Until He Met Meg (16 page)

‘I appreciate you saying so.’

No sooner was her cheek clean than Bryce discovered she had another splotch of paint on her neck, on the pale flesh just below her earlobe. He moved the rag to that spot, wiping it over her skin in slow motions until that mark was gone too.

‘You’re being very generous with me,’ Bryce mumbled distractedly as he moved the cloth further down. There was a tiny speck of Creamed Honey on her collarbone. Discarding the rag, Bryce worked it off with his thumb, his fingers slipping inside the round neckline of her shirt. He encountered a thin bra strap and froze.

‘I’m sorry you had to paint,’ Meg said, her voice breathy in the meagre space between them. How had he ended up standing so close to her? ‘I know you had other plans today.’

No matter how sternly he told himself to do it, Bryce couldn’t remove his hand from the spot at her shoulder where it rested. Her flesh was warm and smooth, her bra strap an irresistible temptation. His fingers began to toy with it, obviously having developed a mind of their own. When he spoke his voice sounded foreign to him, the voice of a stranger, of a man who completely lacked the civility and refinement he’d spent his life acquiring. ‘Is that why you think I’ve been in such a foul mood?’

Her head moved, an almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes were wide round pools of blue-grey confusion and — Lord help him — desire. The knowledge that she wanted him as much as he did her pushed Bryce’s limits further than they’d ever been pushed. He moved his free hand to her hip and drew her inexorably toward him, until her stomach acted as a soft cradle for his obstinate, aggravating hardness.

She gasped and clung to his shoulders, her eyelids fluttering to half-mast as she stared up at him. That sexy, slumberous look undid Bryce, and he dipped his head to kiss her, the act feeling as inevitable and necessary as taking his next breath. Her lips were pliant, eager and open beneath his and he let himself fall into the luxury of exploring her warm, wet mouth. In the first moments it was all he wanted, but his initial satisfaction ebbed as the fierce bite of need sank its teeth into his being and shredded his control.

Meg kissed him so openly, so guilelessly. She offered so much and he was going to take it if he didn’t stop himself. Somehow he had to stop himself. He pulled back, desperate for air, for a shred of common sense. ‘Meg…’

‘Don’t. Please don’t.’ She placed a finger against his lips. It was all she had to do to silence the protest he knew he had to utter. Nothing more than the soft touch of her finger to his mouth and he fell silent, his heart pounding out a wild rhythm in his chest. ‘Don’t stop this time.’

His voice was hoarse, a raw scrape against his throat. ‘This isn’t right.’

‘I don’t care. It
feels
right.’ Her conviction shone in her eyes, blinding him to all that was wrong about touching her. Meg leaned forward again, nuzzling his neck with the warm softness of her lips, the touch so exquisite Bryce screwed his eyes shut and gathered her against him. He was drowning in sensation and he didn’t even want air.

‘What if I said that it didn’t matter?’ Meg asked, her query a sultry whisper against the pulse that thumped at his throat. ‘That I know it could never be more than one night between us, but that I still want it? That I still want it to be you? I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else, Bryce. Not the first time. I’ve never wanted anyone else like —’

Her remaining words were stifled when he sealed his mouth over hers once more. Took her mouth, with a commanding ferocity he was quite sure he’d never displayed with anyone. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, the act so natural, so
right
that all the reasons this was wrong flew right out of Bryce’s head.

And they didn’t return for many, many hours.

Meg awoke on Sunday morning with a grin splitting her cheeks so much they hurt. Other places hurt too, but in a wholly pleasant, unfamiliar way. She yawned and stretched, the glide of the sheets over her bare flesh reminding her she was naked beneath them. Naked! She never slept naked. A giddy laugh escaped her, irrepressible happiness pushing it out her mouth.

She rolled over in bed to be confronted by the sight of the empty pillow beside her. Reaching out a hand, she found it cool to the touch. When had Bryce gotten up? A glance at the bedside alarm clock told her it had probably been ages ago. Not only had she slept
sans
pyjamas, she’d slept in until well after eight o’clock.

