Authors: Jennifer Probst
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.”