Chapter Nine
M aggie began to fidget. She’d assumed that Michael would leave her once they’d entered the park; however, she was nearing her destination and Michael still held close as if he hadn’t a care in the world… as if he didn’t want to leave.
After the mention of his father, they’d kept up a light conversation, mostly because the thought of walking in silence made Maggie even more jittery. Because then she might have to admit to herself that she was enjoying his company.
“You know, you never did tell me what you’re up to today,” Michael said, the side of his arm casually brushing hers as they climbed a short bridge over the park’s single pond. It wasn’t the first time they’d touched; every time Maggie tugged George’s leash, she accidentally elbowed Michael in his ribcage. But this innocent act, this careless brushing of clothes and skin, felt deliberate in its spontaneity, enough to make Maggie’s heart quicken.
Michael sent her a lazy grin. “Off to practice your cricket?”
“With George in tow? Impossible.” Maggie snorted, and the dog glanced up at them, sensing he was the topic of conversation. “Once he snatches the cricket ball, he never gives it back.”
“Haven’t gotten that far in your lessons, then?”
“George is a work in progress.”
Michael laughed. “Aren’t we all?” He bent over to ruffle the top of the dog’s head, and for once, George had the good manners not to bite his hand off in the process. Maggie was a proud mother.
She mirrored his action and also gave George a little love behind his long ears. “No, this isn’t just an ordinary walk in the park. I’m meeting a man.”
Michael tripped at the end of the bridge. “What?”
Maggie smiled. “A man. Mr. Burnham. We’ve written back and forth a few times. I’ve agreed to meet him. He suggested the old greenhouse just around the bend. There it is. Good. Now we can finally get to know one another and see if our situation is mutually beneficial.”
Michael tripped once more. He grabbed Maggie’s elbow, commanding her to stop. His mood had changed quickly. His face had been as calm and carefree as the pond they’d passed, and now he was growling as bad as George.
Michael maintained a low voice, but the warning was apparent. “What the hell are you talking about, meeting a man? You don’t need anything ‘mutually beneficial.’” Michael whipped off his hat and combed his hands through his wavy hair. “And why the hell did you bring George?”
Maggie couldn’t understand his frustration and could feel her own rise to meet it halfway. The old Michael had returned. He had no right to an opinion on what she did or didn’t do, and with whom! She threw back her shoulders, preparing to square off. “Well, it’s George’s decision. He has the last word on the matter.”
“Oh, yes, that makes perfect sense,” Michael replied sarcastically. “And what if George isn’t happy?”
Maggie didn’t appreciate that tone. “Then there will be no coupling.”
Michael blinked so much that she almost asked if a fly had got stuck. He released her elbow and rubbed his eyes. “All right. I’m about to explode. Explain what’s going on or I’m going to carry you back home over my shoulder. And try not to use the word coupling again. That would be helpful. Thank you.”
Maybe the man should have gone running today, Maggie thought. Too much tension was not good for the body. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath and explained. “A few weeks ago, I received a letter from a Mr. Danbury. He’d become aware that I had a dachshund and wanted to know if I’d be interested in bringing mine and his together. It’s simple, really.”
“How did he become aware? That you had a dachshund?” Michael’s tone had lost some of its bite.
Maggie cocked her head. “I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s not much of a secret. I walk him most days and they are unusual dogs, quick to catch attention.”
“And you just decided to meet him? What did your aunt say?”
Maggie tapped her teeth together, avoiding his gaze. She didn’t like the way a blue vein bulged in the middle of his forehead. That couldn’t be a good sign. “Nothing. I didn’t tell her.”
“Why the hell not?”
Maggie was lucky that she was strong. That question had the force to knock a lesser person to their knees. But she wouldn’t be intimidated by him. Her decisions had nothing to do with him, and the sooner he came to terms with that, the better. “I didn’t think she’d want to know,” she replied, raising her voice. “She’s not particularly interested in the breeding process. Not many people care to understand how the food is prepared; they just want to eat it.”
Michael gave her a funny look before continuing his argument. “Very clever,” he shot back. “But she would probably care to know why her only niece is gallivanting off by herself to meet an unknown man in a random location.”
“I’m hardly gallivanting!”
“But you are meeting a man.”
“About a dog !”
Maggie hadn’t meant to scream, but the man was incorrigible. His exasperation was like a river feeding into her lake.
Michael turned toward the greenhouse in the distance and then rounded on Maggie, planting his fists on his hips. “You’re not going.”
“I am going. And you should just leave.” After a pause, she added, “And stop trying to tell me what to do!”
