Divine Design by Mary Kay McComas

you and beg your forgiveness.”
    He leaned back in his chair and examined her closely. She was still hiding the real reason, and he had a sinking feeling that she’d take it to her grave, but he couldn’t resist one last try.
    “You mean you saw me sitting there and you just suddenly went crazy and decided to have a night of wild, passionate sex with me?” he asked disbelievingly.
    She mulled his question over for a second, then nodded. “In a way it was like that,” she said honestly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t regret what happened that night, only that you got so involved. I need you to believe I didn’t set out to hurt you or make you worry. I just assumed you’d enjoy yourself and leave town and not give it another thought. I … I’ll never be able to compensate you for all the grief I’ve caused, but I am most truly sorry,” she finished, as the ring of truth in her words pealed loud and clear.
    Michael expelled a resigned sigh, and came forward in his seat again. He took Meghan’s soft, white hand in his big brown one and was not surprised to find it trembling.
    “I believe you, Meghan. I’m aware that there’s more to this story than you can bring yourself to tell me, but it’s okay. Maybe someday …” He shrugged. “Let’s just go on from here, shall we?”
    Meghan nodded and whispered a heartfelt “Thank you.” Warm gratitude brought a low flame of life back into her eyes, but Michael could tell she was still on very shaky ground.
    “So. Tell me, when did your family move from Boston to New York?” he asked, changing the subject as if they’d just been discussing the weather. He picked up his fork to resume eating and give Meghan a chance to compose herself.
    His change in strategy was apparently too fast for her, because she gave him a startled look and squeaked, “What?”
    “You said you grew up in Boston. You didn’t come to New York with your family?” he asked.
    “No. No, I didn’t.” She struggled to regain her calm, grateful for his sensitivity. “I came to New York fresh out of law school. My family still lives in Boston.”
    “What does your father do?” he asked politely.
    “He owns a pub,” she informed him, aware that his own father was an oil baron and wondering if it mattered to Michael that they weren’t from the same social class. It had never mattered to her before.
    “So you do know what a drink is,” he teased, referring to the night of their aborted date.
    “Well, I know a decent one would never be made with oyster juice.” She grinned.
    They finished the evening talking about their childhoods and respective brothers. Michael’s brother, Kevin, was six years younger than he. When Michael had decided to set out on his own, his parents had been disappointed but encouraging. They had hoped he’d take over the family business. Luckily, Kevin showed a great interest in the company and was now his father’s right-hand man and heir apparent. Michael grinned playfully as he stated how things had a way of working out for the best, and then winked at her.
    Meghan told Michael about her brothers in return. The oldest was Donald. She loved him, but he teased her horribly and sometimes not too playfully. She thought maybe he was a little envious of her, of what she’d done with her life. As children, he had always been her adversary, pointing out her misdeeds to her father, then setting her up to commit more when things got too quiet. Later the relationship only changed to a more subtle degree. He had taken a perverse joy in pretending to be overly protective of her and chasing away her boyfriends.
    Now, Conrad, or Connie for short, she spoke highly of. Eighteen months older than she, they were not only close in age, but in spirit. He was truly her friend and protector and most trusted counsel. When he was old enough to place himself as a buffer between her and Donald, he had done so courageously, as Donald was four years older and much bigger. Many were the