She saw now she was right. He’d taken care of her mother and now her aunt, careful to not pay for anything of hers.

  “I have no idea who was so very generous, but it’s relieved such a burden on me. I cannot tell you how tight things get sometimes, with only my small retirement check.”

  Meghan kept her face happy. No need for her aunt to see she knew what this meant. It was good and kind, and he could afford it. But it obligated her again, and he’d known that, known how indebted to him she’d be, that whatever he asked for next, she’d be unable to refuse.

  The waitress lifted two bowls of soup to the table, pausing to inquire if they needed anything else, then she disappeared.

  Meghan ate her lunch in silence, chatting about other things afterward, but in the back of her mind dwelled the knowledge she’d have to see him. She didn’t let it spoil her mood, walking with her aunt to a nearby ladies’ goods shop. But upon separating and returning to her car, the weight returned.

  She paced the floor the rest of the day, unsure exactly what he expected or how to approach him, in the end, taking a long bath and turning in early. She was no better on Sunday. Too restless for church, she sat out on the balcony and tried to read. But by seven p.m., she couldn’t take it any longer.

  She dressed carefully, donning a sleeveless white knee-length dress and a pair of strappy sandals. Tossing her purse in the passenger side of her car, she drove to his house, slowly, taking her time. The garden sparkled with light, each bulb perfectly aimed to add color and detail to the house.

  Climbing the front steps, she paused at the door and inhaled.

  The door chime echoed inside and several minutes passed without a response. She raised her finger to ring again, but the door shot open.

  Atlas stood in the opening, and he looked spectacular, fine silk suit, jeweled cuff links, thousand-dollar shoes. “Meghan. Are you free tonight?” he asked.

  She lowered her upraised hand. “T-tonight?”

  “Yes. I’m late for a dinner. You can be my date.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  He motioned her in, taking her elbow and steering her across the house and out a side door into the garage. She screeched to a halt. “These are yours?”

  Mazarati. Bentley. Porsche.

  “Dad’s mostly,” he said. “But I drive them.”

  He opened the door to a sleek, black BMW i8 and dashed around to the driver’s side. The garage doors rose, and he shifted into reverse.

  “Where’s dinner?” she asked.

  “St. Paul’s.”

  “The church?”

  He nodded. “Longtime friends of my father’s. I’m supposed to schmooze, but I particularly wanted to avoid Catherine Delaney.”

  “Who’s she?”

  He turned the wheel and headed down the drive. “Truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “We had a fling a year ago, and I heard she’s playing the field again. I don’t want to be on it.”

  Surprised, he’d shared something of that nature with her, she stared at him for a moment, her head reclined on the seat. “Don’t you want to know why I came by? Obviously, I didn’t know about your dinner.”

  He cast her a glance. “Why? Since you need me to ask.”

  “I talked to my aunt yesterday. She’s overjoyed to be out of debt.”

  His lips quirked, but he didn’t reply.

  “It’s working, you know.”

  One eyebrow slowly arched, then settled.

  “I’m in your debt, and,” She hesitated, “whatever it is you want of me to repay it ….”

  “I want you to forgive me,” he said, “for being all the horrible things you thought I was.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that. I was listening to rumors and gossip.”

  He exhaled. “All true, I’m sure.” He flipped his blinker and made a right. The downtown lights flashed rapid patterns on the windshield.

  Forgiveness. She’d come to say thanks, to give in to what he wanted, but all he desired was forgiveness? And that was something she couldn’t refuse because to all appearances, he was sincere.

  “Forgive me,” he continued, “and be my friend. I need more good people around me, less like Catherine Delaney.”

  A question rose in Meghan’s thinking, and she withheld it at first. Then her need to know won out. “She would hit on you at a church?”

  St. Paul’s loomed on the horizon, its ancient spires cutting into the night sky. A handful of cars turned into the lot. Atlas slowed and pulled into the turn lane. “Catherine would hit on the pope,” he said.

  Meghan laughed, once, and his incredible smile arose.

  “Can I trust you?” he asked.

  Her face calmed. She curled her hands in her lap. “With your manhood?”

  He dipped his chin. “If we must play it up, you’ll understand?”

  She eyed him. Much of his life was a game. Having to attend so many events for his father and pretend to enjoy them must get boring after a while. What would it hurt if she let him make more of them than there was? At least, they weren’t arguing, and he hadn’t asked for anything more personal.

  “I’m all yours,” she said.

  A twinkle lit in his eyes. “Suddenly, I’m looking forward to this.”

  He’d never believed much in prayer or religious things until recently, ascribing certain coincidences in life to random luck. But Meghan being at the door tonight, he had to take seriously. He’d been dreading this dinner, mostly because of her. In the past, a chance to spar with a woman was a challenge, but now it was distasteful and a waste of his time.

  Why spar when he’s already met the most beautiful woman possible?

  Which led him back to thoughts on prayer. Whatever his grandfather had been praying before he’d died evidently still held great value with God because he’d never felt more like his life was being orchestrated. Being ordered around by his father was expected. Having his dead grandfather choose his bride was not.

