Girls' Guide to Flirting with Danger (7 page)

She went to her tiny kitchen to make coffee, and while it brewed, she made a mental to-do list. The pity party was over. By the time she had a full cup of caffeine ready, she'd shaken herself out of her funk.

Learn from this and grow from the experience. Think of possibilities. What doesn't kill me only makes me stronger.
This was a learning experience, and though she'd stumbled coming out of the blocks, she could still finish well and salvage some of her pride.

And, hopefully, save her career, too.

 

Devin couldn't put into words why it bothered him that Megan hadn't returned his call. But it bothered him. A lot more than he liked to admit.

Surely she'd checked her voice mail or called in to her office. She had to know he wanted to talk to her. Of course, he could tell from speaking with the receptionist at her clinic that Megan was a hot topic today and that no one was happy about it, either. The woman had all but hung up on him.

Granted, they hadn't exactly parted as friends last night, but Megan wasn't the type to hold a grudge. Or she didn't used to be. Maybe she'd learned how to do that, too.

Regardless, he wanted to talk to her, and she wasn't returning his calls. This was business, and beneficial to her, so it was juvenile for her to ignore him when he was only trying to help.

And that was the
only
reason he was currently climbing the stairs to her apartment.

This place looked even worse in the daylight. While the neighborhood might have started off as working-class thirty or forty years ago, suburban flight and the ensuing income slide had taken its toll.
Seedy
was the nicest adjective he could muster.

And Megan lived here. She had a PhD, had graduated top of her class—if the press could be believed—and
this
was the best she could do. She'd left him to pursue her career and her dream, and she was living in a dump now.
This
was what she'd traded him in for. It was insulting. It boggled the mind.

The door rattled in its frame as he knocked. A moment later he could have sworn he heard a sigh before the rattle of multiple locks disengaging. Not that the locks would keep anyone out—a strong kick to the flimsy door would render them useless.

Finally the door opened and Megan leaned against it, annoyance written across her face. “What do you want, Dev?”

His comeback died on his tongue. Megan's hair was swept up and back into a messy coil, a pencil holding it in place. Her face was scrubbed clean, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks dark against her fair skin. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

He'd never harbored the sexy-librarian fantasy, but as the blood in his head rushed south, he could picture Megan taking off those glasses, pulling that pencil out and shaking her hair loose….

“Dev?”

The irritation in her voice snapped him out of his adolescent daydream and back to the present. The librarian fantasy stopped at her neck, as she was wearing cutoffs and a SUNY T-shirt, but the expanse of toned thigh revealed by those shorts awakened a new fantasy. After starring in last night's erotic dreamfest, Megan looked way too good for his loose grip on his sanity to handle.

He cleared his throat and tried to shake off the images haunting him. “I've been trying to get in touch with you.”

“I realize that.”

Her matter-of-fact admission she'd been intentionally ignoring him rankled.
“And?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “And nothing. Can't you take a hint? I don't want to talk to you.”

“But I want to talk to you.”

Her eyebrows went up, reigniting that naughty-librarian vibe. “And that takes precedence over my desires because…? Oh, yeah, because you're Devin Kenney.”

Desires.
She should have chosen a different word. That
one was too dangerous to hear for someone still waiting for his blood to circulate freely again. Her desires, his desires…his body would like nothing more than to explore their
mutual
desires.

“I'm here to proposition you.” Megan's jaw dropped, and he quickly caught himself. “I mean, I have a proposition for you. A business proposition.”

“I'm not interested.”

Was she
trying
to annoy him? “Don't be like that. You haven't even heard it yet. Aren't you at least curious?”

She sighed. Removing her glasses—but, sadly,
not
shaking out her hair—Megan pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine,” she conceded. “Come on in.”

He was treated to an excellent view of her backside as Megan crossed the tiny living room and bent to lift a stack of books out of a chair. She added those books to a teetering pile on the floor and indicated he should sit. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Diet soda?”

He declined as he sat, and Megan took her seat on the sofa angling him. She curled her feet under her and leaned against the overstuffed arm.

The room, while bright with the afternoon sun, was depressing. The upholstery had once been floral, but it had faded long ago into an unrecognizable and threadbare gray. The apartment was clean, but decades of neglect showed in the cracked plaster and dingy linoleum. He recognized some of the artwork on the walls as being from their old apartment, but despite Megan's clear attempts to make the place homey or cheerful, nothing could overcome the sense of hopelessness that seemed to seep out of the walls.

Hell, the laptop on the opposite end of the couch probably cost more than the furniture in this room. He couldn't deny the small sense of schadenfreude that crept in. If she'd
stayed married to him, she'd be living a much different lifestyle.

Megan picked up on his appraisal of her apartment. “Yes, I know it's a dump. But it's cheap, and it's clean and, most important, it's temporary.”

“I didn't realize you were still an intern. When will you get your license?”

“I'll sit the exam in three or four months, depending on how long it takes me to get my hours finished, of course.” She sighed and shook her head. “It will take a few weeks to get the official results, but I can start looking for a job immediately.”

“That sure you'll pass, huh? That's kind of cocky of you.”

She shrugged. “It's not cockiness. I'm damn good at what I do. You were pretty sure about the bar exam, remember?”

“Pure bravado.”

“Liar.” But she grinned as she said it, and it softened the pinched look around her eyes. “So what brings you by, Dev?”

Right. On to business.
“You were quite the hit last night.” At her smirk, he amended, “With the listeners and the corporate types, at least. Are you aware of your new popularity?”

“Oh, yeah.” She didn't sound pleased about it.

“You obviously need some additional income.” He gestured to the furniture. “And I could hook you up with the people who could turn that new popularity into a revenue stream for you.”

“By…?” she prompted.

