The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  When I decided to take on the co-chairmanship for the Championettes, I’d sworn things were going to change. It was an admirable resolve but it wasn’t until yesterday’s meeting that I realized some changes were going to be slower than others.

  Thus, screening through a huge stack of prettily-worded, scented-papered requests for this year’s winner.

  At Rose’s frustrated whimper, I glanced up again and saw her pouting at her coloring book.

  “I went over the line,” she muttered, her shoulders slumping, her dark brown curls bouncing on her shoulders as her chin fell. “And I c-can’t erase it.”

  I lowered the stack of paper and reached out to pat the little girl’s hand. “It’s alright, princess. It happens.”

  “But I want it to be p-perfect!”

  Don’t we all? Perfection seems to be the desired dress size we all strive to fit into, no matter how tight or uncomfortable.

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Mattie said, picking up the magenta crayon Rose had been using. “It can be better instead.”

  Rose and I watched in silent fascination as the boy followed the curved stray streak outside of the octagon and repeated the curly pattern until it completely surrounded the polygon.

  He handed the crayon to Rose who tentatively took it. “There. It was an octagon before and now it’s a flower, which is much better, don’t you think? Now you can color it more.”

  There was a sheen of what suspiciously looked like happy tears in the little girl’s eyes as she nodded and smiled back at Mattie who was grinning at her.

  If I didn’t believe in puppy love, I do now. I think Mattie just became some girl’s prince in her own fairytale.

  “Thank you,” Rose said as she turned back to her coloring book and started filling the space in the petals that Mattie had drawn.

  Mattie watched her for a few seconds before a faint smile crossed his face again and he turned his attention back to his sketchbook—one that had verses and lyric stanzas scribbled on the edges next to some kind of landscape drawing.

  Damn these Maxfield men—they just have to be prince charmings and white knights and noble kings.

  “Charlotte? I’m home.”

  Speaking of my prince charming.

  “Over here, babe,” I called out to him, twisting around my seat to smile at Brandon as he sauntered into the living room, tossing his suit jacket to a nearby chair.

  I quickly appraised him and noticed the overgrown stubble on his face, the dark circles under his eyes and the taut line of his jaw.

  He’d been working late—again.

  In the last three days, he’d been coming home late, mostly with an excuse about work.

  I had no reason to distrust Brandon but this was the first time in the last several weeks since we’d been married that he’d let work keep him from coming home on time. It was also the first weekend he worked through.

  I hadn’t said anything but it disappointed me each time he called to say that he was going to be home late.

  He’s gearing up to be named the new CEO before the year’s done, Charlotte. Cut the man some slack. You married a very important and powerful man with big decisions to make all the time. Of course, he’s going to be busy.

  Brandon told me that Martin had decided to step down before the holidays and officially hand over the role to him.

  I was very proud and happy for him, aware that despite my original feelings about the lofty title, it was one of the reasons why Brandon and I came together.

  I only wished the pressures of the upcoming job didn’t cause him so much stress. He hadn’t complained once but the strain was easy to see in his weary expression and the tension in his body.

  Two nights ago, I walked in on him turning his office inside out, his forehead wrinkling in concentration, his jaw clenched and his hair disheveled from having been pulled distractedly many times.

  When I asked him what he was doing, he was silent for a moment before he shook his head and told me he just misplaced an important file.

  If I hadn’t convinced him to abandon the search for another time when it wasn’t midnight and he wasn’t exhausted, he would’ve probably kept at it until sunrise.

  “Hello, love,” he greeted gruffly before he leaned down to kiss me on the lips, his hand cupping my cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” I murmured back to him as I turned my cheek into his palm so I could kiss the center of it. “The kids have been keeping me distracted.”

  He smiled faintly and waved at Rose and his brother. “I can see that. This is a very domestic scene. All we need is a golden retriever and the TV on.”