“Well, someone has to!” he shouted back. “Your aunt is a terrible guardian, and you have her wrapped around your fingers, so she’s no help. And your parents are, yet again, off on one of their trips to God knows where, doing God knows what. Your brothers are in boarding school and all you have is this dog, who, I’m fairly certain, is a cruel joke the Lord is playing on humanity. You are alone. Always alone. To your ridiculous devices and whims. Well, I’m not leaving you, Maggie. Not now. Not here. Someone needs to save you from yourself.”
How did he… Who told him…?
It didn’t matter.
Michael’s blue eyes morphed into a stormy gray, and every word he threw at Maggie charged like a thick gust of wind. But she locked her knees and stood her ground. “And you think that person should be you?”
The question hit him, straight and clean, breaking the stress from his body. The blinking had returned. Michael straightened away, though his gaze still clung to hers. “Who else would it be?” he replied softly.
Maggie couldn’t respond. So many answers shuffled inside of her, but none seemed to fit. Because she wasn’t completely sure what they were talking about anymore. When he reached for her hand, Maggie flinched, but she didn’t pull away.
Michael’s expression was so incredibly open. She searched him for guile, for a mocking lift of his lips, for any trace that this might all be a misunderstanding, but found none.
“Who else would it, Maggie?” he asked again.
“I… I…” she stammered, hoping an answer would come to her the longer she stalled. There wasn’t one. There never was.
Maggie was alone most of the time. But not now. Not with him.
Which had been the plan, she told herself. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? The way he looked at her with such exquisite longing; the way he leaned closer to her as if he were ready to whisper a precious secret in her ear. But then why didn’t this feel like she was winning? When had this stopped being a game?
George, bless his heart, saved her from answering that question. In an instant, the little muscle released an onslaught of erratic barks and lunged down the path, almost yanking Maggie’s arm off in the process.
She jerked forward, smacking her nose against Michael’s. “Ooh!” she cried, clutching her face. Through the slivers in between her fingers, she watched Michael do the same. “Are you all right?”
He grumbled through his palms, “Yes. My nose is used to it. You?”
“I’m not used to it, but I’m fine. This dog… I don’t know what came over him. Still”—Maggie hid her disappointment as she started for the greenhouse—“I’m late. I… I should go.”
Michael unleashed a mighty exhale and caught up with her in two impatient strides. “I thought I told you that I wasn’t leaving you.”
Maggie gasped as he tore the leash from her hand and guided the dog toward the meeting place, growling commands at the excited animal whenever it charged after a squirrel or bird. Maggie kept pace behind them so Michael couldn’t see the smile on her face as the two males battled for supremacy. By the time they reached the greenhouse entrance, she surmised that George had been the victor.
The building wasn’t currently in use and hadn’t been for some time. The windowpanes were covered in so much dirt that the light inside was dim at best. Most of the plants and pots had been taken, though some were left on the tables in various states of decay.
“Are we sure we’re not early?” Michael asked, touring the dismal space. When he stepped on a broken piece of glass, he scooped George into his arms without thinking, dodging the dog’s incessant, loving tongue.
Maggie’s stomach flipped and flopped as she watched Michael attempt to dodge the grateful kisses. “No, we’re definitely late. Maybe he couldn’t stay?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s a shame,” Maggie said. “I’ll have to write a letter to apologize and schedule another meeting.”
“You will not.”
Not this again. “I will too.”
Michael cursed and switched the dog to his other side, directing the tongue away from him once more. “Don’t you understand how dangerous it is? You can’t just meet men alone. They can’t be trusted.”
Maggie crossed her arms. “And yet you think it’s safe for me to be alone with you.”
He glowered. “Don’t be clever. Of course you’re safe with me—”
“You know, I keep hearing that men can’t be trusted. Lady Everly said the same thing about Lord Oliver, but he has only been a true gentleman.”
“Damn it, Maggie,” Michael groaned as he came toward her. “I don’t want to hear his name on your lips.”
Those very lips curved devilishly. “What? Oliver?”
Three more strides and he was glaring down at her. Maggie cocked her head, enjoying the emotions flailing across his face, the fleeting discomfort warring with desire. Was he jealous? Oh, yes. Jealous over her.
A boldness overcame Maggie. She petted George a few times before allowing her hand to wander to Michael’s chest. Her fingers tripped up the buttons of his jacket. “So… I can’t say his name. I can’t say coupling . What do you want me to say?”
Michael snatched her finger. He held it in the air between them just as surely as he held her gaze. Seconds passed with no sound other than their breathing as a million different scenarios played through Maggie’s head. Anything could happen at this moment; anything was possible—and yet, in the end, it was inevitable that he placed her hand flat against his chest.
