by Bryce, Megan
“And that’s a reason for marriage?”
“Uncertainty is the spice of life.”
“And you must like life spicy.”
“I do. We’re a matched pair, Maggie.” He wiggled his fingers. “I’m driving with my thumbs here. I say that’s enough reasons to think about marriage. Think about making this real.”
He pulled into the parking garage, driving around until he found a spot to fit his truck in. She slid out as soon as he turned the engine off and he met up with her around the tail of the truck. His lips twitched when he realized her heels put her taller than him.
“Four-inch heels, Maggie? You must really hate rings.”
“I do when they’re fake.”
He slid his hand into hers. “I’m sure everything here is real.”
“But we aren’t, Cole.”
“Not yet.”
She looked at him and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Couldn’t tell what she really thought about marrying him.
He didn’t know why he’d suddenly found himself wanting everything from her. Accept who else was there for him? Who else would he want to make a dynasty with, make children with, pass his legacy on to?
She said, “Maybe not yet, but definitely not right now.”
“We’ll carry on with our original plan. And we’ll just think about it for awhile.”
She let out a long breath and he said, “We’ll just put Maggie Montgomery on the back burner for awhile.”
She looked down that one inch at him and said, “Or maybe Cole Caldwell.”
His lips lifted in involuntary revulsion. “Ugh.”
She laughed. “I think we could probably come up with two handfuls of why we shouldn’t think of marriage.”
He said, “Spicy,” and she chuckled.
She said, “Let’s go get a temporary engagement ring for now. You’ve definitely made that less daunting at least.”
“It’s going to be big and sparkly, just in case.”
“I know. It has to be seen from Dallas.”
“No. It has to go with your man-eater outfits.”
She slid her hand through his arm and whispered, “Why do you think I wore four-inch heels?”
“And the skirt?”
“Oh, that was just to torture you.”
He smiled at her and wondered how he could ever want anyone after having her.
‘Cause, boy, did he like it spicy.
The ring was big and sparkly.
A pear-shaped, five-carat diamond set between two platinum bands paved with even more diamonds. It was striking and bold and it just might distract enough eyes away from her legs to make Cole happy. He kept reaching across the table to take her hand and make it sparkle.
He hadn’t wanted to leave without a ring so they’d waited, had a long lunch, and when her ring had been delivered to them at the restaurant by the well-paid saleswoman, he’d gone to his knee.
He’d opened the box and said, “I want a yes.”
She glanced between him and the ring. “I didn’t hear a question.”
“Will you wear my ring?”
She laughed, rolling her eyes, and said, “Yes.”
He’d slipped it on her finger to clapping and whistles and had kissed her long and hard to even louder clapping and more whistles.
The waiter came over to offer congratulations and ask about dessert.
“Oh, there’ll be dessert,” Cole said and Maggie didn’t even blink. She’d learned by now there was no use fighting him about this, and Cole could see she was filling her clothes out a little bit more.
Halfway through raspberry cheesecake, halfway through Maggie making love to her spoon with every bite, Simon Blackwood waved to them from across the room and made his way over.
He smiled cheerily at them, taking his eyes off Maggie’s chest long enough to glance at the ring. “Finally got a ring on her finger, did you?”
He pulled a chair out, ignoring the fact that no one had invited him to sit, no one had even acknowledged him. Cole wondered if he was just drunk or just stupid, then stopped caring.
“Go away, Blackwood.”
Maggie put her spoon down and leaned back in her chair. Simon moved toward her, reaching for her hand, and she held it up in front of her face, showing off the ring.
Cole checked his forward motion, not sure what he’d been intending to do, just sure that if Simon touched any part of her, he would be losing a hand. Even if Cole had to use the butter knife to do it.
Simon nodded. “Nice. But I’ll warn you, you give a woman whatever she wants in the beginning, she’ll keep expecting that. I gave Paula the smallest rock I thought she’d accept.” He winked. “Expectations.”
Cole could see Maggie’s eyes twinkling and they shared a private, silent laugh at the other small expectations Paula probably had to accept.
Cole said, still looking at Maggie, “Margaret always get what she wants, I didn’t start that expectation.”
The trick was to get her to want what he wanted.
She smiled at Cole and said, “Go away, Simon.”
“But I wanted to invite the two of you to a little dinner. To celebrate.”
Cole said, “No,” and Maggie said, “We’re not interested in your little dinners.”
“It’ll just be us. No one else.”
Maggie turned her head to look at Simon. “We’re not interested.”
Cole looked between them and Maggie caught his eye. She said, “No one goes home with who they came with at Simon’s little dinners.”
Simon giggled. “Not normally.”
Cole didn’t bother to say no again. He wouldn’t have gone to dinner with the man anyway.
Simon leaned toward Cole and whispered, “You must still be in the honeymoon phase. Can’t imagine wanting to share, can’t imagine that one day you will look at her and want to puke. Would rather fuck a toaster in the bathtub than see her naked one more time.”
Cole looked at Maggie and thought no, he wasn’t ever going to think that.
“I’m not going to swap with you, Blackwood, just because you picked poorly.”
