Chapter Fifteen
“W hy were you acting so cold to me earlier?” Michael asked.
A glimmer of sunlight was dripping through the window, and he realized that he hadn’t slept a wink that night. But he wasn’t tired. He didn’t think he’d be tired ever again.
Maggie shifted. She lay on her side, draped over his front with one arm flung passively over his torso. Michael loved it. He’d never liked the idea of belonging to anyone before, but that was before Maggie. Before he’d known who he really was, the true Michael— hers .
“I was scared,” she said, rearranging herself so that she could look up at him. Her hands were on his chest, and she rested her chin on them while she answered him. Her hair was wavy and scattered over her shoulders onto his body, covering him like an overgrown perennial. She gave him warmth; she gave him substance; she gave him life.
Michael traced her lips from end to end, his fingers lingering on her impossibly soft skin. “You’re never scared.”
“I was.”
“Why?”
Maggie lowered her face onto him, hiding. She stretched her hands over his arms, kneading his muscles, almost like the motions were helping her think. Michael approved wholeheartedly.
“Why were scared of me?” he asked again.
She shook her head. “Not of you. Of us… of me.”
Michael waited for her to collect her thoughts. She groaned against him, and he squirmed from the sensation. She popped her head up with a smile.
“Stop trying to distract me,” he said, laughing. “Tell me why you were afraid.”
Maggie’s brow pinched. Her fingers walked up his arm, over his shoulders, down his clavicle. She stopped to explore the dip at the base of his neck. Apparently, lack of sleep wouldn’t deter his ardor for Maggie. Yet again, he was hard and throbbing. He recorded that information. It was good to know.
“My parents…” she started slowly. “I never wanted to be like them. I love them, I do… but sometimes I think they should have never had children.”
The hurt in her voice stabbed at him. Michael regretted asking the question; he didn’t want to mar their night together with sadness, but he also didn’t want to leave anything in this bed. No misunderstandings or words left unspoken. When he left Lord Baxter’s estate today, he would leave knowing that Maggie and he had only one place to go together—forward.
“Was it that terrible, having them as parents?”
“No, not really. When they were around they were lovely, more than lovely. They made me—us—so joyful because all they wanted to do was play and have fun, but then they would leave and we would flounder. Luckily, we had Grandmother, and the boys eventually had their schools, but…” Her voice shook. “They could never see beyond themselves. They had this great passion and only had room for each other. They made everyone else feel like secondary characters in their great love story. If I learned anything from them it was that I needed to be independent. I couldn’t rely on anyone to take care of me or make me happy.” She shot him a disgruntled look. “I suppose you think I’m too independent?”
Michael rubbed his thumb against her smirking lips. “No. I think you’re perfect.”
“You’re too kind, but you’re also delusional.”
Michael humphed and rolled Maggie until they were facing one another. He rubbed his hand over her body, along the luscious slopes of her breasts and the crevices of her sharp ribcage. “Although…” he said, squeezing her delicate nipple until it hardened and reached for him. Michael couldn’t resist and took it in his mouth, twirling it with his tongue while she waved and crested beneath him. He released her and blew on the rosy nipple, swollen and turgid from his attention.
“Again?” Maggie asked, though Michael knew she wasn’t as put-upon as she sounded. She’d instigated activities throughout the night as well.
“In a moment,” he said, moving to the other nipple. “I do love your independent nature; however, there are times when it’s rather nice relying on someone else. Even better.”
“Oh, yes?”
From the corner of his eye, Michael saw Maggie’s heel dig into the bed while he doted on her. He licked his lips, meeting her heavy gaze. “Yes.”
Without warning, Michael landed on his back, taking Maggie with him. She’d obviously assumed that he wanted her to straddle him again, but when he continued to position her higher on his body, she resisted.
“What are… what are you doing?”
Michael cocked his head. “Educating you.”
He continued to arrange her until she was on her knees and her legs were splayed above his head. Her entire face had gone pink.
“Good girl,” he said, petting the pretty opening above him, causing her legs to shiver. “Do you know that you can give yourself release? Men do it. Women do it. Have you ever tried, my love?”
Maggie bit her lip. Speech was not an option, and she shook her head.
