Ready-Made Bride

CHAPTER NINE

KANE sat on the living room couch, the light from the lamp reflecting off the glossy color pages of the hardbound book Megan had given him as a wedding gift.

He couldn’t sleep, despite it being past two in the morning. His body was satiated from making love with Megan, but emotionally, he experienced a restlessness he couldn’t shake. And while prowling around the house, he’d been inexplicably drawn to the woodworking book he’d avoided since the day he’d been given the gift. Alone, without someone watching his every reaction, without fearing some question that would be related to the text in the book, he was free to absorb and analyze the illustrations. He was determined to create one of the designs without a pattern, just to prove to himself that he could. Another challenge in a lifetime of frustrating obstacles.

After a while the pictures in front of him blurred as his mind drifted to the woman he’d left in his bed. A woman who was getting under his skin and making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. A woman who had the ability to infuriate him and provoke him. With just a simple look or touch she chased away the loneliness that had been his constant companion for so long. How could that be when he’d vowed never to open himself to another woman that way?

Nearly a week had passed since the joint checking account debacle. He’d been a jerk about the situation, but fortunately for him, Megan was easy to distract with kisses and caresses, and she was quick to forgive. He liked that about her. He liked her smiles and teasing and his name on her lips when he slid deep inside her. He only wished he could be more for her.

What he didn’t like were the changes she was making to his home, no matter how subtle the transformations. Finding his clothes in different drawers and discovering bathroom supplies reorganized was enough to give him an anxiety attack. So far, the worst that had happened was she’d cleaned out his medicine cabinet in the bathroom, rearranged his toiletries on one shelf and added her feminine products, most of which he didn’t recognize by box or container.

The variety of stuff she used had overwhelmed him. His needs in that department were simple-shaving cream, deodorant and toothpaste. He found himself snooping when he was alone, opening bottles that looked like perfume and sniffing the contents, spraying cans of stuff that smelled like hair spray and deodorant, testing jars and tubes of creams for future reference.

As if his thoughts had conjured her, she padded toward him, sleep-tousled and wearing the shirt he’d worn that evening. Their eyes met, and something passed between them. Not a sexual charge, but something infinitely more intimate. An emotion so intense and deep it tugged on his soul. And scared the hell out of him, because whatever the emotion was, he wanted to experience it with her.

Closing the book, he straightened. “What are you doing up?”

She smiled sleepily. “I could ask you the same thing, but I think the answer is obvious.”

“It is?” Could she detect his innermost thoughts, feelings and fears?

“Neither of us can sleep,” she said, stating the obvious. Sinking onto the cushion beside him, she curled her bare legs beneath her and snuggled up to his side. “I’m glad to see you like your book. I wasn’t sure if you did or not.”

He gently brushed unruly strands of hair from her cheek. “Didn’t I thank you properly?”

“Yes, very thoroughly, but you just seemed so…” She shrugged, as if the right word eluded her.

He didn’t want her to finish that, knowing he’d made love to her that morning as much to distract her as to forget the confusing, conflicting emotions raging inside him. “It’s the nicest gift I’ve ever received.” That much was the truth. No one had ever given him something with so much thought and care behind the gesture.

She smiled radiantly. “I’m glad, because you deserve it.”

He set the book on the coffee table, wanting to tell her he didn’t deserve something he couldn’t fully enjoy, and he didn’t deserve her caring and kindness. Coward that he was, the words remained anchored.

She moved closer until her legs pressed against his jeans-clad thigh and her head rested on his bare chest, her warm breath fanning his skin. Closing his eyes, he drew in her scent, cherishing the feel of her. A shiver passed through her, and she cuddled more fully into him.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Umm.”

“Would you like to go back to bed, or would you like me to make a fire?”

She tipped her head, giving him a sultry, upswept glance. “That’s a difficult choice, but considering we can always go to bed after a fire, having one would be nice.”