Her happiness started to disintegrate, little by little, as realisations hit one after another. She was in Bryce’s bed, without him, which meant he’d left her. Perhaps he wasn’t a snuggler, she reassured herself. No, his behaviour last night didn’t support that theory, not with the way he’d held her so close to his body after he’d made love to her, the way he’d touched her face and kissed every inch of it until the passion had returned and he’d begun to make love to her all over again.

His hunger had been a thrill like she’d never known, his gentle care a touching counterpoint that made her heart soften until it was about as weak and wispy as cotton wool. He’d been so concerned about hurting her, but he hadn’t. It had been glorious, all of it. Exhilarating and heartstopping and romantic.

And now he was gone. So maybe sleeping in until the sun was well and truly up was a no-no as far as one night stands went.

One night stands.
Yesterday she’d assured him that was all she wanted and at the time she’d believed it. She had no desire to complicate his life, wouldn’t hurt Phillipa for the world. She wasn’t going to go all fatal attraction on him and insist he give her more than what she’d asked for — for him to be her first lover. For one night, only one night, of his loving.

Yet the post-coital reality wasn’t as simple as that. With a groan, Meg sat up in bed, her stomach pitching. For a second she thought she might throw up but thankfully the urge passed. They’d had a little wine with dinner last night, but she knew that wasn’t the cause of her physical distress.

Meg recalled the way Bryce fed her morsels of ravioli from the Italian feast he’d had delivered once their rumbling stomachs had forced them out of bed. She’d fed him mouthfuls of her veal scallopini in return and in between feedings they’d shared slow, indulgent kisses until Bryce had swept her into his arms and carried her back to bed. It had been very Rhett Butler of him and it made Meg positively gooey inside to remember it.

‘That there is your problem, Meg,’ she muttered. She had shown Bryce parts of herself she’d never shown anyone and now, the morning after, she was even more in love with him than she’d been yesterday. Fool that she was, she’d given him not only her body but her heart. How could she carry on now as though nothing had changed when the entire world looked different to her?

You just do, Meg. That’s all there is to it.

Slipping out of bed, Meg located the business shirt Bryce had let her borrow last night after she’d showered. Her paint-spattered clothes were in the laundry but she’d never quite made it downstairs to collect anything else to wear. Buttoning up the business shirt and loving the way it felt against her skin, Meg left the bedroom and tiptoed down the stairs.

There was no sign of Bryce in the living room. Perhaps he’d gone out altogether, a thought that made her stomach roll again. Did he regret last night so much he hoped not to see her at all today? Tears stung her eyes as she reached the top of the stairs to the lower level and her own bedroom.

‘Where are you sneaking off to?’

Meg squealed in surprise and spun around to see Bryce standing there holding a tray laden with food. He wore a pair of clean jeans, a blue polo shirt and a mystified expression. She grabbed the bannister for support and pushed her other hand against her pounding heart. ‘You scared me!’

‘Perhaps because you were slinking through the house like a cat burglar. Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, it’s fine. I was just…’ she waved a hand in the general direction of downstairs, ‘going to get dressed.’

His gaze trailed over her, lingering on the length of thigh left bare by his shirt. ‘What you’re wearing looks fine to me.’

The husky rumble of his voice sent heat flushing through Meg. She clung tighter to the bannister as her knees threatened to give out. ‘I didn’t think you meant to give me your shirt permanently.’
Because nothing about this situation is permanent, right?

‘It looks better on you than it ever did on me.’

‘Gawd! I don’t believe that.’

His lips twitched at her clumsily issued compliment. His faint smile threatened to turn her into a giant puddle of melted goo. ‘Are you hungry?’ he proffered the tray. ‘I made breakfast.’

Meg stared at the arrangement of food on the tray. Toast, tea, a bowl of yoghurt with blueberries piled on top and a glass of juice. ‘That’s for me?’

His lips twitched again and his eyes turned warm. ‘Who else?’

‘I thought…when I woke up and you were gone I thought you were avoiding me. So I figured I’d come downstairs and get dressed and behave like nothing out of the ordinary happened.’

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ The endearment seeped into her. Bryce set the tray down on the coffee table. Then he walked toward her, his gaze so soft and kind Meg could hardly bear it. Her eyes watered as he took her into his arms and settled her face into the curve of his neck. His voice was a raspy murmur against her temple. ‘What happened last night was very
extra
ordinary, and I can’t pretend otherwise. I hope you know how honoured I am that you let me make love to you. I’ll cherish the memory of that. Always.’

