Chapter Fourteen
M ichael stormed into Maggie’s room without a knock, without a warning. His body was hunched and in fighting mode, his expression fierce, his voice low and menacing.
“Did you do it on purpose? Tell me now. I need to know the truth.”
Maggie paused in the middle of untying her corset. The moment she entered her room, she’d wasted little time and energy ridding herself of the sticky garments, piling them in the corner to worry about in the morning.
Michael’s unrelenting gaze flicked to her shoulders, where her chemise hung lifelessly over her bare skin.
“What are you… I-I don’t understand what you’re asking,” she stammered as he slammed the door shut behind him, making a great show of latching the lock. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
His grin had heat. “Both of us seem to make a habit of being in rooms we shouldn’t be in.”
At the start of the night, his hair had been swept off his forehead and tucked behind his ears, but now it was unruly, bracketing his face with its chestnut waves. He reminded Maggie of a wolf, one that had just zeroed in on its prey.
“I want you to tell me why you did it,” he said, the calmness in his tone belying the severity he held just below the surface. Maggie could see it in the way he stretched and fisted his hands at his sides, the way his shoulders were wide and fixed. He had the devil in him. His blood was most definitely up. But whom was he fighting? The only other person in the proverbial ring was Maggie.
Why on earth was he angry at her ? What had she done other than save him from that dreadful situation? Oh, but he didn’t know that, nor did she want him to. Grandmother always told her that a man’s ego was a fragile thing, and she’d never known her grandmother to be wrong about anything—especially men.
She counted the minutes until she’d be able to leave. Tomorrow everything would go back to normal, and she’d be safe at home with her aunt and dog. George never asked too many questions. Maggie’s love for George was uncomplicated and wholesome, light and easy—the only way she wanted to experience it.
It was safer that way—for everyone involved. Maggie trusted herself in that relationship. She never feared who she was or could become. The feelings that she held for Michael were anything but civilized.
“I… I…” She licked her lips, and her stomach fluttered when she saw his gaze dart to her mouth. Maggie wasn’t feigning confusion; it was difficult keeping anything straight when Michael regarded her that way. So hungry. “You heard me. I was clumsy. It’s that simple.”
Michael was shaking his head before she finished. “Nothing is ever that simple with you. I’ll ask you all night until I get my answer. The real one.”
“I don’t know what you want!” Maggie said. She watched her wolf’s focus travel lower, and she wrapped her arms around her chest, hiding her inviting flesh. Her robe hung on a chair on the opposite side of the room. She had little hope that he’d allow her to put it on. “All I did was drop my punch—accidently.”
“Not that,” he snapped, and Maggie jumped. Michael never spoke to her that way. He was barely holding himself in check, furious in a way she’d never seen before. Nevertheless, as the silence stretched out between them, something gave. The lines around his eyes wavered, and he appeared incredibly exposed, defenseless. Vulnerable. “At my parents’ estate. That day.” Every syllable was spoken with great intention. “Why did you ride that animal?”
Maggie shrugged, growing more uncomfortable with what he was resolved to uncover. “You know why. I rode it because I was dared to. And I knew I could.”
“No.” Michael shook his head. “Don’t lie to me. I remember now. No one goaded you. One minute we were all listening to that insufferable Danbury by the stables, and the next you were flying off.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
Michael’s blue eyes were impossibly sad. The side of his mouth twitched up in a mournful smile. “Do you remember what we’d been talking about?”
“ We ? No one ever talked to me. I was the little girl whose parents always left her behind. A pitiful creature you all ignored.”
His expression softened even more. “Fine. The others, then. Do you remember what they were talking about… whom they were talking about?”
Maggie pressed her lips together in a tight line. Of course she knew. It wasn’t every day that a boy’s father was ridiculed to his face—especially when that boy was Lord Michael, Viscount Burlington.
With tentative steps, Michael traversed the perimeter of the bed. The closer he came to her, the more Maggie panicked. Because she wanted to be sure of her actions when he reached her. She wanted to be sure she would push him away and force him to leave her room.
But she wasn’t sure, not even close.
“Tell me what you heard,” he ordered her.
Her throat closed off, and when she pushed the words out, they sounded harsh and unnatural. “Why do you want to recall such terrible things? Why do you wish to recount what horrible boys like Danbury and Rutherford said about your father?”
Michael’s expression lost some of its somberness. The smile he gave her was genuine and so very kind. He lifted his hand, caressing her skin with the back of his fingers from her temples down to her chin. Maggie wanted to take it in her own and kiss all the scars that covered his knuckles because those were the only scars she could see. She knew he had so many more inside, and they were the kind she was helpless against.
