A Man for Megan Read online

  “I can give you anything you want.”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Copyright

  “I can give you anything you want.”

  Megan’s hands clenched and her breath seemed to go faint every time she was in Gino’s presence. Never had she felt such greed to be with a man.

  She had no right to feel like this. Yet, it’d been so long, perhaps never, would it be so awful if she wallowed in it a little longer?

  She’d stopped wanting so long ago, she’d thought she had no need left. No need to feel shivers down her spine. She needed only one thing: security.

  But when Gino had taken her into his arms and spoke to her in the secret language of desire, it had been a woman who’d answered. Together in passion and need, there had been only a man, only a woman. One touch of his lips, and suddenly the impossible seemed very possible….

  Dear Reader,

  Every one of us knows that there’s that special guy out there meant just for us. The kind of guy who’s every woman’s fantasy—but only one woman’s dream come true. That’s the kind of men you’ll meet in THE ULTIMATE…. miniseries. This month, meet THE ULTIMATE LOVER, courtesy of Darlene Scalera.

  In her twenties, Darlene Scalera lived everywhere from Denver to London and did everything from factory work to public relations for a top political official. What she realizes now is she was training to be a writer. Eventually, she returned to her birthplace in upstate New York. However, it wasn’t until a week later when she met Jim, her husband-to-be that she finally knew she was home. Having learned that love is life’s most precious gift, Darlene combines this principle with her belief “a miracle is only a moment away” to guide the lives of her characters. Besides her marriage, Darlene’s Top Ten Miraculous Moments include the births of her children, J.J. and Ariana. She is now proud to add to that list the publication of her first novel. Darlene welcomes reader mail at P.O. Box 217, Niverville, New York 12130. For a bookmark and autographed bookplate, please include a self-addressed stamped envelope.

  Regards,

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

  Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street

  New York, NY 10017

  A Man for Megan

  DARLENE SCALERA

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  To my husband, Jim—

  the man who made all my wishes come true.

  Chapter One

  The walls surrounding Gilgamesh were smooth. His own image was reflected in the shiny brown surface. In the past two thousand years, he hadn’t aged a day.

  Looking up, he saw a dome of thick glass. A face, blurred by the lid, appeared and was gone. He heard tuneless humming, then nothing.

  No, don’t leave yet, he pleaded silently. The sooner we begin, the sooner it’ll be over.

  And I’ll be free.

  He heard the humming again, and he closed his eyes in relief, thinking surely he’d never heard a sweeter sound.

  He was not normally anxious for the moment he met his new master. In fact, usually he dreaded it, but this time was different. The source of the off-key serenade above was his two thousandth master.

  His last master.

  He had only to grant three more wishes, and the curse would be fulfilled. He would return to the Upper Tier triumphant and ascend to the throne that was now denied him. He would be King.

  The glass top came off above him. “I hope I kept that recipe for that chicken and cream of mushroom soup concoction,” Gilgamesh heard above him. It was a woman’s voice. Gilgamesh recognized the accent as American.

  He swore once more in a low tone. American females used to be so easy, but in the last thirty years or so, they’d refined fickleness to a fine art. Some were still easy, content with wealth and the promise of no wrinkles. But others wanted everything: money, respect in the men’s realm and orgasms three out of five times.

  In his groin, he felt the first ripple that told him it would not be much longer. The moment was near.

  The hand that held the rim was red and chapped with several tiny cuts in various stages of healing across the knuckles. The nails were clipped short, and the veins popped out along the backside like blue bolts of lightning.

  It was almost time.

  MEGAN KELLY pushed back a stray curl while she eyed the crock pot. Cleaned up, it didn’t look so bad. Her gaze swung to the neat row of cookbooks wedged between the microwave and the wall. She pulled out a thin volume, riffling its pages. She rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she needed more: sleep or a meal started so that when she woke she had something hot to put in her stomach. She needed both if she was going to work the three-to-eleven shift tonight, especially after filling in on the graveyard shift last night. She couldn’t say no to the extra work, not with overtime having been cut the last three months and her trying to save for the wedding.

  She tried to read a recipe for meatless chili, but the words kept blurring together. Maybe she should just go to bed.

  GILGAMESH WAITED, breath held, every part of him poised, ready to rise. This time, the wait was worse than any of the others. His lungs began to burn with held air. His muscles tried to twitch from their forced stillness. Hurry, he silently pleaded.

  Then, as if in answer to his prayer, he heard the woman say, “Well, I should, at least, plug you in to make sure you work.”

  It was time.

  The beginning of the end.

  He looked down. His lower limbs had already dissolved. He felt his upper body engorge and rise, riding on the wings of smoke. Mixed with the heavy, misty swirls was the sound of the woman’s panicked voice.

  “Hank, it’s Meg. Get the truck over here fast. The kitchen’s filling up with smoke. I think it might be electrical. An appliance. I don’t know.”

