This got two nods from either one. With their position in society, they’d have to stay on top of things, though they probably didn’t do any of it themselves. Surely, they had a retinue of people in their employ.

  “We like to see our money put to good use,” Mr. Bellamy replied. “It’s an important responsibility to maintain a good public appearance, not treat ourselves as if we’re better than anyone else.”

  Was that a jab at Atlas? Meghan took another bite. After she’d swallowed, she set down her fork.

  “If I can be frank?” All the byplay suddenly too much, Meghan focused her thoughts. This was an inspection of sorts, one Atlas evidently didn’t want her to endure but felt compelled to go along with. That spoke his respect for them loud enough, however, seeing him so silent continued to eat at her.

  “Of course, dear,” Mrs. Bellamy said. “We wanted to meet the woman who’d attracted our son … since we’re being frank.”

  Meghan took that in with a smile. “I appreciate that. I can see he’s important to you.”

  Mrs. Bellamy turned her gaze toward Atlas. “He’ll always be my little boy, though he’s become a fine man now.” Affection rose on her face.

  Meghan moved her gaze toward Atlas’s father. His wasn’t devoid of it, but at the same time, he seemed locked into a behavior he’d placed on himself.

  She’d seen that before, though not on this scale. Many different people came through the clinic, from all walks of life. She’d learned to adapt her behavior to theirs, to show more compassion, and so do a better job.

  “I know who your son is,” Meghan began, her eyes on Mr. Bellamy’s face. “I’ve read the entertainment news. So when I met him, I had the same opinion of everyone else … and pardon the expression … that he was a spoiled brat. I mean, he’s had everything handed to him. Right? What has he worked for?”

  She glanced toward Atlas. He stared at her, the tiredness he’d worn all evening now mingled with inner pain.

  “I was wrong,” she said. “He’s had to work harder to be approved of than most.”

  She looked back at his mom and dad. “Say, ‘Meghan Moralez’ in any crowd and one, maybe two people, know me. But say, ‘Atlas Bellamy,’ and heads turn. There is a Scripture, ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’ It goes on to say the amount of judgment you give is what you will receive back. I judged him, and maybe the basis of it was true, but the reason behind it wasn’t. I am here tonight because, beneath the charade he’s forced to live, is a good man. I only hope you, as his parents, appreciate that.”

  Mrs. Bellamy smiled. Taking a deep breath, she stretched out a hand and placed it over Meghan’s. “He said you were special. I see that now. We are fortunate to have you here.”

  Meghan took Atlas by the hand and dragged him inside her apartment. He stumbled, halting in the doorway, feet planted. “Meghan …”

  She faced him. “You’re exhausted. No way am I letting you drive home. You almost had us in the ditch.”

  He gave a pained smile. “I went too far this morning.”

  Rowing. He’d explained he went rowing for most of the morning. She tugged his arm again. “I know it’s not the Bellamy mansion, but I have an excellent couch.”

  He sighed, the sound long. “I never thought our first night together would be in separate rooms with me on the couch.”

  She laughed once at that. “Nor I. But the doctor side of me is taking over right now, not the woman who wants the handsome man in the room.”

  He gave a soft chuckle.

  She pulled his arm, and he continued forward. At the edge of the couch, she reached to his waistband, tugging his shirt out.

  One eyebrow arched. “Is this the doctor or the woman?” he asked.

  She gave a teasing smile. “Both. You will be uncomfortable sleeping in that. Besides, I’ve already seen all of you. Remember?” She flicked several buttons open.

  His hand descended over hers. “Not all of me.”

  A wave of heat licked at her senses, and temporarily overcome, she tightened her grip of his shirt.

  His head bent toward hers. “Though I think I’m too tired even for that.”

  Awakening herself, she continued on, sliding his shirt from his shoulders. “I’ll let you do your pants. Now, sit …” Pushing him down on the couch, she removed his shoes, then reached for a quilt thrown over the side chair. Tossing it over him, she forced him flat.