“Who says we have to go back to bed at all when we have a perfectly good couch out here?” he said, leaving her to build a fire.

“Did you make this china hutch?”

Kane glanced over his shoulder to the far side of the room where Megan stood. He hadn’t heard her get up from the couch, and he had no idea why she’d care if he’d made that hutch, unless… “Does it look handmade?”

“Not especially.” She examined the top piece, made of pine and beveled glass doors, then bent, tracing her fingers along the scrolled grooves he’d carved into the bottom casing. “It’s beautifully crafted, not something that looks like it’s been manufactured in an assembly line at some furniture factory.”

Her compliment stroked his ego just enough to make him admit the truth. “I made that for mine and Cathy’s first wedding anniversary.”

She straightened, her gaze curious. “How come it’s empty?”

He dropped another log on the licking flames. “Cathy wanted a matching dinette set, which I never got around to making.” I don’t want mismatched furniture that doesn’t have a brand name, Kane. It makes it look like we buy our furniture from garage sales. After Cathy’s comment, he’d lost the inspiration to complete the set.

“This piece is beautiful all by itself.”

Only an extraordinary woman like Megan would think so, he thought, prodding a burning log with the steel poker. He wondered if she’d be so impressed with his talent if he told her he was illiterate, that he was self-taught and most likely put things together backward and somehow managed to get it right.

“I have some china and crystal that I haven’t unpacked yet. Would you mind if I put them in here?”

He shrugged and placed the poker on its hook, then adjusted the screen. “If you really want to.”

“Of course I want to.” She crossed the room and sat on her knees next to him. “Quit being so modest, Kane.”

He settled his back against the couch, thinking modesty had nothing to do with it. ‘I’m sure you’d prefer something better and fancier.”

She crawled over to him, looking like a sleek cat The firelight spun gold into her hair and made her eyes sparkle like sapphires. “The hutch is perfect. Elegant and understated,” she said, kneeling between his legs, her face inches from his. “I don’t like fancy.”

Her sass made him grin. The hands she placed on his thighs caused his body to respond accordingly. He held his desire in check. “All women like nice things.”

“Hmm. Depends on your definition of nice.” Her eyes drifted closed, and she skimmed her hands over his hips and his belly, blazing her own brand of fire all the way up his chest and around his neck. “This,” she whispered, her lips nuzzling his, “is nice.”

Groaning, he tumbled her across his lap and into his arms. He plunged his fingers into her hair, his pulse picking up its beat, matching the rhythm of hers. “Yeah, this is real nice.”

He kissed her, long and slow, in no hurry to end the lazy, playful intimacy they shared. Finally, he lifted his mouth, satisfied with the dreamy quality of Megan’s expression.

She sighed contentedly and settled herself so her bottom nestled into the crux of his thighs. He wrapped his arms around her waist, propped his chin on her shoulder and stared at the bright, crackling fire.

She slid her hands over his and twined their fingers together over her belly. “Have you ever thought about selling your work?”

Too many times to count, but selling required paperwork, which isn’t something I have a knack for. “Who would buy it?”

“I would.”

Her unconditional confidence in him made him almost believe in himself. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in the softness of her neck, absorbing her warmth and gentleness in its purest sense. “You’re my wife. You’re supposed to feel that way.”

She turned in his arms until she could look at him. “I’m not biased.” She feigned an indignant look, the laughter dancing in her gaze a dead giveaway. Then she grew serious. “I’d bet, if you tried, you could find a place in the city where you could sell your furniture and toys on consignment.”

He gave his head a firm shake. Consignment equaled paperwork and filling out invoices. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” she persisted. “You have the ability to make a living doing what you love. Your workmanship is proof that you have an incredible talent and knack for creating beautiful things.”