  By the time the smoke was re-forming into a solid mass, the woman was gone.

  Gilgamesh stood on two legs as thick as tree trunks. He took a breath, sucking in the last wisps of smoke. He looked around the empty kitchen. “Okay, so I’m a show-off, but this is my farewell performance.” He brushed a speck of soot off his Armani suit.

  The screen door slammed, causing Gilgamesh to look up. His hands stopped their movement. The breath halfway down his throat caught. It had been two thousand years since he’d seen an angel. Now one stood before him, her hand lifting to her throat, her eyes, too large in a thin face, filling with wonder.

  Her lips parted like soft petals budding, but Gilgamesh heard no words. The mouth slowly closed, the bottom lip caught beneath the front teeth. He saw a white edge where the tooth cut into the delicate skin. The sirens wailed outside.

  He took a half step toward her, but stopped as she backed away.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. It was not the voice that usually greeted his new master. It was too soothing, soft, without a trace of an immortal’s ingrained condescension.

  He eyed this new master before him. Yes, she had the burnished halo of curls and fine, straight features of the angels he’d known. She had the frame the angels were famous for—tiny and so delicately drawn you touched them gently or risked b
eing left with nothing but puffs of glittery dust in your palms.

  But if he ran his hands down this creature’s spine, he would only meet the knotty press of vertebrae. There would be no wings tucked flat against her back, ready to unfold and lift her high above mortal men.

  No, she was not an angel. She was only human.

  He saw the woman’s small, worn hand leave her throat, flutter for a moment, then, drop like a broken-winged bird. He didn’t realize his own hands had reached out for her until he saw them stretched before him.

  “Megan May?” a man’s voice called from outside. “What’re you doing in there, girl?” The back screen door opened and banged shut.

  The tiny woman jumped, her gaze automatically veering toward the sound. It was all the time Gilgamesh needed.

  “Where’s the disaster?” The chief of Shady Hook’s volunteer fire department stood in the doorway. Other men wearing the same heavy yellow coats clustered behind him.

  “I don’t even smell smoke. It was you who called, wasn’t it, Megs? Something about an appliance?”

  Megan forced a nod. She was staring at the far corner of the kitchen where the man had stood. It was empty.

  A voice came from behind the chief. “Last month, Gladys blew up an espresso machine. I’m still picking coffee grinds out of the carpet. She wants me to drink coffee in little cups, for Pete’s sake. Where does she come up with these ideas?”

  “You think that’s bad?” another voice chimed in. “Do you know what Helen wants? A pasta maker. But can I get a universal remote? Oh, no, and there’s a practical purchase.”

  Megan smiled wanly as she glanced at the men. She pointed toward the counter.

  “I plugged in that thing there. There was all this smoke and then…” Her gaze went once more to the empty corner of the kitchen.

  The chief clomped over to the counter and examined the cord to the crock pot. He touched the metal prongs at the end of the cord. “I don’t see any frayed wires.” He patted the sides of the appliance. “It’s not hot. Did this come from Henry’s House of Hardware?”

  Megan shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the spot where the strange man had stood. “Actually I picked it up this morning on my way home from work. Sal was selling it at his annual yard sale for two dollars.”

  Laughter came from the doorway. “I guess you got your money’s worth, huh, Megs?”

  The chief tested the sides of the crock pot once more. “It’s cool as a cucumber now, but I’m sure you’ll want to get rid of it.”

  “Of course,” Megan agreed. “I don’t want it sitting around the place. What do I do with it? Take it to the dump?”

  “You can do that.” The chief started to wind the cord around the pot. “I believe it’s a ten-dollar charge for any electrical appliance.”

  “Ten dollars? I only bought it for two.”

  “You could have a yard sale,” came the suggestion from the doorway.

  The chief tucked the cord beneath the pot’s cover. “Don’t they have a garbage bin at the plant for non-recyclables?”

  “They must.” Megan stopped rubbing her forehead. “Maybe they’d let me stick it in there. It’s not that big.”

  “I’m sure Elliot could take care of it for you.”

  “Of course.” Megan’s hand slapped her forehead. “I’ll bring it to work with me this afternoon.”

  “You’re going back in this afternoon?” the chief questioned as he started to walk toward the door.

  Megan glanced at the corner of the kitchen. “It’s my scheduled shift. Last night I was just filling in for Betty. Her daughter-in-law went into labor.”

  “No kidding. Did you hear if she had a boy or a girl?”

  Megan was still staring into the far corner.

  “Megs?” the chief said.

  She looked at him. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” Her words were slow, her tone distant.

  “Is everything okay? You look a little pale.”

  “There …” Her hand lifted, the fingers pointing toward the corner. She had seen a man, hadn’t she?

  “Did you see a man standing there when you came in?” She looked away from the empty spot just in time to catch the expression that passed between the chief and the men at the back door.

  “A man?”

