“Hmm?”
“One night and one day.”
Maggie reared back. “One day?”
He held firm, drawing her close once more. His palm closed over her knee. He teased the sensitive nylon-clad crease behind her leg with the pad of his middle finger. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Tonight might not be long enough.”
“Long enough for what?” she asked with a breathless laugh.
“Everything,” he murmured. “Everything, Maggie.”
Her laughter drifted away and her smile faded. She wet her lips then nodded. “One night, one day.”
He couldn’t resist pushing for a little more. He checked his watch then turned his wrist so she could read the dial. “Twenty-four hours from now.”
“Now it’s twenty-four hours?”
The cab pulled to the curb. The pink flush coloring her cheeks was only enhanced by the glow of the red light. He brushed his thumb over the heated skin then caressed the smattering of freckles dusting her nose with one finger, drawing it down to her moist, parted lips. “You won’t regret it.”
Maggie averted her eyes, fumbling with the clasp on her purse again. She extracted a twenty and inched forward to push it through the slot for the driver.
“No. I’ll get it.” Tom fumbled in his coat pocket for his wallet, but she pressed her hand to his chest to stop him.
Meeting his gaze solemnly, she shook her head. “I’m not cooking, so you’re covering take-out for the next twenty-four hours.”
He plucked the bill from her fingers, tucked it back in the ridiculous little purse, and snapped it shut once and for all. “Tell me there’s decent Chinese around here,” he mumbled, thumbing through his wallet for the fare.
“I have it on speed dial.”
He shoved some cash through the slot. “Thai?”
“To die for.”
Tom opened the door and planted one foot in the gutter to keep his mind company. Then a terrifying thought struck. All the merit badges he’d ever earned scouting girls could be ripped from his grasp. Just when he was finally going to get his hands on Maggie McCann, she could slip through his fingers. His heart clenched and he froze, turning to look at her. “Twenty-four hour pharmacy?” She nudged him and he crawled from the cab, mentally kicking his own ass as he offered her a steadying hand.
“Got you covered there too,” she purred, brushing past him onto the sidewalk.
The cab took off and Tom hopped to the curb, a grin splitting his face. “You’re a hell of a girl, Maggie McCann.”
****
Maggie made it about twenty steps into the block-long walk before she started having second thoughts. He chuckled, and her head jerked up. She glanced up to see if he’d somehow picked up on her misgivings, but his gaze was riveted on her shoes.
“I always wondered how women walk in those things.”
Tom wrapped his arm around her waist, snuggling her up against his side. The second thoughts were chased off by a swarm of butterflies taking flight in her stomach. “Kind of like the purse thing?”
He laughed again and his warm fingers closed around her ribcage. “No, this is for real.”
“Practice,” she murmured.
A gust of cool November wind cut through her thin wrap, carrying the stench of uncollected trash. She turned her head, burying her nose in the lapel of his jacket and inhaled deeply. The scent of expensive cologne, aged whisky, and a hint of bar soap made her head swim. His lips brushed her hair, and she nearly blew years of training by tripping over her feet.
“Easy,” he crooned, tightening his hold on her.
Easy. Oh God, she was being too easy. “It’s just up ahead,” she murmured. “The red awning.”
“The Glass Slipper?” That low, husky laugh rumbled again. “Someone got a Cinderella complex?”
A cab cruised toward them, its light gleaming like a beacon. Maggie briefly contemplated hailing the driver and shoving Tom into the back seat. “Watch it, Peter Pan. I can still ship you off to Never-
Neverland
.”
“Or is it because you go in feeling like a drudge and come out a princess?”
Her steps faltered. She spared a glance at his profile and found him giving the rouge red awning careful consideration. The cab slipped past. “Something like that,” she murmured. When his serious frown gave way to that boyish smile, her heart skipped in her chest. “Been keeping up with your fairy tales, have you?”
“Erin suckered me into taking her to Disney on Ice every year for five years running,” he confessed.
A startled laugh tripped from her lips. “Disney on Ice?”
He slowed as they approached the door. “Hey, she liked it.”
“I bet she did.” The thought of Tom Sullivan sitting through hours of costumed figure skating to make his niece happy made her stomach flip. She pulled her key from her purse and nodded to the door to the left of the salon’s entrance. “Sucker.”
He gently took the key from her hand and inserted it into the deadbolt lock. “Yeah, well, what can I say? I am the ultimate uncle.”
His cocky grin was infectious. She found herself returning it automatically. “I bet you are.”
He stood aside, letting her lead the way. Maggie started for the narrow staircase, but her step wavered when she heard him jiggle the door to be sure the locks caught. Within seconds his hands were on her hips. Hot, moist breath seeped through her wrap, sending shivers down her spine. Biting her lip, she resisted the urge to dash up the steps, knowing that would put her ass right at eye level. Not her best angle.
“This is nice.”
She ignored the obvious leer in his voice, opting to play oblivious. “
Angelini
Restoration did the renovation work,” she said, referring to the company his uncle founded and his brother now ran.
“Uh-huh.”
“The place was pretty much trashed, but Sean managed a minor miracle,” she babbled.
“He’s good at those.”
The door at the top of the steps loomed. She searched her memory, trying to recall the exact state of her apartment. There were clothes strewn all over the bedroom floor. Had she changed her sheets this week? Would he care? Oh God, had she cleaned the litter box? She hesitated at the threshold, jingling her keys in her palm.
“As a matter of fact, it might be pretty trashed right now,” she said, sneaking a glance at him from under her lashes as she separated her house key from the rest. “I usually clean on Sundays.”
