The Marriage Trap

Chapter Eight

She was approved to be married in a civil ceremony right now. Today. This moment.

Maggie sank down in the luxurious bubbles and blew out a breath. A spray of foam shot up and sprinkled the air with tiny pockets that caught the last rays of light and shimmered. She wiggled her feet, propped up her legs on the sides, and soaked.

Their visit to the court office in Milan terrorized her. Talking about a fake marriage was one thing; actually filing papers was another. After obtaining the Atto Notorio with two witnesses, they obtained their Nulla Osta—the final declaration of their intent to marry—after stacks of paperwork were approved, notarized, and filed.

Maggie groaned. Because of Michael’s high-ranking and well-known contacts, his mother had eased the paperwork chain so they were able to take care of everything in one busy afternoon. Maggie lifted up her hand and looked again at the cheery sparkle of the diamond ring encircling her finger. Michael’s plan seemed foolproof. He’d string his mother along for the next few months until Venezia was safely married, then advise them of a terrible fallout and their breakup.

Messy, but necessary. Maggie gave a deep sigh as the delicious scent of sandalwood calmed her senses. It was truly amazing the lengths Michael was going through just to help his sister, and his actions bespoke a respect for his mother that touched her. Instead of waving off her crazy demands that he marry and allowing his sister to take the brunt, he’d composed a plan to make everyone happy.

Except himself.

Her skin tingled and she rested a hand on the swell of her breast, stroking gently. What type of woman would make Michael happy? Someone sweet and undemanding? Or would he get terribly bored within the month? And why did she care so much?

Because she wanted him.

The truth slammed into her like a rear-end jolt. Yes, she’d always known they had sexual chemistry. But sleeping in the same bed, seeing him in his element, was doing terrible things to her. She craved to finally sate her appetite and be done with it. After all, if her track record was any indication, she’d be happily satisfied by morning and could move on. Nothing was worse than that empty, gnawing feeling in her stomach when she rolled over and realized the man next to her was not The One. Would never be The One. Surely, a good bout of healthy, satisfying sex would finally quiet her hormones.

But what about Alexa?

She nibbled on her lower lip at the thought. He may want to deny it, but he loved her best friend. Of course, after this trip, he’d finally stay far away from Alexa and her family, and Maggie wouldn’t need to worry he’d muck things up.

It was just sex. They played at being married anyway, so it might give their ruse a bit of punch. Nobody would ever need to know. They were adults and could handle a strictly physical relationship.

She wanted to have sex with Michael Conte. Excitement slithered down her spine. Her nipples pebbled under the slap of water. She wouldn’t be settling for second best because, once again, the bargain was on her terms. Her rules.

Oh, yeah.

Her fantasy exploded in front of her when the door opened.

A girlish yelp escaped her lips. She slithered farther down underneath the bubbles and hastily pulled back her leg from the edge. Michael strode in, a glass of white wine in one hand, a plate with a luscious crème puff in the other, and a full, wicked grin curving his lips.

“Buon giorno, cara. Are you enjoying your bath?”

She spluttered and tried hard not to blush like a schoolgirl. “Are you kidding me? What are you doing here? As most married women would state, I have a headache.”

He had the audacity to chuckle. “Ah, I have heard that expression before. We just uncorked one of our best bottles of pinot grigio, and I thought you’d enjoy a sip while you soak.”

She frowned. “Well, okay. Thanks.” Maggie grabbed the half-filled glass and breathed in the scent of lemony citrus and tangy oak. “You can put the plate over there.”

He set it on the small ledge at the end of the tub and stared at her. Refusing to squirm under his open, hot stare, she glared right back, sticking her lip out to blow some stray wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “You can go now.”

He sat down on the small lip a few inches away. He’d changed out of his suit and looked crisp and casual in worn jeans and a white button-down shirt. His feet were bare and his hair fell loose to his shoulders, which somehow made him even sexier. His presence squeezed out all the breath in the room and left none for her. Already that familiar zing tried to stab her like some sort of Sex Superhero. What was with that?

She waited him out but since she was the naked one, he didn’t seem to feel the need to make conversation. “What are you still doing here?”

“I thought we’d chat.”

“Fine. Strip off your clothes and let’s talk.”

He didn’t move, but his features shifted and suddenly, he was all hot male predator. “Sure about that request?”

Damn, her usual snarky comments were having the wrong effect. Why wasn’t he walking away? A light of challenge gleamed within his eyes, and in horror, her body lit to life. The water swished between her open thighs. Her nipples hardened beneath the bubbles. She caught her breath as his gaze deliberately dropped and caressed her hidden, naked form. What the hell was going on?

She changed tactics. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Our deal.”

Maggie shrugged. “Thought we were on course. Papers are filed so your mom knows we’re legit. Did you see how she asked a zillion questions to make sure everything was in order? She’s a crafty one.”

“Always was.”

“My shoot is over. Dress shopping is behind me.”

“Good.”

“Another family dinner is Friday night, oh, and Julietta wants me to visit the bakery with you tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

She frowned. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I want something.”

“What?”

“You, cara.”

Her tummy plummeted. She worked her jaw up and down but nothing came out, just weird squeaks because she had no air left in her lungs. Michael never moved, just remained poised on the edge of the tub. His easy posture contradicted the heat and demand in his eyes as he stared at her like a hungry cat ready to pounce on his evening meal. Oh, and just the thought of him biting her somewhere made her limbs go loose and liquid. What had he said?

“What did you say?”

His lip quirked. “You heard me. Here, try a bite of this.”

“I don’t want a frickin’—”

He reached out and pushed the crème puff slowly between her lips. She opened on reflex, then bit down. The flaky, buttery taste of the pastry exploded in her mouth. Rich crème coated her tongue in sheer pleasure. He watched her chew, and his thumb ran across her lower lip to catch the last bit of crème lingering. With deliberate motions, he put his finger in his mouth and sucked.

