized. This look he wanted to lose himself in forever... It was for him. Only for him.
He needed to be inside her. Needed it the way he needed his next breath. More, even.
Pushing to his knees, he leaned over toward the nightstand beside the bed and reached for the drawer—only to have Megan’s hand follow the line of his arm and wrap around his wrist, urging him to stop.
His eyes went back to hers. “Condoms, sweetheart.”
“Wait.” Holding his gaze, her palm drifted down his chest, stilling over his heart. “Just you, Connor. Nothing between us.” She swallowed, took a slow breath. “I don’t need any more time to decide. To know.”
Connor blinked. This was it.
What he’d been waiting for.
She was his. Finally.
She was...crying?
The hot surge of satisfaction beating its way through his veins froze as he stared at the still-shimmering smudge beneath her eye. The single glittering bead of betraying emotion caught in the dark points of her lashes. Lashes framing those gorgeous, trusting eyes that were staring up at him with—with so damn much—
“Megan,” he croaked, then muttered a curse, closing his eyes when the pliant, sexy body beneath him went tense.
No. No, it wasn’t love. She’d told him herself that she didn’t fall in love.
Neither of them did.
What he was seeing was affection. The affection he’d been working for, cultivating from day one with the intent of securing her commitment. Only suddenly seeing it shining up at him from those trusting eyes, as his wife offered him the very thing he’d been striving for, granting him the unfettered access to her body that would cement them together forever—he recognized it for what it was.
Too much.
She wasn’t supposed to look at him like that. As if she was entrusting him with a piece of her soul. Making herself vulnerable in a way he couldn’t abide.