jacked-up she was, she wouldn’t be long at all. He wouldn’t even know she was gone.
* * *
M ichael’s first thought when he woke was how cold he was. Maggie had been like a perfect little heater, warming him from the inside out. Of course, no other form of heat had ever made him ache quite so fiercely.
He reached out and ran his hand over the blanket where she had been. The spot beside him still held warmth, so she hadn’t been gone very long. He rose to add a few more logs to the dwindling fire. George was snoring loudly in front of the hearth, but Maggie was nowhere to be seen.
Outside, the storm continued to rage mercilessly. Some nor’easters could last up to several days, and this one certainly appeared to have that kind of staying power. Not that he minded in the least. The thought of being stranded with Maggie was about the best possible way he could think of to weather out the storm.
After ten minutes passed and she still hadn’t returned, Michael’s unease grew. The kitchen was dark, and the door to the downstairs bathroom was wide open, the candles she’d lit flickering softly. A check of all the other rooms on the first floor came up empty as well.
He grabbed a flashlight and went toward the entrance to the basement. Perhaps she had gone down to check the circuit breaker. “Maggie?” he called softly, opening the door. There was no answer, no telltale glow down below, only silence and darkness.
A slight noise had him glancing upwards. Closing the basement door, he made his way slowly up the steps, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to startle her, or impose on her privacy. He just needed to make sure she was okay, then he would slip back into the living room to wait for her.
Michael ran one hand through his hair. When had he become so protective? What was it about this woman that turned him inside out?
The snow and ice continued to pelt against the side of the house. Below, the fire crackled and sizzled as the sap from the new logs heated and popped. But there was something else, too. A low, barely audible hum. What the hell? He turned at the top of the stairs, trying to pinpoint the source. After one full turn his eyes landed on the door of what was probably a bedroom.
The soft glow of a candle spilled from the slight opening beneath the door. Like a ghost, Michael drifted silently down the hallway. The closer he drew, the more fixated he became on the sound. Laying his ear against the door, he heard the soft hum. It was muffled, as was another sound. One that had his heart beating frantically in his chest and his lungs suddenly incapable of functioning properly.
His hand turned the doorknob slowly so as not to make a sound. It was unlocked and swung open noiselessly. Michael stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him. The hum came from the far corner, back in the shadows, beneath a pile of blankets. Dear God, he prayed fervently, don’t let that be what I think it is. He wouldn’t survive it.
The top of Maggie’s head was barely visible, but her soft, whispered moans were as loud as if someone had hard-wired an amplifier directly into his auditory system. Each one was like a stroke to his body, making every nerve ending stand up and take notice.
He moved forward without conscious thought, operating entirely on autopilot, until he could see her. Her body undulated rhythmically beneath the blankets. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly.
Whether he made a sound or she sensed his presence he didn’t know, but suddenly her eyes flew open and locked on his. She froze, the horror of being caught evident in her eyes.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, his voice as rough as sandpaper as he tried to speak through his tightened throat. “Please, Maggie, don’t stop.”
She eyed him warily as he took another step closer, then another, until he was directly beside
* * *
M ichael’s first thought when he woke was how cold he was. Maggie had been like a perfect little heater, warming him from the inside out. Of course, no other form of heat had ever made him ache quite so fiercely.
He reached out and ran his hand over the blanket where she had been. The spot beside him still held warmth, so she hadn’t been gone very long. He rose to add a few more logs to the dwindling fire. George was snoring loudly in front of the hearth, but Maggie was nowhere to be seen.
Outside, the storm continued to rage mercilessly. Some nor’easters could last up to several days, and this one certainly appeared to have that kind of staying power. Not that he minded in the least. The thought of being stranded with Maggie was about the best possible way he could think of to weather out the storm.
After ten minutes passed and she still hadn’t returned, Michael’s unease grew. The kitchen was dark, and the door to the downstairs bathroom was wide open, the candles she’d lit flickering softly. A check of all the other rooms on the first floor came up empty as well.
He grabbed a flashlight and went toward the entrance to the basement. Perhaps she had gone down to check the circuit breaker. “Maggie?” he called softly, opening the door. There was no answer, no telltale glow down below, only silence and darkness.
A slight noise had him glancing upwards. Closing the basement door, he made his way slowly up the steps, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to startle her, or impose on her privacy. He just needed to make sure she was okay, then he would slip back into the living room to wait for her.
Michael ran one hand through his hair. When had he become so protective? What was it about this woman that turned him inside out?
The snow and ice continued to pelt against the side of the house. Below, the fire crackled and sizzled as the sap from the new logs heated and popped. But there was something else, too. A low, barely audible hum. What the hell? He turned at the top of the stairs, trying to pinpoint the source. After one full turn his eyes landed on the door of what was probably a bedroom.
The soft glow of a candle spilled from the slight opening beneath the door. Like a ghost, Michael drifted silently down the hallway. The closer he drew, the more fixated he became on the sound. Laying his ear against the door, he heard the soft hum. It was muffled, as was another sound. One that had his heart beating frantically in his chest and his lungs suddenly incapable of functioning properly.
His hand turned the doorknob slowly so as not to make a sound. It was unlocked and swung open noiselessly. Michael stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him. The hum came from the far corner, back in the shadows, beneath a pile of blankets. Dear God, he prayed fervently, don’t let that be what I think it is. He wouldn’t survive it.
The top of Maggie’s head was barely visible, but her soft, whispered moans were as loud as if someone had hard-wired an amplifier directly into his auditory system. Each one was like a stroke to his body, making every nerve ending stand up and take notice.
He moved forward without conscious thought, operating entirely on autopilot, until he could see her. Her body undulated rhythmically beneath the blankets. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly.
Whether he made a sound or she sensed his presence he didn’t know, but suddenly her eyes flew open and locked on his. She froze, the horror of being caught evident in her eyes.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, his voice as rough as sandpaper as he tried to speak through his tightened throat. “Please, Maggie, don’t stop.”
She eyed him warily as he took another step closer, then another, until he was directly beside
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