The trust and certainty in her expression twisted Kane’s stomach into a knot. She was so completely open and honest with him, and he’d never given her anything but a tangled mess of lies and deceit, even if they were unspoken ones. Deception and bluffing had never bothered him much before, so why was he having an attack of conscience now? Because she put so much faith in him, and he didn’t deserve even a sliver of it. When it came down to stripping off the facade, he didn’t have the guts to do it and risk the painful repercussions.

Reflexively, he tightened his arms around her. “It’s just a hobby, Megan. Nothing more.”

“You know, writing was once my hobby.”

He welcomed the change in subject. “You didn’t always write?”

“Well, yes…kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I didn’t start out as a professional writer, but I always wrote in a journal, if that counts for anything. I’m a legal secretary by trade. I started writing after my divorce. Being a published writer was always a distant dream, but I wanted to be a children’s writer so badly that I made the dream come true. It took a lot of hard work and rejections from many publishers, but I finally got an offer and a series of my own. And I couldn’t be happier with my choice.” She smiled softly, encouragingly. “I believe in you, Kane. But you have to believe in yourself before you can believe in your work.”

“You make it sound so easy.” He wanted it to be that easy.

“It is. I believe in your talent and ability.”

He wished that was enough. “Yeah, well, I’m not one to take chances.” The odds were against him.

She lifted her fingers to the stubble covering his jaw, her touch light and reverent. “You took a chance with me.”

His throat jammed with a hundred different emotions he couldn’t define. Stealing an opportunity to end their conversation and make him forget, for a little while, what he’d never have, he slid a hand down her back and maneuvered her gently to the floor, easing his body over the length of hers.

“You, if I recall correctly, Mrs. Fielding,” he murmured, dipping his head to plant teasing kisses on her lips, “were a sure thing.”

“Kane, could I see you in my office, please?”

Jeff’s request put Kane instantly on guard, especially since Jeff had never summoned him to his office in the year and a half he’d been in charge of the mill. He wondered what was wrong.

Kane picked up a freshly cut board and placed it on the pile behind him. “Be right there, boss.”

Five minutes later Kane walked into Jeff’s office. He removed his leather gloves, tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans and approached the steel desk where his boss sat.

Jeff looked up from a file spread open in front of him. “Have a seat, Kane.”

Lowering himself to one of the Naugahyde chairs, he tried to relax his suddenly tense body. “Is there a problem?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes, there is.” Jeff ruffled through the papers in the file and pulled one out. “I know I’ve only been in charge of the mill the last couple of years since my father died, and it’s taken me a while to get up to speed on everyone. I’ve been reviewing your employee file and I’ve noticed you’ve topped your wages in your position.”

Kane’s jaw tightened. “I’m satisfied with my wages.”

Jeff eyed him steadily, making Kane uncomfortable. “You’ve passed up numerous promotions.”

“I’m satisfied where I’m at.”

An odd look passed over Jeff’s features. Then he went on, either not having heard how satisfied Kane was or purposely dismissing his claim. “Roy Peters just gave me two weeks notice. He’s moving to California. There’s a position open in purchasing, and I’d like to offer it to you.”

“No.” Kane’s answer was quick and instinctive.

“There would be a considerable salary increase-”

“No.”

“You’re perfect for the job, Kane,” Jeff argued. “You know this mill inside and out-”

Kane’s hands curled into tight fists on his thighs. He experienced a strange sense of déjà vu and couldn’t help but wonder how Megan would feel about him refusing a job promotion and salary increase. He remembered Cathy’s bitterness when he’d refused her father’s job offer and didn’t think he’d be able to stand the same rejection from Megan.

But he couldn’t accept the job, either.

He pulled in a deep breath to calm the chaos raging inside him. “Thanks for the offer, but no.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jeff regarded Kane speculatively. “Mind if I ask why?”

Kane stared at him, wondering what his boss would say if he told him the truth, that he’d be totally lost in the sea of paperwork the purchasing position required. He remained silent. His gut churned, and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

Jeff released an impatient sigh. “I need to note on your review the reason why you refused the promotion.”