Her thighs tensed. Wetness seeped from between her legs and she knew it had nothing to do with the water. Her eyes widened as he tipped the glass to her lips. One precious drop fell on her tongue, and the icy sting of liquid slid down her throat and seduced a moan. He set the wine on the ledge and leaned in.

“Good?” he murmured.

Maggie blinked.

His gaze held her spellbound. Rough stubble covered his jaw and matched the image of a civilized man gone bad. The intoxicating scent of musk and soap filled her nostrils.

“Uh. Yeah.”

His hands skimmed her shoulders, teasing a line through the bubbles and leaving a trail of peppered gooseflesh. “What scent is this?”

“Huh?” Oh, dear God, she’d become a mute. She struggled to surface from the physical torture of his touch right above her breasts. “Sandalwood.”

“It’s been driving me crazy. When I finally taste you, will you remind me of earthy musk, sweet against my tongue?”

She realized then he was the master. He’d pretended she was in charge the whole time. No wonder she amused him! Her limbs hung limply, her center ached, and her skin burned even underwater. The man had bided his time and got her when she was the most vulnerable. Why did he suddenly want to change the rules of the game? Maggie forced her brain to work through the sensual haze.

“Why are you doing this now?” She hung fiercely to the thread of irritation, knowing if she lost it she’d throw herself at him and beg him to take her. “Are you playing some sick game with me?”

His face tightened with determination. “You’re the one playing games, la mia tigrotta,” he growled. “I’ve wanted you from day one, and I never denied it. I’m tired of fighting with you when we can be doing other things. More pleasurable things . . . for both of us.”

The fact he’d come to the exact realization she had pissed her off. She was supposed to proposition him. Michael was mad if he thought she’d meekly sit by and let him seduce her and stay in charge. It was her idea to finally have sex and get him out of her system. Damned if she’d allow him to win this round.

“I need time to think.”

He rose from the tub and nodded politely.

“Please hand me a towel.”

He glanced back at her. The struggle on his face, whether or not to push, finally settled. Maggie realized a layer of trust had begun to build, and knowing that as angry as he would get, he’d always remain in control softened a fear deep inside that had been buried for way too long. He grabbed the pink fluffy bath towel off the hook and handed it to her, then discreetly turned around.

Maggie grinned in triumph. Slowly, she rose from the bath, wringing out the dripping ends of her hair and wiping down most of the bubbles. Then she dropped the towel on the floor.

“Okay, I’m ready now.”

Michael turned.

She was naked.

Gloriously, vibrantly, bare-ass stark naked.

He dimly remembered the first time he’d seen a pair of naked breasts. As a young man on the brink of sexuality, he’d thought nothing could ever beat that moment for him.

This one did.

She stood at full towering height, head thrown back, with the towel pooled around her feet. An endless expanse of golden smooth skin lay before him, damp from the bath, glistening with the remains of the bubbles. Her breasts were high, full, and crowned with red nipples. His mouth watered to taste and suck on the ripe fruit. Her legs went on forever, lean and muscled. And a perfect triangle of cinnamon-colored hair hid her most intimate secrets. Barely. He scented her arousal and her body beckoned him.

Yet, he stood stock-still in the middle of the ceramic tiled floor, completely unable to move.

She’d tortured him all afternoon. The brush of her hair on her shoulders, her sarcastic wit, her vibrancy that shimmered even when she stood still. He remembered those few precious inches the other night. If his hand had dipped just a tiny bit lower, he would have been able to touch liquid fire.

The woman was under his skin and there was only one way to remove her. Sleep with her. Wring her out of his system, and in the morning, maybe they’d both be normal. Hell, they weren’t right for each other. They wanted different things—craved different lifestyles. He wanted a big family and a settled home with minimum drama. He wanted someone sweet, fairly pliable, but with enough spunk to keep him from getting bored.

Sex could fix everything. He was sure of it.

Maggie’s rejection had stung, but he refused to force her. The deep disappointment in her inability to be honest with him only proved his point that they weren’t evenly matched. He touted honesty as one of the most important factors in a relationship, and whatever secrets she hid, he bet those would never be shared. With him. With anyone.

But, again, she’d surprised him. On her own damn terms.

She had the gall to shrug and look down her nose at him like she was dressed in a royal gown. “I agree with your proposition to sleep together. But since you can’t even speak, I’ll go get dressed and we’ll revisit the topic later. When you’re more”—her gaze drifted downward to his rapidly rising erection and she smirked—“functional.”

She headed toward the door.

Two steps and he closed the distance. Locked the knob. And slowly turned her around.

Her eyes widened. With deliberate motions, he backed her up against the door. Tilted her chin. And pushed his knee between her thighs to spread her wide open. She caught her breath as he lowered his mouth to hers.

“I’m ready, cara,” he whispered. “Are you?”

His mouth took hers.

He loved to seduce women. Loved the slow slide of tongue, the catch of breath, the easy climb of desire as each step led toward completion. He considered himself a master in the art of pacing, but one thrust between her lips wrecked any type of control he’d ever had.

Her body slipped against his, as wet as the heat between her thighs and as blistering as flame. This was no easy, gentle, let’s-get-it-on kiss. This was a no-holds-barred war with no survivors. And Michael loved every inch of his total surrender.

He dove deep into her taste. She moaned and pushed her hips up, her fingers digging into his hair as she held him against her and demanded more. His hands slid over her body and reveled in every glorious inch, palming her breasts and tweaking the tips with his thumbs as he swallowed her moans. He nudged her legs farther apart while she panted, then hooked one of her thighs around his waist to secure her. He ripped his lips from hers and stared into mossy-green eyes dazed with lust.

His hand moved from one of her breasts and traveled downward, stopping at the top of her belly. “I’ve been dying to sink my fingers into you,” he murmured. “Are you ready for me?”

Her breath was a sexy whisper of sound. “You talk too much, Count.”

He smiled and slid his fingers into the swollen folds.

She cried out and threw her head back against the door. Her silky, pulsing channel closed around him and squeezed. He muttered a curse at her response, her need for him evident in the rush of liquid that soaked his fingers. Dios, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, so open to every sensation. He stroked her deep, curling his fingers, and hit the sweet spot as she pumped her hips and reached closer to the edge.

