Mira Lyn Kelly - Waking Up Married

Connor let out a low chuckle, playing with the band where it sat on her finger. And then stopped, suddenly not finding her words funny at all.

Staring down at the little crease working its way between her brows, he asked, “Megan, you don’t remember me buying you this ring?”

She swallowed, and the crease deepened. “You can’t even imagine how much I wish I did. But no. I don’t actually—” Seeming to think better of it, she cut off her words with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Like hell. “Megan, it matters to me. Do you remember when I asked you?”

“No.” Not a blink, not a waver.

“The wedding?”

“I’m sorry. No.”

Connor stared at her, his mind stalled on the seeming impossibility of what he was hearing. Yeah, she’d obviously had a few too many—they both had. Hell, he’d been hit hard enough where more than a few minutes had been required for the details to shuffle into place, and he probably had at least seventy-five pounds on her...but blacking out?

“Megan,” he started, working to keep the urgency out of his voice. “Exactly how much of last night do you remember?”

“A few minutes here and there.”

Alarm spreading through him like wildfire, he waited for her to say something more. Waited for her to finish her sentence with “seem to be missing.” Only, then the ring was free, being pressed into his palm, wrapped tight beneath fingers Megan had dutifully closed for him. And she was peering up at him, those blue pools searching his eyes for something...anything maybe.

“I remember seeing you at a bar and thinking how handsome you were. I remember laughing...a lot, and at another point, talking over waffles, though about what I couldn’t say except you looked serious then. I remember you joking about us picking out china patterns. And I remember knowing with all certainty you weren’t serious. There weren’t any maybes between us. It simply wasn’t like that.” Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink as she looked away. “I remember knowing I should slow down because I don’t really drink much, but ordering another round because I didn’t want the fun to end. And I remember signing my name in the chapel, thinking—God, I don’t even know what. So, I guess, not really thinking at all.”

Connor stared, stunned as she turned away, a flush still blazing in her cheeks even as her shoulders remained straight. The air left his lungs on a hot expletive as he watched her nudge at the decorative pillows and shams littering the floor around the bed with her foot.

No wonder she was treating their marriage like some throwaway Vegas souvenir. This woman had a plan, and she didn’t remember a single one of the reasons Connor had given her for changing it. Hell, she barely remembered him. And yet, she’d somehow managed to hold it together, remaining calm and focused throughout.

She was strong. Tough.

Everything he wanted.

Her mouth pulled to the side. “I don’t suppose you happen to know where I might find my dress?”

Images of that superfine, silky bit of blue hitting him in the face flashed through his mind; only, where the dress went after had been as low a priority then as it was now.

“Megan. I’m sorry. If I’d realized, I would have been telling you everything, trying to fill in the night, explaining what happened. Why didn’t you ask?”

* * *

Closing her eyes, Megan drew a steadying breath.

Why? Because the details weren’t important and she could decipher the broad strokes on her own. This gorgeous, carefree guy had tempted her with all the things she’d sworn she could live without...the attention of a charming, desirable man, the chance to be utterly spontaneous, the indulgence in a night of reckless excess she wouldn’t even consider once she had another person dependent on her. And so her pickled mind had rationalized this one last adventure. Vegas-style.

Maybe her blocking out their time together was some sort of defense mechanism.

Looking at this man alone made her believe whatever happened between them could very well have been the kind of phenomenal a grown woman didn’t recover from, and her inner psyche was simply trying to protect her.

“Megan?” The deep, rich baritone cut into her thoughts an instant before the heat of his hands settled over her shoulders, jolting her back to the now. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

And then those strong hands were turning her around, gripping her tight. “You’re wrong. I don’t think you understand. Last night wasn’t just some goof to be rectified this morning.”

She blinked, trying to look away even as she felt herself stumbling further into the intensity of Connor’s dark eyes. He thought there was something meaningful between them? Some potential?

This wasn’t what she needed to hear.

“It has to be.” She couldn’t invest in potential again. She didn’t have the time and she didn’t have the will. “I have a plan.”

She’d expected him to back off a step, ask what she was talking about, but instead that single corner of his mouth turned up to the slightest degree. As if suddenly he found himself on better footing than he’d expected. “Yeah, but my plan’s better. Even you think so.”

She’d told him?

Her chin pulled back as she felt the sting of self-betrayal and cursed her inner psyche.

Was nothing sacred?

Images of the laughter came back to her in a sickening rush, and she couldn’t help but wonder if all her goals and intentions had been a part of the joke. Only, as she looked into Connor’s eyes, some instinctive part of her knew it wasn’t the case.

So what, then...

“Oh, my God.” Her throat closed tight, trying to strangle the words she didn’t want to say. “Did you volunteer to be my sperm donor?”

He was tall and handsome, without any obvious festering infections—

“No.” His brows, already drawn low over his eyes, went even lower, obscuring what little chance she’d had to try to read a man who wasn’t exactly an open book to begin with. “Not really. Not like you’re thinking.”

Not like she was thinking? Like what, then? she thought with a fresh wave of panic.

Her eyes fell to the empty spot on her ring finger. He’d married her. So maybe it wasn’t so much a donation at all. Donations were free and clear...and this guy had already tied her down with a fairly significant string.

He wanted dibs on her baby.

He wanted a claim.

Suddenly, her breath was coming faster than it should, and the air working its way in and out of her lungs felt thin and useless.

“Wait, Megan. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can tell from your face it’s wrong. Let me explain.”

“You’re gay.” What else would a guy who looked like this be doing with her?

“Uh...” That tilted smile was back and she knew she was right.

“Okay, so you don’t want your parents to know? You need an heir or something to keep your trust fund?”

“No—uh—I—uh—”

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. “Look, Carter, either way, it doesn’t matter. Whatever deal we might have worked out last night is off.”

She’d been heavily intoxicated. Even if she’d signed a dozen documents, they would never stand up. She could walk away, unless—

Her eyes shot wide as she stared up at him in horror. “Did you...try...to get me pregnant last night?”

Connor coughed, his amused expression morphing into shock, confusion and something she really, really didn’t want to believe was guilt no matter how much it looked like it.

His hand came up between them, but she didn’t care if he needed a minute to sort out his story or work through his defense. Spinning away, she banded her arms across her abdomen, sick with the knowledge of what she’d done. “Of all the stupid, self-sabotaging, dangerous—”