Waking Up Married. Mira Kelly LynЧитать онлайн книгу.

      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.”

      Playing 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.

      Pearly-white teeth sank into the soft swell of her bottom lip before pulling free and he stopped breathing altogether.

      “Megan.”

      She sighed. “I’m starving.”

      For