Tom ducked his head, grazing her cheek with the barest of kisses and pulling the pin he’d loosened earlier from her hair. “Unless I’m
gonna
need a tracking device to follow you through a maze of stacked up newspapers and magazines, I couldn’t really give a damn.”
She sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the riot of tingles his touch incited. Her fingers trembled when she slid the key into the lock. He pulled a curl loose from her sleek up-do. Maggie made a stab at the second lock as he wound her hair around his finger. The heat gathering low in her belly coiled a bit tighter.
He moved closer. The hard planes of his chest and stomach teased her back. Her bottom nestled against his thighs. His hand covered hers and the key slid home. The doorknob slipped in her damp palm. The warped wood was stuck, as always.
Flashing a sheepish smile, she nudged him away with her elbow. He conceded the space, his eyebrows shooting up as she threw her hip into the effort. The door swung open wide. “Takes a magic touch.”
The surprise in his violet eyes melted into admiration then flared to something hotter, deeper, more urgent. He advanced on her. “Do it again.”
Maggie stumbled into the apartment, her eyes locked on his. He stepped into her space, his stride confident and purposeful. A tinkling laugh gave her nervousness away. She wanted to clamp a hand over her mouth, but a low growl cut the tension like a machete.
Tom whirled, searching out the source of the threat. Keeping her knees primly pressed together, Maggie lowered herself to the floor and ran her hand over her cat’s arched back. “Fred this is Tom. Don’t eat him,” she whispered to the cat then straightened. “Tom, this is Fred.”
The two men in her life sized each other up. She was pleased when Tom met her rotund roommate’s unblinking stare without a flinch. “Fred,” he acknowledged with a nod.
Fred turned his attention to Maggie, winding his way around her ankles. “I should give him a little food. Otherwise, he won’t leave us alone.”
Her wrap slid from her shoulders. One end drifted to the floor when she tossed her purse onto the hall table. Fred promptly pounced. A stack of unopened mail slithered from the table, falling to the floor with a splat. She gently but firmly removed the butter-soft cashmere from the cat’s claws. She looked up and found Tom grinning at her. “What?”
“You’re a slob, Cinderella.”
“I told you I clean on Sundays.”
She spun away from the cocky man crowding her entry and sashayed toward the kitchen, hoping to distract him from her lack of housekeeping. It worked like a charm. She pulled a can of cat food from the cabinet, simultaneously opening the drawer that held her fancy new can opener. When she removed the opener from the drawer his fingers closed around hers again.
“Let me.”
His breath stirred the tendrils he’d loosened. She stared at the counter, trying to blink away the swirl of desire and confusion his proximity stirred. He freed the opener from her grasp but didn’t step back. Instead he planted one shiny shoe on either side of hers, reached around her for the can of cat food, and set to work, trapping her in his embrace.
“You keep taking things away from me,” she observed.
“A princess shouldn’t have to do the drudge work.”
“I’m no princess.” She felt him tense then the lid popped free from the can. Tom set the can opener on the counter. She hoped for a little breathing room, but at the same time she prayed he wouldn’t give it to her. Her prayers were answered.
Tom snatched the can from the counter and slid it across the floor. Fred chased after his late-night snack, but Maggie stood still. Waiting. Wanting. He was just behind her, his body warm, solid, and tempting. Oh-so-tempting.
Without warning, he pushed both hands into her hair, loosening the bobby pins that anchored the elaborate twist. A moan tangled with a groan and cushioned by a sigh filled the room. A full ten seconds passed before she realized it came from her.
His breathing grew rough and raspy, but his fingers gentled. His lapels brushed her shoulder blades with each rough inhalation, sending shivers down her spine. He plucked each pin from her hair one by one. Hairspray starched tresses tumbled to her shoulders, their natural wave tamed by hours of captivity. She closed her eyes when she heard the patter of pins pinging off the floor.
Long, strong fingers massaged her scalp, trailed the length, and fanned tickling ends across her bare back and shoulders. “Your hair is beautiful.”
Unabashed desire weighed his words with knee-buckling gravity. Maggie clutched the counter and bowed her head, surrendering to the master. “Keep talking.”
He gathered her hair with both hands, winding the ends around his fists as he leaned forward, letting his weight pin her to the counter. His breath bubbled over the exposed skin of her neck, raising goose bumps. She felt him tug at the bow tied at the nape of her neck. It wasn’t until the knot gave way that she realized his hands were still tangled in her hair. His tongue brushed her skin, lifting the fabric. Moments later, he growled low in his throat as the black satin fell away from her breasts, pooling on the counter in front of her. She blinked in astonishment, gaping at the inky fabric.
His mouth claimed the spot the bow had covered. He drew her flesh against his tongue, sucking gently. This time she flat-out moaned, and she’d admit as much before a judge and jury. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin and his hands tightened in her hair. Tom unfurled his fingers and slipped away.
A strangled sob rose in her throat. Her mangled hair swirled around her shoulders. She relinquished her grip on the counter and groped behind her, determined to hang on to him. Her fingers closed around his forearm. He chuckled. The vibration of the laugh boomeranged inside her.
“Not a princess,” he murmured, nipping playfully at the curve of one shoulder.
“No,” she breathed.
His hot, wet tongue swirled around the tip of her spine. He began to slide down, licking, kissing, and teasing his way to the thick elastic strap that bound her long-line bra at her waist. Maggie flew into panic mode. Visions of her writhing on the bed earlier that night sprang to mind. The span of super-sucking-spandex encasing her body from waist to mid-thigh could be a deal breaker.