His erection grew painful, but her face was a creation of erotic beauty he didn’t want to miss. Her teeth sank into the swollen flesh of her lower lip, and her eyes half closed as she fought off the growing need for release. Her body bloomed beneath him, but her hands clenched into fists and pushed against his chest. Her endless need to control the result of every encounter taunted him to make her completely surrender. To him. To this.

He swiped the tight, pulsing bud once. Twice. Then lowered his mouth and sucked on her nipple.

“Michael—”

“You talk too much yourself, cara.” His teeth scraped over the swollen tip while his fingers teased mercilessly. Her thigh muscles trembled, and her heartbeat rumbled in his ear. Her glorious musky scent rose to his nostrils and he knew she was about to explode. For the first time, she belonged in the present, surrendering to her body, and open to everything he gave her. His erection throbbed, and the blood roared in his veins.

“Michael! Don’t, I’m going to—”

“I want you to come. Now. Come, Maggie.”

He bit her nipple as his fingers plunged one last time.

She cried out and squeezed him mercilessly. Her scream ripped through the air as she shuddered and arched against him, and he held her as he prolonged her orgasm, keeping her body against his.

She grew limp. He muttered soothing words and pressed a kiss to her temple, slowly removing his fingers. He’d been right about the chemistry between them, but nothing prepared him for the surge of emotion and connection that suddenly squeezed his gut. He wanted to lay her out on the bed and claim her completely. Spend hours in a tangle of sheets until she couldn’t think of another smart remark and only knew how to murmur his name. Where had such tenderness come from?

She lay still in his arms, her breathing returning to normal. He nuzzled her cheek and decided to carry her into the bedroom so they could talk and make love and—

“Well, thank goodness. I needed that.” Her cool, no-nonsense tone contradicted her slight shaking, but before he could soothe her, she gave him a push and scooped the towel off the floor, wrapping it around herself. She tossed her head and let out a long, relieved sigh. “Thanks. Do you want me to take care of you?”

Her flippancy cut deep. He took a step back, wondering if he’d been an idiot. Why was she so determined to act carefree when a minute ago she was crying out his name and clinging to him with a fierceness he’d never experienced from a woman? His gaze picked and shredded, but she remained perfectly at ease. And distant.

“Do you want to take care of me?” he asked coldly.

She shrugged. “If you want. Tit for tat. No time for a long marathon—I promised your mom I’d help her with dinner, so I have to get dressed. Well?” She raised a brow and waited. A sinking sensation told him he was in trouble. For a few moments, she belonged to him completely. Yet she was incapable of maintaining any sort of closeness. Why was he so bothered by her inability to connect? Why did he care?

“Why are you doing this, cara?” he asked gently.

Maggie jerked back as if smacked. She practically snarled. “Sorry if I don’t want to talk about touchy-feely things after an orgasm, Count. I thought we were past that.”

The silence simmered with unspoken emotion and words. Finally, he nodded, then shut down the blossom of tenderness like a delicate flower ripped from the stem. “You’re right, Maggie. I thought we were past this, too.”

He snatched the knob and opened up the door. “After dinner we’re babysitting. Since you were the one to convince Carina to break her promise to Brian, we will take over the responsibility.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Brian has four boys! I’m exhausted. No way am I babysitting tonight.”

He leaned forward with a menacing air and snapped his voice in command. “You will be babysitting tonight. We’ll go after dinner. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

He closed the door on her loud protest and stalked off with a hard-on and a boiling temper.

She’d screwed up.

Maggie peered at her fake husband from under lowered lashes as he fought with his bawling nephew who refused to go into the crib. Michael had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and his strong forearms flexed as the baby kicked and spit with growing fury. If she weren’t so miserable, she’d get a chuckle out of the scene. His normally cool appearance now showed a disheveled, tired man who looked as if he craved the couch and a remote.

And it was only 8:30 p.m.

The room looked as if it had thrown up. The cheerful yellow and blue paint with vivid sea animals sketched on the walls now seemed like a scuba diving mission gone horribly wrong. Crayon marked up the walls, books were flung everywhere, and stuffing poked out from a blue teddy bear that had been ripped apart in some sort of weird experiment.

“Is he still hungry?” she asked, taking a step forward and crunching on some sort of cereal.

“No. Lizzie said one bottle is all he needs to get to sleep.” The baby squirmed in his crib, wet drool pooling out of his mouth and ruining the third bib of the night. The playful ducks on his onesie mocked their inability to make him happy as he renewed his screaming. “Do you think he needs to be burped more?” he asked with a frown.

She blinked. “I don’t know. When Lily cries for too long, I just hand her back to Alexa.”

Michael gave a sigh. “Where are Luke and Robert?”

She shifted her feet. Somehow, she had a bad feeling about his next reaction. “Playing.”

“I thought you put them down to bed.”

“I did. But they didn’t want to go to sleep so I told them they could play.”

He muttered something under his breath and wiped more drool from baby Thomas’s mouth. “Of course they don’t want to go to bed, Maggie. But we’re the adults. Just tell them no.”

“I did. Three times. But Robert started crying because he wanted his mother, and then Luke joined in, so I told them five more minutes.” No way would she admit those crocodile tears broke her heart and she’d give them anything they asked for.

He huffed out a breath. “They played you big-time. Fine, keep it to books. Nothing messy.”

Maggie wondered why she was suddenly afraid to tell him about the Play-Doh. Wasn’t that kid-friendly stuff? That’s what the commercials always advertised. Robert told her his mother always let them play with the stuff when they couldn’t sleep.

Suddenly, she realized Michael was right. She’d been played. Big-time. No wonder they’d both been so excited when she took it out from the top shelf of the closet! She nibbled her bottom lip and decided to sneak back in and take it away before Michael found out. His directives began pummeling her faster than angry bees. “How about Ryan? Is he asleep?”

She blinked. “He kept popping up because he was thirsty. I gave him some water in that sippy thing.”

