Chapter Twenty-Eight

Trig

After the last guests leave, I take Maggie home. Our home. Wes kept trying to corner me and give me some sort of lecture. I avoided him. I don’t need him to tell me what I already know. Don’t touch. I get it. No one understands the importance of that more than me.

My house belonged to my grandparents. They left it to both me and Wes, but my brother didn’t want to live in the country. I bought out his half and I’ve lived here ever since my parents died. Maggie’s the first woman I’ve brought here.

When we get out of the truck, I take her suitcase out of the back. It’s dark, but the moon, full and gleaming just above the horizon, lights the ranch. She still wears the wedding dress and the silvery light makes the dress glow.

Even though it’s spring, it’s cold. The dogs have found a warm place to sleep and don’t bother coming to greet us.

When we get to the top of the stairs, she waits for me to open the door.

I set the suitcase aside. “I need to carry you across.”

“Across what?” She takes a step back.

“The threshold.”

Her jaw drops and she snaps it shut. “I don’t think so.”

I close the distance between us. She tries to scramble away, but isn’t fast enough and I grab ahold of her hand. I’m breaking my no-touch rule and we haven’t even been home five minutes. But it’s just this one time.

“It’s bad luck if you walk in on your own two feet.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

Maggie used to swear all the time but doesn’t much anymore. It’s a bit of a surprise to hear my young bride cuss. I’m caught off guard and in that moment, she twists out of my grip.

She snickers and darts away, her skirts rustling and disappears around the corner of the wrap-around porch. Her footsteps fade. Does she think she can hide from me? I follow, the floorboards creaking under my feet, but she evades me, making the full circle back to the front door. I hear her heading that direction.

Her game makes me smile, especially because I can hear her laughing, but when I know she’s getting close to the front door, I shout a warning. “Don’t you dare, Maggie.”

When I round the corner, she’s standing in front of the door. Pouting.

“I should tell Wes how bossy you are.”

“I should tell the judge what a brat you are.”

Her eyes grow round. “You wouldn’t!”

Scooping her up, I kick the door open and step inside. “You want to risk it?”

“That’s blackmail. Put me down. We’re inside now.”

Carrying her gives me a primitive sense of satisfaction, even though she’s kicking and trying to get me to put her down. Her skirts are so full, they block my peripheral view. That’s okay. I can see straight ahead as I walk down the hallway.

“I’m taking you to your room. You get the guest room.”

Setting her down, I’m struck by her scent. It hits me hard and I groan with hot frustration.

She smacks my shoulder. “I’m not that heavy. Oh! This room is so pretty!”

I watch her take in the details of my grandmother’s guest room. Maggie’s been to my home a few times but never seen the bedrooms. Everything in this room is antique. The wardrobe. The night table. A rocking chair by the window. Shelves line the wall and are filled with books from when I was a kid. Westerns and Mysteries. There’s also a mahogany desk in the corner. I like the idea of Maggie studying there.

“I feel like I’ve stepped back in time,” she says softly.

“My room’s up the hallway. Last door. I thought putting you here would give you some privacy.”

She turns to face me. “That would give you privacy, too.”

The way she says the words makes it sound like privacy is a bad thing.

Speaking softly, she goes on. “You’re not planning…”

For the life of me I can’t understand what she’s getting at or why the notion of privacy would upset her.

“What am I not planning?” I ask in exasperation.

She gives me a prim look. “To have company here? A girl-friend?”

Molten fury clouds my vision. I’m obsessed with this girl, trying like hell to make her life better and keeping away from her at the same time and all she’s worried about is me hooking up?

“You and I are a couple. I wouldn’t ever disrespect you like that. Besides, you’re the one who had a hickey on your neck.”

Her hand jerks to her neck. “You gave it to me.”

It feels like all the air leaves the room. Silence stretches between us. Maggie’s told me a few crazy things since I’ve met her but I’ve always seen through her stories. She’s not bullshitting me with that comment. She’s completely sincere.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was a few months ago. You had a headache. Jane asked me to bring you dinner.”

My heart thunders inside my chest. It was the last time I’d gotten taken down by one of those terrible headaches. I’d dreamt of Maggie. Holding her. I had plenty of dreams like that, but that night everything seemed so real. I blamed the medicine.

“Nothing happened. Well, aside from you marking me. I spent the night and left just before the sun came up.”

Well… damn. I wonder if Wes knew about that, and had been pissed at me for a long time. Especially when I’d promised I wouldn’t mess around with her.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head. “No. Can we drop it?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“I’m tired.”

She looks anything but tired but I don’t want to spend any more time in her room than necessary. And I need a shot of something very strong.

“I’ll let you rest. Anything you need?”

“Can you undo the back of my dress? I can’t reach the buttons.”

I laugh and drag my fingers through my hair. A few days ago, marriage seemed like such a great idea, a noble gesture to help Maggie. I’d lay down my life for her. I’m certain I can get through this fake marriage and even having here in my home, but it’s going to be pure hell.

I cross the room. She turns her back to me. The buttons, about twenty in all, start at the base of her neck and trail down to the small of her back. My hands shake a little. The first few go easily enough, despite my raging lust. I imagine clasping each side of the fabric in my hands and tearing the dress from her.

Neither of us speak until I undo the final button. The back of the dress drapes open, revealing a lacy slip underneath.

“What else?” My voice is rough. Savage need burns my veins.

“That’s all. Thank you.”

I run my finger along the bare skin of her shoulder and hear her breath catch. “Maggie,” I whisper. “Don’t ever come in my room again.”

Without waiting for a reply, I turn and leave. I close the door behind me, go to the den and pour myself about three fingers of Beam. The moonlight casts everything in a ghostly light. I go outside, lean against the railing and try like hell to figure out how I’m going to maintain my sanity while I live in the same house as Maggie.