"Don't you want me to stay, Maggie?"
"Yes, but what will we tell the kids in the morning?"
"Leave the kids to me." He tugged her back down to him. "Ill think of something to tell them tomorrow. Now go to sleep, love."
She cuddled closer. "Good night, Greg." How
wonderful to go to sleep in his arms and wake up with him in the morning. She sighed.
Greg kissed her temple. "Good night, sweetheart."
"Oh, no! Greg, what about Paula?" She again sat up abruptly. "I forgot all about her. She cant stay alone all night."
"Relax, honey." Again Greg pulled her back down and settled her in his arms. "She's spending the night with one of her girlfriends. Maggie, if Paula were home alone, you'd have insisted that I leave, wouldn't you?" His arms tightened possessively and his tone was thoughtful. "You would have sent me home to her."
"Of course. She's only fourteen. That's too young to be left alone all night, Greg."
"Oh, / know that. But you're the first woman that I've—uh—" He stopped, then began again. "The first woman who has ever agreed that the kids shouldn't be alone all night. Every other one has bitched and complained when I told them that I had to go home, er, Afterward."
Every one of Maggie's nerves was seared by the jealous flame that ripped through her. Every other woman. "I'd rather not hear about all your other women," she managed to say in frozen tones. How awful it was to be catapulted from a cozy dream world into the depressing throes of reality. Tonight had been so special to her, an affirmation of her womanhood with the man she loved. To her it had marked the beginning of a loving relationship and she had given herself completely, as if the feelings had been mutual.
But they weren't, a fact she had somehow managed to forget. Tonight couldn't have been particularly special or unique for Greg. To him she was merely another woman in another bed on another Friday night. Last week it would have been Francine, had she not thrown her nasty little tantrum. Tonight it was supposed to have been Sandy, but she had also staged a scene. It was anybody's guess as to who he
had lined up for next week, but if the woman managed to hang on to her temper she would undoubtedly wind up in bed with Greg.
Maggie rolled out of his arms and onto her side, dragging the covers around her.
"Maggie?" Greg reached for her, his voice filled with confusion.
"Goodnight, Greg."
"Come back here!"
"I'm very tired and you told me that you Ye tired too. Td like to get some sleep before the kids get up at seven."
"But what . . . Maggie, are you angry with me? What in the hell is going on with you?"
"Just think about it, Greg. I'm sure a smart fellow like you will come up with some satisfactory answer."
"I was complimenting you." He seemed to be mentally reviewing their conversation. "You re the first and only woman to have expressed concern about my children spending the night alone, the first and only one who hasn't—"
"I'm sorry I don't have any interesting comparisons to share with you," Maggie said tightly, sexual jealousy eating at her like acid. "But you're the first and only man I've been with since my husband was killed six years ago. The first and only one, and so—"
"Six years!" Greg shook his head, awed. "That's an incredibly long time to be without, uh, love."
"You mean sex," she corrected him tartly, sitting up to glare at him. "And it wasn't all that difficult. When you're working the night shift and taking care of small children during the day, believe me, the need for sex takes second place to the need for sleep."
"But now you're working days and the children are in school and ..." Greg paused, frowning. "You accepted a date with Cassidy and went to bed with me."
"Don't you dare insinuate that I'm about to become some sort of sexual adventuress!" she snapped. "I'm not, I assure you."
"Maggie, I wasn't insinuating any such thing. It simply occured to me that—"
"Not everyone has your insatiable need for—for bedroom adventures, Greg Wilder."
"Bedroom adventures? I would hardly call my—"
"Perhaps conquests would be the better word," she suggested sweetly. "Or would exploits be even better?"
Greg sat up in bed and clutched his head with his fingers. "You're doing it again, Maggie. You're driving me up the wall. You seem to have a special talent for it. Five minutes ago I was holding you, loving you, and now I'm ready to toss you out the window. If I don't jump out myself first," he added grimly.
"Why not leave the way you came? Through the door. Now!"