He placed a pacifier into the baby’s mouth and lifted his eyes up to God. “Don’t tell me this, Maggie. He wets the bed and he’s not supposed to have liquids after seven.”

She cut him a glare. “You didn’t tell me that. He grabbed his stomach and said it hurt because he was so thirsty. You’ve been in here over an hour while you left me with the sons of Satan. Let’s switch. I’ll put the baby to bed, and you handle the Outsiders gang.”

“Outsiders what?”

“Oh, never mind. Here.” She snatched Thomas from the crib, slanted him in a football stance so he hung loosely from one arm, and stuck her finger in his mouth. The cries stopped and he sucked on her knuckle like she was surf and turf. His eyes half closed in ecstasy. “See, he’s teething.”

Michael looked in disbelief at the happy baby. A blessed silence soothed their ears, until they heard a weird half yell from down the hall. “Stay here. I need to get Ryan and make him go potty again.”

Maggie watched the baby suck furiously. She always knew she’d make a terrible mother, and now the fact was proven. How did Lizzie handle so many requests all at once? This whole evening was becoming an even bigger disaster since she’d had an orgasm. How the mighty have fallen.

She paced and brooded. What was wrong with her? Maybe she needed therapy. A man gave her intense pleasure, tenderness, and emotional warmth. What did she do? Blast him away from her faster than a Buzz Lightyear laser gun and pretend not to care?

Because it wasn’t just the orgasm.

It was how she felt wrapped up in his arms.

For the first time in her life, she felt out of control. Way past her comfort zone. And she honestly didn’t know how to handle it. Her entire life revolved around controlling her relationships while she hoped to find the man who could feed her heart and soul. She figured she’d be able to break down the wall once she found her mate, but instead, Maggie began to realize she was way past the point of turning back.

She didn’t know what it was like to have a normal, real relationship. To give up a part of herself and offer it to another. Maybe it was too late for her. Because just a taste of what Michael Conte could offer rocked her world and the very ground she’d rebuilt herself on. So instead, she acted like a total bitch and deliberately hurt him. Her gut wrenched from the memory of the look on his face. The total disappointment as he stared at her dead-on and challenged the basic soul of who she was.

She had to get out of here. Cut the trip short. Do anything possible to stop the oncoming train wreck she saw hurtling toward her. But what if she woke up and discovered he was The One?

The one man she could possibly love. The one man who loved her best friend and could only offer her second best.

“Maggie!”

Her name ripped through the room and she winced. The Play-Doh? Or something worse? Her head hurt with all the instructions and fear she’d do something wrong. “What?”

“Did you give Luke one of those juice box things?”

Damn, which one was Luke again? All of them had gorgeous curly brown hair, dark eyes, and mischievous grins. Like the Three Stooges gone horribly wrong. “Yes!” she screamed back. “He saw Ryan get a drink and cried, so I gave him one of those.”

“Can you come in here?”

The yelling back and forth was getting ridiculous. She hitched Thomas higher on her hip as he madly sucked and picked her way around the toys down the hallway. “Talk to me like a human being, please,” she said, wondering why she suddenly sounded like a parent. She skidded to a halt and stared at the once clean kitchen. Five juice boxes lay discarded on the floor. Juice splattered the counters, refrigerator, and walls in a crazy homicide pattern. Luke shifted his feet and looked guilty. “Oh, my God, what happened?”

Michael crossed his arms and glared at his nephew. “Luke. Why don’t you tell Aunt Maggie what occurred here?”

Luke cocked his head in a way he thought was cute. Maggie refused to admit he was right. “Played rocket blaster,” he declared. “See?”

“No!” they both yelled in unison.

Too late. Luke stomped down on the last juice box. The liquid exploded in a spray and drenched everything in sight. Including them.

Michael grabbed him and hauled him up in his arms. “You are in big trouble,” Michael warned. “Wait till your mother gets home and I tell her what you did.”

Maggie smothered a mad giggle at the whole ridiculousness of the situation. Her fake husband stared at her in astonishment. “You think this is funny?”

She bit her lip. “Well, kind of. I mean, it’s so bad I feel like I’m on Punk’d.”

“Can you clean this up while I give Luke a bath?”

She glanced at the mess. “But I have the baby. He’s quiet, and I’m not removing my finger until it prunes and falls off.”

He seemed caught between the two scenarios, unsure which was worse. “Dios, fine. Come help with the bath then.”

She trudged after him, and he peeked in on the other two. “You guys stay right here and play until Luke is out of the bath. Then bedtime for everyone. Capisce?”

“Yes, Uncle Michael,” Robert stated solemnly.

Maggie glanced at him with suspicion. Somehow those chocolate-brown eyes seemed funny, as if he had some other master plan in mind. She ignored the crazy gut instinct and sat on the toilet seat while Michael plopped Luke in the bath. “So you’re telling me your cousins do this for fun every night?”

He poured in bubbles and shook his head. “Something tells me they are more organized than us. But yes, I am sure this is what most of their evenings are like.”

She rocked Thomas and tried not to sound curious. “What about you? Is this what you want, too?”

He seemed to think about the question. Then nodded. “Si.”

“Really? All this glamour?” She lifted a brow. “Do you realize there won’t be any sophisticated dinners, or working late to close a deal, or jetting off to some tropical island on a moment’s notice? You’d willingly give up your freedom?”

For a brief moment, a melting tenderness passed over his features as he gazed at the naked boy in the tub. He ruffled his nephew’s hair and looked straight into her eyes.

“Yes.”

His answer rocked through her and made her want. Imagine a man who wanted to come home to this type of chaos? Who willingly chose to be part of the mess and enjoy every crazy part?

“Hi, Uncle Michael!”

They both turned toward the sound. A four-year-old ghost boy stood in the doorway grinning. Maggie blinked and stared harder. The only features still visible were his eyes, a touch of golden-brown hair, and a flash of red lips. The toddler looked like a demented child Joker. And why was he naked?

She braced herself for an explosion but Michael remained calm. “What did you do, Robert?”

