He knelt behind her, his hands spanning her waist. “Turn around.” Maggie swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut as she forced her feet to move, turning to face him. His thumbs traced the boning of the bra, skirting along her stomach to the curve of her breasts. “Maggie.”
When had her name become a question, an order, a plea? She clung to the safety of her closed eyelids, desperately searching for an excuse, any excuse, to excuse herself long enough to lose the gargantuan girdle he was about to encounter.
The blunt tips of his fingers pressed into the curve of her waist. “Maggie,” he said more forcefully. She pried her eyes open only to find herself rendered speechless at the sight of Tom Sullivan kneeling before her. The desire in his eyes scorched her, a bright blue flame setting her blood to simmer. “Not a princess.” He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the silky fabric covering her stomach. “A goddess.”
The words soaked through to her skin. Maggie broke, giving in to the urge that gnawed at her since he caught up to her in that fairy-lit ballroom. She smoothed the tuft of sable-brown hair that sprung up at his crown.
The tips of his ears turned pink. He smiled and pressed his nose to her stomach. “Cowlick,” he murmured against her skin.
“That’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m wearing the biggest, ugliest, super-sucker-inner, granny panties you’ve ever seen.”
Tom reared back, his face lighting with that boyish smile. “Are you kidding me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why would I kid about that?”
He dove for her skirt, batting the froth of satin-covered crinoline out of his way. His hand closed over her thigh, sliding higher until he hit the hem of her body shaper. Tom closed his eyes, a rough chuckle rumbling up from his chest. She planted her hands on his shoulders and tried to shove him away, but he just shook his head and fell forward pressing his cheek to the crumpled bodice of her dress. “Oh God, I’m sick…”
Panic shot through her. She pushed harder, trying to pry him from her legs before the
Chivas
hit the fan. “Sick?”
“Not that kind of sick,” he protested. Rocking back on his knees, he grasped her wrists and pried them from his shoulders. He stared up at her, waiting patiently until she dared to meet his eyes. “Don’t you see, Maggie? For fifteen years I’ve been trying not to think about getting into your pants, and now that I’m here, you’re telling me I’ll need a crowbar to get you out of them.”
“You won’t need a crowbar—”
“And the sick part about it is I couldn’t be more turned on if you told me you were naked under there,” he said, cutting off her protests.
Maggie raised a cautious eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Rising from his knees with a groan, he caught her lips in a hard, urgent kiss that left them both breathless. When he pulled away, Tom glanced over his shoulder. “We don’t have much time. I’ve
gotta
get you out of those things.”
Maggie pushed away from the counter. “It won’t take that long.”
“Bedroom. Stat. I only have twenty-four hours,” he pressed, urging her from the room.
“Or, I could tell you to leave now.”
Tom shook his head and kissed her again, propelling along the narrow hall to the bedroom. “You can’t do that. You need me.”
She paused at the open doorway to survey the wreckage. “I do?”
Oblivious to the mess, he nudged her into the room, walking her back until her thighs bumped her unmade bed. She dropped to the mattress in a swirl of excess clothing. He shrugged out of his suit coat, yanking his arms from the sleeves and trying to land another kiss all at the same time. Stumbling, he shook the jacket from his wrists and dropped to his knees in front of her again, a wicked grin playing at those sculpted lips.
“Yep. You need me, Maggie.” He cupped her calves, sliding his hands higher and higher. “You’re trapped. Girdle lock. Like gridlock, but far more frustrating.” A rakish grin lit his face. “Lucky for you, I’ve got the jaws of life.”
Chapter Six
Sunlight teased his eyelids, but he resisted. Pigeons cooed on the windowsill. A low, rumbling motor hummed. Satiated and supremely comfortable, Tom saw no reason to invite the outside world into his cocoon. The dull ache in his back tried to nudge him into moving, but a warm, soft weight on his chest anchored him to the bed. He sniffed then smiled, remembering where he was and why he was waking up in sheets that were anything but April fresh. He breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to fire his cleaning lady after all.
A smooth arch caressed his instep. Concentrating all his energy, he raised one hand from the mattress then lowered it to his chest, itching to pet Maggie’s silky hair. Instead, he got a handful of fur.
The motor cut out and Tom’s eyes popped open. He stared into slumberous green eyes, but they weren’t the pair he expected. “Fred,” he croaked.
The cat blinked and he treated the third member of their ménage to a desultory scratch behind the ears. The motor roared to life again, vibrating through his chest like a Harley Davidson. Fred stared him down. “I’m not scared of you, cat,” he whispered.
“Yes, you are.” The muffled reply came from deep in the pillow next to his.
Tom chuckled. “Maybe a little.” He stroked the cat’s enormous head then added another ear scratch for good measure. “I don’t suppose he’s been declawed….”
Beside him, Maggie stirred, pushing a mass of sleep-crumpled red waves from her face. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”
The husky timbre of her voice was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. Sluggish blood warmed and raced for the southern hemisphere. His moves weren’t as sudden as they would have been twenty years before, but all in all, Tom was fairly impressed with his body’s response to her call of action. He turned his head, meeting a much more desirable set of grass green eyes. “Too late.”
Maggie rolled onto her back. The tangled and twisted sheet molded to the curves of her body. One silky-smooth leg escaped. She raised her arms over her head and the sheet slipped, clinging to the rosy tips of her breasts as she stretched.
Fred emitted a low growl of warning, and Tom quickly ran his hand over the cat’s head. “Sorry, big guy, got distracted.”
