Page 13 of Under His Touch

He’s a big guy and the alcohol wouldn’t have hit him like it’s hit me, but I lost Mom and Dad in a drunk driving accident, and I’m sensitive about touching a single drop and getting behind the wheel. “We’ve been drinking,” I say.

He pauses, and nods in understanding. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I never should have suggested that. I know how you feel about it, and I feel the same way.” He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip as he takes a measured step closer to me. “I guess the only logical answer here is for you to sleep over.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Alec

SLEEP OVER?

Logical?

What the ever-loving fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t—can’t when she’s around—and therein lies the problem. But how the hell can I be expected to have clear thoughts, or reason with any sort intelligence, after all our reminiscing. Not to mention the fact that I no longer have any blood left in my brain. Christ, hanging out with Megan like this, talking and laughing about old times and listening to her make those sweet moaning sounds that have been imprinted in my brain for eight long years, is preventing my synapses from firing.

“I...” she begins, looking about as flustered as I feel.

“I have lots of spare rooms,” I say quickly. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea here, or the right idea, or... As my blood rushes south, I have no idea what’s right and wrong anymore, and so help me, if she gives me one sign, some tiny indication that she might want me to touch her, I’m not sure I have it in me to fight it. “I can call Phillip in the morning, or take you back myself,” I say in a firm voice reserved for the boardroom, a reminder to us both that what’s going on here is a business meeting and nothing more. “Whatever you prefer. Right now, I don’t want you in an Uber alone, and why wake Phillip when we have other options.”

She gives a wave toward her computer and stifles a yawn. “We didn’t finish answering all the questions. I guess if I stayed over we could do it first thing in the morning. That will save travel time and help get the ball rolling sooner rather than later.” She nods, like she’s fully convinced and continues with, “I want to get you married as fast as we can this coming summer. A lot of women get engaged in the fall or at Christmas. I want my name to be the one on the tips of their tongues.”

“Thinking like a true businesswoman. Then it’s settled,” I say, a knot in my stomach as the reality of what we’re really doing—finding me a damn wife—comes crashing over me. I take a distancing step back before I do something I can only regret later. Something like pulling her into my arms, kissing her sweet mouth and making love to her until morning. “I have some clothes you can wear.”

Her back goes straight and she frowns. “Alec, I don’t want to wear clothes that were left here by some woman you dated.”

“And I wouldn’t want you to either. I have some sweats that tie at the waist, and a T-shirt. It will be big on you, but should be okay to sleep in.”

Relaxing slightly, the alarm leaving her pretty face as her doe eyes soften, she says, “Oh, okay, that will work. Thanks.”

“For the record, I don’t have women’s clothes in my place. I’ve never brought a woman here before...” My home is my sanctuary, the one place where I can lock the world out and just be me, away from the watchful eyes of the paparazzi.

Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. What a load of shit.

She gives me a quizzical look, the freckles around her nose bunching. “I’m a woman.”

“I know,” I answer. Boy, do I ever know, but no need to go there with her. “Special circumstances and all, plus maybe it’s a good idea for me to have a woman here, trying it out for size since our goal is to find me a wife.”

The corners of her mouth turn up. “Looks like I’ll be popping your cherry.” Her brown eyes go wide. “Wait, I mean...”

“I know what you mean,” I say, coming to her rescue.

Flustered, her chest rises and falls, and a few curls fall from the clip at the top of her head. Damned if she doesn’t make that look sexy. My fingers itch to release that fastener, watch all those silky locks fall—over my pillow.

“My God, I don’t know why everything is coming out wrong tonight,” she says. “Must be the wine.”

“Must be,” I say, but I’m a negotiator, a man who reads others for a living, and right now, being alone in my place is fucking with her as much as it is with me, and I need to shut this shit down right now.

“I think I need sleep,” she says, and the slight blush that forms on her cheeks has my dick thickening in my pants.

Uh, hello, pal. Didn’t you just lecture yourself on shutting this shit down?

I take another measured step back to put distance between us. It’s a start, but knowing she’s in the next room, sleeping in my clothes, might call for a hot shower, and a little extracurricular activity under the spray. Otherwise I’ll never get a wink of sleep, and I have some reports I need to go over in the morning, after we finish the ridiculous questionnaire. What’s the point of it, anyway? No way am I going

to find the perfect match, not when she’s standing right before me and I can’t have her. For as long as I’ve known Megan, she’s had white picket fence all over her. She might still be single, and evaded my question on why that is, but she wants—needs—a family of her own. No one deserves it more than her, especially after everything she’s been through.

A guy like me, well, I can’t give that to her. The men in my family are unable to remain in a monogamous relationship. My father is still in my life since he left, as well as my younger brother, Will’s—when he’s not off honeymooning with a girl he’ll eventually leave. Christ, that man goes through women faster than a drunk goes through one-dollar bills at a strip joint. The mess he made of my mother when he left still haunts me, and no way would I ever want to rip a woman apart like that.

Honestly, I can’t even count how many times my father warned me I was just like him—that I didn’t have monogamy in me. None of the Carson men do. The sad thing is, my mother said the same, and warned me to walk away from sweet Megan Williams before I hurt her because in the end it was inevitable.

I’m truly holding out hopes for my cousin Tate. He and his wife, Summer, do seem happy together, but the Carson track record is an ugly one. Megan herself said I remind her of Granddad. That man is still going strong in his nineties. I’m pretty sure he hooked up with his old friend Delilah when they reconnected at Tate and Summer’s wedding in St. Moritz last summer. Although I really don’t want to think too hard on that. At the end of the day, I’m a chip off the old block, unable to be faithful, and I’d never, ever put Megan through that. She’s had enough to deal with in life already. It’s better for her to think I’m a prick, a hard-assed businessman who isn’t interested in love.

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