“By just being ‘Dr. Megan.'”

She nodded her understanding. “I see. No, thank you.”

God, she was frustrating. “You're jumping ahead again. You haven't even heard me out.”

“I don't need to. I'm not going to be the equivalent of a newspaper agony aunt.”

“It's lucrative.”

“But it's not real. It's called psychotainment for a reason. You can't solve people's problems with a ten-minute sound bite.” He started to counter that, but she held up a hand. “The people who call in to radio shows or go on TV don't really want help. They want a quick fix, and they usually get a pithy piece of psychobabble. Then they go back to their lives. Does it make a difference? There's no way to know. There's no follow-up. No aftercare. No actual solutions for these people. That's not me. It's not what I want to do with my life.”

Megan could be so single-minded that the bigger picture often escaped her. “So you do a few appearances, make a name for yourself. That fame will build your real practice. I know that from experience.”

She shook her head. “Most people who seek counseling—who
need
counseling—don't want anyone to know they are in counseling. Real clients would be afraid my notoriety would expose their weaknesses. They'd be afraid their problems would be fodder for my next appearance. I can't build a real career on a foundation that's all juicy show-and-tell.”

“So you'd rather live like this?”

Her jaw tensed. “At least it's honest. And it will be worthwhile in the end. And at least I haven't sold out my principles.” The defiant lift of her chin made that last sentence an accusation.

Anger pricked at him. “And you think I have?”

Megan clasped her hands together and leaned forward. Her voice dropped its edge and took on a smooth, impartial tone. “More important, Devin, do
you?
How do
you
feel about the choices you've made?”

Frustrated, he waved away her analysis attempt and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, don't try that with me. I'm not going to lie on your couch and tell you about my relationship with my mother.”

“You don't have to. I know all about your mother already.” She sat back with an exasperated sigh. “Unfortunately. Talk about someone who needed serious therapy.” She shook her head. “I know she probably celebrated after our divorce became final, the grumpy old bat. How's she doing these days?”

The question caught him off guard, but there was no good way to soften the truth. “She died three years ago.”

Megan's face fell, and she paled. “Oh, my God. I'm
so
sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea. What happened?”

“Heart attack. Seems she did have one after all.”

“Dev,” Megan chided.

This was yet another reason not to hang out with his ex. She knew way too much. “Don't worry, Dr. Megan, I'm good.”

“You aren't talking to Dr. Megan. You're talking to me, and while I probably know more than you're comfortable with, I'm still willing to listen.”

He regretted snapping at her. Megan's sympathy seemed genuine. “Mom and I made our peace before it happened.” A flash of surprise crossed her face before she nodded. “So there's no need for me to go into therapy.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Really I am.” Considering how his mother had treated Megan, he was surprised at her sincerity. “What about your dad?” she continued. “And your sister?”

“Both fine. Dad moved to Arizona to be closer to Janice and her kids.”

Megan's eyes widened. “Janice has kids?”

“Three boys.” This conversation now bordered on
surreal—the how's-the-family catch-up—but it felt rather nice at the same time.

“Wow. Tell her I said hi the next time you talk to her.”

“Will do. I think she missed you after the divorce.”

“I missed her, too.”

Anyone else? Did you miss me? Did you miss us?
The questions popped into his head, but he pushed them aside. It was his turn for the small-talk questions. “And your folks?”

“Both fine. Hale and hearty. Mom's trying to talk Dad into moving to Florida when they retire.”

Roger Lowe was too set in his ways. “Your dad's not going to move south.”

“I know that and you know that.” She smirked. “I think Mom knows that, too, but she's not willing to give up the fight just yet.”

“Good for her.”

Megan laughed—a real laugh this time—and adjusted her position, relaxing against the cushions, stretching her legs out and propping her feet on the coffee table. The table wobbled ominously, on the verge of collapsing on itself.

That brought him back to the purpose of his visit. He wasn't here to wander down memory lane or catch up on each other's families. “About that offer…”

Megan tensed a little, and the conversation lost its easy tone. “Again, thanks, but no thanks. I know a lot of people would welcome the chance in the spotlight, but surely you realize I'm not one of them. I'm not comfortable being ‘out there.'”

“You fooled me. You seemed like a natural. No one would ever be able to tell you used to hate any kind of public speaking.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but just because I'm not that painfully shy mouse anymore, that doesn't mean
I'm ready—or willing—to let it all hang out. But it means a lot to me that you think I even could.”

Megan's hand landed on his and squeezed. She probably meant it to be a friendly, meaningless gesture, but the contact rocketed through him. The first deliberate touch in over seven years, and it set his skin on fire in a flash.

Megan jumped, and when her eyes flew up to meet his, he knew she felt it, too. Belatedly, she tried to move her hand away, but he caught it easily.

A slow flush rose out of the neckline of her shirt, creeping its way up her neck until her cheeks turned red. Her thumb moved slightly against his skin, a faint caress he doubted she even realized, but it fanned the flames licking his skin. He returned the movement, his thumb teasing lightly over the skin of her palm, and her breath caught.

The silence stretched out, neither of them moving except for the gentle stroke of their fingers. It was ridiculous, this connection and the sensations it caused, but he couldn't bring himself to break the contact. Megan seemed to have a similar problem as her pupils dilated and her teeth worried her bottom lip.

It would be easy, so easy to… One tug, and she'd be in his lap….

“D-Dev…I…um…I…” she whispered, and he felt her tremble ever so slightly. Megan closed her eyes as her tongue moistened her lips. She shifted her body forward as he reached for her.

The coffee table collapsed from the increased weight, sending books and papers crashing to the ground. With the table supporting her feet gone, Megan overbalanced and landed on the floor with a thud and a colorful curse.