“No!” His denial was instant and fierce and he felt himself reaching for her, wanting to erase her worry. He softened his voice and tried again. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s just... I’m worried. For you.”
Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
Thorne reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, feeling his skin prickle with embarrassment. How to explain his concerns without sounding like an egocentric ass? My reputation, my family, my problems. My, my, my. She was going to think he was too wrapped up in his own life, but really, he just wanted to protect her. He heaved a mental sigh and nearly shook his head. This was why he preferred the company of horses. Conversations with people were just too complicated.
“You know who my mother is,” he said, risking a glance up. Maggie nodded, but she still seemed confused. “You know what she did.”
“Sure,” she replied slowly. “Everyone does. But what’s that got to do with you?”
“People talk,” he said simply. “They’ve done it all my life, and they’re not going to stop. Especially now that Livia’s crimes and escape from prison have provided new fodder for them. You don’t want to be associated with me.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You’re trying to protect me from town gossip.” He nodded, happy she had caught on. Now she would put some distance between them and he could go back to cooking. They could pretend like this had never happened. The thought sent a pang through his chest, but it was for the best. He could relive the magic of their kiss when he was alone.
He reached for the knife, intent on picking up where he’d left off. But Maggie’s hand on his made him freeze.
“It’s sweet of you to worry for me.” She rubbed the pad of her thumb along the side of his hand, her touch simultaneously featherlight and electrifying. “But I’m a big girl, and I don’t care what people say.”
Thorne swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in his throat. The blood in his body was rapidly racing south, making thought and speech difficult. “You don’t?” he asked stupidly.
Maggie shook her head and moved her hand up his arm, trailing her fingertips along his skin in a teasing caress. She placed the palm of her other hand on his chest, directly over his heart. Could she feel it speed up in response to her touch?
“So if that’s the only thing stopping you...” she trailed off, her suggestion clear.
“You’re sure?” His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears. He held his breath as he waited for her response. It had been so long since he’d connected with a woman, and the revelations about Livia and her subsequent trial, imprisonment and recent escape had made him feel more alone than ever. Maggie was exactly what he needed right now, but he wasn’t going to soothe his own soul at the sake of her feelings.
Maggie nodded, her eyes shining brightly with an emotion he couldn’t name. “I’m sure. I like you, Thorne,” she said, sounding a little shy.
Her confession washed over him, breaking down the last of his resistance. He closed the distance between them and captured her mouth again. She reached up and clasped her hands behind his neck, returning his kiss with equal fervor.
Moving carefully so as not to break their connection, Thorne reached down and hooked his hands under the curve of Maggie’s bottom. He hitched her up, smiling against her mouth as she let out a little “oof” of surprise. She recovered quickly though, throwing her legs around his waist and locking her ankles together. The change in position afforded him new access to her body, and his blood heated in anticipation as he registered the warmth of her core.
With Maggie in his arms, Thorne headed for the bedroom. Her body bounced against his sensitive groin with every step, turning the short trip into a seemingly endless stretch of exquisite torture. By the time he made it to the room he was nearly blind with need, and he rammed his shoulder hard against the doorjamb. He grunted in annoyance and felt the vibrations of Maggie’s amusement in his chest.
“Are you okay?”
Thorne deposited her on the bed, then stepped back to toe off his boots. “Never better,” he said, the pain of the blow already forgotten. He paused, hands on his belt buckle. “Are you?” Was she changing her mind?
Maggie smiled and reached for him. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and pulled him closer, urging him forward until his thighs hit the edge of the mattress. “Oh, yes,” she said softly. “I’m right where I want to be.”
Three months later...
“Doing okay in here?”
Maggie looked up to find Mac standing in the doorway of his office, his light brown eyes friendly and warm. She nodded, but the sight of him made her stomach drop. He looks so much like Thorne!
Hoping her distress didn’t show, she offered him a small smile. “I should be done soon, and then you can have your office back.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” Mac propped his shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I just wanted to check on you. You seem a little...off today.”
Apparently she wasn’t as good of an actress as she’d hoped. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” she said. “Just tired. Work has been keeping me busy.” It was the truth—mostly. She had been feeling exhausted lately, and to make matters worse, she’d been dealing with a constant, low-level nausea that had turned her off most food. She made a mental note to schedule a doctor’s appointment soon. Having dealt with endometriosis for the last fifteen years, Maggie was used to a certain amount of regular physical discomfort. But she knew from experience it was better to try to get ahead of the problem than to wait and allow it to get worse.
“Staying busy is a nice problem to have, especially when you work for yourself,” Mac joked.
Maggie nodded again and leaned back a little in the chair. “It definitely is. I’m not complaining, believe me.”
Mac studied her for a moment, his gaze searching as if he suspected she wasn’t telling him the full truth. His scrutiny was kind, and under other circumstances, Maggie probably would have opened up to him. But not this time.
“I’ll let you finish up,” he said, pushing off the jamb and straightening. “I hope you know that if you ever need a sympathetic ear, I’ve got two.”
“Thanks, Mac.” Tears prickled her eyes and she blinked hard, turning back to the computer in the hopes of hiding her reaction. She heard his footsteps as he walked away and let her shoulders slump. Mac was a sweet man but she couldn’t talk to him about her problems.
Not when they all centered around his son.
Thorne hadn’t said one word to her since that night three months ago, unless you counted hello and goodbye and “let me find Mac for you.” And she didn’t. Those were the polite sentence fragments strangers used, not the language of two people who had shared their bodies with each other.
Even now, a shiver of arousal tripped down her spine at the memory of that night. Being with Thorne had been amazing. Their chemistry had been electric, with none of the awkward fumbling that often accompanied her first time with a man. She and Thorne had moved in a seamless rhythm, as if they had read each other’s minds and knew exactly where to touch, how to move to give and receive pleasure. She’d never felt such a profound physical and emotional connection with a man before—being with Thorne had truly rocked her world.
Which had made it all the more painful when he’d pulled away from her in the days after their encounter.
It