Free Undercover Father by Mary Anne Wilson Page B

support, staring up at the starlit sky. He let the heat seep into his body, willing himself to relax, but it didn’t happen. He couldn’t shut off his mind, and no matter what he did to reroute his thoughts, he kept reliving that rush up to the loft, Megan throwing herself into his arms, and his raw fear for her.
    He closed his eyes, but the images played out, anyway. Megan looking up at him, Rafe trying to get her out of the loft to protect her, then seeing her there again, right in the line of danger. And his rage, his relief...
    Rafe opened his eyes quickly. Her parting shot still rang in his ears. She thought he was married and fooling around. Coming on to her. He actually preferred her to think that. He didn’t want her sympathy, or her saying anything like Francine had, about “passing” or “losing.”
    He was a bit taken aback that her words hadn’t brought blinding pain, just anger. That coolness that returned, the way she set her boundaries, the way she dismissed him when she didn’t need him... Boundaries weren’t bad, he’d admit that, and they were probably a good thing with a woman like Megan. But he was the one who would set them. Not a woman who looked down on him for being an hourly worker, not worth very much.
    He pushed himself up and out of the tub, then padded dripping wet back into the bedroom, closed the doors, reset the alarm and went to find a towel in the bathroom. After he changed out of his bathing suit, he stretched out on the empty bed and stared up at the shadows on the ceiling.
    His stomach was still knotted and he felt a restlessness that he knew would keep sleep at bay. There had been so many nights he’d struggled to get through. Sleep often eluded him, and even when it didn’t, it wasn’t a peaceful rest. He’d awake tired in the morning, due to sadness, grief and guilt. Tonight was different.
    Tonight he felt so very alone, and before he knew what he was doing, he was counting each breath he took, remembering Megan’s words. You’re married. Does your wife know what you do on your way home?
    He shifted, rested his hands on his stomach and felt his wedding ring. His fingers touched it, caressing the plain gold band. “Let go,” he’d been told, so often he’d lost count. “It wasn’t your fault.” He pressed his right hand over his left and closed his eyes. “Let go.”
    The instant he shut his eyes, an image came to him, with such a jolt that he bolted upright in bed. But it wasn’t from his past, those images that had haunted him for almost two years. Instead the vision that came with aching clarity was of Megan Gallagher. Even sitting in the middle of the bed with his eyes wide open now, he could see her. Glancing at him from under her lashes. The fullness of her lips. The softness of her skin...
    He got up, but even standing on the cold tiles, he couldn’t stop the images, driven as he was by insane thoughts that he couldn’t let himself think. The kiss... He pushed them away, banishing them. He’d never let a woman like Megan Gallagher evoke anything like that in him. He wouldn’t let her bring out any feeling that he could protect her. He couldn’t and wouldn’t ever try that again.
    He crossed the room to a built-in entertainment center, found a DVD and started it before returning to bed. He crushed the pillows behind his head and stared determinedly at the huge flat-screen TV as the movie’s opening credits rolled past.
    “Are you always this pushy and annoying?”
    He stared at the screen, trying to push away Megan’s words, and his response to it. “Heaven help your fiancé.”
    “Pity the poor fool,” he muttered then, clasping his hands behind his head as he watched the images flashing on the television screen. Pity the man who had to deal with her attitudes and her snobbery. And the man who endured her condescension and barbs. The same man who would reach out for her and make her smile.
    * * *
    M EGAN DIDN ’ T GET TO BED until the wee hours