  Atlas glanced at Meghan on his way into the church lot. She was spectacular. Did she know that? He’d bet not, and any compliment coming from him wouldn’t be received … at least, before tonight, it wouldn’t have been. But maybe things were finally changing. She couldn’t believe he only wanted forgiveness, and frankly, he couldn’t either.

  Exiting his car, he walked around the front and opened her door, taking her elbow in his palm and leading her toward a well-lit building beside the main sanctuary. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside and paused. A half-dozen people were there, faces he recognized from other events, and the rector of the church, Father Parrish.

  “Mr. Bellamy, I’m so glad you could come.”

  Father Parrish was mid-fifties with thinning hair but a friendly face. He spared Atlas only a glance before turning his attention to Meghan.

  “And who is your date?”

  “This is Dr. Meghan Moralez.”

  Father Parrish took her fingers and squeeze, a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome, Doctor.”

  “Please, call me Meghan.”

  He inclined his head. “We’re minus only one person, who …”

  The rush of air from behind them turned them around and there, in all her glory, was Catherine Delaney. She seemed to take in Meghan’s place at his side in one, haughty glance.

  “I see you’ve brought a friend. Another of your conquests?”

  Meghan’s face said she was a bit startled that Catherine would make such a comment in a church, but he wasn’t surprised at all. It was like her to want to make a scene. He opened his mouth to make a remark, but was startled by Meghan speaking first.

  “More like his significant other.”

  He had said she’d have to play it up, but hadn’t thought she’d jump in quite so readily.

  Catherine’s gaze settled on Meghan for a moment then she tilted it, lizard-like, to his. “It’s serious then?”

  His footing shaky where Meghan was concerned, his grandfather’s wishes forefront in his thinking, Atlas was temporarily silenced. To Meghan, this was a game. To him, it now was not. All that his family stood for was hanging pendulous overhead, a scythe, simply waiting to lop off their heads, and she had no idea.

  In the end, he was given no need to speak, Meghan solving it for him. But with her words, he felt the debt she’d spoken of switch from her shoulders to his. Who owed who in this relationship? Because his liability to her was far greater.

  Hooking her hand in the crook of his elbow, she smiled a practiced smile, and he knew that look. It was the one she’d used at her aunt’s charity auction – smooth in appearance by prickly if you touched it. A porcupine turned inside out.

  “When has anything with him ever been serious?” Meghan asked. “At least, until he met me.”

  Catherine blinked, her composure briefly disturbed, but it was merely a ripple on the surface that disappeared in a flash. She inhaled, her nostrils flaring, and looked him straight in the eye.

  “Is that so?” she asked. “Then you’re the first.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The lights of the city cast long lines on the wet pavement far below, creating an appealing abstract artwork. Atlas leaned on the rail surrounding the roof garden, the scent of jasmine in his nostrils as lovely as the woman standing beside him.

  “What you said …” he began.

  Meghan turned her face upward, the low light caressing her cheeks. Temporarily speechless, he stared at her then blinked, awakening himself.

  “It’s true.”

  The depth of her gaze became an ocean and him, sinking in it.

  “I’ve changed. Maybe not as much outwardly as in my thoughts. I don’t care for my past behavior, and only ever see one woman in my mind.”

  She looked away, one hand curved over the rail, her back ramrod straight. “You want me to believe that.”

  “I need you to believe that.”

  This brought her gaze back to his face. “I thought Atlas Bellamy only needed himself.”

  Pain crisscrossed his face, spiking between his eyes. She’d defend him and then injure him?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I …” She hushed. “This is a beautiful church.”

  He agreed, unsure why she’d switched topics.

  “I appreciate Father Parrish allowing us to come up here.”

  “I donated enough money tonight,” Atlas returned.

  She dipped her chin without looking at him.

  “I had no idea this even existed,” she continued.

  The roof garden, she meant. No, many didn’t. It was protected, a retreat for a handful with the privilege of access.

  “But then, I didn’t know many things. Myself, for starters,” she said. “If you’ve changed, then so have I. I’ve discovered I’m vain and selfish and as prone to being led around by my feelings as any of the women you’ve consorted with.”

  He reached for her, spinning her in his direction. “Don’t say that. You are nothing like them. They are shallow and uncaring. You’re not.”

  She smiled, albeit strained. “Caring for myself.”

  “You care for your mother and your aunt.”

  “And so do you.”

  His palms warmed on her shoulders, and he slid them down onto her arms. “Because they are yours. Because you love them, therefore, so do I. To win your good opinion, I’ll do anything.”

  She raised one hand and laid it on his cheek. Her touch was light, yet somehow it stung. “You did that to put me in my place, show me just how small and inept I am.”

  “No.” He cut her off. “Valuable. To show you how valuable you are.”

  Meghan made a face and dropped her hand to her side. He released her.

  “We both know better, and you proved your point. I am as apt to be swept away by money and gifts as any other girl you choose to look at. Perhaps more so, because I don’t know what it’s like to have ‘things.’”

  “One never has things. Things have you,” he corrected. “Money becomes in itself a dead weight, holding you back. How far would I have to reach in order to become anything in your view without it?”

