Page 67 of The Locksmith's Promise

The threads of grey at his temples made me want to lie down and expose my underbelly, while my speckled roots sent me to the hairdresser for a new dye job every four to six weeks.

I had stretch marks criss-crossing my tummy, a soft tummy that sported a tiny apron, my skin never having fully regained its elasticity after pregnancy.

My hips were rounder and my thighs thicker while he was simply deliciously thick, his body hard where mine had grown rather plush.

He blew out a harsh breath and laughed.

Running the fingers of both hands through his hair, he continued, “I can’t believe how good it feels to finally tell you what happened. Are you okay?”

The thing I’d dreamed and fantasized about for so long had happened.

And I wanted to run.

If Corwin was still neatly tucked into my womb, I would have.

“Maggie,” he warned, dipping his chin. “Don’t even think about it.”

My startled eyes flew to his. “Think about what?”

“Running.”

I barked out a laugh.

He grinned, and my stomach loop-de-looped. “You look like a hare caught in a trap.”

“I feel like a hare caught in a trap,” I murmured.

Pain flickered across his face. “I’m sure you’ve felt like that a lot over the past ten years.”

“No,” I denied, heat rising in my face. “Not once have I ever wished Cor away.”

“Did I say that?” he murmured.

“You inferred it,” I snapped.

He chuckled and wiped his palms down the thighs of his jeans. “Your old tricks won’t work with me, Maggie.”

“What old tricks?”

“Running, starting a fight, deflecting…” he trailed off then met my eyes. “I’ve thought about this, and all the ways it could possibly go wrong, for years. I’m going to catch everything you toss at me. And I’m going to love you through all of it until we get to the other side.”

I gasped. “You can’t say that!”

Mouth soft, eyes warm, his eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

“It’s too soon!”

At that, he laughed outright. “Too soon? It’s long past time, Mags.”

“You don’t know me anymore,” I stated.

“Do you love me, Maggie?” he asked softly.

I gaped. “That’s entirely beside the point.”

“Do you love me, Maggie?” he repeated, more firmly this time.

“I don’t trust you,” I hissed.

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