“Stay off the counters, Maggie. I don’t think climbing them is a good idea.” I lifted the edge, showing her how broken they were. I didn’t want her falling.
She chuckled. “I did it all the time when I was younger. Although I admit, they are worse for wear now.” She traced a long crack with her finger. “I always wanted to fix up the kitchen. I love to cook.”
She sounded wistful. Then her eyes widened, and she started rambling. “Not that I don’t appreciate the fact that my dad left me the house. Or that he did the best he could. Obviously, paying off the house was more important than new kitchen cupboards. I sound ungrateful, don’t I?” She worried her lip. “I don’t mean to.” She rushed on. “But I can see it in my head. How pretty it would be, how functional. How nice it would be if the floors didn’t squeak.” She shook her head. “I need to stop.”
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her just to shut her up. She was amusing with her word vomit. I looked around the room. It was a good layout but had certainly seen better days. The cupboards sagged, the handles were mismatched, and the hinges rusted in places.
“It’s not ungrateful, Maggie. Your dad would probably love the fact that you want to stay here and fix it up. We can plan it. Keep our eyes open for sales and people getting rid of appliances.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “You never know what you’re going to find. We can be patient. I can install a counter and floor—if we watch for bargains and do the work ourselves, it’s doable.”
Her eyes shone with excitement. “Really?”
“Yep, and I was thinking how easily we could add a small bathroom to the laundry room over there. We could do it all at the same time. Maybe I can convince Chris to fly out and help when we’re ready.”
She threw her arms around my neck, hugging me close. Chuckling, I lifted her to the counter, still holding her. It was easier than bending down—she was so tiny, my back ached from bending too long. She felt so right in my arms, though.
She tilted her face up, and I stared down at her, thinking of how it had felt when I opened my eyes at the airport and saw her. My little guardian angel, already taking care of me.
The air around us changed, warming. Her eyes widened, growing soft and filling with desire.
“Maggie,” I murmured, pressing closer.
She sighed, sliding her hands up my neck, pulling my face down. “Sebastian.”
Our lips met—softly at first. Brushing, touching, stroking. Her tongue slid along my bottom lip, and with a low groan, I yanked her tight, winding my hand in her thick hair and tilting her head, now ravenous for her. I was demanding, tasting and exploring her. She wrapped her legs around my waist, the quietest of whimpers deep in her throat as we kissed unendingly. I slipped my hand under her shirt, running my fingers up her spine, feeling the delicate bones and soft skin of her back. She fisted my hair, tugging gently.
With a low growl, I leaned closer, flexing my hips, my cock pressing into her. She tightened her legs, drawing me closer. In a heartbeat, I had her off the counter, striding toward the stairs, our lips never separating.
The phone rang, startling us both. I paused on the stairs, looking down at her. Her kiss-swollen lips beckoned me, but I could see the ringing of the phone had broken the moment. With a smile, I turned back, depositing her on her feet by the phone.
“To be continued,” I murmured.
The next evening, we crossed the road to have dinner with Eleanor and Patrick. Maggie had made a cake, slapping my hands aside when I tried to steal icing from the bowl. Finally, she gave me the beaters to lick, pushing me away. I leaned against the counter, enjoying the sweet treat and teasing her as I told her the icing would taste much better if I could lick it off her skin. I loved the way she blushed at my words, although I decided it was something I wanted to try—and soon.
Eleanor greeted us with smiles and hugs, explaining Patrick had been called in on an emergency but would be home soon. She handed Maggie a glass of wine and told her to sit and relax. “I can show you all the things I want done while we wait!”
Laughing, I agreed and followed her around. Most of the jobs were simple—things I could repair or install easily. In the garage, I checked out the impressive array of tools they owned—some still in boxes. She told me with a laugh Patrick had bought many of them. “It makes him feel manly—even though he has no idea how to use them.” Then she smirked. “He tries, the poor dear.”