In Your Eyes: Parker and Megan (Man of the Month Book 6) Page 6

  “I think you’re seeing serendipity more than me trusting my instincts. But it’s a sweet thought,” she added, before he could argue.

  She lifted her head to focus on the plane, then drew in a deep breath even as he held his in anticipation.

  “Will you tell me where we’re going?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “No,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’re right. I do trust myself. And I trust you, too.” She met his eyes, then smiled. “Wait to tell me until we’re in the air.”

  The surprise, it turned out, was New Orleans, someplace Megan had never been, and so she was completely giddy when he told her that it was only an hour flight, and that they’d be having a late dinner at Commander’s Palace before returning to the French Quarter for a night of jazz, drinks, and dancing.

  Giddy, yes. But also confused.

  Because despite the electricity that zinged between them—despite the fact that they’d been sitting side by side on the plush leather loveseat for a good fifteen minutes now—Parker hadn’t made any sort of move to seduce her. Hell, he hadn’t even touched her, and, frankly, she missed the way his finger had felt when he’d teased her thigh in the car.

  And her body still ached from the way he’d eased her skirt up, his fingers coming so deliciously close to her sex that it had taken all of her willpower not to either squirm or beg.

  Not to mention those sensual, seductive words with which he’d teased her. Words that had melted her, making her long for more than just talk.

  But now, as they soared over Texas and Louisiana, he made no move at all. And, dammit, his lack of attention was starting to give her a complex. Especially after she’d logged onto the plane’s wifi in order to text Griffin to find out who won the contest—Parker, of course—and he’d flat out told her to use a condom, to get at least a little sleep, and for God’s sake not to lay her heart on the line.

  Ironic that neither her heart nor her sleep schedule were at risk, and at the moment a condom would only be useful for making balloon animals.

  She’d ended the text conversation by asking him to feed the cats and the fish. And then, since Parker’s mention of Kasey had brought her to the forefront of her mind, she’d texted her LA bestie, telling her that Megan was currently heading to New Orleans with Parker Manning, and would wonders never cease?

  Kasey, of course, would assume that sex was on the menu. And the fact that it wasn’t even an appetizer was what finally spurred Megan to her feet and to action.

  That, and the fact that she’d just finished her second glass of wine and boldness came easier with alcohol.

  “This,” she said, as she stood in front of him, “isn’t at all what I expected.”

  “No?”

  His expression was innocent, but she thought she saw heat underneath his stoic facade. Heat, and possibly amusement. As if they were in the center of a cosmic joke and she was the one who didn’t get the punch line. A possibility that, frankly, only added to her frustration.

  “No,” she said firmly. “From the moment I stepped into your office, sensual words fell from your lips like honey. I mean, honestly, you could qualify for the dirty talk Hall of Fame. But that’s all I get? Talk? Haven’t you heard what they say about all talk and no action?”

  The corner of his mouth curved up, and heat bloomed in his eyes. “You’re saying you thought I’d touch you? That I’d slowly strip you, then tease every inch of you mercilessly with my tongue? That I’d kiss you until you were breathless and wet and ready. That I’d stretch you open with my fingers, then thrust my cock inside you and ride you wild and hard until you begged for mercy? Is that what you thought, Megan?”

  Her breath came faster with each word, and her legs went weak. “That’s what I’m talking about,” she finally said, despite the fact that her mouth had gone dry. Her sex, she noticed, wasn’t dry at all. Not anymore. “All talk, no action. Well, enough of that.”

  She saw his eyes go wide and heard his sharp intake of breath as she moved to him then straddled his lap. Her skirt spread in the process, and the hard length of his erection pressed firm against her sex, separated only by his jeans and her panties.

  His arousal spurred her on. This was what he wanted; she was certain of it. Her coming to him. Surrendering, just as he’d said in his office. Now here she was, open and ready, willing to give herself to him. Wanting the decadent sensation of his wickedly dirty words coming to life.

  Victory coiled through her. He’d used that verbal seduction to make her wet and wanting. But the game was that it was all on her. He’d promised her pleasure she couldn’t imagine and assured her that she’d beg for his mercy. But he’d also made no secret that he wanted her submission, and she was giving it to him.

  She eased her hips back and forth, stroking herself against him, certain she was winning when she saw his eyes turn hard with the kind of need that required fast action and hard kisses.

  “Megan. Oh, Christ, Megan.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, grinding against him. She rocked her hips so that his erection stroked her sex and teased her clit, making all the thoughts in her head evaporate, leaving only a wild, violent need. She was shameless. Wet. Desperate.

  More than that, she was determined, and she reached for his fly.

  He wanted her surrender—well, dammit, he had it. He’d promised her a pleasure so intense it would make her scream, and she wanted that, too. She’d come this far with him—it was time for Parker to take her the rest of the way.

  In case he’d missed the point, she started to tug down his zipper, but his hands caught hers, stilling them, his touch gentle, but firm.

  Finally. She allowed herself a little smile, certain that this was it. Now he was going to take what he wanted.

  But all he said was, “Later.” And that simple word shattered her soul.

