scrunched in his pockets, his shoulders up around his ears. He was
wearing a full-fledged scowl and looking at her and Brandon with deep
resentment.
"My mother was the one he loved!" he
declared hotly. "He married yours for money, but mine he loved."
And then he looked away and a tremor shook his
small, wiry frame. Maggie thought he was going to cry and she'd never seen a
little boy cry before. But then he pulled himself together, digging his chin
into his chest.
"His mother died last year," Brandon
explained quietly. "He's actually been living with Max for a year. Can you
imagine, Maxmillian actually taking in one of his children?"
"Don't talk about my father like
that," C.J. muttered, but Maggie could tell that he was still very sad. He
hadn't lost just one parent, he'd lost both. And though her mommy wasn't very
nice, Maggie was glad she had her just to have someone to have. Without
thinking, she stepped forward. And though C.J. tensed, though he howled and
muttered a vehement protest, she wrapped her arms around him anyway. And then
abruptly he sagged against her and she knew he was crying though he didn't make
a sound and she knew she was crying without making a sound, because that was
what Maxmillian had taught his children—never make any demands, never make any
sound.
Never need him.
"Sure I'll accept the charges."
C.J.'s voice, adult and assured, resonated across the phone lines. She saw him
as he would be standing now, one hip cocked against the bar, the phone tucked
between his ear and shoulder, and his hands busy pouring the next beer while a
quick, easy grin split his face. "Maggie … Maggie, how the hell are
you?"
"C.J.," she whispered. Her hands
tightened on the phone. For a minute, she didn't know what to say. "C.J …
C.J., I need you."
"Maggie? Maggie, what's wrong?"
"I went to jury duty," she cried.
"And the—"
The phone went click. She stared at the
receiver incredulously. And then slowly, her gaze drifted up to the single,
callused finger holding the button down.
Her gaze rose farther and
finally encountered the chilling green eyes of a man who looked fit to kill.
----
Chapter 5
« ^ »
" W hat the hell do you think you're
doing?"
She cringed instinctively, only to become
trapped by the cool, hard feel of the metal pay phone. Cain's eyes glowed with
almost demonic rage from beneath the brim of the baseball cap. In contrast, his
grim jaw was set and his face perfectly expressionless. He looked like a
murderer, and at that moment she was more terrified than all the previous
moments put together.
"I didn't run away," she offered
weakly, then winced as his eyes narrowed dangerously. In one quick, forceful
move, he planted his hands on either side of her head and clasped her legs
between muscle-hardened thighs. She couldn't move, she couldn't twist away. She
was caught as effectively as a fly in the spider's web, and she was unbearably
aware of the heat of Cain's body, the soft feel of his cotton shirtsleeves
against her cheeks, and the scent of deodorant soap flaring her nostrils.
"Who did you call?"
She moistened her lips nervously with the tip
of her tongue. That only brought his gaze homing in on her mouth with
single-minded focus. She stopped moistening in a hurry. "N…no one?"
she tried.
He bent over her so fast she didn't have time
to breathe. One moment she was simply trapped, the next she was consumed by his
body, his hands, his mouth. She felt him touch her lips with his—surely that
was his mouth there. Her whole body cried out for escape, to run, to hide, to
cringe. But there was only the cold phone bank and his heated torso. Only the
unyielding sharp corners of the phone hurting her back, and the smooth,
sculpted lines of his biceps bracing her cheeks.
Her hands were wrapped in his overshirt,
handfuls of blue chambray fisted between her fingers. Her breath held and
caught. The emotions thundering through her blood made her dizzy. He was not kissing
her—that thought took
wearing a full-fledged scowl and looking at her and Brandon with deep
resentment.
"My mother was the one he loved!" he
declared hotly. "He married yours for money, but mine he loved."
And then he looked away and a tremor shook his
small, wiry frame. Maggie thought he was going to cry and she'd never seen a
little boy cry before. But then he pulled himself together, digging his chin
into his chest.
"His mother died last year," Brandon
explained quietly. "He's actually been living with Max for a year. Can you
imagine, Maxmillian actually taking in one of his children?"
"Don't talk about my father like
that," C.J. muttered, but Maggie could tell that he was still very sad. He
hadn't lost just one parent, he'd lost both. And though her mommy wasn't very
nice, Maggie was glad she had her just to have someone to have. Without
thinking, she stepped forward. And though C.J. tensed, though he howled and
muttered a vehement protest, she wrapped her arms around him anyway. And then
abruptly he sagged against her and she knew he was crying though he didn't make
a sound and she knew she was crying without making a sound, because that was
what Maxmillian had taught his children—never make any demands, never make any
sound.
Never need him.
"Sure I'll accept the charges."
C.J.'s voice, adult and assured, resonated across the phone lines. She saw him
as he would be standing now, one hip cocked against the bar, the phone tucked
between his ear and shoulder, and his hands busy pouring the next beer while a
quick, easy grin split his face. "Maggie … Maggie, how the hell are
you?"
"C.J.," she whispered. Her hands
tightened on the phone. For a minute, she didn't know what to say. "C.J …
C.J., I need you."
"Maggie? Maggie, what's wrong?"
"I went to jury duty," she cried.
"And the—"
The phone went click. She stared at the
receiver incredulously. And then slowly, her gaze drifted up to the single,
callused finger holding the button down.
Her gaze rose farther and
finally encountered the chilling green eyes of a man who looked fit to kill.
----
Chapter 5
« ^ »
" W hat the hell do you think you're
doing?"
She cringed instinctively, only to become
trapped by the cool, hard feel of the metal pay phone. Cain's eyes glowed with
almost demonic rage from beneath the brim of the baseball cap. In contrast, his
grim jaw was set and his face perfectly expressionless. He looked like a
murderer, and at that moment she was more terrified than all the previous
moments put together.
"I didn't run away," she offered
weakly, then winced as his eyes narrowed dangerously. In one quick, forceful
move, he planted his hands on either side of her head and clasped her legs
between muscle-hardened thighs. She couldn't move, she couldn't twist away. She
was caught as effectively as a fly in the spider's web, and she was unbearably
aware of the heat of Cain's body, the soft feel of his cotton shirtsleeves
against her cheeks, and the scent of deodorant soap flaring her nostrils.
"Who did you call?"
She moistened her lips nervously with the tip
of her tongue. That only brought his gaze homing in on her mouth with
single-minded focus. She stopped moistening in a hurry. "N…no one?"
she tried.
He bent over her so fast she didn't have time
to breathe. One moment she was simply trapped, the next she was consumed by his
body, his hands, his mouth. She felt him touch her lips with his—surely that
was his mouth there. Her whole body cried out for escape, to run, to hide, to
cringe. But there was only the cold phone bank and his heated torso. Only the
unyielding sharp corners of the phone hurting her back, and the smooth,
sculpted lines of his biceps bracing her cheeks.
Her hands were wrapped in his overshirt,
handfuls of blue chambray fisted between her fingers. Her breath held and
caught. The emotions thundering through her blood made her dizzy. He was not kissing
her—that thought took
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