Divine Design (10 page)

By the time they reached a cozy French restaurant on East 52nd Street, it was nearly eleven. After four months of eating at regular intervals, Meghan’s stomach was now protesting angrily. It burned furiously and played nasty little tricks on her mind. When at last Meghan was handed a menu, she was sure her stomach had deserted her and left in its place a tremendous cavern.

She ordered enough food to keep herself alive for another week. The first half she ate feverishly, then she tapered off enough to join Michael in dinner conversation.

“Do you always eat like that?” Michael asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well, no,” she admitted sheepishly. “It’s just that I had an early lunch today, and we didn’t get here until late. I’m just very hungry,” she explained, then added, “If I’d known about your surprise, I’d have had a snack earlier.”

“Half a side of beef?” Michael guessed.

She gave him a sassy smirk. “Don’t be silly. I probably would have eaten only a couple of bananas and a watermelon.”

They laughed heartily. Still smiling at her, he pronounced, “Mary Meghan Shay, you’re a nice person. I like you.”

Their gazes met and held. They studied each other intently, one with thrilled amazement at the man she’d thought would never walk into her life, the other plagued with questions about the woman who haunted his mind and soul, and set his emotions on fire.

With a quizzical frown and narrowed eyes, Michael tilted his head slightly to one side and quietly asked, “What the hell were you doing that night?”

Meghan’s constant companions, humiliation and remorse, were there in her eyes as Michael watched her. And she knew she had earned what was coming.

She laid her fork and knife down on her plate and placed both of her trembling hands in her lap. At least her body responded when she begged it to close out the confusion and regret in Michael’s eyes. Her eyes lowered to look at her hands as she waited for him to speak again.

With infinite gentleness he went on, “I don’t want to hurt you, darlin’, I’m just trying to understand. I most certainly don’t regret that it happened, but I need to know why it did.”

He sighed with frustration and restlessly ran a hand through his hair, then decided to start at the beginning.

“When I first woke up and there wasn’t even the slightest trace that you’d been there, I thought maybe you’d been a fantastic dream. But bits and pieces came back to me to convince me you were real.

“When you hadn’t returned by the time I had to leave for Texas, I decided that you were just some sort of frustrated woman who got her kicks seducing men in bars.

“For weeks I roamed around Dallas thinking about you. I couldn’t get you off my mind. It was like something astronomical had occurred in my life, and I didn’t even know what it was or why it happened. It drove me crazy. I sounded out my brother and my friends thinking they might have hired you as a lark. I even started checking the mail for blackmail pictures,” he said, the exasperation still alive in his voice.

“Hiring the investigator was a spur-of-the-moment idea that came to me while I was talking to Henry about representing me in the Dobson purchase. When I decided to put Macklin on what I thought was your trail, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to see you again. I just had this panicky feeling that I had to at least know you were all right, that nothing had happened to you, that you were doing whatever you did normally. It was like an obsession.” He laughed wryly and told her, “It boggles my mind to think that all the time you were sitting right down the hall from Henry Alderman.”

Meghan said nothing. What could she say? That she systematically picked him out of a crowd, seduced him, and made him the father of her baby without his consent?

“What was it? A practical joke? An experiment? Some sort of test?” he asked softly without anger or malice in his voice. “I suspect the night served some purpose, because I have the distinct impression that it’s not something you’d do under normal circumstances.”

Meghan’s head came up. She quizzed him with her eyes. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t think she was a crazed nymphomaniac. But if she told him the truth, he would think even worse of her. He’d never understand how much she wanted her baby. She couldn’t begin to describe the burning need she felt.

Meghan’s greatest problem in having expressive eyes was that they told everything she was thinking, good or bad. Michael could see her struggling with her emotions, but it was hard to see past the barriers she had erected between the two of them. He wanted desperately to help. She had some powerful force compelling her to keep quiet when it was obvious to him that she wanted to tell all. She looked so despondent and miserable.

