“Sheila!”
“You don’t have to make demands, and you don’t have to meet them. The two of you can just go along pretending you don’t need more from one another if that makes you feel safe, but don’t try to sell me. It’s not as easy as you thought, is it?”
Maggie stared in shock as Sheila snatched her evening bag from the vanity and spun for the door. Her dark eyes blazed as she fired her final shot. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Maggie, and, remember, neither were you.”
The door
shooshed
shut. Her fingers bit into the granite countertop. She gaped at her shell-shocked reflection, taking a moment to be sure she could hold steady. Snapping her mouth shut, she swiped at her cheeks with her fingertips. Groping for the abandoned tube of lipstick, she uncapped it with trembling fingers.
“This is a horrible bathroom.” Maggie applied a fresh coat of courage, pulled her shoulders back and tipped her chin up to meet her reflected gaze. “Come on, baby. Let’s find Daddy and get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Twenty
The swing band was certainly swinging when she stumbled from the powder room. Tom smiled, pushing away from the wall he’d propped himself against nearly an eon ago. He smoothed his tie as she approached, trying not to ogle his date and failing miserably.
Her dress was red. Screaming red. Look-at-me red. Or—as he rechristened it the moment she stepped out of the bedroom—please-please-please-let-this-girl-want-to-fuck-me red.
What made his head spin was the fact that the dress itself wasn’t even all that sexy on its own merit. The neckline didn’t plunge to her belly button. The pearly skin of her back wasn’t exposed. The sleeves gathered gently at her wrists. But on Maggie? That slinky fabric molded to her shoulders and arms, clung desperately to her generous breasts, then fell like a waterfall, the hem swirling around her beautiful knees.
Tom ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe the self-effacing smirk that sprang to his lips the moment his befuddled brain paired the world beautiful with Maggie’s knees. If that didn’t prove he was a complete goner, nothing would. She came to a stop in front of him and he automatically reached for her, settling his hand in the small of her back and pulling her just a tad closer. “So worth the wait….”
“I want to go home,” she said at the same time.
He blinked in surprise. “Home? We haven’t even made it to the bar yet.”
She waved her hand toward her stomach. “I’m not much in the mood for a drink.”
“You threatened me with a can opener,” he reminded her. “I got you out of the apartment. What’s wrong? Are you sick again?”
She shook her head. “No. I just…I forgot how much I hate these things.”
Somehow she managed to encompass the entire elegant extravaganza with a limp wave of her hand, and he grinned. “Me too.” Tom pulled her closer, wrapping her up in a strong, one-armed embrace. He ducked his head, grazing her cheek with his nose and tickling her ear with his lips. “One drink, one dance, then we’ll get out of here.”
He felt her soften, and suddenly he was transported to that night months before. The heady anticipation of seduction. One night laden with promises of pleasure without pain. The night that changed their lives.
“Yeah?” The question came out in a breathy whisper.
He nuzzled her hair, her cheek, her neck, uncertain how he’d manage to hold off, but determined to give it his best shot. “I’ll let you take me back to your place and seduce me again.”
“I seduced you?”
She shivered when his breath stirred her hair. “Yes, Maggie.” He kept his voice steady, speaking to her just how he wanted her—soft, slow, and deep. “Don’t you know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night?”
“Let’s go now,” she blurted.
He chuckled and pulled back, still holding her close but putting just enough space between them. Her emerald eyes glistened. He picked up the familiar glints of amusement and arousal, but something darker shadowed them. He clenched his teeth, prepared to do battle with whatever it was that made her unhappy even for one moment.
“Maggie? What do you say?” His body pressed against hers, cushioned by her curves but prodded by the barely-there baby bump. The music changed, shifting the mood in the ballroom from joyfully frenetic to soulfully sexy in just three bars. He kissed her softly, his lips lingering against hers as he continued negotiations. “Forget the drink, but I want the dance,
Mags
.”
She wet her lips and the tip of her tongue grazed his bottom lip. He jolted as if she’d shot a thousand volts through him. He closed his eyes and tried to absorb the shock. The way she affected him was ridiculous. As if they hadn’t kissed a thousand times.
His fingers clamped around her wrist, and her pulse leapt beneath his thumb. She felt it too. She felt it just the way he did. He met her slumberous gaze and nearly collapsed in on himself. She wanted this. She wanted him.
Maggie swayed against him, using her bountiful breasts for all they were worth. “You sure you want to dance?” His gaze slid down to the hint of cleavage displayed by the dress. His fingers tightened on her wrist. “Take me home, Tom,” she whispered.
He almost gave in. There was nothing he wanted more than to give her exactly what she asked for, exactly what they both needed. Oh, he would take her home. To her home. For now. But no matter what she said about things being fine the way they are, sometime soon he would take her home to
their
home. Not his. Not hers. Theirs.
Tom glanced down at the delicate fingers curled into a loose fist. He drew her hand to his mouth and brushed the barest of kisses across her knuckles. Her breath hitched, just as he knew it would. Their eyes met, and he knew Maggie McCann was meant to be the girl for him. He pressed her hand to his chest and knew without a doubt there would be no better time, no more perfect place. The words tumbled from his lips on the frantic beat of his heart.
“Marry me, Maggie.”
****
Maggie reared back, blinking as the facets from the chandelier above their heads scattered the light. She tried closing her eyes, but pinpoints sparkled behind her lids making her even dizzier. “What?”
Tom snapped from his trance and shoved his hand into his pants pocket. “Hang on…” He grunted in frustration as he struggled to free his hand. Maggie took a stumbling step back, desperate to find her bearings again.