"Are you asking me to leave?"
"No, I'm telling you. Good-bye, Greg Wilder!" Maggie pulled the covers up to her nose and rolled onto her stomach, effectively wrapping herself in a blanket cocoon. She could hear Greg moving about in the darkness, hear the rustling of his clothes as he dressed. First the white cotton briefs and T-shirt. . . She tried desperately to banish the image of his muscular, tanned body in the formfitting underwear, but the picture was firmly fixed in her mind's eye. Taunting her, tantalizing her.
She swallowed back a sob of pure misery. She wanted to beg him to stay, but she feared his rejection, his scorn. Never had she felt so vulnerable and so terribly at risk. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. Crying was for tragedies, like Johnny's death. She wouldn't trivialize her tears by weeping over Greg Wilder's angry departure.
"Maggie!" The clear, childish voice filled the silent house. "Maggie, where are you?"
It was Max. Maggie threw off the covers, grabbed her robe, and quickly slipped into it. "I'm coming, Max," she called in a loud whisper. She hoped he could hear her.
"111 go to him," Greg said. He was wearing his trousers and holding his shirt in his hands. He dropped it on the bed and followed Maggie into Kevin's bedroom. Kevin and Josh were asleep in the bunk beds. Max was sitting up in the small cot, crying.
"Max, honey, what is it?" Maggie scooped him up in her arms.
"There's a bad wolf in this room. A werewolf with great big teeth. He said he was going to eat me up." Max put his small arms around Maggie's neck and hung on tightly.
"Were Josh and Kevin telling scary stories before you went to sleep?" she asked softly.
Max nodded. "Werewolfs live in closets and under the bed and eat people up," he whimpered. "I'm scared, Maggie."
"There's nothing to be afraid of, Max." Greg moved to stand beside Maggie and he patted his son's head. "There are no such things as werewolves."
"Are too," sniffed Max. "Josh said so." He didn't even question his father's half-dressed, late-night appearance at the Mays'.
"Now who knows more, Josh or Daddy?" Greg said. He tried to take Max from Maggie's arms, but the little boy wouldn't release the grip he had on her neck. "Daddy knows more," Greg answered his own question. "And I say there is no such thing as werewolves. Look." He flicked on a lamp and opened the closet door. "There's nothing in the closet but Kevin's clothes and some toys."
Max frowned and continued to cling to Maggie, his arms and legs wrapped around her. Greg got down on his hands and knees and made an elaborate display of looking under both bunks and the cot. "No werewolf here either. Not even any dustballs. You're an excellent housekeeper, Maggie," he added ingenuously and smiled at her. She had to smile back at him; she simply couldn't help herself.
Max, however, wasn't smiling. "It's an invisible
werewolf, Daddy. You can't see him, but he's there. Can I sleep in your bed, Maggie?" he pleaded. "A werewolf can't get me there."
"No, Max," Greg intervened quickly. "Four-year-olds are too big to sleep in other people's beds."
Max looked ready to cry again. Maggie gave him a quick hug and suddenly an idea dawned. She'd once had this same problem with Kari and the solution she'd come up with then had worked like a charm. Perhaps she would have equal luck with Max.
"Look at this, Max." Maggie picked up one of Kevin's creations, a gun made out of Tinkertoy pieces. "Do you know what this is?"
Max shook his head.
"It's a magic zapper. You draw a cricle around your bed"—Maggie drew a wide imaginary circle around Max's cot with the stick-gun—"and it produces a ring of invisible energy. Nothing can get through the invisible magic ring unless you invite it in. Here." She handed the gun to Max. "You tiy it."
Max drew a somewhat haphazard imaginary circle. "Your bed is doubly protected now," Maggie said. "Any werewolf who comes near the magic circle will be bounced off it."
"Will it burn him?" Max asked hopefully.
"Oh, yes. And if you want to give him an extra zap, just point the magic zapper at him." She stretched out her hand and moved it around. "I think I can feel the energy, Max."