“I found this bottle in Aunt Maggie’s purse!” he declared with pride. “Lotion!”

Maggie closed her eyes.

Michael pinned her with his own assessing gaze. “Hm. I thought I told you to put your purse on top of the refrigerator so it wouldn’t be a temptation.”

She huffed out a breath. “I hid it behind the couch because I had no time! As soon as I got through the door Lizzie and Brian shot out like their asses were on fire. Now I know why. Why would someone ever want another one after Robert?”

The giggling mad Joker cackled. “Ass! Aunt Maggie said ‘ass’! Ass means butt. Ass, ass, butt, butt.” The song went on and Maggie shuddered.

“Use that word again and I will wash your mouth out with soap,” Michael said. “Now, get into the bath.”

“Um, Michael?”

“What?”

“You’re going to have some trouble. The lotion is waterproof. Won’t come off for hours.”

Michael plucked his second nephew off his feet and placed him in the tub. He rested his hands on his hips as if anticipating a huge business deal. Damn, why did he look so adorable mussed, wet, and smelling of apple juice? “We can do this.” He rubbed his hands together, knelt beside the tub, and grabbed the washcloth. “Can you check on Ryan for me?”

Maggie shifted the baby to her other hip. Her finger released with a wet pop. Thomas stared back with wide eyes and a drooly grin, and her heart shifted. The trusting innocence in his gaze made her want to be worthy. What was happening to her?

She walked into the boy’s bedroom. “Ryan, where are you?”

“Here!” He crawled out of the closet with his Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt hiked up over his belly and stuck his hands in the air with sheer pride. “I do dough!”

Yep. He did dough all right. Maggie took in the red and green clay that plastered his body and face. Thomas shrieked in pleasure and stuck both hands into her hair. The laughter bubbled up inside and threatened, but she wasn’t sure if it was the giggles of a person turning insane like the Joker, or a way to cope with madness. “You did great, buddy. Follow me; it’s bathtime.”

“Bath!”

He darted out the room and into the bathroom and she followed. With a decisive click, she closed the door behind her and trapped everyone into the tiny bathroom. Steam billowed and fogged the mirrors.

“You gave them the Play-Doh, huh?”

Maggie nodded. “Yep. In my defense, I thought it was child-friendly. Live and learn. Figured if we’re all in here together, nothing else can happen.” She shot him a worried look. “Right?”

“Let’s pray.” With efficient motions, he stripped Ryan and placed him in the tub with his brothers. “I think I need help here. I’m on the second washcloth and the lotion is only half off. Can you scrub Ryan?”

“What about the baby?” Thomas cackled and reached up and shoved a handful of her hair in his mouth. He emitted sucking sounds of ecstasy. “Ah, gross,” she moaned, trying to disengage herself. “Can I put him down on the ground?”

“Yeah. Make sure there isn’t anything he can reach first.”

She gave a good scout to make sure there was nothing but a messy floor covered with bubbles from the splashing. She yanked two towels from the rack and spread them down, then placed Thomas in the middle. His fists clenched in her hair again and he howled, refusing to let go.

“Ouch, ouch. Michael, help me.” Firm hands carefully disentangled the baby’s fists from her aching scalp. The lower lip quivered. A howl echoed through the small space and her nerves screeched in agony. No wonder they said a baby’s cry could make a person crazy. She’d do anything to stop him. “Oh, God, he’s crying again. Give me the rubber ducky there.”

Quickly, Michael handed her the squishy toy and she stuck it in the baby’s hands. He shoved it in his mouth and gummed the toy madly. “Smart move,” Michael commented.

She grinned with pride, crawled over to the tub, and grabbed a washcloth. They worked in efficient silence until Maggie spotted the lovely olive skin beneath the clay and the water turned white. The boys chattered nonstop, alternating between Italian and English in a musical melody soothing to the ears.

“Uncle Michael, who is the bestest superhero? I think it’s Superman.”

Michael crinkled his brow as he pretended to think hard. “Superman’s pretty awesome because he can fly and bend steel. But I like Batman.”

Luke gasped. “Me, too! Batman beats up bad guys.”

“But he can’t fly,” Robert pointed out.

“Yes, he can,” Michael said. “He uses his equipment to fly like a bat. And he has cool gadgets and the best car in the world.”

Robert considered it while his brother practically oozed adoration. “I guess so. Aunt Maggie, who is your bestest?”

She slanted Michael a naughty look. “Thor.”

“Why?”

“I like his long, blond hair and hammer.”

Michael laughed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless. Such a girl.”

“Yeah, such a girl,” Robert mimicked.

“I don’t feel like a girl right now,” she muttered. Her pretty white peasant blouse stuck to her skin with sweat and steam. She used her elbow to push back sticky strands of hair, and she already knew her makeup had long ago slid off her face. No wonder mothers never wanted sex. Who’d crave an orgasm when a good night’s sleep was even better? “I’m a mess.”

She was about to laugh off her girly comment when his gaze snagged hers.

Coal-black eyes delved into hers and stripped past all the barriers. Energy hummed between them, ridiculous in the domestic setting, but burning real and bright. Her nerve endings tingled with awareness as she stared back, helpless to break the connection.

“I think you look beautiful,” he said softly.

Everything inside her shook hard and broke open.

Maggie surrendered. Lifted her hand to reach for his, to beg his forgiveness for her crappy behavior, to tell him every last secret and emotion locked up inside of her.

Suddenly, Robert reached down between his legs and grabbed his penis. Luke caught him and giggled, pointing at his own while his brother began hitting it back and forth, like a Ping-Pong game. “Pee-pee! Boys have pee-pees, and girls have Vaselines!”

Robert stopped and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Vaginas, Luke. Vaginas.”

The magic of the moment between Michael and Maggie blurred and disappeared. They both looked at the two boys, and Maggie fought back a blush. Maybe it was Fate stepping in. Or Earth Mother. Whoever it was, she grabbed on to the distraction.

“Yes, well, let’s not touch our private parts. Here’re the towels to dry off.”

