Chapter 38 #2
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he said softly.
Mags’ lips curved. “With who?”
“We might have satisfied your parents’ questions tonight, but that doesn’t mean they’d appreciate us christening their couch.” His jaw tightened when she slid her hand high on his thigh. “Mags,” he groaned, “you’re making this hard.”
She brushed her fingertips against his quickly swelling sex. “I can tell.”
“Let’s at least go to your room. Babe,” he gritted as her palm fitted flush against his fly.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t careless. It was slow and deliberate—Jonathan’s mouth warm against hers, testing, deepening when she sighed into him. Mags’ fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss turned hungry in seconds, restraint unraveling thread by thread.
His hand slid to her waist, thumb grazing the curve of her hip beneath her shirt. She gasped softly, and both of them froze.
Silence.
They listened.
Nothing but the hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the hallway clock.
Jonathan exhaled against her lips. “Still time to stop.”
“Do you want to?” she asked.
His answer was another kiss—deeper now, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, palm warm against bare skin. Her breath hitched as his fingers traced upward along her spine.
She shifted onto his lap without breaking the kiss, straddling him carefully. The couch dipped beneath their combined weight, springs creaking faintly.
They both stilled again.
Jonathan pressed his forehead to hers, fighting a grin. “That’s not subtle.”
“You’re the one who said stop thinking.”
A quiet laugh left him, low and rough. “I believe you have that backwards.” His hands settled on her hips, firm now, guiding her closer. She could feel how much he wanted her. The realization sent heat rushing through her.
“Mags,” he murmured, thumb brushing beneath the edge of her waistband. A question again.
She nodded.
His restraint snapped.
The kisses turned desperate, open-mouthed, breathless. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, down the curve of her neck, drawing a soft moan from her that she quickly smothered against his shoulder. His hands moved with growing confidence—exploring, memorizing, pulling her body flush against his.
Fabric shifted. Buttons slipped free. Her fingers tangled in his white hair as he lifted her slightly, positioning her more securely against him. The couch gave another small creak that made them both freeze—then laugh quietly, breathless with nerves and adrenaline.
“Your parents are going to hear,” he whispered against her skin.
“Trust me, we’re better off out here. My room and my parents’ room share vents. I grew up blaring music or a fan at night,” she whispered back.
His amber eyes met hers, an incredulous shake of his head, before he clasped her face, a hungry predator hovered close.
“God, I love when you look at me like that,” she breathed.
That was what undid him.
He moved carefully but decisively, lowering her back against the couch cushions, bracing himself above her.
Their movements were quiet but intense, gasps swallowed into skin, fingers gripping tight. The world narrowed to the sound of their breathing, the brush of skin against skin, the careful rhythm they found together.
When he finally joined with her, it was slow—measured, eyes locked on hers. She clutched his shoulders, trying not to cry out as pleasure rolled through her in waves.
He kissed her to muffle the sound.
The couch shifted beneath them in a steady, restrained rhythm. Every small creak made their hearts race faster, made the moment sharper, more electric. The risk of being overheard shrank underneath the way her body responded to his.
“Mags…” he breathed, voice rough and unsteady.
“I’m here,” she whispered back, fingers digging into his back as she met his movements.
It built and built and built until restraint dissolved completely. She bit down on his shoulder to keep from moaning too loud as she shattered beneath him. He followed seconds later, burying his face against her neck to stifle his own sound.
And then—
Silence.
The house remained undisturbed.
They stayed tangled together on the couch, breathing hard, hearts hammering.
Jonathan lifted his head, hair falling into his eyes. “We are never doing that here again.”
Mags smiled lazily up at him, hazel eyes glowing. “You say that now.”
He laughed quietly, pressing one last slow kiss to her lips.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked again.
They both froze.
“Okay,” he muttered, “we are definitely never doing that here again.”
Mags spent the short flight from Inverness to Dublin reminiscing over the weekend.
The cookout was a lot of fun. Josephine and Catriona fussed over her mom, and even though Mags knew her mom would have preferred to brush the whole cancer scare under the rug, she knew her best friends had every right to express their feelings.
Even though it hadn’t been that long since she’d hung out with her sister, Mirren, it had been amazing to enjoy each other's company without their mom’s health looming so large over their heads.
There were no more sightings of the crazy artist from Edinburgh, though the family was still taking the threat seriously.
The video surveillance outside the museum had shown Jina speaking to a woman with a large, angled hat, but the woman’s face had been obscured, the angle always just slightly off.
“I spoke to MacGregor, Barr, and your father. I told them that we wanted to move in together,” Jonathan said matter-of-factly as the plane began its descent. He did have the humility to grimace before tacking on “I may have taken a bit of license with your wants.”
Mags patted his knee closest to her. “You took a bit of license with your life, babe. Of course, I want us together. What did the guys say?”
Jonathan chuckled and shook his head. “Your uncle and MacGregor were so angry they couldn’t make their jaws unhinge, which I’m thankful for, but your dad wasn’t opposed; he only wanted us to wait to make any big changes until after that crazy woman is found.
I completely understand, but we can still start planning in the meantime.
I had some ideas,” he threw out, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t own.
“Oh, really? And what exactly are your ideas?” Mags asked, nudging his side.
“Only if you approve,” he started, “and I’m open to suggestions.”
Mags felt excitement bubbling up from her stomach. The fact that Jonathan had put so much thought into their future was intoxicating. “I’m listening.”
“I thought I might ask Daniel if he would find another place to live. Well, Blair, too, but I would rent her a place anywhere in the city, no problem. I thought you might enjoy redecorating one of the townhouses as our home, and the connected townhouse could be your business.
“Women, and men, of course, could have a space to come for fittings and whatever else is necessary for your embroidery.”
Mags stayed silent for several minutes, through the flight attendant’s ‘prepare for landing’ speech and the final trash collection.
And then, heart bursting, she said, “That’s brilliant.”