Michael’s smile was pure rake. “It’s wonderfully satisfactory. More than that, really, but it fails in comparison to someone doing it for you like I’m about to do for you now.”
Without warning, he grabbed hold of her thighs and lowered her to his waiting mouth. He coaxed his way inside her, flattening his tongue to entice her sex.
Maggie’s arm shot out for the headboard, keeping herself from falling. “Good Lord!” she exclaimed.
Michael grinned against her silky folds. “Exactly. Stay still, darling. The best is yet to come.”
Maggie’s head dropped back as Michael went to work, energized by his tutorial. His expert tongue had her rocking and swaying against him in no time. This wasn’t a languid, leisurely experience. Michael feasted on the woman like a starving man, at times holding her up when Maggie’s body couldn’t take any more.
But he was also devilishly attentive. The moment he felt Maggie’s control slip, the moment her breathing came faster, the moment he felt her ecstasy rise, he lifted her off his mouth.
“What?” Maggie opened her eyes and glared down at him. “What are you doing? I was almost… I was almost .”
“There?”
Her cheeks blazed. “Quite.”
“Do you want me to bring you there again?”
Her lips widened into a tight smile. “If you could be so kind.”
Michael ignored her sarcasm. “With pleasure.”
He was always a man of his word. He lowered her succulent behind and continued, working her harder, faster, flicking the tip of his tongue over her sensitive nub until she writhed in abandon. Michael almost forgot the point of the whole exercise when she took her hands away from the headboard and clutched her breasts, massaging them in the rhythm of his tongue. According to his calculations, he was minutes away from spending; it would be worth it.
But once more, when the telltale signs occurred, and he recognized her reaching for that picture-perfect ending, he picked Maggie off his mouth. He’d been ready for her glare; the curse was a little unexpected.
“Why do you keep doing that?” she cried, her sultry mouth in an adorable pout. She didn’t wait for him to respond—Maggie tried to climb off. “I’ll just do it myself.”
Michael held firm to her hips. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, chuckling.
“This isn’t funny. You’re not being nice.”
He matched her glare. “Oh, I’m being very nice. I’m teaching you an important lesson. Do you know what it is yet?”
Maggie crossed her arms, hiding her breasts. “That I should rely on you?”
Michael ripped her arms down. “Yes, you silly, stubborn woman, because relying on me is worth it. Because I will never let you down.”
Her smile was sweet and deadly. “You’re letting me down now.”
“Not for long.”
This time when Michael lowered her, he gave no mercy. He unleashed a torrent of passion, and Maggie had no choice but to allow him to be the master. When she was close to fulfillment, Michael used a finger to lead her to the edge. He surged inside her, massaging her with his tongue. Maggie cried and mewed with the sinful sensations, needing… aching for more.
“Tell me you need me,” he panted, licking her juice from his lips.
“I need you.”
“Tell me you want me.”
“Oh, God. Oh, God, I want you, Michael. I want you.”
“Now tell me coming is better when I make you do it.”
Maggie shook her head, biting on her lower lip. “So much better. So much.”
And seconds later, when she came on top of him, Michael was certain that the student had learned the lesson. Maggie collapsed on the bed, curling into his side. She sighed like a contented kitten. “I suppose I can rely on you sometimes,” she murmured as sleep took over.
Michael stroked the top of her shoulder. “You do that, lady. You do that.”
*
Leaving Lord Baxter’s estate was bittersweet for Maggie. However, she should have known that Michael wouldn’t stay away for long.
Only one day after returning from the country party, she and Aunt Alice were enjoying a cup of tea when the butler informed her that she had a visitor. Michael strolled into the room with a devil-may-care smile and a bag in his hand, smelling rather like smoked meat.
George, who had been sleeping away the afternoon on his satin pillows on a patch of sunlight near the window, made a beeline for the man. He stood on his hind legs, pawing at Michael like the fiend that he was before Maggie could even rise from her chair.
Alice laughed at the drama. “If you don’t have something to give that dog, then that’s plain mean.”
In answer, Michael reached into the sack, retrieved a small sausage, and tossed it to the overstimulated dog. Poor George wasn’t the best at catching, and it knocked him on his nose before bouncing to the floor. “And I’ve got plenty more,” Michael announced as George finished the snack in one gulp and scratched his pant leg for more.