“Tell me, Meghan,” he murmured softly.

“I wish I could, Michael. I wish it had been a joke or a test or something I could explain. But I have no excuse for what I did,” she said sincerely. At least half-truths were better than lies … or the whole truth. “All I can do is call it a really rotten thing to have done to you and beg your forgiveness.”

He leaned back in his chair and examined her closely. She was still hiding the real reason, and he had a sinking feeling that she’d take it to her grave, but he couldn’t resist one last try.

“You mean you saw me sitting there and you just suddenly went crazy and decided to have a night of wild, passionate sex with me?” he asked disbelievingly.

She mulled his question over for a second, then nodded. “In a way it was like that,” she said honestly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t regret what happened that night, only that you got so involved. I need you to believe I didn’t set out to hurt you or make you worry. I just assumed you’d enjoy yourself and leave town and not give it another thought. I … I’ll never be able to compensate you for all the grief I’ve caused, but I am most truly sorry,” she finished, as the ring of truth in her words pealed loud and clear.

Michael expelled a resigned sigh, and came forward in his seat again. He took Meghan’s soft, white hand in his big brown one and was not surprised to find it trembling.

“I believe you, Meghan. I’m aware that there’s more to this story than you can bring yourself to tell me, but it’s okay. Maybe someday …” He shrugged. “Let’s just go on from here, shall we?”

Meghan nodded and whispered a heartfelt “Thank you.” Warm gratitude brought a low flame of life back into her eyes, but Michael could tell she was still on very shaky ground.

“So. Tell me, when did your family move from Boston to New York?” he asked, changing the subject as if they’d just been discussing the weather. He picked up his fork to resume eating and give Meghan a chance to compose herself.

His change in strategy was apparently too fast for her, because she gave him a startled look and squeaked, “What?”

“You said you grew up in Boston. You didn’t come to New York with your family?” he asked.

“No. No, I didn’t.” She struggled to regain her calm, grateful for his sensitivity. “I came to New York fresh out of law school. My family still lives in Boston.”

“What does your father do?” he asked politely.

“He owns a pub,” she informed him, aware that his own father was an oil baron and wondering if it mattered to Michael that they weren’t from the same social class. It had never mattered to her before.

“So you do know what a drink is,” he teased, referring to the night of their aborted date.

“Well, I know a decent one would never be made with oyster juice.” She grinned.

They finished the evening talking about their childhoods and respective brothers. Michael’s brother, Kevin, was six years younger than he. When Michael had decided to set out on his own, his parents had been disappointed but encouraging. They had hoped he’d take over the family business. Luckily, Kevin showed a great interest in the company and was now his father’s right-hand man and heir apparent. Michael grinned playfully as he stated how things had a way of working out for the best, and then winked at her.

Meghan told Michael about her brothers in return. The oldest was Donald. She loved him, but he teased her horribly and sometimes not too playfully. She thought maybe he was a little envious of her, of what she’d done with her life. As children, he had always been her adversary, pointing out her misdeeds to her father, then setting her up to commit more when things got too quiet. Later the relationship only changed to a more subtle degree. He had taken a perverse joy in pretending to be overly protective of her and chasing away her boyfriends.

Now, Conrad, or Connie for short, she spoke highly of. Eighteen months older than she, they were not only close in age, but in spirit. He was truly her friend and protector and most trusted counsel. When he was old enough to place himself as a buffer between her and Donald, he had done so courageously, as Donald was four years older and much bigger. Many were the consequences Connie had taken for his love of Meghan, and she was totally devoted to him.

“Actually,” she began to confess, as they entered the elevator in her apartment building, “I harbored dreams of growing up and marrying Connie. And when Pop got old, we’d take him and move to California and leave Donald all alone,” she finished.

“Why California?” he asked with amusement. He could almost see her as a gangly red-headed little girl, full of trouble. He pictured a real spitfire, who skulked around and plotted the destruction of the nefarious Donald.

