“I’m sorry. I got carried away. I must be boring you with these old stories.” I realize I’ve been babbling on my own, while Megan has just been listening to me. At least she looks like she’s listening to me, but maybe she’s just being polite.

“No, not at all.” She smiles sweetly, making me want to grab her, lean her down on my arm, and claim those lips with my mouth. I still can’t get over how fucking beautiful she looks tonight.

“I don’t know why I went on and on like that. I don’t usually talk that much.” It’s true; I surprise myself by how comfortable I feel around Megan. Without even realizing it, I put my guard down and start telling her stuff.

There’s something about this girl, although I can’t quite put a finger on it. I can’t come up with the words to explain it. It’s just something I feel in my guts.

“Tell me something about yourself, Megan.” I’m done talking now; it’s her turn.

“Uh, what do you want to know?” Megan asks, obviously uncomfortable with the spotlight on her.

How could she not be used to being the center of attention, though, when she’s been turning heads since we stepped out of the car? Everyone from the valet to the diner across the restaurant wants another glimpse of my girl—my wife. Well, sorry everyone, she’s all mine.

This marriage may have started out as just a ploy to get the media off my back, but I don’t know how to feel anymore now.

It makes me happy when I think about how, even if she’s not my real wife, she won’t date other men while we’re still legally married.

That’s a part of the agreement, because obviously we can’t risk her getting caught having a rendezvous with some guy. That could lead to a scandal bigger than what we’re avoiding right now.

But that’s not the only reason I’m glad that clause exists anymore.

“Tell me about your family. Are you close with your parents?” I ask.

“Me and my mom, we’re okay. My dad…” Megan’s voice trails off. She inhales deeply and says, “I haven’t seen my dad in eight years.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I say. She looks so sad and fragile that I want to pull her into my arms and cover her in bubble wrap so she doesn’t get scratched or broken. I smile at her and say, “I know you signed a non-disclosure agreement, but did you tell your mom about the fake marriage?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t tell her about this,” she says, a little too quickly.

Realizing she might not want to tell me she’s leaking my secret, I add, “I promise it’s fine, as long as she doesn’t tell anyone else. I get that you might want to tell the people close to you. Penny knows all about it, so it’s only fair that your family knows, too.”

“No, it’s not that,” she says, not meeting my gaze.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, really. I just didn’t tell her about it. That’s it,” she insists. She thinks she’s being sly, but it’s obvious she’s keeping a secret.

She fidgets with her hair and bites her bottom lip—nervous tells that I haven’t seen much at the dinner table over the past week. Somehow, this topic is making her uneasy.

It’s okay if she doesn’t want to talk. It only makes her seem more mysterious and more desirable to me.

At least I know she’s not desperate to be with any man who flashes her some money. Just that fact alone already makes her a better potential partner than most women I’ve met.

I’m a patient man. I can wait. But I also always get what I want.

I wanted lots of money and I got it.

I wanted my daughter back and I got her.

Now I want Megan and I’ll get her, too, sooner or later.

* * *

“I had a wonderful time,” I say when the elevator door opens to my apartment—or our apartment, I should say.

“Yeah, I bet those photographers managed to take lots of pictures, huh?” Megan giggles as we step into the living room.

“I don’t give a fuck about the photographers.”

Megan widens her big blue eyes and stares at me.

I don’t know if she’s surprised by my cursing or by my lack of concern about the photos, considering they’re the main reason we went out in the first place. But sometimes, things take on a life of their own and you can only improvise and see how they turn out.

“All I care about is you right now,” I say. Trapping Megan’s gaze, I take one step closer. I’m invading her personal space now. I’ll leave her alone if she wants me to, but she’s not telling me to go away.

It’s dark in the living room, with only one small table lamp turned on. Outside, the city still buzzes with activity, the bright lights overpowering the darkness of the night. It’s quiet here, though, thirty floors above the ground.

With nobody else in the house, there’s no one to see us, or to hear us. We can do anything we want. Nobody’s going to stop us.

Hell, Megan is my wife. The things that I want to do to her, all the dirty images in my mind—not even society or religion would object to me turning them into reality.

So it’s all down to this beautiful, mysterious creature standing in front of me. What does she want?

I put one hand on the side of her smooth, creamy neck. It looks so long and graceful with her hair put up. I’ve stared at it—and the rest of her—all night, and I can’t take it anymore.

Megan just looks up at me, her lips parted, as if ready to take me. She doesn’t say anything, but her breathing gets quicker and shallower. The veins on her neck throb rapidly, along with the beating of her heart. I like knowing I have this kind of an effect on her.

As I lean in, she tilts her head to the side and her eyelids flutter close. I don’t need any more encouragement. Running my own business has taught me that opportunities need to be seized when they arise, because they don’t always come twice.

Her lips are soft, full, and delicate. I let out a sigh, releasing the pressure in my chest that has been building up all night.

She tastes good—sweet and sensual and feminine. My cock stirs in my pants, reacting to the raw sexual energy swirling around us, taking us both for a wild ride.

I run my hand down her back and press on the small of her back, pulling her to me. I trace her lips with my tongue and she opens up for me, eager and pliant. She’s asking for more.

That’s it; I’m not going to hold back anymore.

I cup the back of her head and tug her close, grabbing her hair with my hand, messing up her updo. I sweep inside, plundering her mouth, taking possession of her body.

I nibble on her lips, and she lets out an adorable little gasp. She whimpers as she gives herself to me. Arching her back, she pushes her lips back against mine and presses her tits against my chest.

Her chest is heaving from the heavy, irregular breathing. Her hands clamp onto my arms, holding on tight. She wants more. I do, too.

I move my hand to the top of her back, where I find the zipper of her dress. I start to pull it down, eager to see the delicious figure she’s hiding underneath.

Suddenly, Megan jerks away. Putting both her palms on my chest, she pushes away.

“Sorry, I can’t. We shouldn’t.” Without further explanation, she slinks into her room, her high heels click-clacking sharply and rapidly on the floor.

And here I thought I was about to get lucky tonight. I’m already stretching the fabric of my pants with my raging hard-on, which is starting to throb with excitement.

I’ll have to take a cold shower. Or I’ll jerk myself off while fantasizing about things going differently than it just did.

It’s okay, though. I can tell she wants me, too. It’s just a matter of time now.

She’s already my wife. Now it’s time to make her my girlfriend, as well.