Simon put his hand on Cole’s leg and said, “I was thinking more of sharing. Wouldn’t dream of making you settle with what I could trade. We could make a Margaret sandwich.” Simon giggled again, leaning forward. “Or a Simon sandwich. Can’t have anyone thinking I’m not up for new adventures.”
Cole turned away from the tightening of Maggie’s face and leaned toward Blackwood. He said softly, “Have you thought about a Margaret sandwich before?”
“Oh, Jackson Harwood and I have discussed it.” He winked at Maggie. “Wondered if perhaps the two of us could loosen her up a bit.” He ran his hand up Cole’s thigh. “But anyone can see she doesn’t need any loosening up with you around.”
Cole grabbed Simon’s thigh, making him jump.
Simon started to smile and Cole started to squeeze, harder and harder. Simon’s smile turned to a frown and he tried to pull his leg away. Cole squeezed even harder, digging his fingers beneath the muscles and turning Simon’s frown into a grunt.
“Are you listening, Blackwood?”
Simon grabbed Cole’s wrist, tugging, and Cole said again, “Are you listening, Blackwood?”
When he nodded, Cole said, “No sandwiches. Don’t talk about her, don’t think about her. Don’t talk to her again.”
Maggie leaned forward. “That goes for Cole as well. He’s mine, and I don’t share.”
Simon stood abruptly, bumping the table and making it wobble, knocking his chair back. Cole dropped his hand and the restaurant stilled as everyone turned to stare.
The waiter came rushing to help and Cole stopped him with a shake of his head.
Cole scooted his chair back but didn’t rise. He stared at Simon Blackwood and waited. His muscles tensed, ready, his vision getting sharper and tunneling in.
He took a deep breath, counting, trying to remain in control.
Maggie watched h
im, her eyes turning blue.
Simon Blackwood opened his mouth and Cole interrupted. “Don’t talk again. Ever.”
Simon closed his mouth with a snap. He looked at Cole, then at Maggie. He looked at the waiter, hovering a few tables away, everyone’s eyes on Simon. He adjusted his tie, then turned away.
He said, loudly, as he walked away, “Animal.”
Maggie reached across the table to Cole, holding her hand out to him. He let out a long breath, taking it, the ring cutting into his hand as he gripped her hand.
Cole pulled out his credit card, nodding to the waiter and handing it to him when he came to the table, telling him to pay for everyone’s lunch for the disturbance.
The waiter took one look at the expression on Cole’s face, took the card, and turned away to get the manager.
Cole said, “Dallas,” and reached for his water. “Fucking Dallas.”
Maggie watched him drink, still holding on to his hand. “You mean fucking Simon.”
“Fucking all of them. There’s not a one of them that I like. Not a one of them that doesn’t make my stomach turn.”
“He was on something.”
Cole said, “Yeah. But I’m tired of hearing you defend him.”
“Then I won’t. Because there’s a difference between defending someone and accepting someone. That’s who he is, what he is. I try to stay away from him, I don’t take it personally.”
“Hard not to take personally when his hand is rubbing my thigh.”
Maggie nodded. “I agree.”
A roaring filled Cole’s ears and he said, “Was he touching you?”
“He tried. I moved his hand off my leg.”
Cole let go of her hand before he crushed it and he watched her stand. Watched her motion for the waiter to hurry it up.
She said to Cole, “Let’s go.”
Cole wasn’t sure he could stand, wasn’t sure he could walk out of the restaurant without hunting Simon Blackwood down and breaking every bone in his hand. Both hands.
Maggie came to him and put her hand over his closed fist. She leaned down to say in his ear, “Come on, Cole. Let’s go home. Get out of this city and leave all these people to themselves.”
She pulled him up, out of his chair, taking the card from the waiter when he came rushing over. She led Cole out, fitting her fingers through his, and all Cole thought about as they exited the restaurant, made their way to the parking garage, was not crushing her hand. All he thought about was keeping in control so he wouldn’t hurt her on accident.
He let go of her hand when they got to the truck. He gripped the tailgate, squeezing and closing his eyes. His blood pounded in his ears, his heart raced.
Maggie ran her hand through his hair and murmured his name.
He looked up at her, so close, and he bit out, “Be afraid of me, Maggie.”
She watched him for a long minute, watched his eyes, the blue hardly discernible from the black.
She looked down the line of parked cars, busy with people and cars closer to the elevators, empty out here.
She pressed herself against him and whispered, “Never.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing her lips against his, backing up until they were hidden from view behind the cab. “I’ll never be afraid of you.”
His fingers dug into her waist and she couldn’t tell if he was trying to push her away or pull her close.
He ground out, “I don’t want to lose control.”
Oh, she wanted him to lose control. Wanted him again like that. He’d been fighting himself since Simon had first sat down, keeping himself under control. She could understand why, she could even applaud it. But she wanted him like he used to be. Free, unafraid.
She said, “Please, Cole.”
He ground out, “Don’t beg.”
She put her lips on his ear and whispered, “Please.”
“We’re in a parking garage. Anyone could come at any minute.” But his fingers now were pulling her closer, into him.