  She stared at him, speechless.

  “Not now,” he whispered. “Not like this.”

  “Not like this?” she snapped, embarrassment welling up inside her. “Not like what? You seduce me onto a plane and then turn me down? What kind of screwed up game are you playing?” She scrambled off him, terrified that she’d made a horrible mistake. That Parker was more messed up than Carlton, and that she was trapped in the air, completely at his mercy.

  Which was where you wanted to be just minutes ago, remember?

  She stumbled across the aisle to a single seat, then closed her eyes, pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. Mortification coursed through her, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She’d opened herself. She’d let herself want. And he’d completely shut her down.

  “You bastard,” she whispered, her eyes burning as she opened them to look at him. But she was determined not to cry.

  “Megan, I’m sorry. You don’t understand. Right now, I don’t think there’s anything I want more than to rip off those damn panties and have you ride me all the way to New Orleans. But we can’t. Not yet. I let us both get out of control, but—”

  “Shut up,” she whispered as the plane started to descend and tears leaked from her eyes. “Just shut up and take me home.”

  Chapter Seven

  Parker kept a tight rein on control even though he wanted to lash out—not at her, but at himself. He’d made a goddamn mess of things, and in the process he’d hurt her. A horrible, ironic outcome considering he’d planned this trip with the specific goal telling her how much he craved her.

  “I can’t take you home now,” he said, working to keep his frustration out of his voice. “It’s too late for the jet to take off. But if you still want to leave in the morning, we can be gone as early as eight.”

  “Good,” she said. “Plan on it.”

  The plane was in the hanger now, and she moved to the open exit door without waiting for him, then started down the stairs. By the time he caught up with her at the hired car, the driver had already opened the back door, and she’d slid into the slick black Lincoln.

  When
he joined her, she started to slide the rest of the way across the bench seat to open the opposite door and get out. “I think I’ll sit up front.”

  “No,” he said, pressing his hand to her thigh to still her. She looked at his hand, then at his face, her eyes cold. “Stay,” he ordered, in a voice that allowed no argument.

  He saw her swallow, then watched as she fastened her seatbelt, then leaned back, her arms crossed over her chest as if in protection. From him.

  Slowly, he took three deep breaths, trying to temper his emotions and calm his mind.

  “I assume we’re going straight to the hotel? I’m really not in the mood for dinner or jazz.”

  “The Ritz-Carlton,” he told the driver, who lifted a hand to his cap in a silent salute, then pulled out of the hanger and headed toward the heart of the city.

  They drove in silence, and it was only when there were miles of distance between them and the airport that he said, “I was nineteen when I walked away from my father’s money.”

  She continued to stare straight ahead, but her posture shifted almost imperceptibly, and Parker hoped that meant she was listening. “My sister-in-law had filed for a restraining order against my brother. It turns out he was beating the shit out of her.”

  Now, she turned toward him, then drew a breath as her eyes dipped down to the hands she had clasped in her lap. “My sister was married to a man like your brother. And watching her suffer and make excuses was like…” She trailed off with a shake of her head, then lifted her head to look at him. “I swore I’d never let that happen to me. It escalates. It always escalates. First sign he’s trouble, and that’s the end as far as I’m concerned.”

  He nodded, wondering if she put him in the trouble category. And hoping that she didn’t. “A good policy. But not your sister’s, I’m guessing.”

  She shook her head. “No. She got out, but she stayed too long. She—she’s not the same woman she used to be. She has sharp edges now. And a lot of scars—the kind you can’t see, but they’re there.”

  He knew the kind of scars she meant.

  “What happened with your sister-in-law?” she asked. “Did she get out?”

  “She filed for divorce and she pressed charges. Assault. Battery. Rape. My family’s powerful, and the money—well, my father could have funded a thousand defenses and not even made a dent in our financial wherewithal. My father might be a prick, but he’s a brilliant one.”

  “Defenses,” she repeated. “You’re saying that your father financed your brother’s defense. Even though he attacked and raped his wife? Or was she making stuff up to try for a settlement?”

  “I saw her in the hospital.” He closed his eyes to block the horrific memory. “She wasn’t faking.”

  “Your father couldn’t see that? Couldn’t believe that his son would do that?”

  “Oh, he believed it. He just couldn’t let something that sordid soil the family name. After all, the little tramp was messing with our family. That meant we had to destroy her.”

  She licked her lips. “We?”

  “Or so my father insisted. The family had to stick together. My mother, my sister, me. Even though my brother had always been a violent son-of-a-bitch, because he had the Manning last name, the wagons had to circle.”

  “What happened?”

  “My brother got off without even a slap on the wrist. My sister-in-law got her divorce and not a single dime. I’m pretty sure she was fine with that, so long as she was free. My mother sank further into her shell, and my older sister and I cut ties with the family. Permanently.”

  “But—” She cut herself off, and he could practically see the questions churning in her mind. “But everyone says you used your family money to get your start. That’s how PCM Enterprises was funded.”