A sob burst out of her, uncontrollable and mortifying. She was not a weepy female who needed comforting at the slightest emotional upset. Yet she didn’t have the strength to draw out of Bryce’s arms, not when he was cradling her so close, stroking her hair and whispering that everything was going to be all right.

‘I’m sorry,’ she eventually said, forcing herself to pull back a little. She wiped at her eyes, then gazed up at Bryce. ‘I’m feeling strangely emotional.’

He touched her cheek, wiping a tear she’d missed with his thumb. ‘That’s all right.’

‘And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act. So I’m making a big mess of it.’

‘You’re not making a mess of anything. And I don’t want you to act at all. I want you to be you — my straight-talking, ingenuous, exuberant Meg Lacy.’

Meg’s heart seized although she was quite sure he hadn’t meant anything by referring to her as ‘his’ Meg. ‘Oh. Well, Meg Lacy I can be.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ His smile was amused, indulgent. ‘So what does Meg Lacy want to do?’

Go back to bed with you and stay there all day. Then I want to marry you and have four of your babies.
Meg bit down on the admissions. She was quite sure Bryce didn’t want her to talk
that
straight. The thought even scared her a little. After all the years of rejecting the idea of marriage and kids, here she was embracing the concept with the last man who’d ever want it. She cleared her throat and forced herself to say something innocuous instead. ‘I want to eat. I’m starved.’

‘I thought you might be. Come on.’

They sat side by side, picking food off the tray Bryce had prepared and talking quietly about neutral things — like the dining-room furniture and what to do with it. The table and chairs had an antique look about them but Bryce told her his mother had bought them new sometime in the 1980s. ‘I have no sentimental attachment to the furniture. I don’t know why I’ve resisted replacing it all this time.’

‘Bryce, it’s the furniture that was here when your parents were. Of course it’s sentimental for you.’ She touched a hand to his leg, her heart going soft because he was so adorably clueless at times. ‘If you want to keep it, you should.’

He covered her hand with his. ‘No. It’s about time I made this place my own. For the last ten years it’s been nothing more than a shrine to the life my parents built. They’re gone, but I’m here.’ His expression lightened as he made his decision. He smiled at her. ‘Do you want to pick out furniture with me today?’

‘Do I ever!’ He laughed at her enthusiasm, appearing more relaxed and happy than she’d ever seen him. Meg liked to think that was at least in part her doing, and she knew she was glowing as she finished off her triangle of toast and washed it down with some juice. ‘When do you want to get started?’

‘I have no idea what time department stores open on a Sunday.’

‘Usually at ten.’ She ought to know, she used to work in one. It was little more than a month ago but it seemed like a lifetime to Meg now.

‘Hmm. Not for at least an hour then.’

There was something in his voice that made hot tingles chase themselves all over Meg’s skin. She turned to find him gazing at her with that hungry look in his eyes she recognised from last night. ‘Not for
at least
an hour.’ She blushed furiously at her own audacity. ‘Was there something you wanted to do while we wait?’

His response wasn’t in English — it was more like the growl of an untamed animal. Meg shivered in delight as Bryce pulled her in for a hot, ardent kiss. He coaxed her lips open and possessed her mouth, his desires clear in the act. Meg’s body responded with enthusiasm and she clutched a handful of his shirt in her hand to steady herself.

When he pulled back his breathing was laboured and so was Meg’s. But there was concern, caution, in his voice. ‘If it’s too much for you, I don’t —’

Meg silenced him with another kiss, surprising herself with her own boldness as she slipped her tongue along the line of his lower lip. Bryce groaned and eased her back onto the couch, covering her with his body, infusing her with his passion as the kiss went on and on and Meg writhed and arched in blatant response.

Well, he’d said he wanted her exuberant.
You ask, you get Bryce Carlton. Because I’m head over heels for you, you know that?

Meg kept the thoughts to herself, closing her eyes on the pleasure as Bryce began unbuttoning her shirt, trailing kisses along her sensitive flesh, inflaming it.

They didn’t get to the nearest department store until after eleven, as it turned out.