“Just put personal reasons.”

When had he completely lost control of his life?

Kane scrubbed a hand over his jaw as he drove home from work, an aggravated sound rumbling from his chest. A familiar frustration flooded him, stripping away any bit of confidence he’d been feeling since his conversation with Megan about selling his woodwork. He couldn’t even accept a job promotion in an industry he’d been involved in since the age of twelve, and Megan thought he could run his own business?

Pulling into his dirt drive, he swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. Lately, he’d been feeling as though he was dodging bullets that were increasing in quantity, speed and size. The changes in his life were happening rapidly, and keeping up a pretense required all his concentration. Coping on a day-to-day basis with all the adjustments Megan was making at home was going to push him to the brink of insanity. She was pulling the rug from beneath his feet, constantly making him stumble and grope for balance.

Tired and weary, he got out of the truck, gave Andrew a halfhearted hello and wave as he played in the yard and entered the house through the kitchen. He stopped just inside the threshold, his gaze taking in yet more changes.

She must have unpacked another box of her things and done more shopping in the city. Peach frilly curtains framed the window over the sink, and a floral arrangement sat on the table, along with new matching place mats and cloth napkins at each setting.

He noticed other things, too, new appliances on the counter and dish towels that weren’t frayed around the edges. What else had she replaced in the kitchen?

Suddenly feeling irritable and edgy, he set his lunch box on the counter and opened the cupboard where he normally stored packaged and canned foods. Floral patterned plates and bowls had replaced his chipped set of dishes. And the food, he discovered as he rummaged around, was in a different cupboard. Sometime over the past three days she’d gone grocery shopping again and was slowly replacing the brands of food he recognized with her own selections.

He blew out a harsh breath and slammed the cupboard door, which did nothing to calm his escalating temper.

“Kane?”

He spun around and glared at the woman responsible for spinning his world out of control and wreaking havoc with his emotions. The day’s accumulation of stress, combined with frantic fears he couldn’t name, caused something within him to snap. “I can’t find anything in this house anymore! By the time you’re done rearranging and decorating everything, will I have anything to call my own?”

Her eyes widened at his outrage and she took a step back, confusion etching her features. He was glad for the distance his anger put between them, but he hated himself for hurting her. Damn, he didn’t know what to do or feel anymore.

“I only thought I’d add some of my stuff to the house. If it bothers you…”

Her words faded as his gaze drifted to the stack of banded letters she clutched against her chest. Prickles of apprehension raced down his spine, and his legs turned to jelly. Terror, cold and clammy, gripped him. Oh, God, no…

He started toward her and grabbed the letters, his movements rough enough to startle her. “Where did you get these?” he demanded. But he knew the answer. Knew, too, that she’d discovered more than just these unopened letters. Bile rose into his throat until he thought he might be sick.

Her gaze narrowed, as if she was trying to figure him out and analyze his radical behavior. He didn’t like her scrutiny. Not one bit. He deepened his scowl in an attempt to discourage her silent probing.

“I found them in our bedroom,” she finally said.

In his closet, buried behind other boxes and old sweaters on the top shelf. Swearing vividly, he charged past her and halted abruptly in the living room, dread squeezing his chest like a vise. The box he’d stashed so carefully in his closet was open, the contents spilling across the coffee table. Unopened letters and correspondence, his parents’ marriage and death certificates, a few pictures of his parents and sister, and most telling, Andrew’s kindergarten and first-grade workbooks.

The room spun, and he squeezed his eyes closed. Memories rushed in on him, taunting him, forcing him to remember all the nights he’d stayed up late, tracing letters and words in Andrew’s workbooks, not knowing what any of it meant.

He felt violated and too damned vulnerable. Like she’d glimpsed the deepest, darkest part of him. Slowly, he turned and looked at her. He trembled, not with rage but with a panic that caused his heart to triple its beat. “What the hell were you doing going through my personal things?”