Michael wrapped his other hand around her waist, pulling Maggie against his chest. “I don’t care about those boys. I only care about you. I let myself forget because it was easy. But that’s why I need to remember now. I need to remember how low and terrible they made me feel. Because only then will I realize that it was you all along who understood it. It was you, Maggie, who was my champion. You did it, didn’t you? You embarrassed yourself to drag their attention away from me. And I rewarded you by poking fun. I joined them in laughing at you so they wouldn’t laugh at me. No wonder you hated me for all those years.”
Maggie rested her hand on his chest. Michael was so warm and large, so strong. But he was a man. And they broke and splintered as easily as women, maybe even more so because they lacked the practice that women had. Women were always made to be the lesser, and if they didn’t continually guard themselves against the idea, they could start to believe it.
“I didn’t hate you.”
The statement floated between them, a living and breathing thing.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why, Maggie?” Michael reached around her and took his time unraveling her hair from its tidy bun. He didn’t speak again until her long locks draped down her back. “You had every right to.”
Maggie sighed. It was too effortless, too straightforward. He was a temptation she could no longer resist. He was the boxer; he had the stamina, and Maggie was afraid that she had no more fight in her. “I could never hate you,” she said, “because I was too busy loving you… just like everyone else.”
Michael didn’t speak right away, causing Maggie to immediately regret her honesty. She pulled out of his embrace and felt fresh tears scald her eyes.
But when Maggie attempted to spin from him, Michael held firm, his hands on her hips, his arms locked straight. “Say that again.”
Maggie blushed. “Stop it.”
“Please.” That one word was like an incantation, and she opened up once more. Through all the hurt, the risk of rejection, Maggie would give him what he asked. What she wanted to give him.
She watched his Adam’s apple bob over his collar as he waited. “I couldn’t hate you, Michael, because I loved you too much. I always did. You pretended to be like the others, but I could tell you were sad. Sad like me. Alone. You were just better at hiding it, better at fitting in with the rest.”
“You mean a coward—”
“No. Just a boy. Just a sad boy.” Maggie inflated her lungs, filling herself with his musky scent, with his masculine courage. “So, now you know. I couldn’t just stand by as those imbeciles berated your father and you. They wanted you to hate him, to be ashamed of him—your own father, who was always with you, always so loving toward you. I know I was young, but it still makes no sense to this day. So I did the only thing I could do. I made them look at me instead.”
“But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Who was ever there to help you? To pick you up. To carry you?”
“I didn’t need anyone.”
Maggie felt free, as if she’d kicked off countless chains fastened to her feet. But she didn’t feel better; she didn’t feel released. Those weights may have kept her in the same place for a long time, but they also had kept her safe.
She clenched her teeth to keep her voice from trembling. “So now what? I’ve told you everything. I’ve given my oldest enemy everything he needs to end me. What will you do, Michael? Will you be merciful, or will you use it against—”
Michael chose something else entirely. He chose to conquer.
He rushed in on Maggie, capturing her mouth and her words like a man who’d said enough, heard enough. A man capable of great action.
Maggie fell into him, luxuriating in the way he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight and safe. This kiss was demanding and searching. It was a question. And Maggie didn’t leave anything behind. She gave him his answer. There was no going back now. It was impossible. It was inevitable.
Without breaking their embrace, Michael walked her back until the back of Maggie’s legs hit the bed. There was no hesitation. There was also no doubt. She knew very well where they were headed, and she was surprised by the lack of hesitation inside her. She wanted this. She wanted him, even though he hadn’t said he loved her back—it didn’t matter. Her decision wasn’t about him, she realized. This night was about Maggie and about taking what she wanted.
Michael’s fingers shook, but they worked quickly. “God, I need you. I need to touch all over you or I’ll go mad.” He yanked the laces of her corset, setting her free from the constricting cage. He stood above her and wrenched it from her body, casting it on the floor without a second look.
His seriousness scared Maggie, the way he regarded her as if she were this great, priceless thing that must be handled carefully. He focused on her thin chemise, and soon that too was on the floor.
It was only when she lay before him completely naked that Michael stopped to appreciate his work. Maggie wasn’t sure what to do. She smiled, but even that didn’t break him from his trance.
“Michael?” she rasped, placing her hands on her belly. “Michael. Come here.”
He shook his head. His expression was raw and open, unbearably honest. “I-I can’t,” he replied. “I never want to stop seeing this picture of you.”
Desire built inside her. Maggie had never considered herself beautiful. Attractive, maybe. Tolerable, definitely. But the way Michael looked at her made her feel like a goddess. And goddesses had the power and confidence to do whatever they wanted.
