*
Goddamn the woman was hot, driving him crazy as no one else ever had. The first time had been hot and heavy, no time for finesse. This time he wanted to take it slow, make it last, but she was making it damn hard. He forced himself to take long, slow strokes. Within minutes Maggie was panting, crying his name in those breathless, pleading, husky whispers and he couldn’t help himself. His thrusts became harder, faster; his fingers moved more quickly. When she came, she did so twice as hard as the first time, tightening around him in rolling spasms that nearly had his eyes rolling back in his head, and, impossibly, he found himself releasing inside her once again.
For a long while there was only the sound of their heavy breathing mingling with the crackle of the fire as they drifted back to earth together. It was Michael who spoke first.
“I really want you there, Maggie,” he said quietly. He’d been thinking about it since he first realized what Ian had handed her. It was the perfect opportunity to introduce her properly to his family, and that was best done sooner than later, because he already knew that she was someone very special. To spend the evening in her company, talking, laughing, dancing, celebrating, was infinitely preferable to counting the minutes until he could make a respectable exit to be with her again.
Still, it was a lot to ask for a “first date”. He wished he could have taken her to dinner a few times, maybe a few movies first, but sometimes you just had to work with what you had.
His fingers twitched on her hip. “But if going would really make you uncomfortable, I understand.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, I know my family can be a little overwhelming, and given the way you feel it might be better to introduce you to them in small doses –“
“No,” she interrupted. “Why do you really want me there?”
Michael was stunned. She didn’t know? Reluctantly he withdrew from her, only so he could turn her around and look into her face. Christ, he thought, looking into her eyes. She really didn’t know. He saw hope and fear and uncertainty and genuine puzzlement.
“Because I am falling hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Maggie Flynn.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parted. “You are?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, stroking her cheek with his hand. He had hoped she was feeling the same way. It was hard to believe otherwise, given the way things were between them. The thought of her smiling at anyone else the way she smiled at him ... it was just wrong. And thinking of her doing any of the other things they did with someone else? Well, that was just unthinkable, period.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay I’ll go.”
Michael’s heart swelled. She hadn’t returned his declaration, said she loved him in return, but she wasn’t running, either. And she was agreeing to go to the wedding with him. Michael was a patient man. For the right woman – for Maggie – he could wait for the words that he believed were inevitable. When they finally came, they would mean that much more.
But now there were more pressing concerns as the sound of Maggie’s stomach growling had him grinning. “Hungry?”
She smiled shyly. “A little.”
Michael got up, pulling on his jeans. “I brought dinner – hang on. It’s probably cold, but...”
He disappeared into the foyer and returned with two huge bags. Maggie was already pulling on that old flannel shirt. He smiled when he realized it was the same one he’d put on her that first night. It was just one more indication of how she felt about him.
“I think we’re going to want to heat this up,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her. Her hair was messed (his doing), her skin was flushed (he took credit for that as well), and she practically glowed with the look of a woman well sated (obviously). “But we can come back in here for dessert.”
Oh yeah, he knew exactly what he was going to do with the strawberries, chocolate, and whipped cream he’d brought along.
For the first time, Michael noticed Maggie was favoring her right leg. Not that he’d really had much of a chance to notice earlier. Two feet inside the door he’d swept her into his arms and carried her into the living room.
“Maggie, is your ankle bothering you again?”
She deliberately averted her eyes, reaching into the cupboard for plates. “No, not really.”
“Maggie.”
“I’m fine.” He recognized the tone, and it chilled his blood. That familiar unease washed over him again, the one that told him, without a doubt, she was hiding something.