She refused to be embarrassed by a couple of toddlers. For God’s sake, she handled grown-up male equipment on the set all the time without a stumble.

They ignored her. “Why don’t girls have pee-pees, Aunt Maggie?” asked Luke.

She looked to Michael for help but a bad-ass grin curved his lips. She refused to back off from the obvious challenge. She could talk honestly with children. No problem. “God made them different. And you’re right, Robert, girls have what we call vaginas.” She shot Michael a satisfied smirk. Take that.

“But without a pee-pee, girls have nothing to touch! What do you do?”

Silence descended. Michael mashed his fist against his mouth in an effort to still his mirth.

Ah, hell. She gave up and waved the frickin’ white flag. “Ask your uncle.”

With her last ounce of dignity, she grabbed the baby and stalked out.

Jerk.

Hours later, she sank to the floor next to the boys’ bunk bed and lay her head against the side. The soft sounds of little boys snoring drifted in the quiet air. They refused to go to sleep unless someone lay beside them, so Michael hurriedly took his exit and she was more than happy to delay any alone time between them. Her fingers still held Robert’s—the tiny hand relaxed and warm in hers. Maggie sat on the carpet and stared into the distance, remembering.

She’d had nightmares when she was little. The monster with blood in his teeth and wild eyes who sprang from her closet and wanted to eat her. Once, she’d run from the room to find her parents, but they weren’t in the bed. Nick wasn’t big enough to protect her and kill it, so she drifted downstairs and stopped in the middle of the stairway.

Her father was with another woman on the couch. The woman giggled and made low moans, and Maggie saw clothes on the floor. She tried to be quiet, but she was so scared she called out to her dad.

She remembered the look he gave her. Distant. Annoyed. Completely unconcerned. “Back to bed, Maggie.”

She gulped in terror. “But Daddy, there’s a monster in my closet and he’s gonna get me.”

The strange woman laughed, and her father looked even more disgusted. “I’m busy and you’re acting like a baby. Get upstairs now or I’ll spank you.”

“But—”

“Now!”

She scurried back upstairs to her huge room filled with toys and stuffed animals and emptiness. She crawled under the bed with her stuffed puppy and waited for the monster to get her. All night, as her sobs muffled into the plush carpet, she wondered why no one loved her. Wondered if anyone could ever love her.

Maggie squeezed the small hand. A bone-deep exhaustion and grief overtook her. She leaned her head against the mattress and breathed in Robert’s sweet scent, closing her eyes just for a moment. One moment.

Where was she?

Michael waited, but silence filled the house. He figured she’d be back in a few minutes, but it was way past that, and no voices sounded. He smothered a groan and got up from the couch. Porca vacca, what if the boys had done something horrible, like set a booby trap and she was stuck in there, unable to cry out? He was reminded of the Peter Pan story with the Lost Boys and held back a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the evening.

Maggie confirmed his belief she would not be the typical mother. He figured he’d be relieved. After all, she handled most of the scenes with unease and slight terror, though his nephews had been known to drive most babysitters out of town after an hour.

His temper reared from her constant quick quips, yet she managed to charm four boys who usually preferred strangers to remain outside their circle. Odd, they’d flocked to her almost as if they recognized a gentleness in her soul, completely hidden by her demeanor. Even the baby sucked madly at her knuckle and cried when Michael tried to pull him away.

But Maggie Ryan was completely unsuitable for his lifestyle and his heart. She rejected any type of intimacy between them. He needed to get past this tangled mess of emotions and let her go.

He stopped in the doorway and stared.

She was asleep. Her head rested near Robert’s, their breathing deep and even, their hands clasped together on top of the blanket. A peaceful silence settled over the room, and for the first time, Michael greedily devoured his fake wife’s features, vulnerable in the slight shadow the night-light cast over her.

What was she doing to his family?

What was she doing to him?

Strange sensations bubbled up and grabbed him in a ruthless hold. He didn’t need this. Only forty-eight hours in her company and everything seemed different. He never craved to dig deep to learn about a woman before; usually they were only too happy to fall to their knees, thrilled about his money and looks and easy nature. Not that he was arrogant, but he always knew things came a bit too easily for him. Especially in the female department.

Until Maggie.

A smile touched his lips when she snored softly. The poor woman was exhausted. There’d been little sleep and too much running around. He glanced at his watch and noted his cousins would arrive home within the hour. Not much time left, but he didn’t want to leave her there on the floor with her legs curled up like a pretzel.

He disengaged her hand from his nephew’s and scooped her up with ease. She murmured in protest, then snuggled into his embrace. Michael smothered a curse, then swore he’d keep his hands to himself. He settled with her back down on the couch and stretched his legs out on the coffee table, propping himself up on a cushion.

Maggie grunted, then mushed her face into the crook of his neck.

He stiffened.

She took a deep, relaxed breath, as if she liked his scent, then opened her mouth and ran her tongue down the side of his jaw as if dying for a quick taste.

He cursed and bore down on his need to claim her lips and delve deep. Her hands ran up his shoulders, sank into his hair, and urged him forward toward her lips.

Hell, no.

“Maggie.”

She dreamily opened her eyes. Her gaze still reminded him of a cat’s. Piercing. Mysterious. And full of attitude.

“Wake up, cara. You fell asleep.”

“So tired.”

“I know, baby. Why don’t you close your eyes and sleep a bit before my cousins get home?”

He waited for her to slip back into slumber but she never blinked, just stared at him with a heartbreaking sadness that cut through to his heart. Unfortunately, another realization struck him like the weight of Thor’s hammer.

She had so much to give, but no one to give it to. She buried all those messy, writhing emotions deep in a hidden secret place and pretended she was okay.

As if she sensed his desire for more, the words hesitated on her tongue. “I’m so tired of being alone. Tired of not being wanted by anyone.”

Her words rocked through him like an explosion. Was she half-awake and had no idea what she’d uttered? And if so, would she despise herself in the cold light of day for revealing her secrets?

Hell, he no longer cared. He needed more—and his opportunities were few. He stroked her hair gently and she softened beneath the caress. “Why do you say that, cara?”