  “I’m sorry about tonight,” he mumbled, his eyes flicking shut.

  “Stop apologizing. I was under inspection. I get it.”

  Without opening his eyes, he made a crooked smile. “You put them in their place.”

  She took a seat in the chair just opposite, and he rolled onto his side. He peeked through one half-closed lid.

  “It had to be said. I could see they love you. But they treat you a bit like a puppet on a string.”

  His soft snort was followed by the closing of his eye.

  “All that about the business was interesting,” she continued. “However, your father should realize he can’t buy me.”

  “He wasn’t trying to ‘buy’ you. He wanted your honest impression. My dad lives for good opinions, and as the first female I’ve brought home to meet them, yours is valuable.”

  She considered that. After dinner, they’d thawed somewhat, sharing some interesting stories about Atlas’s grandfather. Atlas hadn’t said much, but then, he’d been quiet all evening.

  “Go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll make breakfast in the morning.”

  He smiled, and minutes later, his breaths grew even. She sat and stared at him for the longest time, watching his eyelids flicker, his lips gap open. After ten minutes had passed, she rose and headed for her room.

  Under the covers, she reached for her Bible. What had made Atlas mention prayer? She heard the answer in her head, but couldn’t believe it. Her. He’d said she’d changed him. His being here on her couch was proof of that. The man she’d met had been too self-consumed, thinking he’d win her favors with a smile and a wink. He would have never settled for the couch. The man she’d spent time with tonight hadn’t even tried.

  She was attracted physically to both, but more and more, offering her heart to the second. Sure, she wanted to sleep with him …

  Her Bible fell limp in her grasp.

  But only beneath the standards she believed in. Was that even possible? Would time bring them together enough they’d ever come to that point?

  Her heart skipped, and she mashed the heel of her hand there. Returning the Bible to the nightstand, she shut off the lamp and slid down, pillowing her head on her hands. She was asleep within seconds.

  She awakened to the buzz of her alarm clock and, tossing on a pair of shorts and a tank top, cautiously made her way down the hall. The couch was empty, the quilt perfectly folded. There was no sign of Atlas.

  A folded paper on the counter caught her eye. Wandering across the room, she flipped it over. He’d used her stationary. Dr. M. Moralez, it said at the top.

  Beneath it, he’d penned a short note. Meghan, Knew you’d need to get to work and didn’t want to be in the way. Thanks for the couch. I’ll call you about this weekend.

  This weekend on the boat. She sank onto a stool. She wanted to go. Then again, she was afraid. He’d seen that, saying he’d bring Navy, and that’d helped. But there was a corner of herself that remained doubtful of her strength. Last night had been easy; he’d been so tired.

  Atlas Bellamy awake and strong, however, was an entirely different matter. He was like his father in that – carrying an aura with him. That had caught her unawares more than once.

  Maybe if she talked to her mother, it’d square her thoughts. Meghan made a mental note to contact her mom at lunch and headed back to her bedroom. She slid Atlas’s note into the nightstand drawer.

  Making her way into the bathroom, she posed before the mirror and, gazing at her reflection, exhaled. “Backbone. You have to find your backbone. He’s one man. He says he’s not asking anything of you.”

  He didn’t have to ask. One look her way, and she became pliable … and foolhardy. And that was what scared her the most.

  CHAPTER 7

  Meghan leaned over her mom to kiss her cheek and breathed in the faint scent of peppermint she kept by her chair. “Don’t get up.”

  Her mom smiled and reclined, one arm stretched down the arm of the chair. “What’s this you want to talk to me about?”

  Taking a seat at her side, she captured her fingers, curling them into her palm. She looked good today, stronger – the best news she could have.

  “I’m … seeing someone,” she said.

  Her mother’s gaze perked, a smile fitting onto her lips. It was good to see her happy, even if her own doubts were what brought her here.

  “He’s who sends you the flowers.”