  “No.” The word came out sharper than he intended, but he’d worked his ass off to make that dream a reality, and while he could deal with the general public having the wrong idea, he needed Megan to understand the truth.

  “I inherited some money from my grandfather. Most people would say it’s a lot, but in my family it’s a pittance. But it’s all I took with me. That money, my clothes, and a few books.”

  “Is that when you moved to LA?”

  She was listening intently now, and he tried not to show how much he hoped they were over the roadblock that his idiocy had thrown in their path.

  “I ended up at UCLA, and while I was there I invested pretty well.” That was an understatement. He’d quadrupled his money when he sold his interest in a biotech company, then did essentially the same thing a few years later, once he was out of college.

  After that, he’d invested a portion of his money conservatively, but used the bulk of it to get PCM Enterprises off the ground. Initially, it was based in Los Angeles, but as he grew more and more disillusioned with the crowd he hung with, he made the decision to move back to Texas. Not to Houston where his parents still lived, but to Austin, where he’d gone to high school at a private boarding school.

  “The rest,” he concluded after telling her as much, “is history.”

  They rode in silence for a while, thoughts churning in Parker’s head. Memories of a time not too long ago when he’d still been living in LA. When he’d distanced himself from men like Carlton, and yet their paths had still intersected, not in small part because Carlton was the kind of man who was drawn to money and power. He had just enough of both to be dangerous, and not enough to truly understand either.

  And at the time, Parker was still enjoying all the perks that his bankroll offered him, not yet realizing that when he breathed in that life, the reason he felt so damn suffocated was because he was living in a vacuum. And nothing survives like that.

  Looking back, Parker despised the man he’d been in Los Angeles, at least in those early years. Megan had known him then, or at least tangentially, and it bothered him that she surely remembered the Parker from the past—the one who would have just plowed forward without thinking about what Megan might want, the one who went through women and money like candy—and only now was getting to know the Parker he’d worked so hard to become.

  He wanted to say something, to explain how much he’d changed. But they’d arrived and the Town Car was pulling to a stop. Before the valet could open the door, he took her hand, relieved when she didn’t pull it away.

  He hadn’t yet explained why he’d pulled away on the plane. But maybe—just maybe—he’d managed to crawl part of the way out of the doghouse.

  Chapter Eight

  Since they had no bags, it was easy to slide straight from the car and into the lobby. No one paid them any attention, of course, but Megan still felt as if all eyes were on them. After all, they’d arrived at a hotel with no luggage. Which could only mean one thing.

  Or, at least, when they’d left Austin she’d assumed it would only mean one thing. Now she wasn’t sure. He’d revealed a part of himself in the car, and she knew that somehow he was leading up to an explanation of what happened. Of why he’d pushed her away when they’d both so clearly wanted each other.

  But that didn’t change the fact that her ego was still bruised.

  While she stood near the massive flower arrangement that dominated the lobby, Parker went to the front desk to check-in. It only took a minute—he’d gone to a VIP desk that apparently had the perk of supersonic speed—and was back at her side before her ping-ponging nerves had settled.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’d like a drink.” He nodded to the lobby bar. “Shall we?”

  He started that direction, but she pulled him back by the hem of The Fix on Sixth T-shirt that he still wore. “Forget it, Cowboy. I need some answers. First you practically seduce me at the same time that you scold me in your office, and you punctuate that encounter by telling me that you want me. And then when I’m down with that program and about to earn my membership in the Mile High Club, you shut me down fast. And while I get that there’s a reason buried in the life story yo
u were sharing with me, I haven’t really heard it yet.”

  She’d started her spiel in a low whisper, but emotion had made her voice rise, and she realized they were attracting a few interested looks.

  She stepped closer and lowered her voice again. “Forget the long explanation, okay? I know it’s cheating, but I want to skip straight to the end of the mystery. So just tell me the bottom line, already. Because dammit Parker, I was throwing myself at you, and my ego is now in desperate need of an icepack and some Tylenol.”

  He smiled at that, which was her intent, because the conversation had gotten a little too real in the car. She truly did want to understand him—heck, the more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to know how he ticked, this man who’d walked away from one fortune only to build another on his own terms.

  But right now, it wasn’t his background she was concerned with. It was his libido. Because despite the fact that he’d pushed the abort button, now that her fury had settled, her own libido was back in gear and ready for launch. “Truth time, Parker. Did you mean what you said? Do you want me or not?”

  He took a single step back, then lifted his hand to her hair, running the long strands through his fingers. “Do I want you?” His voice sounded tight, almost pained. “Dear God, yes. I want you desperately. I have, actually, for a very long time. But not like this.”

  “Like this?” she repeated, confused. “Like what?”

  “Not as a demand. And definitely not as a payment.”

  Now she was even more confused. “But that was the deal. That’s what we agreed on, right there in your office. Just a little inappropriate office conduct between consenting adults, right?”

  He chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it.” He nodded toward the elevators. “I think we should take this upstairs.”

  She followed without question, her mind still whirring. “Okay, then. Tell me another,” she said, when they were alone in the elevator. “Because I’m really confused right now, and have absolutely no idea what you want.”