“I hope not much more. He’ll get fat,” Maggie said, following her pet.
She could feel her entire body go red as Michael boldly looked her over from her slippers to the top of her head. She didn’t have to guess what he was thinking. Besides, she was thinking it too. She hadn’t the faintest idea what was appropriate, given the situation. They weren’t engaged, and Maggie hadn’t told Alice about her intentions for Michael yet—she barely knew them herself—but curtseying and bowing in public seemed unnatural and distant. What she wanted to do was grab his head and bring him in for a toe-curling kiss, but she couldn’t do that in front of her aunt—or George. The poor dog was much too young and immature for such things!
“He’s already fat,” Michael announced, laughing at Maggie’s scowl. “But not for long.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, never mind the dog!” Alice said, placing her teacup on the table. The look she gave Michael was playful, but stern. “I assume you’re courting my niece, so what did you bring her? Don’t tell me you came all the way here just to give her dog sausages.”
Michael squirmed under her aunt’s reproachment. Maggie covered her smile with her hand. Alice was just being ornery. She knew that Michael bringing gifts to George was the sweetest thing Maggie could have asked for.
“I… ah… Yes, um, I apologize, Lady Alice,” Michael stammered, seemingly shrinking in front of the older woman.
“You apologize?” she returned haughtily. “Do you mean to say you are not courting my niece?”
“No, I am. I most definitely am.”
“Good.”
Maggie’s heart almost beat out of her chest. Why had she needed him to say it to Alice? There had been no going back after their night together; however, announcing it to her aunt was like printing it on the front page of the paper.
Alice went on, her tone gaining verve. “So know that the next time you come to my house without a gift for my niece”—she sniffed—“or me, we will have problems, you understand? I am a great fan of French wines, by the way.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Thank you for making me aware.”
Alice’s harsh veneer popped like soap bubble. “Good!” She smiled warmly. “Now, won’t you take a seat? We were just having tea.”
Michael frowned at the upholstered chair that Alice directed him to. “Oh, um… yes, that would be nice.” He wiped sweat off his brow. “Ah… sorry… actually… I had no idea being a suitor was this stressful.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Alice said with a distinct lilt in her voice, “if you would bring presents.”
“Right.” Michael nodded. He regarded the empty chair once more and threw a beseeching glance at Maggie, who was trying not to laugh. “Actually, I thought Maggie and I would take George to the park. I had the idea that I might try my hand at training the little demon.”
Maggie was already searching for her shawl.
Alice stood up, her expression frighteningly serious. “You mean you’re going to train that horrible beast? Teach it not to scratch my lovely furniture or bark like a banshee every time someone walks past the front window?”
Michael’s complexion had gone from tan to green. Those were quite the promises. And yet the silly man had made them. “Absolutely.”
Alice hurried out of the drawing room and snatched George’s leash off a table in the foyer. She punched it into Michael’s chest. “Have a lovely time, dears. Take as long as you like.”
The couple were happy to take Alice up on her offer.
Maggie would never admit this to Michael, but she had her doubts regarding his dog-training abilities. She couldn’t remember if he’d had a dog when he was young. Certainly he hadn’t immediately warmed to George on first take—however, even she could admit that the dachshund was an acquired taste.
But Michael surprised her in the first ten minutes at the park. He had George sitting and staying in no time—which wasn’t particularly difficult, since Maggie had already taught the dog those tricks. But when he stopped George from tugging on his leash during their walk, she considered that Michael might actually know what he was doing.
“Your little George thinks he’s your master,” he said as he guided the animal down the walking path in a perfectly civilized manner. “You can’t let him think he’s walking you .”
Maggie nodded, but she didn’t hold her breath. Each time she saw another dog (or a squirrel, kite, leaf, flower, stick, or fly) she tensed, waiting for George to forget his new teachings and try to run off. But it didn’t happen. For a solid ten minutes, Michael had the dog behaving like a well-trained, good, normal dog. It was a miracle.
“I suppose I have been rather lax with George,” she allowed. She bent down and rubbed the good boy’s ears. “He’s always been there for me, and I want him to be as happy as he makes me. I guess that has made me rather indulgent.”
