HE WAS SCREWED.
He’d had a lot of sex with a lot of different women. He didn’t see any shame in that, because he’d always been up-front with his partners about what he could—and couldn’t—give.
What he’d just experienced with Meg had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. He remembered it with crystal clarity—he’d wandered into the Marchande family garage to offer Jo a job, and there she’d been. She’d only been wearing a bra and a pair of faded overalls—none of the fancy clothes she loved. There had been no makeup on her face. She’d been surrounded by her sisters, and yet he hadn’t been able to look at anyone but her.
She’d looked right back. He’d thought that when they got together, any attraction they succumbed to would burn itself out, then be something they could exchange glances over at any future encounters.
He’d been stupid. Having Meg made him think of the tasting menus she put together for clients. So many different flavors. He could eat and eat, stuffing himself and never have his fill.
He had... He had feelings.
He was also leaving. Usually, that was appealing—moving on, a clean slate, a fresh start.
Right now, all he could think of was the fact that when she’d surrendered to him, something had clicked into place. Something that neatly filled all the empty places he ignored.
Pulling her against his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have any answers, but right now, just having her in his arms was enough.
Except she wasn’t all warm and pliant like she’d been just a few minutes ago. She was stiff. Tense.
“What’s wrong?” Pulling back enough that he could see her face, he took in her pale skin, her wide eyes. “Hey. Talk to me.”
She sighed, squirmed with avoidance, then huffed out a breath of exasperation and finally spoke.
“My dad died when I was twelve.” She eyed him warily, and he knew she was searching for signs that he didn’t care, that stories about her past weren’t what he was here for.
He was here for everything, so he nodded for her to continue.
“Mamesie was a stay-at-home mom when it happened, and suddenly, she was responsible for four kids and a house.” Meg’s chin quivered. “I was the oldest, so a lot of responsibility fell to me. I’m the normal kid. The one who doesn’t create any trouble.”
“The one who doesn’t cry?” He traced a fingertip belong one of her eyes. It came away wet. “There’s no shame in crying.”
“Except that I don’t know why I am!” Placing both hands on his chest, she pushed back until there was a ribbon of space between them. He wanted to close it back up but understood that she needed it. “I’m just... I’m not used to having my needs made a priority. It brought out some stuff.”
“Hey.” Placing a finger under her chin, he tilted it up so she had no choice but to look at him full on. “I thought part of what you wanted from me was some care. Isn’t that part of our deal?”
She eyed him uncertainly but didn’t speak.
“Let me provide it.” Swiping under her other eye, he lifted his fingers to show her the wetness. “And let’s start with this. While you’re with me, you are mine. That means these tears are mine. If they’re in you, you’d better let them out so that I can have them. Understood?”
Meg laughed, then sniffed. He couldn’t lie; he was more than a bit relieved that she hadn’t burst into tears. He wasn’t one of those men who panicked at the sight of a crying woman, but he didn’t want Meg to cry. He wanted her to feel like what she was—the queen of the world.
“Orgasms. Therapy.” The corner of her mouth crooked up in a half smile. “You’re a man of many talents.”
“Oh, I’m very talented.” He smirked down at her, sliding his hand around to cup her bottom. “Let me show you.”
“Take a cold shower there, Romeo.” Pulling herself to a sitting position, Meg looked down at him with those big blue eyes, which were now, thankfully, dry. “I have to be up at four to make muffins.”
“I like muffins.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sure you don’t want to see more of my talents?”
“I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, then looked at him thoughtfully. “Though since you’ve shown me yours, I suppose it’s only fair that I show you mine.”
“I like this game.” He sat up as well, laughing when she ducked out of reach of his roaming hands.
“Stop that.” She arched an eyebrow. When he stilled, she took one of his hands in hers. Turning it over so that the palm faced up, she traced a finger over the lines that creased his skin.
He watched, saying nothing.
“Mamesie learned to read palms when she was just a kid,” she started, and the touch of her fingers tickled his skin. “She taught all of us girls, but I took to it the most.”
“This is one of your talents?”
“Yup.” She squinted at his palm, and he felt an unexpected trickle of nerves. “I don’t tell most people about it, because they’re skeptical. But since you shared with me, I’m going to share with you.”
“Huh.” She continued to study his palm, where the skin was lighter than it was on the rest of his body.
“Huh?” He was unexpectedly nervous. That was weird. “What’s huh?”
“See this line here?” She traced a finger over the line that curved near the base of his fingers. He nodded, and she continued, “See here, how it branches into two? That’s weird. Like... I’ve never seen that before, and Mamesie never mentioned it as a possibility. I’ve heard of the life line splitting, but never the heart line.”
“What does it mean?” In the dim light, her pale eyes glowed, looking almost otherworldly. He would believe whatever she told him.
She pondered for a moment before speaking. “I don’t know for sure. But my instincts tell me that it means you believed in one direction for your heart, and only one, that you thought would last you for your entire life. And then the branching off indicates that your feelings on matters of the heart have changed, or will change, at some point.”
That was scarily accurate. His feelings had changed...when he met her.
She frowned down at his palm, then looked up, faltering when she saw the intensity on his face.
“I do need to be going.” Dropping his hand, she shimmied to the edge of the bed. He loved that she didn’t hold a sheet to her skin like a life preserver. Instead, she walked naked around the room, collecting her clothing without a shred of embarrassment.
He focused on the view, rather than the words she’d just flayed him open with. Her confidence was hot.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” He knew by now that he was never going to get his fill of her before he left, but he was greedy and wanted as much as he could.
“No can do.” He appreciated the bounce of her breasts as she shimmied into her bra. “I have a girls’ night with Amy tomorrow night, and a family dinner the night after.”
“I like your mom’s cooking.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think them through.
Dinners with Meg’s family were one thing when he and Meg were just friends. They were something else entirely now that they were involved.
It didn’t matter. He still desperately wanted to attend.
She studied him curiously, as though she was meeting him for the first time. When she finally spoke, it was just to say one word.
“Okay.”