  I laughed as he slid down next to me on the couch, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt around the collar. “I should probably go put my apron on and heat you up your dinner like a good housewife. I made roast chicken.”

  Brandon exhaled sharply and kneaded his temples. “Thank you but I’m not hungry. I’m tired and I have a headache.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  Suddenly, he looked every single one of his twenty-nine years. “I bet if I asked Freddy, he’s going to come clean and admit that you actually haven’t had any dinner. What’s with the diet, Brand? If you’ve got love handles or something like that, I don’t see them.”

  His eyes met me, flickering with amusement as he leaned close to whisper in my ear, “I’ve got a completely different love handle, if you care to see it.”

  I pretended to consider it. “Hmm, I’m not sure you could trust me with it. I broke off my bike handle once. Strong grip and all that, you know?”

  Some of the weariness eased from his face as he chuckled softly. “Oh, I know all about your strong grip.”

  My cheeks burned and I smacked him on the arm. “Let’s not corrupt the children, shall we? I’ll go make you a cup of hot chocolate. Maybe you can shower while I put these two to bed. It’s almost bedtime anyway.”

  “Can’t we stay up, Shar?” Rose piped up, looking imploringly at me. “I still want to color.”

  “Sorry, princess, but your Mom said you should be in bed by nine and you know how she is when people don’t listen to her,” I told the little girl as I rose to my feet. “I’ll go make you and Mattie some warm milk as well, okay?”

  “Can I please have a cookie with it?” Mattie asked, his blue eyes shining hopefully.

  “Me too! Me too!” Rose put in, shooting her hand up and squealing when Brandon laughed and hauled her up to his knee.

  I smiled and watched as Brandon patted the spot next to him on the couch for his brother who scrambled over with his sketchbook.

  The sight of their three heads huddled together over Mattie’s drawing like a band of mischiefs made my heart clench with tenderness.

  Maybe I should just forget all about waiting and give him babies. It’s clear how much he adores children.

  I reminded myself of the reasons why Brandon wanted us to wait, and I sighed deeply and turned to the kitchen, knowing he was right.

  It was rare that I ever found our age gap inconvenient but it definitely played a role in our family plans.

  If I’d been older, there would be fewer reasons for me to wait and see the world first—I would already have. If Brandon had been younger, I wouldn’t worry about him getting impatient waiting for his young wife to grow up enough to be a parent.

  As Mattie said, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It can be better instead.

  I made two cups of hot chocolate and filled two small glasses with warmed up milk. Then I took out some of the chocolate chips cookies I made earlier and put them on a small plate.

  Balancing a wooden tray easily, I made my way back to the living room and handed everyone their drink.

  “Thank you, love.” A warm, lazy smile broke out across Brandon’s haggard features as he bit into his cookie.

  “Is love your name too, Shar?” Rose asked, tilting her head at me curiously. “Or is it like when you call me pween-ses?”<
br />
  Brandon and I glanced at each other before we laughed.

  “It’s like when I call you princess,” I told the little girl, brushing a hand down her curls. “It’s not your name but that’s how I think of you.”

  Her brows furrowed together as she angled her head at Brandon curiously. “So you think of her as love? But love isn’t a person.”

  Brandon grinned in spite of himself. “No, not really, but I call her love because I love her—I love her the most in the world.”

  “Oh.” Rose’s eyes were round as she blinked slowly. “Oh. So who loves me most in the world?”

  “I imagine a lot of people, princess,” I told her with a chuckle, tapping the tip of her nose with a finger. “You’re very lovable.”

  “That’s right,” Brandon added with a firm nod. “Someday, someone will love you the most in the world they will want to always be with you like I want to be with Charlotte.”

  “But I’m just four,” Rose said with a slightly crestfallen expression, holding up four pudgy little fingers.

  My heart constricted as Brandon and I exchanged alarmed glances, both unsure how to best address what Rose perceived as a tragic problem.

