Page 133 of The Locksmith's Promise

The wondrous disbelief that filled me because she was finally in my arms.

Always Maggie.

Only Maggie.

“Maggie,” I murmured. Tangling my tongue with hers, I took the kiss deeper.

Her sweet hum of satisfaction rolled my hips.

She writhed beneath me. “Are we done talking?”

I held on by a shoestring. “You have anything else hanging on? We’re not taking any baggage with us into this next phase.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll tell me, immediately, if anything comes up?”

“I will.” She nodded. “You’ll do the same?”

“I will.”

Sad eyes met mine. “Are you still angry with me?”

I wilted.

Caressing her sweet face, I gave her my truth. “I’m still sad. I’ll probably always be sad about missing so much of his childhood. I just needed you to understand. And I needed reassurance that I don’t have to worry about you leaving without giving me a chance.”

“I won’t.”

I nodded in acceptance. “I’m not angry with you anymore.”

There was no more talking. Everything else that needed to be said we expressed with lips and tongues and touch.

I eased into her slowly.

And it hit me anew.

How lucky I was to get this second chance with her.

She might have moved on, been married, or fallen out of love with me.

The fears I’d never allowed to fully form into thought blossomed and shattered my control.

Gripping her hip, I drove inside her, deeper and harder with every stroke.

Bottoming out, I ground against her clit. “You’re going to marry me, Maggie. And we’re going to be a family. You, me, Corwin, and Jeff.”

“And maybe a baby,” she gasped, hanging on for dear life with all four limbs.

My hips jerked forward violently. “Maybe a baby. Fuck,” I rasped. “And I’m going to take you out for dinner every Friday night.”

“Yes,” she hissed, her small, curvy body writhing beneath mine.

“And plant you roses in the garden.”

“Tulips,” she corrected.

“Tulips.” Grasping her wrists from around my neck, I pulled her arms up over her head and pinned her to the mattress with my hips as I promised, “I’m going to give you a key, Maggie. Made of solid fucking gold.”

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