Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
D amien
I take this kiss, savoring it for long moments. Her lips taste like cherries and the alcohol she drank, sweet with a bite that sends a charge straight through me. My hands find her waist as I back her against the wall just inside my back door, our bodies pressed close enough that I can feel her heartbeat racing alongside mine. Maggie's fingers thread through my hair, tugging just enough to drive me crazy, and I can't help the low groan that escapes me.
"We should probably move to the couch," she whispers against my mouth, her breath warm and intoxicating.
I nod, reluctantly pulling back just enough to let her catch her breath. The night has been perfect—the easy laughter, Maggie in that swimsuit that nearly stopped my heart, the way she'd looked at me under the string lights as everyone else started heading home. But this, right now, is what I've been thinking about since the moment I saw her tonight.
We stumble farther inside, never breaking contact for more than a second. We're in the dim light of my living room, illuminated only by the small lamp I'd left on earlier.
"Damien," she breathes, and the way she says my name makes me want to hear it again and again.
I trail kisses down her neck, savoring the soft gasp she makes when I hit that spot just below her ear. Her hands slide under the T-shirt I put on earlier in the evening, her nails raking against my skin.
"You've been driving me crazy all night," I murmur against her skin. "That bikini should be illegal."
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my lips. "That was kind of the point."
My hands find the zipper of her cover-up, but I pause, waiting for permission. She nods, her eyes locked with mine, and I slowly lower it, revealing the bikini she's been wearing all evening. I trace my fingers down her spine, feeling her shiver under my touch.
The cover-up loosens but stays in place, held up only by how close we're standing. We move toward my couch. I stop to steal a kiss every few shuffled steps. When we sink down onto the cushions, she straddles my lap, her bikini bottom barely covering what needs to be covered.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, because it's true and because I need her to know how much I mean it.
Her smile is shy but pleased, and she leans down to kiss me again, slower this time, deeper. My hands slide up her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin, but staying respectful of boundaries we haven't discussed. When she arches against me, I nearly lose my mind.
We stay like this, exploring, testing, learning each other's limits without words. Her fingers work at the edges of my shirt until she lifts it up over my head. Then her palms are flat against my chest. I watch her face as she traces the lines of my tattoos, curious and appreciative, while I run my hands along the bare skin of her waist, just above the edge of her bikini bottom.
"I've thought about this," she admits, her voice husky. "More than I should have."
"Me too," I confess, capturing her hand and bringing it to my lips. "Every damn day since I met you."
The heat between us builds until the house feels too warm, too small to contain whatever this is becoming. My hands find their way back to her waist, fingers slipping beneath the strings of her bikini, and she gasps, pressing closer.
But then she stiffens, just slightly, and I freeze immediately.
"Wait," she whispers, her forehead resting against mine. "Damien, I?—"
I pull back, searching her face. "What's wrong?"
She shakes her head, frustration clear in her eyes. "Nothing's wrong. That's the problem. This feels too right, too fast."
Understanding dawns on me. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my touch gentle. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for, Maggie. Not tonight, not ever."
"It's not that I don't want to," she says, her voice small. "God knows I do. But I've made that mistake before—jumping in headfirst without thinking things through."
I nod, ignoring the protest from every cell in my body. "With Calvin?"
The name sits heavy between us, and she sighs, moving off my lap to sit beside me. "With Calvin, with others after him. I keep thinking I know better, and then..."
"And then you get hurt," I finish for her.
She nods, pulling her cover-up back over her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lead you on."
"Hey." I turn her face toward mine gently. "You have nothing to apologize for. We have time, Maggie. All the time in the world."
Relief floods her features, along with something else—gratitude, maybe, or affection. She leans in and kisses me softly, a kiss that feels like a promise.
"Thank you," she murmurs.
"For what? Being a decent human being?" I chuckle, though there's no real humor in it. "The bar's not exactly high if that's all it takes to impress you."
She shakes her head. "For seeing me. For not just seeing what you want to see."
That hits me harder than I expect. I pull her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and she nestles against my side like she belongs there. Maybe she does.
"Do you want to go?" I ask, though I'm hoping like hell she says no.
"I'd like to stay for a little bit," she says softly. "If that's okay."
It's more than okay. We end up watching some mindless reality show, her head on my chest, my fingers playing with her hair. Eventually, her breathing evens out, and I carry her to my bedroom, careful not to wake her. I remove my shirt but keep my shorts on, sliding under the covers beside her. She immediately curls into me, seeking warmth, and I pull her close, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.
Sleep finds me easier than it has in years.
