Waking Up Married. Mira Lyn Kelly

the echoing spray of the shower drowned all other sound. Piecing together the events, revelations and resolutions of the night before. Trying to reconcile them with the here and now of the morning.

      Megan wanted a lawyer.

      It had been the only definitive statement she’d made regarding their marriage in those few chaotic moments they’d spent ensconced in their marble-and-brass hideaway. Granted, she was probably as hazy on the finer points of the night as he was, but something possessive inside him was growling in outrage at the thought.

      She was his wife.

      She’d married him. And not on some lark either, but because she’d recognized the potential between them, same as him.

      So yeah, the alcohol may have played into the immediacy of his actions. But with every passing minute, the details of those critical hours they’d spent together and the woman he’d married sharpened in his mind, reaffirming his confidence in the decision to strike while the iron was hot.

      And no, the irony wasn’t lost on him that after his patient, methodical approach to finding a wife had failed with Caro—Megan had just dropped into his lap. Sure, sure, he’d had to sell her on the idea once he’d seen the sense in it. But he was a man with a knack for identifying opportunity and the skills to convey the benefits of said opportunity to others. He could size up a situation and break down the key factors, without waiting for the proverbial knock at his door or encyclopedic pitch most people required prior to taking action. And what he’d seen in Megan told him she was the kind of opportunity he shouldn’t kick out of his bed for eating crackers— or, more specifically, downing half Nevada’s monthly import of vanilla vodka in one night.

      Their agendas were simply too well aligned to ignore. The timing too right. The practical approach too perfect. And she’d been like-minded enough to see it and agree.

      Megan fit him to a T, so he wasn’t prepared to admit he’d made a mistake. Not yet anyway. Though he supposed the next few minutes would be fairly telling on that count. A bout of hysterics, for instance, would most definitely have him reconsidering his stance.

      The lock released with a loud click and Connor steeled his gut for what came next. Only, somehow the sight of Megan, towel dried, freshly scrubbed and swimming in a thick, oatmeal robe as she tentatively pushed a damp tendril from her brow, was something he had no defense against.

      She was beautiful.

      And the steady way she met his eyes proved she wasn’t a meltdown in progress. Though taking the rest of her body language into account—the crossed arms, one hand securing the overlap of panels high at her neck and the other wrapped tight around her waist—suggested she wasn’t quite ready to pick up where they’d left off the night before. She looked cautious. Alert. And cool.

      She looked strong, and it had his pulse jacking as much as the sight of those sexy little pink toenails peeking out from beneath the hem of her oversize robe.

      “Feeling better?” he asked, planting a shoulder against the sliding door rather than giving in to the urge to get closer. He wanted her comfortable. As quickly as he could make it happen.

      “Yes, thank you.” Clearing her throat quietly, she glanced briefly around before returning her attention to him. “I needed that. Needed a few minutes to get my thoughts together. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting out here, though.”

      Conscientious. Nice. “Not a problem. It’s been an interesting morning, and it started off a little faster than I think either one of us expected.”

      Her brows lifted as she drew a long breath. “It did, but considering our situation, that’s probably for the best. We’ve got a lot to cover in a short time.”

      And then before he had a chance to ask, that steady gaze filled with purpose and her thumb popped up like a bullet point as she began.

      “So, we’ll both need a lawyer to navigate the legalities involved in granting an annulment. But I’d be willing to bet the front desk has at least some cursory information available about the process, this being Vegas and all. I’ll ask when I run down to make copies of whatever documentation we got from the...chapel?”

      Connor offered a short nod, his frown deepening as she ticked off to-dos with her fingers.

      Independent. He admired it...but she was working in the wrong direction. Megan had made it to four before he’d pushed off the wall and caught her slender hand in his own. “Hey, slow down a second.”

      Her breath caught and her eyes went wide. “The fourth was this,” she said, her voice coming quieter as she wiggled the offending digit in his grasp. “Your ring. I was afraid to take it off until I could give it back to you.”

      Connor’s brow furrowed as she began to slide the platinum-and-diamond-set band free.

      “Wait. Let me look at it on your hand.”

      Her gaze lifted to his, questioning and wary.

      “It looks good on you.” Worth every considerable grand he’d sunk into it the night before.

      Megan nodded, the corner of her mouth curving in quiet appreciation. “The most stunning ring I’ve ever seen. I wish I could remember more than how incredibly it sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights in the wedding-chapel bathroom.”

      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