Max clutched the zapper, his eyes wide. "Me too," he breathed.
Maggie set him down in the cot. "You hold onto the zapper, Max. It's yours to keep." She tucked him under the covers and kissed his cheek. "Good night, Max. You have nothing to worry about now."
Max gave her an extra squeeze. " 'Night, Maggie." He held out his free arm to his father. "Hug, Daddy." Greg bent down and Max wrapped one small arm around his father's neck, keeping his other around
Maggie's. Their faces were very close as each kissed the little boys cheek.
Greg and Maggie left the room together, and when Greg glanced over his shoulder, he saw Max waving the zapper around in the air. "He bought the whole story, H he whispered admiringly as they stood in the hall. "He's never settled down so easily after a nightmare. How did you ever come up with that zapper idea, Maggie?"
She shrugged. "I've learned from my own kids that simply telling them that something scary doesn't exist won't work. Small children sometimes have a hard time distinguishing fantasy from reality. And anyone who believes that an invisible werewolf is in the closet will have no trouble believing in a magic zapper that will create a protective barrier."
Greg broke into a broad grin. "It's so simple. Why didn't I think of it years ago? We've been through night lights, searches for monsters in the middle of the night. . ."He shook his head, bemused, then put an arm around Maggie's shoulder and drew her to his side. "Did you notice that Max didn't even question why I was here in the middle of the night wearing only my trousers?"
"When you're four years old and battling werewolves, a late-night appearance by your father must not seem like anything out of the ordinary," Maggie said dryly. Then she started to step away from him, but he tightened his hold on her.
"Are we still fighting, Maggie?" He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her head upward. "Whatever I did to upset you, I apologize."
"That covers all bases." She couldn't find the words to tell him how his casual attitude toward their lovemaking had wounded her, making her sensitive to his every remark. "But I suppose I did overreact," she added. She wanted words from him which he could not or would not say. It wasn't fair to be angry with him because he didn't love her.
His eyes were holding hers. "Maggie, I don't want to leave you tonight. May I stay?"
She wanted him to stay with all her heart. Their earlier argument seemed stupid and irrelevent. He didn't love her, but she loved him and wanted him with her. "Yes, Greg," she murmured. "Please stay." This time she would expect nothing, would make no unspoken demands. They walked into the bedroom, their arms around each other.
"Maggie," came Max's voice.
"What is it, Max?" She suppressed a smile at Greg's expression of chagrin.
"It works, Maggie. The zapper works. The werewolf is too scared to come out."
"That's good, Max," she called in an equally loud whisper. "You go to sleep now."
"The magic zapper works," Greg said, pulling her into his arms. "Will you give me some of your magic too. Maggie?" His fingers quickly dispensed with the tie of her robe. And then with the robe itself.
"Now? Again?" she said. A melting warmth swept through her.
"Yes, now." He nibbled on her lips, his tongue teasing hers. "Yes, again."
"I thought you were tired. You wanted to go right to sleep," she reminded him. moving sinuously against his hard frame.
"Well, I'm awake now." His hands cupped her buttocks. "And I never felt less like sleeping in my life." He thrust against her with urgent male proof of his claim. "Please, honey."
"Well . . . since you're begging," she said lightly. "Ill think about it." She would make herself appear as casual about it as he. And when he withdrew after making love to her, she wouldn't be disappointed, she promised herself.
"You 11 think about it? You like to live dangerously, don't you, little tease?" Greg growled and slowly lowered her onto the bed. They kissed deeply,
passionately. "I want you so much, Maggie," he said hoarsely. "Sweetheart, I have to have you."
She wrapped her arms around him with a soft sigh and surrendered to the combined forces of passion and love flowing within her. This time their lovemaking was leisurely and tender, as if having satisfied their first volatile and passionate needs, they could now afford to take the time to be gentle. But the end results were the same for Maggie—an intense, explosive climax that left her replete and glowing and clinging to Greg, wildly in love. Bonded to him, body and heart and soul.