  “That’s okay,” Mattie spoke up quietly, pushing his glasses up his nose and smiling up at Rose. “He still has to grow up too.”

  “Oh, my Lord,” I muttered under my breath as Brandon raised his brows at me in question.

  I rolled my eyes and shrugged because I was just as helpless about this as he was.

  I set down my mug and clapped my hands together to call everyone’s attention. “Alright, kids. Time for bed.”

  Brandon set Rose down before getting up on his feet and we both walked behind the two children as they headed for the guest bedroom.

  “Let’s go brush your teeth first.” I directed them to the bathroom where Mattie grabbed both their toothbrushes—because was Rose too short to reach hers—and squirted some toothpaste on each of them.

  “I want some water,” Rose said, turning to Brandon and tugging on his pants. “Lift me up, pwees.”

  And so in the next fifteen minutes, the four of us crammed inside the guest bathroom, Brandon and I supervising the children as they brushed their teeth and flossed.

  When that was finally done, we walked them back to their room and tucked them in their beds.

  They were murmuring sleepy goodnights when we turned off the light and closed the door behind us.

  We haven’t gone very far down the hall when Brandon grasped me by the hips and pressed me up against the wall, his warm breath fanning the side of my neck.

  “Charlotte, I need you,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to trace the whorls in my ear.

  I smiled, a dark, sensual hunger flaring to life inside of me.

  Despite his ever-constant sweetness, Brandon was mostly playful and demanding in bed. This wouldn’t be the first time he backed me up against something and literally pressed his cause.

  “Shouldn’t you shower first?” I asked as he lifted me up in his arms, and hooked my legs around his hips.

  “I want you,” he said hoarsely, catching the flimsy cloth with his mouth, blowing warm air through the thin fabric of my tank untill I moaned. “I’ll have you. In the shower. Now.”

  I surrendered to the lust that was fast shooting fire through my veins.

  He deposited me briefly inside the shower stall and made quick work of stripping himself naked.

  “I’ve... I’ve already showered,” was my breathless murmur as I stood and watched the stark masculine beauty of Brandon’s physique.

  I swallowed hard. “Uh... I could always shower again.”

  He raised those molten hazel eyes at me and the lust and desperation I saw there through the misty shower stream made me shiver down to my toes.

  Something’s wrong.

  Brandon had a fierce sexual drive but there was dark longing in his gaze right now as he reached for me like I was a fast-fading light.

  My clothes were practically ripped off of me and in a matter of seconds, I was lifted off my feet and pressed up against the cold slate tiles of the shower wall, crying out in half-pleasure, half-shock as Brandon thrust home with little finesse.

  “Charlotte, my love,” he growled low into my ear as he pinned me against the tile wall with his rapid and relentless strokes, his teeth grazing my shoulder.

  “Brand,” I gasped mindlessly as I struggled to hang on to my sanity while he pushed me closer and closer to the edge.

  Wherever he is, he’s not here with me.

  Or maybe he was because as his climax neared, he barely muffled a hoarse shout as he reached for release.

  “You’re mine, Charlotte,” he groaned out as he started shuddering uncontrollably. “Mine, dammit!”

  Thought we already established that.

  I opened my mouth to tell him to stop and tell me what the hell was going on but his thrusts were getting deeper and rougher that I was soon sobbing out my orgasm, hanging on to his shoulder for dear life as my body shook and trembled in his arms.

  “I will not give you up,” was his broken, barely audible whisper before he yelled my name and went completely still, his release spilling deep inside me.

  Soon, the only sounds in the room were our ragged breaths and the soft splatter of the water against the tiles.

  While that orgasm was spectacular, I felt like I just got dropped by a tornado into the Land of Oz.

  “What the hell was that, Brand?” I finally managed, my voice cracking slightly.

  He lifted his head slightly, his eyes almost glowing gold in the low lighting of the room.

  The tenderness in them was unbearable. “Did I hurt you, Charlotte?”

