Waking Up Married. Mira Lyn Kelly

right then, he was seeing her again.

      “Connor!”

      His eyes met hers, completely unrepentant. “Man, I love it when you get my name right.”

      “Wait...what?”

      “Say it again for me.”

      “Okay,” she swallowed. “I believe you. You’re probably not gay.”

      “Mmm. So sure?” he needled.

      Make that definitely not. Like they definitely should have steered clear of the topic of sex altogether. Because having touched on it, now those hard-to-read eyes of his weren’t so hard to read at all. They were filled with a possessive sort of predatory heat...directed at her.

      “I could convince you. Spend the next hour or two making my argument.” Leaning into her space, he added, “I’m a pretty compelling guy when I set my mind to it.”

      “Connor,” she warned, trying not to give in to the laugh threatening to escape. She should be horrified. Traumatized. So why was it, in the aftermath of the worst decision of her life, this man’s totally inappropriate taunts and teasing were somehow making her feel safe.

      As if he’d sensed the ease in her tension, something changed in the man before her. The joking and pretense were set aside. Connor was completely serious, and her soul-deep awareness of his shift in mood was more disconcerting than waking up next to a stranger had been.

      “Megan, the reason we didn’t have sex last night was because you went from laughing and sexy and totally in the moment to not feeling so great. So instead of taking you to bed, I put you there. Simple.”

      Simple. Somehow it didn’t feel that way.

      He took her hand. “I should have realized how much you’d had to drink. I should have stopped us earlier.”

      “I’m a big girl with better sense than this. I should have stopped myself. Obviously.” She drew a slow breath and pressed the heels of her hands against the dull throb at her temples. “Look at where it got me.”

      “Married.” Connor’s warm palm cupped her cheek as he searched her eyes, his elusive smile nowhere to be found. “To a man who’s about as perfect an alternative to your plan as you can get. And you don’t even remember why.”

      “But you do?” she asked, the quiet words sounding too sincere for the sarcastic tone she’d intended.

      Suddenly she wanted that only-half-the-story smirk back, because this straightforward intensity she could actually feel thrumming through the air between them, pulsing against her skin as if it was trying to get inside, was too much to bear.

      He was a stranger. Only, this stranger was looking into her eyes as if he knew exactly who she was.

      “More every minute.”