Megan ran her hand along the rack of clothes until her fingers brushed against something she liked. Removing it from the rack so that she could get a better look, she held it against herself, and smiled. She’d long finished gathering the personal care items she needed. This wasn’t about need at all. This was about want.
On the long drive back to Indianapolis, Megan had done a lot of thinking—both about the previous night and that morning. Paul wanted her. At least, on some level he did. She was convinced of that. He’d said her name. He’d known it was her. Not his dead wife.
Plus, that morning at breakfast—that look he gave her—when he saw Trent whispering in her ear. Had he remembered something? The vibe coming off him had been one of annoyance. It wasn’t as if Trent had never flirted wi