Maggie clutched the sheet, pulling it up to her throat with a giggle. He shook his head. “Too late for that too.”
She blushed. A delicious pink crept up her throat and bloomed in her cheeks. He would have chased it with his lips if her bulky bodyguard wasn’t pinning him down.
“Sleep okay?” she asked.
“Better than okay.”
Tom made a grab for the edge of the sheet with his left hand, but she held firm. The giggle turned to a sultry laugh as she wriggled from his reach. “
Nuh
-uh. You have to go get breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“There’s a Polish bakery around the corner.”
He blinked at her then Fred leaned into his palm, demanding the return of his attentions. “You don’t have any food in the house?”
“I usually grocery shop on Sundays too.”
“I can make us some eggs, if you’ve got them,” he offered.
She shook her head. “Fred will be having salmon.”
“Is it smoked?”
“No, and you can probably tell he’s not big on sharing.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You only lured me up here so I’d feed you.”
She let the sheet fall, revealing a tantalizing hint of the tops of those glorious breasts. “Possibly. I want a bear claw and the biggest coffee you can get. Maybe two.”
“If I wanted to starve I
coulda
stayed home,” he grumbled to Fred.
Maggie snickered, rolling onto her side and snuggling into her pillow. “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
He swallowed hard then nodded. “Anything else?”
“The Sunday paper.”
Tom cast a wary glance at his feline friend. “What do I do about the enforcer?”
Maggie’s smile rivaled the sun streaming through the slats of the blinds. She reached for Fred, deftly lifting the gazillion-pound cat and pulling the lucky bastard into her warm embrace. “There. I won’t let the mean, old pussycat hurt you,” she cooed, stroking the length of Fred’s body.
Smug. He’d swear the cat’s smile turned smug when he stretched out beside her. Tom glowered at the pair of them. Maggie met his gaze, her lips twitching into the same smug smile.
“Bear claw, huh?” he asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He hung his head for a moment, pressing his knuckles into the mattress as he tried to gather his wits. Her fingernails skittered along the length of his spine and his head swiveled. She smiled and drew back, pressing her palm to the crown of Fred’s fat head and burying those delicate fingers in orange fur. “Lots of almonds.”
“Got it.” Tom rummaged through the knots of discarded clothing on the floor until he located his pants and underwear. As he dressed, he thought about the gluttonous, gourmet, morning-after meals other women had prepared for him in the past and chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He shrugged into his rumpled shirt and let the tails hang open as he bent to capture her lips in a searing kiss. “You’ll be right here?”
“Why would I move? You’re bringing me breakfast and the paper,” she answered with a sly smile.
****
The moment the door closed behind him, Maggie launched herself from the bed. Fred yowled in protest, but she shushed him as she made a beeline for the bathroom. She peed, started the shower, squeezed toothpaste onto her brush, and popped it into her mouth before leaping into the tub. Exactly three minutes later, she wrapped a turquoise bath sheet around her body and peered into the cloudy mirror above the sink.
“Ten minutes, right?” she asked Fred. “It’ll take at least ten. Fifteen or twenty if Mrs.
Diminski
is feeling chatty.”
She yanked her blow dryer from the cabinet under the sink, jammed the plug into the wall, and bent over, shooting her wet tresses with a damaging blast of hot air. “Come on, come on,” she muttered, finger combing the damp curls. A minute and a half later, she stashed the dryer under the sink and dashed back to the bedroom.
The towel slipped when she pulled the corner of the fitted sheet from the mattress. Maggie cursed under her breath and let it fall to the floor in a heap. Naked but for goose bumps, she stripped the bed then rummaged through her closet for a fresh set of sheets that weren’t too flowery. She had to settle for pink rosebuds printed on ivory cotton.
The front door slammed just as she tucked the flat sheet under the end of the mattress. Maggie flung the duvet onto the bed and ignored Fred’s howl of protest when she dove for the covers. “In a minute,” she hissed at the bossy feline.
She plumped the pillows and propped them against the headboard, sinking against them as the lock on the apartment door tumbled. Fred leapt onto the freshly made bed and voiced his opinion in no uncertain terms. Tom appeared in the doorway holding a cardboard carry-out tray loaded with cups and a waxy bakery bag. The Sunday
Tribune
was three inches thick and tucked under his arm.
His jaw dropped and his shoulders slumped. “You said you were staying in bed.”
Maggie shrugged. “No. I said I’d be right here, and here I am.”
Stepping over her damp towel, he skirted the clothes strewn across the floor and slid their breakfast onto the nightstand. The newspaper hit the floor with a
splat
. The Styrofoam cup squeaked when he pried it from the carrier. He peeled the lid from the cup and handed it to her. “I didn’t know how you take it, so there’s sugar and cream and stuff in the bag.”
The hot flush scalding her cheeks had nothing to do with the steam rising from the cup and everything to do with the virtual stranger standing beside her bed. She lowered her gaze and inhaled deeply, hoping a hit of caffeine by osmosis would help her power through the rush of Catholic guilt. Every muscle in her body ached. When she opened her eyes she thought it was a good ache, but now she wasn’t so sure. Now she was sitting in bed stark naked staring at a man who didn’t know it took at least two doses of
Nutra
-Sweet and a half-pint of milk to make coffee tolerable.
“Are you okay?”
The sincerity in his tone startled her. Her head jerked up and she blinked to clear her thoughts. “What? Yeah. I’m, uh…” Maggie took a quick sip of her coffee and grimaced when the bitter brew burned her tongue. “Waking up,” she mumbled.