  Her mom’s face became thoughtful. Mouth puckered, forehead drawn, she tilted her head. “That’s … a lot of expense. Surely, he can’t afford it.”

  Meghan released her mom’s hand and straightened, sitting back in her chair. “That’s just it … he can afford it. He’s worth millions.”

  “Millions?” Her mom snorted. “I can’t see how anyone …”

  “Atlas Bellamy.”

  Her words falling away, her mother shifted in her seat, her fingertips taking up an even drumming on the padded arm. “He has a reputation.”

  Meghan nodded. “Yes, he does. But he’s sincere this time.”

  “And you felt the need to confess?”

  “Not confess …” Meghan drew in a breath. “Or maybe, yes, maybe I do need to confess because I’m going to do something that I’m not certain is wise.”

  Her mother stilled her hand and moved it to her lap. “If you’re not sure, then why do it? If he cares for you, he won’t ask you to do anything uncomfortable.”

  Meghan met her mother’s gentle gaze.

  Atlas had promised he would never make her compromise, and she needed to know if that was true. Even greater, she needed to know she wouldn’t compromise either. Those were really the reasons at the heart of this. By taking this weekend with him, she was testing herself, seeing if all he’d made her out to be was really in there.

  “He hasn’t asked,” she said. Past his original invite, and that was to ‘spend time’ with her. “He says he won’t ask, and my heart’s all tied up in this now.”

  Her mother’s smile returned. “Where the heart resides is where the rest of you will be. Follow your heart, but keep your head intact while you do so.” She tapped the side of her head.

  Meghan ran a finger down the side of her nose. Exactly what she needed to hear. Now, if she could remember it when the time came.

  He’d been out on the yacht many times, but until showing Meghan around, had never considered the amount of money the thing cost. Several million, and for what? So once again his family could display their wealth.

  It was always about display. Giving, as sincere as they might be in doing it, was for image sake. A man with a lot of cash simply didn’t line his pockets and ignore those in need unless he wanted to be branded a fool. His father was no fool, nor had his grandfather been one.

  His grandfather had owned plenty of expensive things, a fine house, several cars, and, obviously, knew how to invest. His dad, whether he admitted to it or not, learned what he knew from observing him. Where his grandfather gave his dollars, his father did the same – same organizations, same groups of people, same causes – and he, like the puppet Meghan said he was, walked in both of their shoes.

  The difference between he and his father was he didn’t usually mind it. As the third generation of Bellamy wealth, he found the proportion of “spend vs. give” ingrained in him. It was who they were and what they did. His dad, on the other hand, had once had big plans for himself.

  He never talked about it, but he’d met his mother in an artist colony. She wasn’t an artist, but had been living there with an old boyfriend. She hadn’t known who Evander Bellamy was or what he was worth until they fell in love. Finding out, so she told him, had been a shock, but she was too deeply involved emotionally at that point for it to cloud her judgment.

  After they wed, his dad had changed, a result of family commitments and his grandfather’s odd behavior. He’d resented being made to become something he didn’t want and so tried his hardest to be different. But in the process, he’d become exactly what he hated.

  His mom always said she loved him the same, but he’d watched their interplay and heard their arguments enough to see the strain.

  Looking closely at that, lack of faith in anything but themselves seemed part of the problem. How could anyone go through life thinking they were all that was needed to make it through the day? He’d done so, and look at the result, a life inconsiderate and superficial.

  His grandfather in comparison, to this day people admired him, holding his memory sacrosanct.

  Yet at age thirty, he, himself, had nothing to show for any of his efforts: a name, handed to him; money, handed to him; a house he hadn’t purchased; a yacht he actually didn’t own.

  Looking at Meghan across the dining table, the recessed lights glimmering in her eyes, fine china set before them and a meal prepared by a chef, he swallowed hard, the food gelling in his throat. He’d give it all away to have her, to really hold her heart in his hands.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  He pushed up from the table. “That you must dance with me.”

