McFarlane's Perfect Bride / Taming the Montana Millionaire: McFarlane's Perfect Bride

Uh-uh. No way. Not going to happen.

She tore her gaze free of his and got the heck out of there, somehow managing to wave goodbye to Jerilyn and CJ as they put the bike in the back of the SUV.

In the house, feeling totally bereft and hating that she felt that way, she called Allaire. But no one was home. They were probably off at some Traub family Sunday dinner. Tori hung up without leaving a message.

About then, she realized that she’d left her picnic basket in the back of Connor’s SUV. It wasn’t a big deal. She could get it later. Much, much later.

Or maybe he would have CJ drop it by.

It was all just too sad and depressing. She’d finally found a guy who made her heart turn somersaults, and he was a ruthless corporate shark unwilling to be straight with her.

She took a long bath and turned in early.

And at midnight she was still lying there, wide awake, telling herself that she hardly knew Connor. They’d only spent a total of maybe fifteen hours together—if you counted the picnic just that day, when they’d each been doing their level best to pretend the other didn’t exist.

Really, she needed to get over this and move on. She needed to shut her eyes and get some sleep.

But sleep was not in the offing. She kept seeing his face at that last moment before she got out of the SUV, seeing the hunger there, the stark longing for what was never going to happen between them. She kept thinking that maybe she had been too uncompromising.

After all, she knew darn well he was trying to buy out the resort. His confessing the fact in so many words wouldn’t make much difference in the end.

Except that, well, what kind of relationship would they have, if he couldn’t even be honest with her about his real intentions? It all had to start with honesty, and with trust, too. If they didn’t have honesty and trust, they had nothing.

Time crawled by. She tried not to look at her bedside clock. It only reminded her how miserable she was—and how little sleep she was getting.

And then, out of nowhere, at ten after one, the doorbell rang.

At the unexpected sound, her pulse started booming in her ears. And her chest felt so tight, it hurt to breathe. Either it was Connor, unable to wait to tell her he wanted to work it out with her. Or it was some awful disaster that couldn’t be put off till daylight: a fire; Jerilyn with bad news about her dad.

Terrible dread and impossible hope warring for prominence in her heart, Tori yanked on her robe and ran to answer. Breathless, frantic, she pulled the door wide—and when she saw who was on the other side, her pulse thudded all the louder.

Connor.

He stood there on her doorstep in the same jeans and fancy boots he’d worn that afternoon, her picnic basket in his hand, looking exhausted—but determined, too. She realized as she gaped at him that he was the handsomest man she’d ever known.

“You left this in my SUV.” He held out the basket. “And yes, I’m planning to buy the resort.”

Connor waited, his stomach in a knot and his throat locked up tight. He had no idea what would happen next. She just might grab the basket and shut the door in his face.

But no. Those amazing hazel eyes had gone misty. That had to be a good sign, right?

And then she stepped back and tipped her head toward the great room, inviting him in.

He cleared his throat. He felt he owed her … something. A more thorough confession.

What the hell was happening to him? He wished he knew.

He found his voice. “I’ve been walking the floor half the night, thinking about you—” And then it was like a damn bursting. The words came tumbling out of him. “Thinking about how I’ve never met anyone like you and I can’t stand to think it’s over with us when it never even got started. I decided at least fifty times that I would come over here—after which I decided not to, that in the end, I would be leaving when the summer is over, so what was the point, since I know you want more than a summer romance?”

She gazed up at him, her eyes so soft. “Connor.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you please come in so that I can shut the door?”

He frowned, wanting—needing—her to be certain about letting him into her house. It was insane. Where had these silly scruples come from? He’d never been troubled by them before. “You’re, uh, sure?”

She only looked at him, still misty-eyed, and slowly nodded her red-gold head.

So he stepped over the threshold. She shut the door behind him and turned the lock. And then she took the picnic basket from him and set it on the narrow entry-area table.

“Come on.” She turned. He followed her through the great room to her cozy kitchen at the back of the house. “Sit down.” She gestured at the table.

He sat, hardly daring to believe he was actually here in her kitchen again, that not only had he come here in the middle of the night, she had answered the door. She had let him in.

Maybe it wasn’t over, after all.

He watched, dumbfounded, as she put water on for the tea she liked and loaded up the coffeemaker for him. She looked more beautiful than ever, he thought, with her hair a little wild, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, wearing a lightweight yellow robe that revealed a lot of sleek bare leg and adorable bare feet with toenails painted the color of a ripe plum.

She pushed the brew button on the coffeemaker and took the chair across from him. “What else?”

“Uh. Excuse me?”

“It seemed as though you had more to say.”

“I did. I do.”

She folded her hands on the tabletop. “I’m listening.”

He raked his fingers back through his hair. “It’s only … I’m sorry, but I can’t give you more than this summer. This, right now, that’s all I’m ready for. I’m not … cut out for anything more.”

Her red-kissed brows drew together and he knew he wasn’t making much sense.

He confessed, “I, well, I was a lousy husband, you know?”

“No. I didn’t know.”

“I was. Just lousy. All that really mattered to me was my work. I wanted to take what my father and grandfather had started and make it more. New, exciting locations, each one-of-a-kind, each a luxury boutique hotel with stylish rooms, signature restaurants, bars and destination spas. I considered marriage and children as no more than something that was expected of me, something I needed to get out of the way so I could focus on my work, on growing the McFarlane House brand. So I fulfilled what I saw as my obligation to acquire a spouse, to procreate. I found a beautiful woman with the right pedigree and I married her.”

“You … you didn’t care for her at all?”

He shrugged. “Looking back, I think I told myself I cared. But really, being brutally honest now, I didn’t care enough. Yes, I told my ex-wife I loved her, but it was just because I knew it was something I was supposed to say. And it’s only by necessity that I’m trying to figure out how to be a halfway decent dad for CJ.”

“But, Connor, you are trying. That’s what matters.”

“No. I’m doing what I have to do, fulfilling my responsibility to my son. Period. I live for my work, and I’m not husband material. I can’t see that changing. I’m just not a family man.”

She caught her lower lip between her even white teeth—and then let it go. “Clearly, it’s not going to do any good to tell you that you’re a better man than you think you are.”