“There!” He prized a glittering circlet from his pocket and held it up with a triumphant smile. “Marry me, Maggie.”
His voice carried through the foyer. The milling crowd stilled. A cluster of silk and satin-clad women unknotted nearby, their attention riveted on the two of them. Her jaw dropped as her gaze fixed on the sparkling diamond pinched between his fingers. A rainbow of promises shot from the facets, dimming the glow of the chandelier. Her head wagged, trying to deny the reality of the scene unfolding in front of her. She tried to pull away, but he held firm, his fingers biting into the tender skin of her wrist.
“Oh! Sorry.” His smile faltered as he sank to one knee. “I should do this right, right?”
A woman nearby gasped and another squealed. A wave of murmurs rose around them, but she couldn’t care less about what anyone else had to say about them. She knew who and what they were, and for that reason, she had to stop him.
“No, don’t! That’s okay,” she blurted.
He chuckled and pulled her hand to his mouth. Soft, firm lips brushed her knuckles. Bold, confident blue eyes gazed up at her. “No, I’m going to do this right…” He released her wrist and his hand grazed her stomach. A smile of delight lit his face as he lowered his gaze, smoothing the silky fabric. To her horror, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the gently rounded mound. His voice came in a hoarse rasp. “I want us to be a family. I want to do this right.” He tipped his chin up, gazing at her with his jaw set in determination. “Maggie McCann, will you marry me?”
Maggie bit her bottom lip so hard the metallic tang of blood curled her tongue. She glanced around at the hopeful, expectant faces of the strangers surrounding them, unable to bear to look into the eyes of the man she loved. A group of people to her left parted, and Sheila appeared. The two women locked eyes for a moment. Maggie shook her head slowly.
Turning her attention to Tom she drew a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “No.”
A flicker of confusion crossed his handsome face, but his natural confidence chased it away. The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was anticipating a joke he wasn’t privy to yet. A nervous chuckle burbled from his chest. “No?”
She continued to shake her head as she backed away, her voice thick and hoarse with unshed tears. “No, Tom. No, I won’t marry you.”
Clamping her hand over her mouth, she turned and fled for the grand staircase leading to the bustling hotel lobby. The polished mahogany banister slid under her damp palm. Halfway down, she dared a glance over her shoulder. Certain he hadn’t followed her, she paused to pull the too-high pumps from her feet.
Maggie hit the brass-framed revolving door with her purse and shoes clutched in her hands. One pump clattered to the marble floor unheeded. She stumbled out onto the sidewalk, flushed and breathless. The startled doorman scrambled for the door handle on the nearest cab. She settled on the cracked vinyl seat, her brow puckering as she stared at the clouded
plexi
-glass partition.
The driver set the meter and turned in his seat. “Where?”
His heavily accented English didn’t register. The impatient wave of his hand failed to snap her from the haze.
“Where?”
The guttural demand jolted her from her stupor. She pressed her palm to the safety glass and gaped at the heavy-set stranger. Where could she go?
The man’s expression softened. “You okay,
ladee
?”
Maggie shook her head, blinking back the tears that scorched the back of her throat. He proposed. Where could she possibly go? Home to the apartment where his shoes were parked under the coffee table and the cat that preferred his company to hers? Of course she wasn’t okay. The man she loved just offered her everything in the world she ever wanted. How was she supposed to sleep in a bed that would forever be his? Tom Sullivan just asked her to marry him, and she told him no. She told him no, and now she had nowhere to go—all because there was no way in hell she could possibly have said yes.
****
A woman with alligator skin and
perma
-frosted hair clutched the arm of the man next to her as she turned away. His eyes narrowed to slits as he wondered what could possibly make that woman feel so awkward. He was the one kneeling on the fleur-de-lis patterned carpet holding a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.
Tom scowled at the ring pinched between his fingers. The diamond sparkled in the light from the chandelier. Perhaps it was a joke. Maybe once the blood stopped roaring in his ears, he’d look up and find Maggie grinning at him, poised to grab the ring. He sneaked a peek from under his lashes. No go.
His vision fuzzed, black encroaching around the edges as the white noise in his ears receded. A hand closed around his elbow. He blinked back the gloom, forcing himself to focus on the golden gleam of hope in Sheila’s brown eyes.
“Stand up, Sweetheart,” she murmured into his ear.
Tom did as he was told, struggling to his feet with a grimace. He tugged the bottom of his suit jacket and fumbled the ring. It fell to the floor near the toe of his shoe. As if sensing his urge to kick it, Sheila swooped in to snatch it from the rug. A wan smile curved her lips as she unfurled her fingers to offer it to him nestled in her creased palm. He grunted as if she kicked him in the nuts.
“You can keep that.”
Her amused chortle would have delighted him if he’d coaxed it out of her while she was hunched over her desk at Haven House or fretting over the canapés at a cocktail party, but he hadn’t. He turned on his heel and his gaze locked on the staircase Maggie used as an escape route. He took off, his jaw set and his step steady.
Sheila hurried after him. “Don’t be stupid,” she huffed, making a futile grab for his arm. He shook her off, but she kept pace with surprising agility. “Thomas Sullivan, do not do this. Do not let your wounded pride get the better of you.”
“Wounded pride!” The words echoed through the suddenly hushed corridor as he whirled to glare at her. “You think this is about pride?”
The diminutive woman drew herself up to an imposing height, leveling him with a dark glare. “Of course it’s your pride,” she said, unperturbed by his ire.
She reached for his hand and he let her take it, too wrung out to struggle. Tom cringed when the warm metal of the ring pressed into his palm. Her soft fingers closed around his, trapping his rejection in a tight fist.