She said, “Then you’d better be quick.”
He lifted her against the truck, spreading her legs, her skirt ripping.
He said hoarsely, “Is this what you want?”
She kissed him, her mouth hungry, her teeth nipping at his lip, and he slid a finger into her skimpy panties, jerking and ripping the thin straps.
He leaned against her, trapping her with his weight, and she wrapped her legs around him, her skirt sliding the rest of the way up her legs. He reached below her to unzip his pants.
He entered her in one thrust, never stopping, pounding her against the hard metal. She bit his neck, hard enough to draw blood, then licked the droplet away, tasting the tang of the blood on her tongue.
The truck rocked with them and Cole gripped her thighs hard, tried to keep her still.
He growled, “Maggie,” and she licked his ear.
“Don’t stop. Never stop. Please. Please.”
It threw him right over and he slammed his mouth on hers, saying her name over and over against her lips until he stopped, spent, leaning heavily against her.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing. She began to notice bits of the truck biting into her back, her skirt cutting into her legs, noises outside the garage. Noises inside the garage.
Cole leaned back, letting her slide down. When her feet were on the ground again, he smoothed her skirt down, zipped his pants up.
He rested his forehead on her shoulder and said, “Maggie.”
Maggie ran a hand over his hair, her heart still beating wildly. She took a deep breath and when he looked up at her, she smiled. “Thank you. I needed that.”
He looked into her eyes and said, “You always did like to watch me fight.”
“I always did. Although that wasn’t much of a fight.”
The cockiness came back into his stance, his shoulders straightened. He opened the door for her and she slid in, her ripped skirt giving her little protection against the seat. She shimmied her useless panties down and stuffed them in her purse.
When he got in his side, he said, “That was highly illegal.”
She dug her sunglasses out, sliding them on, hiding her eyes from him. “You owe me a skirt.”
“I owe you more than that.”
He lightly touched her thigh and Maggie turned to look at him. She fingered the bite mark on his neck.
He leaned in close, bringing a finger up to slide her sunglasses down her nose. He stared into her eyes and she knew that he could see what she didn’t want him to.
Could see that she wanted him more now that he’d had her against the car than she’d wanted him before. And she’d wanted him before more than she could stand.
He said, “Looks like one is not going to do it. How long do you think it’s going to take us to make that four-hour drive?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got that bench seat to try out.”
He smiled like a man who’d just gotten everything he’d ever asked for and she wanted to scoot across the seat, sit in that unfortunately named middle seat with his fingers playing with the bottom of her skirt.
She wanted it, wanted it enough to make herself push him away, make herself remember who she was.
She was not the kind of woman who sat in the bitch seat. Even if her mother wasn’t going to hear about it.
As soon as the city had dropped away, as soon as the land turned from buildings to dry land, as soon as Cole had found a bush big enough to hide the truck behind, he’d pulled over and pushed Maggie over the seats to the back.
She’d gone happily, hungrily, because he’d been right. One was just not going to do it.
She lay on top of him, her skirt around her waist, one leg trapped under his and one leg levered against the front seat. She was afraid she’d pulled a hamstring.
Cole groaned, “Bench seats are overrated. I’ve got a seat belt trying to surgically remove my kidney.”
“We could have done this when we were eighteen.�
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He nodded. “It’s a young man’s game.”
She untangled her legs, giving him room to sit up, and wiggled her skirt back down enough to cover the important bits.
He pulled her into his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and sighing. He hooked a finger into the top of her blouse and looked inside. “Did you get a new bra?”
“I had to. I’ve gained five pounds thanks to you.”
He murmured, “And they are five pounds well worn.”
He cupped her, rubbing his thumb against her nipple, making it pucker and looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “I think we should aim for another five pounds.”
“It wouldn’t go where you want it to.”
“Where would it go?” He pulled her across his lap so she was straddling him and cupped her bottom. “Here? I’ll order pizza for dinner.”
Her skirt was hiked back up and she didn’t know why she kept pulling it down. “We just barely had lunch and you’re thinking of dinner?”
“I’m hungry again. Uncontrollable rage does that.”
“You controlled it.”
“Barely. And I think it was more like funneled into a different direction.”
She leaned into his chest, whispering, “Is it bad that I’m thinking of inviting Simon out occasionally to get you into that mood again?”
“Don’t say his name. And yes, that’s bad.”
She smiled and stayed pressed against him. She said, “I keep thinking of you when we were kids. You couldn’t have kept control like that.”
“Think I’ve learned a thing or two in the last twelve years?”
“Yes.”
He played with the edge of her skirt. “Think I’ve learned a thing or two here?”
“Mm. I’ll give you a definite maybe on that.”
He smiled at her, she smiled back. He said, “If we’re traveling down memory lane here, I want your favorite memory?”
“I already told you.”
“No. That’s your best memory of us. It’s a sad state of affairs when me lying unconscious in your arms is the best we can do but I’ll let that pass. Now I want your favorite.”
“I feel like we’re splitting hairs here.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re the one who was so careful to make the distinction.”