Chapter 29
Megan might have been at her wit’s end with Sullivan and might want to divorce him, but she wasn’t one to play fast and loose with her own well–being. Especially not when her stomach was growling louder than a dog in a thunderstorm.
The fish soup was both fragrant and tender, and after gulping down a bowlful, Megan felt a comforting warmth spread through her.
By the floor–to–ceiling windows, Sullivan leaned casually against the wall.
Twilight seeped through the panes, casting his chiseled profile in a soft light, accentuating his strong features. With his neat hair and tailored clothes, he looked every inch the man who knew his worth.
He’d lit a cigarette but hadn’t taken a drag, just let the smoke waft away into the evening breeze outside the window
The bedroom air was tinged with the faintest hint of nicotine that melded seamlessly with Sullivan’s own scent.
Once Megan had finished the soup, Sullivan stubbed out his cigarette and turned to her. “Grandma called. She wants us to drop by. What do you say?”
Grandma Heloise had always been good to Megan.
Megan couldn’t bear to break the old lady’s heart, yet the truth about their marriage was bound to come out sooner or later.
She weighed her words carefully, “Sullivan, maybe you can explain things to her?”
“Explain what?”
His gaze was intense. “Tell her you want a divorce so you can’t visit? What’s the rush… afraid it’ll mess up your little plans?”
Megan couldn’t be bothered with an explanation. She stood to leave, to change and get out, but Sullivan wasn’t having any of it.
One hand captured her slender wrist.
Megan’s wrist was delicate, easily encircled by his fingers. His expression was mocking. “How about a quid pro quo, Mrs. Lowry? Twenty grand for one time sound fair?”
She couldn’t break free.
Sullivan picked up her phone, used her hand to bypass the lock, and removed himself from the blacklist. Then, he transferred $20,000
to her account.
Afterward, he couldn’t resist a dig. “You don’t make more than two grand for a night’s performance at Timothy Lawson’s
Megan replied with cool sarcasm, “And how much do you drop on Cressida’s firework shows? At least a cool million, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
In the dimming light, Sullivan looked down and asked again, a soft edge to his voice, “Megan, what’s that supposed to mean?”
Frustrated and embarrassed, Megan snapped, “Nothing! Just let go of me, Sullivan!”
But he only held on tighter. His eyes never left her, searing with an intensity that could make a woman’s legs turn to jelly. After a tense moment, he pulled her in closer, almost forcing her against his chest. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heart.
The scent of his aftershave lingered, tantalizingly close to her ear.
His words were laced with provocation. “So tell me, what would be interesting to you?”
It seemed like a question, but Sullivan didn’t seem to want an answer because, in the next instant, his hands were deftly unbuckling his belt and then unfastening his pants….
Megan was momentarily stunned. Her soft lips were captured by his, and Sullivan, holding her waist, stumbled back onto the couch.
He kissed her with urgency, his hands guiding her to discover the fervor of a man in his boldest moments. Sullivan’s breaths were unrestrained, his forehead against hers, his nose brushing lightly against her skin, the flesh–to–flesh contact sparking a primal desire.
This encounter was unexpected and unanticipated by both.
In that moment, Sullivan couldn’t think, all he wanted was to kiss her passionately, to engage in the most intimate of dances Somewhere deep down, he knew it wasn’t just about lust; there was something more.
For the first time, he felt something different for Megan.
He wanted to see her beneath him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
He wanted to hear the sounds she made just for him.
His hot kisses lingered at her ear, his voice husky and laden with desire, tantalizing beyond measure. “Let me have you!”