“You don’t have to do anything special, Maggie. He already knows you love him.”
“How did you learn to do all that… train dogs?”
Michael’s smile transformed his face. Even with the bruises that lingered, he appeared so young and carefree when he allowed happiness to break through. “My father always kept dogs for hunting. He adored those damn animals. He had a man who trained them, but he liked to be a part of the process, said it would help the dogs respect him more. And he taught me to do the same.”
Maggie liked the picture he painted: a young Michael surrounded by yipping dogs begging to be taken out into the field to run. No doubt, he ran with them half the time.
“I wish I could take George hunting,” she said. “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s been bred to be a master hunter.”
Michael rolled his eyes at the hairy, tube-shaped animal. “That is a lap dog.”
“Look at his nose! George has a champion hunting nose. Oh! I didn’t tell you. I received another letter from Mr. Burnham. He apologized for missing me before and has asked that we try again. He wants to meet tomorrow, see how the dogs get on.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not without me.”
Maggie looked around to make sure they didn’t have an audience. She could sense a fight coming and there was no way she was going to back down. “I don’t need your permission. I will go.”
“No.”
“Who do you think you are—”
Michael took a step, coming nose to nose with her. His voice was soft but steely. Matter-of-fact. “Don’t ask who I am. You already know it. I’m your lover. I am your past and I am your future. I will not stop you from visiting this man because I know how important that silly dog is to you, but you will have to do it with me. You might be independent, Maggie, and you might not want to give me your soul, but you already have mine. And it cannot bear to think of you being in harm’s way. And that is it. Do we understand each other?”
A feather could have knocked her down. Maggie’s mouth latched shut. She’d told Michael that she loved him—had always loved him—but he hadn’t done the same. Was this it? Was this his declaration? It felt like it. It was as close as it could be without his actually using the words.
But something still held her back. Half of her wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him in front of the entire park, and the other half wanted to run. Because no one had ever looked at Maggie the way Michael was looking at her, and that old, childish fear crept up. The fear of losing herself.
She matched his conversational tone. “Fine. And you really shouldn’t talk about George that way. He’s not silly. He’s misunderstood.” It was a small tic, an imperceptible moment, but Michael’s face morphed from intense to confused as she sailed past all that he’d said. Maggie went on nervously. “Just because he looks a certain way doesn’t mean he can’t be something different. You’re being prejudiced. What about you?”
“What about me?” he said so quietly that Maggie almost didn’t hear him over the breeze.
She pulled her shoulders back. “People look at you and see a handsome, elegant, well-bred viscount.”
“Repeat that part about my being handsome.”
“Stop teasing,” she said, relieved. Michael was back; the little blip of hurt was gone from his face. “I’m trying to make a point.”
“That I’m handsome? I already knew that.”
Maggie swatted him playfully. “That you look like one thing and are another. You are a viscount and a boxer. And you do both things well. Why does George have to be different?”
“Because George has the body of a sausage, and I have the body of a Greek god.”
Maggie opened her mouth to inform him that (although he was right) she’d never heard anything so narcissistic and wrong and childish—
But he beat her to it.
Michael tipped off his hat and shielded them as he swept in for a quick kiss. Incredibly satisfying, but over too fast—Maggie’s eyes were still closed when he backed away.
When she opened them, she expected to find Michael wearing a smug grin, but his expression was once again serious. He wound his pinkie finger around her own, ducking his head until their foreheads grazed. “Can I come to you tonight?”
Everything inside Maggie wanted to scream yes, but sneaking Michael into her aunt’s house seemed an impossible feat, however godlike he thought he was. Battling a cyclops was one thing; battling her boisterous dog was another. “I don’t think you can,” she said. “George barks every time he hears a noise. It would be too difficult. He would alert the entire house.”
Michael contemplated the dog, who was busy chewing on a stick that was longer—but not thicker—than him. It was a minute before Michael came back to her. “What time is it?”
She shrugged. “Four? Maybe a little after.”
Michael nodded. “Plenty of time.” He tugged on George’s leash, rousing the dog from his fun break. “All right, Georgie. Time for more lessons—when to bark and when not to bark—and we’re not leaving here until you get it right.”