Slowly, she sat up. Keeping her gaze fixed on his, she reached for his jacket. Michael’s breath hitched as she began to unfasten his buttons, working first on his vest… and then on his trousers.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” he rasped, giving himself up to her.
Maggie returned a half-smile, arching a brow. “Don’t fighters practice?” she teased. “Don’t you have combinations and plans for every situation?”
He held the back of her neck as she spread his vest wide and pulled his linen shirt out from his trousers. “I’m not fighting you, Maggie. I’d be too afraid to. I’m going to make love to you. It isn’t the same.”
A whirlwind of excitement sparked in her belly.
Maggie squeezed her inner thighs against his legs and pulled on his shirt until his head was level with hers. “Why would you be too afraid to face me? Am I that fearsome?”
Michael braced his arms on either side of her, sinking his fists into the mattress. Maggie could smell the brandy on his lips, the cherry undertones as he resisted kissing her so he could answer her question. “You’re terrifying. You’re the fighter who will never back down. Again and again, you will find a way to get your toe on that line. You would break me with your tenacity, exhaust me with your sheer will.”
Maggie had never felt so powerful. She skimmed her nose back and forth against his. “Does that really sound so bad?” She moved her hands to his back and pressed him into her. Michael accepted the invitation. He knelt before her, tucking his hands under her thighs, gripping her flesh with a ferocious possessiveness.
“It would be a good match, yes?” Maggie whispered. Her skin was impossibly sensitive; everywhere he touched her felt like it was being singed.
Michael nodded. “A very good match.”
“One you would never forget?”
“Never?”
“One where both people win at the end regardless of who’s still standing?”
Michael’s hands moved up her thighs, and he groaned as he laid his head on her belly. “Maggie, love,” he said, licking her delicate, downy skin, “I guarantee you that neither one of us is going to be standing at the end of this night. Maybe not tomorrow either.”
That was exactly what she wanted to hear. “Then meet me halfway, Michael. That’s all I ask. Just meet me on the line.”
Michael nodded, and something switched in him. His expression became warrior-like, his body ready for battle. He came to his feet and tore off his clothes, all while keeping his blue eyes on her, daring her to stay focused on him.
She couldn’t have evaded him if she tried. It didn’t matter where Michael was—she would always find him. His actions were quick, and he paid no heed to the mess he made of his garments, but Maggie recognized the difficulty. Michael’s fingers were swollen, which made unbuttoning his shirt challenging. He winced as he slid it over his head. And the answer to it was right in front of her.
Michael had worn his shirt when she tended to his cuts after the fight, but now she could see the full force of what he’d endured. Nasty, violent splotches of purple and blue riddled his ribs. Small knicks and scratches were peppered everywhere else. No patch of skin was free from the torment.
Maggie couldn’t stifle her cry. “Oh, Michael,” she said, reaching out, but stopping before she made contact.
“It’s all right. Touch me, Maggie. I want you to touch me.”
Maggie nodded and allowed her fingers to bind the hurt. She prayed with those fingers, begging that her loving touch could heal him right before her eyes. Her mouth followed her hands, kissing the vibrant colors, murmuring words of praise and worship.
Michael hissed from her fleeting touches, and the masterfully crafted muscles of his stomach flexed and rolled as she kissed him. He was like a sculpture, an ancient study of the gods, and Maggie felt blessed as he brushed the hair off her face and allowed her to provide succor and compassion with the one thing she had… love.
Michael fell to his knees once more and urged her back on the bed. Maggie licked her lips in anticipation as she watched him gently place his hands on her knees and nudge them apart.
“My God, Maggie,” he said, in awe. “I never thought this could happen.”
She laughed, trying to keep her nervousness at bay. “What? Have me in bed?”
Michael’s expression was heartbreaking. “No. Be happy. So happy.”
He came to her then, breaking off any response Maggie might have had. She was no longer capable of speech or thought as he licked between her legs, swiftly, tenderly, lingering at her sex. It was like a lightning bolt had been captured inside Maggie’s body, and it struck over and over again, trying to find a way out. She was mindless, tortured, as he licked and tongued the delicate area. He was awakening something deep inside her, something that he alone knew how to rouse.
Maggie wanted more, wanted faster, and when she drove her fingers into Michael’s hair, he answered. His mouth was a revelation, and when the sensations became too much, when her body became too demanding, when her life felt like it depended on those next few seconds, her earth shattered. She was unbearably heavy and depleted. And happy. So very happy.