  She smiled and took his hand, allowing him to lead her to a bare place. Enfolding her in his arms, he swayed, his feet making a slow circle on the floor.

  Pressed up against her, his troubled thoughts slid away, replaced by the depth of her gaze, the sweet pucker of her lips. He leaned his head in and her chin lifted the slightest bit.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said.

  “We’ve kissed before.” Her voice was barely audible, longing thick in it.

  “Twice, but not like this. This is me wanting you all to myself.”

  She brought her mouth yet closer. “We’re here alone. Not even Navy to chaperone. Seems like you have me to yourself.”

  Navy had had the weekend off with plans to go out of town. Realizing this, Atlas hadn’t asked him to change them. Meghan had said she understood. But did she? Or did it look like he’d planned all this out? Even now, the moment singing between them, what he was supposed to do within five weeks remain on the forefront of his mind.

  “A greater reason for restraint,” he said.

  “One kiss. Atlas Bellamy is afraid of one kiss?”

  “Terrified. I’ve never brought a woman to the boat.”

  She pulled back an inch. “Never?”

  He shook his head. “I never wanted to see any of them again, certainly, didn’t want to have a conversation. Being locked on the boat with them was, therefore, out.” He drew in a quick breath. “We’re on an equal level here, you and me.”

  Meghan bit the tender flesh of her cheek, her brow creased. “Equal? We have nothing in common.” She said it plain, like the truth it was.

  He paused in their dance and, one hand on her cheek, trailed his fingertips along her jaw and down her neck. Her eyes closed, her lashes lying light on the crest of her cheeks. The slow pulse in her throat throbbed evenly beneath his hand.

  “One thing,” he said. “There’s one thing we share that I want more than anything right now, but I hold back to have it when it’s right.”

  She looked at him then.

  “I’ve never made love to a woman, never given anything more of myself than physical satisfaction. I have no idea what it will be like, but I’m beginning to realize the power of waiting.”

  “Power?” she asked, softly.

  “Its power is greater than giving in because it requires commitment. It says the first time won’t be the last, but a step to the next. It means I can feel that way again and again, and it never grow old. I want that … with you.”

  She trembled at his touch, her body malleable in his hands, and he shaped her to him so that where she began and he ended was obscured by emotion and heat and mental haze. Yet still, he didn’t kiss her. It seemed premature. She had to know the truth about the Bellamys, and until he gave her that and unless she accepted it, he couldn’t.

  It rose heavy on his tongue, and he willed it to emerge, but swallowed it down in favor of holding her, of hearing her breath whisk in and out, air quivering from her lips, of experiencing the caress of her hands behind his head, the lift of her breasts against his chest. Tomorrow, he’d tell her tomorrow, because it was the right thing to do and had to be said. And he’d take the consequences of it, whatever they were.

  Another thing he’d never done: accept his actions had results, and not always good ones. His grandfather had started this; his father perpetuated it, but the ultimate person who’d pay the price for Meghan’s response would be him. And he deserved it, for all the loose, uninhibited things he’d ever done.

  “Did you sleep well?” Atlas’s question seemed ironic since he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.

  Admittedly, she’d had a hard time drifting off with the scent of him everywhere in the room. That had been in her head; still, she’d struggled against it. She’d learned at that moment that his determination to not consummate what was happening between them fueled hers to do so. She was a child handed a piece of cake and told not to eat it. One finger, just one blob of icing, surely, that’d be okay.

  But one would lead to another and another. He knew that. It was why he hadn’t kissed her. That and something he wanted to say but hadn’t. She had no way to know that but a gut feeling. Whatever it was had been eating at him all week. He’d called and they’d chatted about nonessential things, but always shimmering behind it, just out of reach, was whatever bothered him.

  “I did,” she replied. “What does one do to occupy oneself on a ship?”

  “We have many options. There’s a pool; we could swim. There’s billiards. I’m not so good, but it’s entertaining. Movies.”