"Maggie?" His voice was quiet and low in the now darkened room.
She was already drifting into sleep, snuggled deep in his arms. "Hmm?" She didn't open her eyes. She could never remember feeling so deliciously relaxed.
"Break your date with Cassidy tomorrow."
Her eyes snapped open and she tensed, turning her head to look at him. They were so close that she could easily discern the stubborn set of his jaw and his blazing jeweled eyes. "Oh, Greg!" She sighed wearily. "Did you have to bring that up now?"
"Break the date, Maggie. You know you don't want to go out with him."
"True," she admitted with a yawn. "But I told him I would go to the concert with him and it doesn't seem right to back out at the last minute."
"Never break one date for another. I bet your mother told you that back in high school. I've given a similar spiel to Paula. That's one of the Official Rules of Teen Dating. It's considered character building for adolescents to suffer through dates with the wrong person simply because they said yes at a weak moment." Greg traced the shape of her mouth with one long finger. "But those rules don't apply in our case, Maggie. We're long past adolescence. We don't need stupid guidelines. We set our own."
"Greg, I realize that I last dated back in the Dark
Ages, but it still seems rude to break a date just because"—she paused and stroked the rough skin of his cheek with her fingertips—"someone more interesting comes along."
"Well, I'm glad you at least concede that I'm more interesting than Cassidy." Greg caught her hand and carried it to his mouth, tickling her palm with his tongue. Maggie quivered. "Break the date, Maggie. I want to be with you tomorrow night."
Oh, she wanted it too. But mother-ingrained rules die hard. "Greg, the concert will only last a couple of hours. I til be so much easier if I just go with him. I have to see the man every Thursday at school, he's getting Kevin a used trumpet at a great price and will be giving him music lessons, and— H
"I'll buy Kevin a brand-new trumpet and pay for private music lessons. Break the date first thing in the morning, Maggie."
Why did everything have to be so complicated? she thought. Especially when she was groggy from lack of sleep. She couldn't think clearly, couldn't think things through . . .
"I don't want to argue with you, Greg. And—and I don't want another week of frozen silence like this past one either. Please try to understand."
"Understand what? That you prefer to spend tomorrow night with the clod who kicked my little girl out of the junior high band?"
Maggie groaned. She couldn't rehash it again! She could hardly keep her eyes open. "I'm exhausted, Greg. I just want to go to sleep."
"And dream of Cassidy and his used trumpet?"
She kicked him with her bare foot. "I'm not going to dream of a
nyone but you, Greg Wilder, and you know it."
"You'll be sorry if you keep your date with Cassidy, Maggie," Greg said pleasantly. Too pleasantly. Had she been more alert, her suspicions might have been aroused. "That's both a promise and a threat, honey," he added in the same light tone.
Maggie wasn't alarmed. He wasn't angry with her, he couldn't be, she thought sleepily. He was holding her so tenderly, stroking her hair so lovingly. She cuddled closer and closed her eyes.
"Maggie?" Greg was holding her hand in his, his thumb moving over her gold wedding ring. "I want you to take this ring off."
Her heart missed a beat. She'd always worn her wedding ring, night and day, for the past thirteen years.
"I don't want to be in bed with another man's wife, Maggie. And as long as you wear that ring you're Johnny's wife, if only symbolically."
She slipped the ring off without a word. It was time. She felt no disloyalty to Johnny, none at all. But her finger did feel bare and strange without the accustomed wide band.
Greg watched her as she placed the ring in the small drawer of the nightstand. "Come here," he whispered. She turned to him. "I've never thought of myself as the possessive type, Maggie. But seeing that ring on your finger as you lay here in bed with me ..." His voice trailed off. He wondered if he sounded as surprised and confused as he felt by these unexpected, strange feelings coursing through him. His arms tightened around Maggie in possession.
She nestled her head against his shoulder. "I won't wear it anymore, Greg," she promised.
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