------
The courtroom is stuffy and overcrowded, the air conditioner struggling against the heat of bodies and hot air. I adjust my tie, wishing I were anywhere else but here. Judge Harmon is taking her sweet time reviewing the documents before her, and my client fidgets nervously beside me.
"Relax," I mutter. "You've got this in the bag."
And they do. The evidence is solid, the precedent clear. It's just a matter of going through the motions now. I scan the room out of habit, noting faces, gauging reactions. That's when I see him.
Calvin Farnsworth. Maggie's ex-husband.
He's sitting three rows back on the opposite side, dressed in a suit that's a little too tight across the shoulders, his expression smug as our eyes meet. I keep my face neutral, but inwardly, I'm calculating. What's he doing here? He has no business in this courtroom unless?—
My thoughts are interrupted as Judge Harmon calls the court to order. The proceedings start, and I force myself to focus, though I can feel Calvin's eyes on me throughout.
After court adjourns and my client shakes my hand, practically weeping with relief, I gather my papers, taking my time. Sure enough, Calvin approaches as the courtroom empties.
“Sizemore," he says, as if we're old friends. "Quite the performance today."
This. Fucker.
I zip my briefcase closed before looking up at him. "Sizemore. Didn't know you had any interest in contract disputes. Didn't realize we had the same type of interests either."
He smirks, leaning against the table. "Oh, we have common interests in all sorts of things. Including, apparently, the same women."
My jaw tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. "Is there something you wanted to say to me?"
"Just that I find it interesting, you taking up with Maggie." He adjusts his cufflinks, a gesture that reminds me of every entitled asshole I've ever met. "Didn't peg you as the type to go for damaged goods."
My blood boils, but I've been in too many courtrooms to lose my cool now. "Funny, that's exactly how she described you. Though she used words like 'insecure' and 'controlling' instead."
His smile slips, just for a second. "She always did have quite the imagination. You'll find that out soon enough."
"What I've found," I say, standing to my full height, which puts me a good three inches above him, "is that Maggie deserves a hell of a lot better than what you gave her. Now, if you're done wasting my time with this sad little alpha male routine, I've got places to be."
I move to leave, but he steps in front of me, dropping all pretense of friendliness. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you, Sizemore? Playing the white knight for my leftovers. That bikini she was wearing at Cody's party? I bought her that."
In an instant, I'm back in high school, that same rage bubbling up that got me suspended three times my senior year. But I'm not that kid anymore. I've learned that sometimes the most devastating blows are delivered with a smile.
"The fuck you did. I know you screwed her over with the divorce, but you know what, Calvin? I feel sorry for you. Because Maggie is moving on, building something real, while you're skulking around courtrooms trying to intimidate her new boyfriend. It's pathetic, man."
Am I her boyfriend?
His face darkens. "You don't know what you're getting into. She's not as innocent as she plays."
"Neither am I," I reply, my voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "So let me make this crystal clear: Stay away from Maggie. Whatever game you're playing, it's over."
I brush past him, making sure my shoulder connects with his hard enough to make him step back. It's petty, but satisfying.
"She'll run back to me eventually," he calls after me. "They always do."
I don't give him the satisfaction of a response or even a backward glance. But as I push through the courtroom doors, his words echo in my head. Not because I believe them, but because I wonder if Maggie does.
Last night, holding her as she slept, I realized how much I want this—want her—in my life. But the shadow of Calvin Farnsworth is bigger than I expected. What kind of hooks does he still have in her? What scars has he left that I can't see?
As I step outside into the sunshine, I pull out my phone and dial Maggie's number. It rings three times before her voice comes through, warm and slightly breathless.
"Hey, you," she says, and just like that, my mood lifts.
"Hey, yourself," I reply, leaning against the courthouse pillars. "You busy tonight?"
She hesitates just long enough to make me nervous. "I have that community meeting about the park renovation. We're setting up flowers for it. They're supposed to help remind people how pretty it can be when there are actually flowers to be had in the park. But I'm free after eight?"
"Perfect. I'll pick you up. There's something I want to talk to you about."
"Sounds serious," she says, a note of concern creeping into her voice.
"Not serious," I assure her. "Just important."
Because whatever Calvin thinks, whatever history they share, I'm not backing down. Maggie's worth fighting for, and I've never been one to walk away from a fight I believe in.
"I'll see you at eight, then," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"It's a date," I confirm, already counting down the hours.
As I walk to my truck, I feel lighter, more certain. Calvin Farnsworth might think he knows Maggie, might think he has some claim on her still. But what he doesn't understand is that some people are worth waiting for, worth being patient with.
And Maggie? She's worth everything.