over her hips he pulled her closer.
A rumble rose up in his chest. He ached to pull her to the king bed
with the fluffy duvet and pillows.
She pushed her hand against him and pulled
her head back.
Reluctantly, he let her go and cleared his
throat. The first kiss had been impulse fueled by the desire to
know her taste. The last one had been greed sentencing him to want
more. More than he could have.
He was here to work, gain insights into her
husband and their life together. Even facing his worst childhood
memory hadn’t been as awful as kissing Maggie.
Chapter 4
Maggie had watched Harte
carry in boxes and dodged Grace as long as possible. She’d asked
him to make the move official after Jared had come home asking questions about
her new bed buddy. Though she’d explained to Jared he was not
allowed to say such things, she hadn’t been able to explain why
Harte was around.
Having him move his things in made the
arrangement seem less temporary. Less clandestine. She promised
herself it only mattered for image’s sake with the neighbors. He
would be leaving. It didn’t matter that his kisses thrilled her and
kept her awake at night. She was not, as Grace suggested,
interested in more.
A relationship would force open the door
she’d firmly locked. Moving on with her daily life was one thing.
But with a man? No. No matter how sexy he may be, or how his voice
made her skin tingle as if he’d whispered a favorite endearment
against her ear. A promise of forever was too fragile, so she’d
stick to things she could control. Her heart would be counted on
that list.
“I’m going to make some
drinks.” Maggie pushed off the floor and tossed a burp cloth to
Grace. “Can you watch Emma and keep Jared out of
trouble?”
“Sure.”
In the kitchen, away from Grace’s probing
eyes, she stood at the sink and tried to focus on something other
than Harte. Something other than the feel of his touch, his
commanding lips, the flare of heat still coursing through her from
days earlier.
She stared into the backyard with dark clouds
off in the distance. The threatening rain would be vengeful when it
hit, and would do little to cool the record temperatures engulfing
Dallas. She'd have to check the flashlight batteries. Storms always
knocked out her power.
The bushes that had gotten out of control
over the last year would explode after a solid soaking. Pity. She
hated those bushes and their rigid box cut.
“Hmm.” The bushes were one
more thing she’d let Mike dictate.
Maggie slumped against the counter. Mike had
been a good man. A great man she’d loved. She just didn’t love who
she’d become with him. Her feelings had been set aside for the sake
of keeping the peace and her escape had been the dreamy world of
romance novels while she coped with reality.
Going along with him, like on so many other
things, had been so easy she’d never noticed it bothering her or
how often she’d kept her opposing opinion to herself. She’d been so
wrapped up in pleasing him she’d lost herself, and if she allowed
Grace to psychoanalyze her, she suspected her sister would say she
was still lost.
Harte reminded her of Mike because of his
differences and made her wonder if fiction heroes were based partly
on reality. Maybe some men thrived on the emotional connections and
truly valued their life partners.
Staring at the bushes, those boring ass
bushes with nothing special about them, she shook her head. She’d
shoved the loss, the pain, the coldness of being alone down, took
care of her children and told herself she was happy. She controlled
every aspect of her life, minus her own emotions and happiness. The
bushes, the neighborhood drama, Harte’s presence… They all had her
wondering. Doubting.
“I hate you,” she
addressed the bushes.
Mike had claimed their
constancy reminded him of her. She now saw their lack of color and
originality as a mirror of her relationship with him. “It’s my
fault. I never told
A rumble rose up in his chest. He ached to pull her to the king bed
with the fluffy duvet and pillows.
She pushed her hand against him and pulled
her head back.
Reluctantly, he let her go and cleared his
throat. The first kiss had been impulse fueled by the desire to
know her taste. The last one had been greed sentencing him to want
more. More than he could have.
He was here to work, gain insights into her
husband and their life together. Even facing his worst childhood
memory hadn’t been as awful as kissing Maggie.
Chapter 4
Maggie had watched Harte
carry in boxes and dodged Grace as long as possible. She’d asked
him to make the move official after Jared had come home asking questions about
her new bed buddy. Though she’d explained to Jared he was not
allowed to say such things, she hadn’t been able to explain why
Harte was around.
Having him move his things in made the
arrangement seem less temporary. Less clandestine. She promised
herself it only mattered for image’s sake with the neighbors. He
would be leaving. It didn’t matter that his kisses thrilled her and
kept her awake at night. She was not, as Grace suggested,
interested in more.
A relationship would force open the door
she’d firmly locked. Moving on with her daily life was one thing.
But with a man? No. No matter how sexy he may be, or how his voice
made her skin tingle as if he’d whispered a favorite endearment
against her ear. A promise of forever was too fragile, so she’d
stick to things she could control. Her heart would be counted on
that list.
“I’m going to make some
drinks.” Maggie pushed off the floor and tossed a burp cloth to
Grace. “Can you watch Emma and keep Jared out of
trouble?”
“Sure.”
In the kitchen, away from Grace’s probing
eyes, she stood at the sink and tried to focus on something other
than Harte. Something other than the feel of his touch, his
commanding lips, the flare of heat still coursing through her from
days earlier.
She stared into the backyard with dark clouds
off in the distance. The threatening rain would be vengeful when it
hit, and would do little to cool the record temperatures engulfing
Dallas. She'd have to check the flashlight batteries. Storms always
knocked out her power.
The bushes that had gotten out of control
over the last year would explode after a solid soaking. Pity. She
hated those bushes and their rigid box cut.
“Hmm.” The bushes were one
more thing she’d let Mike dictate.
Maggie slumped against the counter. Mike had
been a good man. A great man she’d loved. She just didn’t love who
she’d become with him. Her feelings had been set aside for the sake
of keeping the peace and her escape had been the dreamy world of
romance novels while she coped with reality.
Going along with him, like on so many other
things, had been so easy she’d never noticed it bothering her or
how often she’d kept her opposing opinion to herself. She’d been so
wrapped up in pleasing him she’d lost herself, and if she allowed
Grace to psychoanalyze her, she suspected her sister would say she
was still lost.
Harte reminded her of Mike because of his
differences and made her wonder if fiction heroes were based partly
on reality. Maybe some men thrived on the emotional connections and
truly valued their life partners.
Staring at the bushes, those boring ass
bushes with nothing special about them, she shook her head. She’d
shoved the loss, the pain, the coldness of being alone down, took
care of her children and told herself she was happy. She controlled
every aspect of her life, minus her own emotions and happiness. The
bushes, the neighborhood drama, Harte’s presence… They all had her
wondering. Doubting.
“I hate you,” she
addressed the bushes.
Mike had claimed their
constancy reminded him of her. She now saw their lack of color and
originality as a mirror of her relationship with him. “It’s my
fault. I never told
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