“California was about as far as I’d gotten in my geography lessons,” she said, grinning.

They walked the short distance to her door, and while she fished around in her bag for her keys, he asked, “What made you decide not to marry Connie?”

She giggled. “Well, as you know, society frowns on that sort of thing, or I might have. I had to settle for looking for his best qualities in someone else.”

“And have you found many such virtuous men?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.

“A few,” she said, unlocking her door.

“And how do I fare?”

Meghan looked up into his face. She saw a hungry longing in his eyes and was thrilled by it. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs while a current of tingling sensations shot through her.

He was a lot like Connie. He was good and kind, understanding and patient, witty, and yes, forgiving and accepting. But the feelings she had toward him were of a far more sexual nature. Remembering the feel of his arms about her and the touch of his lips on hers made her knees go suddenly weak. Leaning on her door for support, she smiled stunningly and assured him, “You fare very well.”

He smirked as his arms reached out to pull her close.

“Good. Then the feelings are mutual,’ he murmured as his head lowered to stamp his seal of approval on her lips.

His kiss was warm and exploring. Meghan moaned her pleasure when she realized it wasn’t going to be just a good-night peck. She raised her arms, circling them around his neck and playing with the soft half curls at his nape, as she joined in enthusiastically.

Their ardor increased, consuming them both, and when at last they parted, they were both breathless and tense with desire.

“Let’s go inside,” Michael whispered in a hoarse drawl.

“Not tonight, Michael,” she said, and in response to his sidelong look, she pleaded, “I … Let’s do it right this time.”

He studied her for several seconds. The fear was back. He wouldn’t push her, not until she could trust him enough to let their relationship progress. He sighed. “Okay, darlin’. But I think you should know I feel very right about this already.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said with a chuckle.

“Don’t get cute, Meghan. I’m only human,” he said with pride.

H
E CALLED HER
again at the office early the next day.

“How about lunch?” he offered, his voice cheerful and confident.

“Fine,” she agreed, lunch sounding considerably safer than another dinner. “Where?”

“I’ll come for you about one, and you can pick the place.”

“Harper’s is nice for lunch, but I’ll have to meet you. I have an appointment with the Dobsons’ lawyers this morning,” she informed him. “This is such a dull business sometimes,” she complained. “Especially when I get cases like yours. I make my demands, they say okay, and it’s over. There’s just no meat to the deal.”

“You like to dicker and get down on the floor and battle it out, I take it?” He sounded amused.

“It is what redheads do best, you know.”

“I’ll remember that.” He chuckled.

Lunch was pleasant. They talked and laughed like old friends. Meghan found she could indeed relax and enjoy his company. There was a lot about him to enjoy. He had a tranquil charm and easy wit that influenced her to let down her guard.

It wasn’t until he asked to see her again in the evening, his gray eyes overly warm, overly friendly, and just a tad too assuming, that she became wary once more.

She felt like a fool not to have seen it coming. Michael thought he had his foot in her door and that things were going to progress nicely from here on. He was building plans and hopes on a future that was going to last only another ten days. Worse yet, she envied his ignorance. She would have given up everything but her baby if she could make it all right again. If she’d waited five more months, Michael would have walked into her office and they could have fallen in love under normal circumstances.

Love? Was she falling in love with Michael Ramsey? Morbidly, she wondered which would get her first—would she ultimately die of guilt or a broken heart?

“Is that dazed expression on your face a yes or a no?” Michael broke in on her unhappy thoughts.

Meghan scrutinized him for several seconds before she could answer. She took in the strength and character in his face, the trust in his eyes, and the good-natured smile on his lips. Michael thought the whole world was right side up, and Meghan abhorred the idea of telling him it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I have a couple of big cases coming up before the holidays, and they both still need a lot of firming up,” she said, knowing the work would be twice as difficult now with more than half her mind concentrating on Michael.