Michael’s eyes continued to feast on her. He kissed both sides of her inner thighs and climbed up her body, settling in the crux of her trembling thighs, fixing his limbs to hers like a puzzle piece finding its mate. They locked together in a breathless embrace that promised so much more.
“This next part might not be as…” Michael grimaced.
Maggie held his head, stopping him from looking away. “Will it make me yours?”
His eyes sank into hers; his expression was shattered but grateful. “Until our dying days.”
“Then what is a little pain for a lifetime of happiness?”
Michael kissed her. It was sweet and light, leisurely. Maggie gave herself up to it and didn’t notice him shift on top of her, fitting himself to her opening. She sucked in a breath when he pressed inside, stretching her, pleading with her to open for him.
She clasped the arms he caged her with, discovering the rolling hills of his sinewy muscles, leaning on his unwavering strength as he continued to invade her.
“Almost there,” he gritted through his teeth. His chest pumped from the effort, and Maggie wondered if going so slow caused him as much pain as it was causing her. She felt herself breaking for him—breaking and becoming new.
“Michael?” she asked, waiting for him to look at her. “Do you remember what you said to me during the match today? You said you could take it. Whatever I gave you, you could take it.”
He laughed, though it came out more like a grunt, and he pushed inside her even more. The act was different, unexpectedly hard and lovely at the same time.
“I can take it, Michael. Don’t worry about me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” Maggie moved her legs up higher, hugging his hips, smiling as Michael’s eyes closed in what could only be considered bliss. “Take me, now. I want to be yours. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—”
Michael surged inside her with one heavy thrust. Maggie screamed out, panting wickedly against the side of her neck. She stroked his face, caressed his back, ran her fingers up and down his spine—she couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop reveling in the fact that she could never go back. She’d made her decision, as had he.
Michael balanced on his elbows and gazed down on her. His expression still signaled pain, but there was a clearness in his eyes, a lightness to his being. “Thank you,” he said, pulling out of her only to slam inside again.
Maggie arched her back further, taking all he gave. It was an odd, unnerving feeling, to be filled by someone, but it also felt incredibly right. At times in her life, she had felt so out of place, yet she knew that here, now, with Michael, was exactly where she was supposed to be. With someone who unequivocally wanted nothing other than to be here with her.
The act took on a life of its own. Michael rolled and pumped inside her, faster and faster, encouraging Maggie to give and take, to yield and conquer. The pain was soon gone—or conveniently forgotten—and she rejoiced in the slickness of his body, the smoothness of his strokes, and also the power in herself. Because she had been right: Maggie could take him. As much as he gave her, she would accept, and she would do it well.
Michael’s strokes became shorter, his rhythms choppier. He ordered her to hold on to him. To never let him go. And for once, Maggie did what he said. Without question.
Head to head, chest to chest, they allowed their primitive natures to take over, and when Maggie felt that butterfly wing of excitement climb up her inner thighs again, she urged him on, crashing against his pelvis, keening when it grabbed hold, throwing her over the edge.
Michael followed. He captured her mouth as they exploded together, cutting off their screams before they alerted the entire house. Later she would be thankful for his quick thinking. Maggie’s awareness of others had fled the moment he touched her.
Still entwined, they fell into the mattress, weary and boneless. Even as Maggie’s eyes began to droop, she kept her arms around his neck. The idea of his leaving her was untenable. How would she ever handle it? Michael moving to the other side of the bed seemed a journey too far.
His large hand stayed splayed on her belly. Every once in a while, he circled a finger around her navel. It tickled Maggie, but she wouldn’t have moved it for all the world.
“What did you think?” His tone was nonchalant, but Maggie could hear the need and exposure. Her boy was sensitive. Always had been. And she was one of the only people in the world who knew it.
She played with his hair, considering the perfect words to encapsulate everything he was to her and the cataclysmic experience they’d just shared. She didn’t want him to have any doubt.
She laughed when it came to her.
He lifted his head, giving her a little scowl. “That wasn’t exactly the response I was expecting.”
Maggie’s smile widened. She shifted in the bed, forcing Michael on his back, then straddled him, placing his hands on her hips. “And what were you expecting, Michael?”
His expression darkened. “More.”
“More?” Maggie rocked back and forth.
Michael nodded.
She squinted at the ceiling, tapping her finger against her chin. “What do I think?” Her grin took up her whole face. “It was quite something.”
Michael chuckled, sliding his hands up her thighs to the edge of her breasts. The rough tips of his fingers played with her nipples until they were tight and straining. “Something, huh?” Michael raised himself up, and without preamble, captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking the swollen nub until Maggie gasped. He arched a brow up at her from the valley of her breasts and smiled. “Praise indeed.”