Cain grabbed his glass and downed the entire thing. He traced her footsteps down the stairs until he stood a few feet from her.
Overhead the gray clouds that had blown in earlier filled the sky, and he thought that maybe he’d felt a big raindrop. Maggie sipped her wine and leaned against the railing that led from the small deck down to the grass. She looked small, vulnerable, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her, just like he had the night before.
He felt like the biggest ass ever. Bringing this load of crap down onto her world.
Ignoring him, she walked to the back fence, her hands trailing along the yellow honeysuckle as she wandered toward the small waterfall in the corner.
“Maggie, I—”
She shook her head, held her hand up, and with the flick of her wrist he was silent. Cain watched her, hating the hopeless rush of emotion he felt. But he respected her parameters and hung back.
She slowly undid the clip atop her head, and a silken wash of crimson fell over her fingers as she gently shook out her hair. The wind had picked up, and he watched transfixed as her long tangles floated on the breeze.
She wandered over to the other side of the yard and stopped midway between the back fence and her house. She bent down and picked up something and then she froze.
Cain moved forward until he was able to see what she held—a cigarette butt. He frowned and watched her carefully.
“He stood right here,” she said, her face tight. “And I never knew.”
Cain followed her line of vision and cursed as he stared at the dark patch of window that belonged to her bedroom. She was talking about the dirtbag photographer.
“Maggie, I’ll sue the bastard.”
“What’s the point in that? The damage is done. I’m just trying to understand what kind of person would sneak into someone’s backyard and take pictures of them through their window.” She hugged her arms around her body and shuddered. “It’s invasive, perverted, and just…wrong.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She turned then, her eyes angry, their blue depths as dark as the clouds above them. “I don’t want to be surprised. I have a little boy to look out for, remember? Being surprised isn’t a good thing.”
“Maggie, I know what you’re thinking.”
She shook her head and laughed, a short, harsh sound that didn’t belong on her lips. “You have no idea what I’m thinking. Trust me.”
He took a moment and then tried again. “This story will be big for a while, and then it will blow over. They’ll move on to the next sorry son of a bitch. And then the next one. It’s the way the machine works.”
She looked away, and he felt her withdrawal like a physical slap. It pissed him off. That she could just turn off like that.
“Maggie, I know you’re upset, and rightly so. But let’s put things into perspective here.”
“He stood in my backyard and pointed a camera into my window.” She shook her head and her voice rose. “What if he’d held something else? What if it had been a gun pointed in my window?”
“Okay, you’re getting carried away. A gun? Seriously? I’m a guitar player, for Christ sake, not the president.” His chest tightened as he glared at her. She was blowing the entire thing out of proportion.
“For now.” She muttered.
“What do you mean for now?” What the hell was she getting at?
Maggie rounded on him, her face flushed with anger. “Where do you think you’ll be a year from now, Cain? Here? With me?”
“A year from now?” He sputtered.
“Because that would be wrong.” She continued as if he’d never said a thing. “These past few weeks have been a fantasy. Those pictures in that trash magazine aren’t real. They’re fantasy, nothing more. A year from now, you won’t be here and you won’t be with me.”
“How the hell do you know what I want?” He ran hands through his hair, his thoughts twisted, confused, and just plain fucking mad.
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know what you want, Cain, because we’ve never talked about it, but I do know one thing.” She blew out a hot breath. “I have a son who needs to be protected.”
“Maggie, nothing will happen to Michael. I’d never allow it.”