  I shook my head. “If anyone looks like they’re hurting, it’s you. Something’s going on and you’re not telling me.”

  He sighed and pulled away, reaching for some shampoo and raking it through his hair. “Because it’s not your problem, Charlotte. The last few days have just been stressful. I’ll snap out of it. I just need some rest and clarity.”

  “Your problems are my problems too, Brand,” I told him as I stepped under the shower spray. I reached for some soap and lathered it slowly over his shoulders and arms.

  He raised a brow at me pointedly. “If there’s anyone who always shoulders their burden alone all the time, it’s you.”

  I didn’t argue with that because it was true.

  I knew it was one of my biggest weaknesses but I couldn’t help it.

  I probably have a savior complex of some sort. If only I remembered to save myself, too, sometimes.

  “I don’t want to just stand back and watch you suffer,” I said quietly. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

  The stony determination in his face startled me as he firmly shook his head. “I’ll be damned if this becomes your fight too. It’s an old war I’m fighting, Charlotte. I won’t let you get hurt.”

  “And I won’t let you bleed out for me,” I snapped, angry all of a sudden. “Don’t be such a damned hero, Brand. I’d rather spend my life with you than read about your tragic life in some musty history book.”

  A small, faint smile ghosted over his lips as he leaned close and kissed me softly. “Don’t worry. It’s not going to come to that at all, Charlotte. You won’t lose me.”

  I gritted my teeth but decided that this was going to be the most I’d get out of Brandon tonight.

  “I better not, Brandon Maxfield,” I said darkly. “I better not.”

  I peeled myself off the wall and stepped out of the shower stall, grabbing a thick towel and wrapping it around my body as I stood there for a moment and let it soak up the water.

  I grabbed my clothes from the floor and dumped them in the hamper before going to the bedroom to slip on a peach-colored, cotton night dress.

  Determined to calm my nerves, I tiptoed to the kitchen, briefly pausing to check on the kids.

  They were sleeping peacefully—thank God for s
ound-proofed walls.

  I didn't want to scar them for life by things they were too young to really know about. God knows we probably sounded like a pair of ticklish hyenas.

  I filled a cup of instant chicken noodles with hot water—they restored my sanity and sense of emotional balance like nothing else could.

  Something was threatening my currently wonderful life and it ate at me to not know what it was—because I'd like to go and kick its ass to the curb.

  I understood Brandon's reticence. He was just as stubbornly protective of me as I was of him. It was going to take a lot to crack his defenses and let me in on it.

  It was going to take all kinds of persuasion but I was confident that Brandon was more than vulnerable to my charms.

  In the silence of the kitchen, I finished my cup noodles, wondering if this was the calm before the storm.

  Uncertainty's like a hole that keeps opening in the sky, waiting to swallow you up. Either that or an alien portal. The latter at least sounds interesting.

  I hated this sense of trepidation that would come out of nowhere every now and then.

  My life was too good to be true that I often feared I would wake up and realize that it was all the work of my overactive and overambitious imagination.

  Someday, you’re going to have to stop being afraid. What good are wonderful days if you only spend them worrying they wouldn’t last? That's kind of a waste, isn't it?

  I let out a long, soft sigh before getting up on my feet and cleaning up in the kitchen.

  I caught sight of Brandon’s discarded suit jacket on an armchair and picked it up on my way back to the bedroom.

  Pausing, I lifted it to my nose and inhaled deeply, smiling at the familiar scent of him.

  My stomach clenched at the thought of this torment he had been keeping to himself in the last few days.

  He had the look of a man whose wounds were festering. If left unattended, it could mean his death.

  “Don’t be such a coward, Charlotte. Things will be fine,” I mumbled to no one in particular, pressing the jacket tightly against me.

  I frowned as I felt a sharp poke against my midsection.

  I held up the jacket and felt it up with one hand, finding the stiff shape of a greeting card.