  She stared at him, unblinking, then moistened her lips. The slow motion of her tongue, the press of her mouth as she rubbed her lips together, shook him, and he wanted nothing more than to capture it in his own. But not for the reasons she’d think. Not to prove he held power over her, but to prove she held power over him.

  She felt vain, and he felt weak. Where did they go from there?

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, folding her hands at her waist. “An admission that you’ve ruined me?”

  “Ruined you?”

  She smiled. “For anyone else. You don’t have to reach far because I’m too caught up in the aura that’s Atlas Bellamy. I debated with myself the night following the charity dinner …. Looking myself in the eye, I considered what I’d do. If you asked, would I give up everything I hold dear for one night as yours?”

  Surprised she’d admitted to that, he didn’t know what to say.

  “Aren’t you going to ask?” she continued.

  He cleared his throat. “What am I supposed to ask?”

  “What my answer was.”

  “I hardly think that’s …”

  “Yes, the answer was, yes. If you’d walked up to me and asked me to be with you, I would have done it. I was so blinded.”

  He exhaled the sound loud in the quiet night sky.

  “You’re not going to gloat?” she asked. “Here, I am. Putty. Can’t think of anything but you, willing to toss everything I stand for aside to have you. I admit it.”

  He clenched his skull with one hand, squeezing his temples. “That’s not the woman I want.”

  Her fingers took hold of his wrist and tugged his hand away. Bringing it into her view, she flipped it over.

  “Soft hands,” she said, “that haven’t had to work. Except for these.” Running her thumb across the calluses on the pads of palm, she then curled her own there. “And those were for sport. For fun.”

  “Is that what you think? You think all this is a sport to me? I snare you, and it gives me some strange thrill? You’re wrong. You think you’re unable to stand for yourself anymore, but the woman I see, the one I can’t get off my mind, the one I want to spend time with … as an equal …” he said.

  Her lips trembled. She stilled them, mashing them tight.

  “That woman is the strongest woman I’ve ever met. She makes me want to change, become the man she expects me to be, a man whose sole job is to support her, so she can continue to walk three steps ahead of me, that much smarter than I’ll ever become.”

  He opened his arms and drew her in, tucking her to his chest, and she came, pliable. Emotion clogged his throat.

  “Even now,” she mumbled into his chest, “I’d go if you asked.”

  He reversed and tipped her chin up. “I’m not asking. I’m never going to ask you to compromise your values. It’s your values that make you who you are.”

  “What if I want to compromise?”

  He laughed then, and she returned to his side, sliding her arms around his waist.

  “Make me compromise.”

  “For what?” He sobered. She was serious, but then, when was she not? “What reason is so great you’d ask me that?”

  The in and out of her breaths seemed to even with his, and they became almost one creature. The answer stared up at him. For this. So that they’d have nothing between them at all, and how much he wanted that. But not at her expense.

  “To be yours,” she said.

  His eyes stung. How much it had taken for her to say that, and how valuable it now was. She was a precious gift, one worth whatever price he had to pay to keep her.

  One hand on the back of her head, he cupped her skull, her hair sliding through his fingers, and an idea rose onto his tongue. “I’ve been thinking of getting away for a few days,” he said, “taking a sail on the family yacht. Maybe next weekend. Say you’ll come with me.”

  Her expression changed, and his breath caught. He had to tread lightly. Yet if he waited, time might soften the connection they had. He reached for her hand, folding it in his palm. “Not to make you compromise, but to prove how much I need you.”

  “I …”

  He heard her hesitation and dipped his face to hers. “Please. You’ll make a desperate man beg?”

  She twisted her head upward, and their eyes met. Her shoulders dipped. “Okay.”

  “Meghan.” He turned her gaze again. “Not like that. I want to spend time with you. If it makes you more comfortable, I’ll ask Navy to come along. He can chaperone.”

  Her gaze softened, and she gave the barest nod. But her lack of a reply worried him. Did she doubt herself that much?

  Releasing his grip on her sides, he brought his hands to her cheeks and in one swift movement, claimed her mouth. He pressed down hard, nipping her soft flesh with his teeth. Struggling, one hand to his chest, she shoved him back.

  Her knuckles against her lips, she stared wide-eyed at him, then a slow smile crept onto her face. “You’ve made your point,” she said. “Not that I didn’t enjoy that.”

  He returned the smile. “Nor I.”

  She separated from him, wrapping her arms around herself. One hand rubbing up and down her bare arms, she gave a single laugh. “I wonder which is stronger, your determination or my willpower?”

  Stepping up behind her, he laid one hand on the back of her head and his throat thickened. If she needed him to fight against her in order to believe in herself, then he’d do so. He liked her spunk. But inwardly, she was leading him around by the nose. She would always be the stronger one.

  “Won’t it be fun to find out?” he asked, his tone light. “Come. Let’s go.” Moving his hand to her elbow, he led her toward the stairs.

  Atlas swept the oar forward, his arm muscles stretching in the motion, then with a powerful pull, dragged it backward in the water, and the single scull boat shot ahead in the bay. It wasn’t often he trained in open water, but today he needed the space and sunshine to clear his head.