Maggie watched him direct her; she watched him smooth out her palm until it rested over his heart. Only when he had it exactly where he wanted it did he cover it with his own.
An audible breath escaped her as she felt his heartbeat radiate up through her arm into the corners of her body. The rhythm excited her; the base animalism heated her, urged her on.
“What do you want me to say?” she repeated in a whisper, leaning into him. “Tell me.”
Michael shook his head, the attraction all-encompassing, continuing to draw her in like she was the polar opposite of his magnet.
He bided his time, lengthening the heightened moment, until his lips were just about to skim hers and he answered, “Nothing, dammit. Nothing at all.”
Michael’s lips were soft, surprising Maggie when they brushed hers, almost timid and searching, waiting. The kiss was like a knock on the door, asking her to open. Maggie did, shyly at first, pressing back on him, reflecting his motions as only a novice could. But when he surged inside her, sweeping into her mouth with his tongue, Maggie realized that she didn’t want to follow. Following wasn’t natural, and kissing Michael seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She gave herself up to him, canting her head to his, inviting him into her space, exploring the depths to which he opened to her.
He tasted of adventure. He tasted of unknown places and thoughts you couldn’t divulge. He tasted of want and pleasure, wrapped limbs, and blueberries bursting in your mind at peak ripeness.
His thumb caressed the back of her neck, and Maggie clung to him. With one hand remaining on his heart, she cupped his face with the other. Her skin sizzled when she heard the rasp of his whiskers against her nails, the chuckle that came when he felt her shiver.
The kiss turned hot, primal. As Michael’s lips came back to her again and again, Maggie claimed him before he could claim her. She rubbed her thighs against his, groaning when she felt the insistence of his pelvis, confused and so very curious about the myriad tingles it elicited in her own.
Staying alive was the only thing that tore her away. Maggie needed air, but even then, she didn’t relinquish her territory. She rested her head against his chest while her lungs pumped, and she grinned when she heard the effort of his own against her ear.
Ready to get back to it, Maggie curled her fingers into his jacket and readied herself to capture Michael in another kiss but stopped short.
Someone had beaten her to it.
She found George taking advantage of the space she’d left, licking Michael’s cheek with wild abandon.
Michael’s expression was comically baleful. “This really is a terrible dog.”
“He likes you!” Maggie took him into her arms and scratched his head, feeling the erotic moment thin until she surmised it was over. She spied Michael from under her lashes as he made no move to touch her again. “I should have remembered that men don’t like it when women speak.”
“What?
Maggie continued to give George affection, a vulnerability coursing through her making her suddenly shy. “Someone told me once that men don’t like it when women talk too much. You proved that when you told me to be quiet.”
Michael regarded her curiously. “I told you to be quiet so I could finally kiss you. I… I like it when you talk. Why wouldn’t I?”
Oh.
Maggie was incapable of lifting her head. “Why did you ‘finally’ do that? You know… kiss me.” Especially when you stopped yourself before.
Michael shrugged. “Because I wanted to.”
Maggie pursed her lips. That bland answer should have infuriated her, made her storm out of the greenhouse in a huff. A week ago, it might have. But not today.
Michael ruffled George’s ears and the animal’s tail wagged. Maggie knew exactly how he felt.
“I want you to come to my fight tonight.”
Maggie flinched at the non sequitur. “A fight? A real bare-knuckle fight? How? Why?”
Michael’s grin was sheepish, boyish. “Why not?”
“For one, I’m certain it’s not in a reputable place regarding women.”
He huffed. “Since when do you care about reputable places?”
Maggie tried again. “And the last thing I want to do is see you get your head smashed in.”
Michael cupped her chin in his hand, tilting her head to meet his gentle gaze. “That’s funny—I thought that would be enticement enough.” The lines fanning from the corner of his eyes softened. “Look, I know I shouldn’t ask you. I know these fights aren’t the sort of place for a lady.” He dropped his hand and backed away. “Actually, you’re right. Don’t come. I’ll never forgive myself if something—”
“Why do you want me to?” Maggie broke in. She could still feel his touch on her chin and desperately wanted it back. “Give me an answer. A real one.”
Maggie watched as his smile turned wistful. “Because I want you to see me. The real me. Doing something I’m good at. Something I love.”
“Does it matter if you love it?” she asked, already knowing that only certain death could keep her from that match.
His expression brightened and he dodged George’s tongue to caress the side of her face. “Oh, my lady, you have no idea.”