Page 80 of Sirens
Maggie’s heart hammered in her chest, her fingers remaining frozen into a claw when she let the phone slip from her hand and clatter to the counter.
He knew.
Some-fucking-how, he knew where she was.
And he was coming to find her. Here, in Townsend Harbor.
A cold wave of terror washed over Maggie, cementing her in place as she grappled with the fact that Charlie knew where she was. She could practically see him swaggering into town, his sneer turning every warm, welcoming smile cold. The thought of him interacting with the people she had begun to care for made her stomach lurch.
Vivid pictures began to paint themselves in her mind like a horror movie on fast forward. Charlie at Sirens, his boisterous laugh filling the space, his hand too low on Chris Stone’s back as he ordered a beer. Charlie in Nevermore Bookstore, the ever-present toothpick making its constant journey from one side of his thick lips to the other, sucking his teeth at the very idea of wasting your time doing something as useless as reading. Charlie at Bazaar Girls, his ragged fingernail catching on a bright knot of yarn as he snorted his scorn at all fanciful feminine pursuits.
“Everything okay?”
Maggie leapt at the sound of McGarvey’s voice, her entire body sizzling with a hot bolt of adrenaline.
She clutched a hand to her chest, whirling around to find him leaning against the doorframe in a sexy slouch, boxers riding low on his lean hips, eyes hooded with sleep.
“Jesus,” she wheezed, trying to arrange her face into playful scorn. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
His luscious lips twisted into a smirk. “I, uh, flushed the toilet and cleared my throat.”
“Oh,” she said, folding her arms beneath her breasts and willing her hummingbird of a heart to slow. “My bad. I just came out to get some water.”
He sauntered to the fridge and pulled out a water for himself. “Good idea,” he said before snapping off the cap and chugging several healthy swallows.
Maggie watched the muscles in his back shift and flex as he bent to examine the contents of the fridge. The broad expanse was a testament to a man who had been through many varieties of trials, endured, and emerged stronger.
Strong enough to bear the full weight of her past?
Maggie didn’t know. But for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to.
Swallowing hard, she watched as Trent turned around, leaning against the counter with a puzzled expression etched on his handsome face. The intensity in his eyes made her heart pound harder in her chest. “So, what were you doing out here all alone?” he asked, eyes slightly narrowed. “And why did you sneak out of bed all catlike and quiet?”
Maggie tried for a saucy giggle but landed closer to a constipated chuckle. “I just thought that after all that activity, you might could use some rest.”
McGarvey’s brows lowered as he tipped his chin down, all seductive smolder.
“On the contrary,” he said, coming around the counter. “I woke up very ready for another round.”
Maggie’s eyes widened as she noticed for the first time the slitted head of McGarvey’s cock just visible above the waistband of his boxers.
And damned if her mouth didn’t water.
Her breath hitched as he came around behind her, pressing his arousal against her lower back, big arms sliding around her ribcage and pulling her back against the warm wall of his chest.
Maggie tipped her head backward against his sternum as his chin came to rest atop her crown like he’d held her this way a thousand times before.
Her eyes fell closed as a wave of unexpected emotion washed over her. The scent of him, a mix of lingering cologne and the musky remnants of their passion, proved a potent comfort.
“I like seeing you in things that belong to me,” Trent rumbled against her back, a finger tracing the edge of the bathrobe against the swell of her breast. “Like my bed.”
Desire pooled low in her belly as his hand slipped beneath the flush fabric, finding her already achingly stiff nipple and pinching it lightly between his fingers.
Maggie bit her lower lip as his other hand began sliding down her stomach.
Just as she felt her resolve beginning to crumble, her phone buzzed on the counter, its screen lighting up with the same number Charlie’s final voicemails had come from.
Maggie lunged for it without thinking, her slick hands fumbling to silence it before turning it facedown on the counter.