Silence fell. Her face shifted and he knew she was completely awake. He prepared for her icy retreat and excuses.

“Because it’s true. My parents didn’t want me. I tried very hard, but they didn’t love me. Then one day I thought I was in love. He told me I was special.” Stark pain ravaged her face, then smoothed. “But he lied. So I promised myself I’d never get hurt again. I promised I’d never be rejected again.” She paused in the shattering silence, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “And I haven’t been. I’m just alone.”

Michael tightened his hold. Her body sprawled out across his chest. Her lower lip trembled, then steadied with the truth that came from her lips. And in that moment, a wall crumbled between them—an inner glimpse of what made her choose such a path suddenly crystallized in his mind.

The need to drive away her pain took precedence as he cupped her face between his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. “You’re not alone now,” he murmured. “You’re with me.”

He kissed her. So different from the raw, carnal passion in their last encounter, the kiss shattered his soul to the very core. Her taste was pure sweetness as her lips opened under his, and her tongue met his with a humble giving that shook his body like a storm. He groaned and deepened the kiss, drowning in the silk of rose petals hidden beneath the thorns. She arched upward and let him in. He devoured her, claiming every slick, hidden recess of her mouth, then moved down her neck to nibble and bite, wringing shudders from her as she clung to him.

Michael readjusted his position and pushed her beneath him, deep into the pillows. Hip to hip, leg to leg, his erection pressed between her thighs, and she yanked the material of his T-shirt from his jeans and pushed her hands underneath the fabric. He uttered a half prayer, half curse at the feel of her warm palms tracing the muscles in his chest, the tiny bite of her nails in his back, the way she raised her legs to cradle him more intimately against her. Mad with the urge to strip her clothes off and take her on his cousin’s couch, he breathed deeply in an effort to calm his nerves. “We have to slow down, cara, or I’m going to take you here.”

He prepared himself for the chill once she came to her senses, but all she did was grip the back of his head and force his lips back to hers. Between deep, hungry kisses, her whisper raked across his ears. “I want you, Michael.”

The sound of his name squeezed him like a hot vise and he grew harder. He slid his hands underneath the full curve of her buttocks and lifted her up. She gasped as he rocked against her with teasing motions, but while he was busy, the loud snap of his jeans ricocheted in the air. “Baby, I think we need to—Dios!”

Warm fingers dove under his waistband and grasped his erection. Fireworks exploded in his vision, and he’d never been so damn happy in all his life that he didn’t like to wear underwear. She squeezed gently, then began pulling down his jeans to get more exposure and—

The door opened.

The sound of laughter cut through the scene like a bad sitcom. They both moved like naughty teenagers, removing hands and fingers, and adjusting clothing as his cousins bounded through the door. One look at Lizzie’s rosy cheeks and Michael bet they’d gotten reacquainted in the car. After all, if four boys was any indication of their lifestyle, he figured they skipped the token movie and went straight for the fooling around.

Michael sat up and pulled Maggie with him.

Brian’s grin widened. “Well, well, what do we have here?” He crossed his arms and clucked his tongue. “My four innocent sons are sleeping down the hallway and you’re conducting yourselves like an X-rated movie.”

Michael called him a dirty word, which only made Brian laugh harder. One look at Maggie’s face caused his cousin to frown. “I’m just kidding, Maggie.”

Her lip caught between her teeth, his tigrotta had lost her growl. She stood and shifted foot to foot, looking embarrassed, uneasy, and vulnerable.

Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her against him, snagging his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, Bri, we’re both exhausted. The boys are fine. They trashed the house and I didn’t clean it up.”

“Asshole.”

“Ditto.” They said good-bye, Lizzie and Brian giving Maggie hugs and kisses, and Michael got her into the car.

She rested her head against the seat and stared out into the night, not speaking. For the first time in his life, he felt completely uneasy around a woman, unsure what her thoughts were, and only wanting to comfort. No, he was a liar. He wanted to make love to her, then comfort her.

“I’m sorry.”

Michael shook his head and wondered if he’d misheard her softly spoken voice. “About what?”

She gave a sigh. “About before. In the bathroom at your mama’s house. I was a bitch.”

Great. A woman who admitted she was wrong. What was he going to do about her? Why couldn’t she just stay in character and stop surprising him? “Accepted.” He paused. “Mind telling me why?”

She stiffened but didn’t avoid the question. “I’m screwed up.”

He laughed. “Who isn’t? I moved too fast. These past few days have been overwhelming, and I surprised you.”

She let out a snort. “Oh, please. I had planned to seduce you, so you didn’t overwhelm me. Don’t think I’m some ditzy shrinking violet you can manipulate with your charm.”

He grinned. This was the Maggie he was used to and enjoyed battling with. “If that’s so, I hope you make up your mind fast. I don’t think I can take another night with a hard-on.”

That remark earned him a sneer. “Maybe if you’d stop driving like an old man, we’d get home before you lose it.”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped on the gas.

They snuck inside the house and locked the door. Maggie kicked off her shoes and motioned toward the bathroom. “You go first. I need to grab something from my suitcase.”

Michael rushed through the minimum of necessity, deciding to remove his shirt but leave his jeans on. Barefoot, he walked out of the bathroom, his heart pounding like his first woman was waiting for him, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to last.

When he finally spotted her, he realized he was doomed. She was heaven and hell in one, and he’d greet the devil with a smile on his face.

She stood under one of the antique lamps cast half in shadow. The dim light emphasized the high thrust of her breasts encased in delicate black lace. The fall of her silky hair as it brushed her shoulders. The full curve of her hip and the bare expanse of leg where the slip stopped above the knee.

As he moved forward, he realized it was more than her body that mesmerized him. For the second time tonight, a flash of vulnerability shone from her cat-green eyes. Her feet shifted just an inch as if she was still unsure, but he already decided he’d waited too long to claim her.