She moved forward, the first inkling of irritation creasing her brows. “I found the box while I was cleaning.”

“You had no right to go through it.” He dumped the workbooks into the box, hating them and everything they represented. Everything he’d never have. Like his own cabinetry business. Like a promotion to purchasing that would stimulate his mind more than his boring, monotonous job of unloading logs and guiding them through scaling and cutting machines.

“I have every right.” She pulled on his shirt sleeve, hard, until he glowered at her. And wished he hadn’t, because there was so much gentleness in her gaze he wanted to purge himself of the humiliating truth. He clenched his jaw. Her irritation and anger he could deal with, but this… Damn, didn’t she realize her tenderness had the ability to bring him to his knees?

“Kane, I’m your wife,” she said, her voice a shade away from a plea, her eyes the softest shade of blue he’d ever seen. “If you can’t trust me, then we don’t have much of a marriage.”

He pulled his shirt from her grasp, ignoring her and the dull ache throbbing near the vicinity of his heart.

She dragged a shaky hand through her loose hair, then pressed her fingers to her lips, watching as he set the banded letters on the table and gathered his other possessions.

She picked up the stack, and when he tried to take it back, she stepped away, defiantly holding it out of reach. He could have sworn he saw tears shimmering in her eyes, but she blinked, and something hard and determined replaced the moisture.

“These letters are from your sister,” she said evenly. “Why haven’t you opened and read them?”

Taking the letters from her, he tossed them into the box with the rest of his personal belongings. “It’s none of your business.”

“Yes, it is my business,” she returned heatedly. “No secrets or lies, remember, Kane?”

But he did have a secret, a devastating one, and lies were the only way to keep the truth from driving her away. But wasn’t he doing that now?

“Like I said, it’s none of your business,” he said harshly. He picked up the box and walked away, muttering, “Can’t a person have a little privacy?”

He was back to avoiding her.

Sitting on the front porch swing late at night, Megan huddled into the warmth of Kane’s sheepskin jacket. Unfortunately, nothing could chase away the chill that had settled deep inside her. Three days had passed since her argument with Kane, three days since he’d touched her or talked to her other than polite, necessary daily conversation.

She stared at the barn, as she’d done the past three nights. A warm glow of light spilled out the door, and occasionally she saw her husband’s silhouette pass the window.

His withdrawal hurt, but not as much as the fact that he didn’t trust her with certain aspects of his life. Recalling his harsh words about not being able to find anything in his house anymore and not having anything to call his own since she’d added her possessions, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was already regretting their marriage and her intrusion into their lives.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed the huge lump lodged in her throat. Was she moving too fast, making too many changes when he wanted to stay in charge? He’d been alone for so many years. She never stopped to think that maybe her direct approach threatened him.

The unopened letters she’d found from his sister and his strong reaction to them and the contents of that box still puzzled her. She thought about the comment Diane had made about Kane never answering any of her letters, yet when she’d confronted Kane with that he’d gotten angry and defensive, then stalked away. And she still had no answers.

Shivering from the cold evening and an aching loneliness that wouldn’t go away, Megan leaned her head against the linked chain holding up the swing. She missed the warmth of her husband’s arms around her, hated his reserve and politeness when she’d experienced just how tender and giving he could be. He was like a stranger again, cool, distant and unapproachable.

Whatever was wrong with Kane, she wanted to make it better, but he wouldn’t let her get close enough to understand his pain or those shadows she occasionally glimpsed in his gaze. Those damned walls of his were up and secured, and she suspected if she went to him or touched him, her efforts would be rejected. As difficult as it was, she had to wait for him to come to her. Like she’d told him, without trust, they had no marriage.

Knowing tonight would be a repeat performance of the past three, with Kane remaining in his workshop until well past midnight when he assumed she was asleep, she sighed and went inside the house. She changed into a pair of old sweats, crawled into bed and snuggled beneath the covers to generate some warmth.