  Megan pushed the curls back from her forehead. “Before you got here, the smoke cleared, so I came back into the kitchen. When I did, I swear there was a man standing there.” She gestured toward the vacant corner.

  “I didn’t see anyone. How ‘bout you guys?” the chief asked the men. They shook their heads.

  “Lou, come on in, and we’ll have a look around inside just to be sure. You fellas take a walk around the house.”

  Megan stayed rooted, staring at the empty corner. She had seen a man. A man unlike any she’d ever seen before. He’d been as tall and strong as a redwood. His hair had been slicked back from his forehead, and it shone as if it had just been freshly washed. His skin was the color of polished teak. And he’d been dressed as if he were on the cover of a men’s fashion magazine.

  The heavy step of the firemen came back into the kitchen. “I don’t see anything, Megan,” the chief said.

  “It was probably a shadow from the smoke,” Lou suggested.

  Megan faintly nodded. “Maybe.” Except shadows don’t speak.

  “Unless there’s something else we can do, I guess we’ll be going now.” The firemen started toward the screen door.

  “Wait.” The thought of being alone finally sent Megan into motion. She started toward the refrigerator. “Wouldn’t you guys like a soda or something?”

  “Thanks, honey, but no. We’ve got our monthly meeting and a quarter keg on ice waiting for us back at the firehouse. And you look ready to drop right where you stand. You get some rest now.”

  At the chief’s words, her weariness rose. She hadn’t slept in twenty-eight hours. She hadn’t eaten in sixteen. In a few more minutes, she’d be asleep standing up, her dreams surrounding her like virtual reality.

  Of course! That was it! The man she’d seen had been so handsome as to be unreal. And that’s because that’s what he was—nothing more than a vision of her overworked, sleep-deprived, caffeine-laced brain.

  She smiled. “You’re probably right. I better get some sleep. Let me walk you out.” As she passed the counter, she picked up the crock pot. “I’ll stick this piece of junk in the car right now, so I don’t forget it.”

  Megan and the firemen started outside. “How are things at the factory?” the chief asked.

  She shrugged. “They laid off ten more people last week. There hasn’t been any overtime in three months.”

  “I heard they’ve got a few buyers from the South looking at it,” one of the firemen said.

  “I hear they’re shutting down,” another one added.

  Megan shook her head. “There’s a new rumor every day. Nobody really knows what’s going to happen at this point.”

  “What’s Elliot say?” a fireman asked.

  “He says not to worry about it.”

  “Elliot’s right,” the chief agreed. “My father’s worked there twenty-seven years and, believe me, this isn’t the first time Crelco’s threatened to shut down.”

  “That’s what they said about the paper mill three years. ago,” Lou commented. “Then one Monday morning, the seven-to-three shift came in. They were met by security guards, escorted to their lockers and told to clean them out, their severance checks would be in the mail.”

  “Taxes are too high in Connecticut,” another fireman added. “All the plants are moving south. Who can blame them?”

  “All right, fellas,” the chief said. “We’d better let Megan get some rest so she can get to work before the place goes under.” He winked at Megan. “I hear she’s saving all her money so she can invite us all to her wedding.”

  Megan smiled. “And you all better come.”

  The chief smiled. “Doris and I wouldn’t miss i
t. Elliot’s a good man, Megan. I’m happy for the both of you kids.”

  “Thanks, chief.”

  Megan waved as the truck pulled out. Elliot was a good man, she thought as she walked back inside. She went to the counter and wiped at the damp circles left by the crock pot’s rubber legs.

  He was decent and hardworking and loyal—everything any girl would want in a husband.

  So why was she conjuring up a sheikh in a designer suit in the corner of her kitchen?

  “Don’t be afraid, Megan.”

  She stopped wiping the counter, and stood motionless. If she was the type to scream and become hysterical, she would’ve done so then.

  Behind her, Gilgamesh’s hands lifted as if to touch the knobby curve of her backbone, but stopped.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” She started to wipe the counter again. Her voice was of a child’s trying to sound brave. “I know what you are.”

  “Really?” The last female master who had told him that had decided he was a male stripper sent by her friends and demanded he perform the Dance of the Seven Veils.

  Not looking at him, Megan walked to the sink and folded the dishcloth into a neat square.

  “You’re a dream,” she said, still refusing to turn around.

  “Why, thank you.” Gilgamesh couldn’t resist. At least, she wasn’t getting crazy on him. Screaming women were so hard to explain afterward to the neighbors and police. “My name is Gilgamesh.”

  The slip of a woman finally turned and looked at him. Her eyelids paused an extra beat between blinks. She steadied herself against the counter. “No need for introductions because after I get a few hours sleep, you’ll be gone.”

  Gilgamesh forged on. “I’m a Jinni—Prince of the Ifrit Clan of the Jinn.”

  “So, you’re the ‘one-day-my-prince-will-come’ guy. My mother warned me about you.”