He grasped her shoulders as he closed the space between them. The tips of her nipples teased his bare chest, and she let out a tiny gasp. Satisfied, he gazed down at her in silence, taking in every inch of her body that was about to belong to him. His tigress scrambled for footing.

“Um, Michael, maybe we should—”

“No, cara.” He smiled and tipped her chin up. “It’s time.”

Maggie wondered if all those BDSM romance novels weakened her mind. Instead of taking charge in her normal sexual capacity, she watched with trembling knees as the man before her told her exactly what was going to happen.

God, she loved every moment.

The heat of his body pulled and tantalized as he lowered his head. A catchy little gasp escaped from her throat, but she was past caring. She needed his mouth and his hands and body to drive away the demons of doubt and vulnerability that tore her apart. The same ghosts that waited in her closet late at night to taunt her about not belonging dissolved in smoke as Michael Conte finally kissed her.

No-holds-barred.

The time of seduction and slow kisses was long gone. Maggie was completely overtaken by the assault that pushed and prodded every crevice of her mouth until she opened further and dived in. The taste of coffee and mint and raw hunger swamped her senses, and she slid her arms around his shoulders and hung on. He bent her backward and devoured her, promising her heaven and hell, while excitement pounded her body in waves. Control long gone, the kiss was pure survival, and she reveled in every stroke of his tongue, each nip of his teeth, until his thrusts parried his erection as he rocked between her thighs.

He ripped his lips from hers and breathed hard. Savage lust gleamed from the coal-black of his eyes while his gaze roved over her half-naked body. A thrill shot through her at the need that shook his hands as he traced a line down the valley of her breasts and around the cups. Her nipples rose in demand. His thumb tweaked one, then the other, and her knees grew weak as a spear of hot need shot straight to her clit.

He took half a step back and studied every inch of her. Then with a wolfish grin, he pushed her back on the bed.

Maggie had no time to gather her thoughts as he divested himself of his jeans in record time. The sheer power and length of his erection stole her breath. She reached out to touch him, but he moved too fast. His fingers grasped the fragile straps of her slip and worked the fabric down over her breasts, her thighs, her calves, her feet. He threw the lace away, then slowly eased her legs apart.

Maggie moaned as she lay open to his demands. The helplessness under his hungry stare caused a ripple of panic to flutter low in her belly. She lifted her hands to push him away, but as if he sensed her sudden unease, he raised his head to look at her.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured. His fingers gently parted her swollen folds and dipped into her wet channel, thrusting slowly. “Dios, if I don’t taste you I’ll die.”

“Michael—”

“Yes, Maggie, show me your pleasure. Tell me how much I please you.”

His mouth dived. His hot tongue circled around her swollen clit as one finger joined the other and plunged deep. She arched upward and cried out. The overwhelming sensation of his thrusts, combined with the teasing licks around her bud, pushed her slowly toward the edge. Her fingers grabbed at the blanket in an effort to ground herself but he never let up, swirling and sucking with a gentle, steady pressure that heated her blood and drove her faster and faster toward orgasm.

“I’m going to—oh, God, I can’t—”

“Come for me, Maggie.” With one final thrust, he nibbled ever so gently on her clit and she flew over the edge. She screamed and convulsed, her hips arching up for more. Thrusting over and over, he took her deep and lengthened her climax until every muscle shuddered in agony and ecstasy.

Michael pressed kisses to her inner thighs, then slid down and came back with a condom. He threw the packet to the side and covered her body with his. Maggie moaned at the feel of his hot skin over hers, each muscle pressed into her curves, his hard length throbbing.

She tasted the musky essence of her pleasure as he kissed her long and deep. Helpless from the intensity of her orgasm, she let him take what he wanted, bringing her back up the slow ladder of tension, as he played with her nipples. As he rolled them between his fingers, the sharp pleasure rocketed her to the top until she surrendered completely and gave him what he wanted.

“Take me, Michael,” she begged. Her hips thrust up in demand, and she hooked one ankle around his leg and tried to urge him down. “Please.”

He laughed low and wicked, his teeth raking across her nipple and causing shivers to wrack her body. “You ask so nicely, cara. I can’t wait to bury myself inside you.”

He grabbed the condom and sheathed himself, then paused at her entrance. Wetness leaked down her thighs and welcomed him further. He teased her a bit, pushing in an inch, then another, until her head thrashed back and forth on the bed and her nails dug punishingly into his back.

“More,” she demanded. “Damn you, give me everything.”

He held her head still, his dark eyes drilling into hers with a promise to take and plunder everything she had. Then he plunged deep.

Maggie gasped as he filled her to the hilt, his massive size overtaking not only her body, but her mind and her soul. Panic hit her full force—the invasion by a man who’d be able to strip her of every surface barrier and unearth the truth.

“No!” She panted, the wild beating of her heart strangling her very breath. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Shush, mia amore. Relax. Let me in.”

Her body eased, and the feeling of fullness caused a sharp rush of heat. He groaned, obviously struggling for control, and Maggie panted, his body pinning her down into the mattress with no escape. Helplessness flooded through her.

Tears pricked her eyes. “I can’t.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow, every muscle locked. “Here, baby, I know what you need.” With one quick movement, he rolled until she straddled him.

The freedom and sudden control whooshed through her. She relaxed and arched, ripping a groan from his lips.

“Better?”

The joyous smile curved her lips and broke over her face. “Yes.”

He cursed, his hands cupping her breast. “I’m never going to last. Ride me, cara. Ride me hard.”

She threw her head back and moved up and down his penis, reveling in his raw, naked response, in her ability to make this man weak with want for her. She sucked him in deep and the bruising pace quickly brought her right back to the edge. Her hair fell down her back, and his fingers worked her nipples as she reached for the pinnacle, feeling free and beautiful above him.

“Now, mia amore. Now.”

With one final plunge, Maggie shattered. She screamed his name, and heard his hoarse shout right behind her. The world broke around her in jagged pieces, and she rode out the pleasure to the very end. When she collapsed on top of him, and his arms came around her, one word echoed over and over in her mind, her heart, her soul.

Home.

Then she closed her eyes and slept.