A shiver chased through her body and wrapped around her heart. It was going to be another long, cold, lonely night.

Megan sat in the corner of her and Kane’s bedroom where she’d set up her desk and computer for writing. Setting the first draft of her new book aside, she picked up the handmade book Andrew had created out of construction paper, colored markers and his drawings. He’d won first place with his essay book, Having a Family, and had proudly presented it to her the night before at his school’s open house. Written within the pages, with an abundance of love and care, was a young boy’s view of having a family. The only thing the story lacked was a set of smiling grandparents.

She hoped that would change after tonight’s dinner with Patricia and Harold. Guilt pricked her conscience. She hadn’t told Kane about inviting the Lindens for dinner and had no idea how he’d react. Then again, she had no idea what to expect from him, never knew when something she said or did would set him off like a time bomb.

Sighing, she put Andrew’s project on the shelf next to her desk where she could see it every day. After checking on the pot roast, carrots and potatoes slow cooking in the crock pot for dinner, she sat at her desk with a glass of iced tea, ready to immerse herself in her new book and forget about her marriage problems for a few hours.

Around one-thirty she heard Kane enter the house. Her heart raced when his booted steps echoed down the hall and into the bedroom. She didn’t turn, though every feminine molecule within her affirmed his presence with a tingling sensation. The mattress springs squeaked as he sat on the edge of the bed behind her, then there were two thumps as he removed his boots.

She closed her eyes as the silence stretched between them. Is this what they had come to? she wondered painfully. Strangers whose only similar interest was Andrew? Dammit, she wanted to end the awful tension. She knew if she didn’t say or do something now he’d disappear to his workshop for the afternoon.

She whirled her swivel chair until she faced him. He glanced up, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and shadowed, concealing his thoughts and emotions. If she reached out she could touch him. If she slid to her knees she’d be kneeling between his strong thighs. She did neither.

“How was work?” Stupid and inane, but other than demanding to know what he was hiding from, she couldn’t think of anything witty to say.

He slowly unbuttoned his blue chambray work shirt. “Same as yesterday.” His tone was flat and distant.

Manufacturing a smile, she forged on, determined to reach him. “I started a new book. It’s called Andrew’s Father Gets Married.”

The subject of her new book, which paralleled the new event in Andrew’s life, didn’t so much as cause a flicker of interest from Kane. “That’s great.”

As emotionless as he was about their conversation, they might as well have been discussing the weather. She wanted to hit him or throw something at him just to rouse some kind of solid emotion.

He shrugged out of his shirt, and her mouth went dry. Liquid desire settled low in her belly, stirring her senses to life.

She dragged her gaze up, meeting his. The heat simmering in the depths stunned her. Her pulse responded with a feathery flutter. “Would you like to read the first draft of my new book?”

A stricken look crossed his features, and his complexion went pale. He’d had the same reaction at the open house when she’d given him Andrew’s book to read.

“Kane?” She frowned, trying to understand her husband’s shifting moods. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, his voice harsh.

He started to stand, but she wasn’t about to let him dismiss her so easily. Not this time. With a hand pressed to his chest, she pushed him onto the mattress. Boldly, she straddled his lap and framed his face in her hands, forcing him to confront their problem, and her, head on. He gripped her hips with his hands and attempted to jerk his head away. She held firm. A battle of wills ensued.

“Dammit, Kane, don’t lie to me!” Tell me what’s wrong, so I can help make it better.

His expression hardened.

“I can’t take much more of your silence, or the way you’re avoiding me.” I miss you. I want you. I ache for you. How can we be so close yet so far apart?

A shudder racked his body, and his gaze locked on hers in silent communication. I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you.

I know, but whatever’s wrong, you can trust me.

Something within him crumbled, filling his eyes with anguish. I…can’t. Oh, God, I can’t! I don’t want to lose you.

You won’t. Ever. I promise. “I love you,” she whispered, the words feeling so perfect So right.

His lashes drifted closed. “No,” he groaned. Shaking his head, he dropped his hands from her hips and gathered her skirt in his fists.

Expecting him to shove her away, she tightened her knees at his waist. “Look at me.” The demand came out as a soft invocation.

He did, revealing green eyes stormy with denial. And a need that gave her the strength to lay herself bare. “I love you, Kane. More than I ever thought possible. I won’t let you ignore it.”

“I don’t deserve it.” His voice was low and tormented.

“You do. You deserve the love of a good woman, and I’m gonna be the one to give it to you, whether you want it or not.”

His body trembled. A flicker of trust brushed his features, the emotion honest and real. As brief as the glimpse was, it was all the sign she needed. She wanted to touch his heart, give him enough love to chase away whatever demons haunted him. Enough love that he’d tell her what caused him so much heartache.

Cradling his head in her hands, she lowered her mouth and sealed her vow with a breath-stealing kiss. His lips parted on a groan, and she slid her tongue past all barriers to tangle and mate with his. He was suffering, and her only thought was to comfort him in the only way she knew he’d accept.

Their mouths fused. His hands gripped her thighs then slid over her hips and waist and along her spine, pulling her so close the only thing separating them was their clothes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling as though she was burning up from the inside out.

She wanted their clothes off and bare skin touching. She wanted him to ease the unbearable ache and loss of being without him. She wanted his love.

Breaking their kiss, she pressed her hands to his chest, feeling the heavy beat of his heart beneath her palms. Staring into eyes hazed with passion, she slowly peeled her camisole top over her head, then unclasped her bra and let both items fall to the floor. Her breasts swelled beneath his hot gaze.

She took his hands and cupped his palms over the firm mounds of flesh. “Make love to me, Kane.”

His hands shaped her while his thumbs scraped over her sensitive nipples. “I can’t resist you,” he said, his voice husky.

“I don’t want you to.” And to prove it, she pulled him down to the mattress with her, trusting him with her heart and body and hoping the action would prove he could trust her in return.

She loved him. The knowledge filled Kane with a sense of wonder, and doubt, too. He knew how fragile love could be, how easily that illusion of grandeur and happiness could be shattered. Cathy had loved him until she’d learned the truth.

He glanced at the woman snuggled against his chest, napping soundly after a very satisfying afternoon of making love. He cared for Megan, which was more than he’d believed he was capable of giving. No other woman had affected him on such a primitive, emotional level, yet he couldn’t bring himself to express his feelings. Fear and insecurities warred with trust.

Gently, he pulled the sheet over her bare shoulder. She sighed and twined her legs around his. Maybe she wouldn’t be shocked if he told her the truth, he thought. Maybe she wouldn’t reject him. His stomach knotted. It was the flip-side to those maybes, the possibility that she would look at him in disappointment and shame that made him hold back the truth.

God, when had his emotions for Megan become a snarl he couldn’t untangle? And why had she gone and complicated things by falling in love with him?

She stirred again, this time lifting her head to look at him. She looked sleepy, disheveled and thoroughly loved. By him. He grinned despite the troubling thoughts plaguing him. If they never had to leave this bedroom and deal with real life, his worries and concerns would be over. Eventually they’d have to get up, but for now he planned to enjoy the quiet, simple moment with his wife.

She propped her chin on the hand resting on his chest. “What are you smiling about?” she murmured.

He touched her flushed cheek, caressed a finger over the swollen lips he’d kissed so ardently. “You.”

She smiled, but a regretful sigh escaped her. “We have to get up.”

“Why?” he asked lazily.

“For one, Andrew will be home any time.”

“And for another?” he asked, wondering how many excuses she had lined up and how he could thwart each one so they could spend the rest of the day in bed.

She hesitated, then released a breath and said, “I invited the Lindens to dinner.”