Commitment (30 page)

Idiot. Fool. How could I possibly think this could work?

But it had been working. For over a month things had been perfect. Day after day, night after night, her relationship with Tom worked perfectly. Beautifully. They could be the poster-children for…whatever their situation could be called. The prefect prototypes for how to make a relationship between a woman with a screeching biological clock and a man who wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

Tracy’s well-intentioned-but-dire predictions weren’t coming true. That was the rub. They’d been wrong about Tom. Terribly wrong. Maggie couldn’t help but hold a bit of a grudge against her friend. As pissed off as she would have been if Tracy were right, somehow it was harder to accept they were both wrong. They both misjudged him. They both underestimated his power.

Instead of the relationship devolving into tears and recriminations, he filled her evenings with easy conversation, infectious laughter, and enough heat to leave scorch marks on her sheets. The bastard.

More than that, he’d settled into her life as if he’d belonged there all along. Not only did he know Fred’s favorite brand of cat food, but the finicky feline’s preferred flavors. He knew she liked extra cheese on her pizza and no cheese on her burgers. He knew where and how to kiss her to make her squirm, the exact spot to bite to make her scream, and just the right thing to say to dissolve her into a puddle of helpless laughter. The man even scrubbed the bathtub. What kind of guy does that? Worse yet, what kind of girl would let a guy like that go?

“One who never really had him in the first place.” She groaned and let her head fall into her waiting palm. “Oh God.”

Fred’s motor kicked into overdrive. He rolled to his back and onto her foot, his emerald eyes conveying a clear demand. The breath whooshed from her lungs as she leaned down and gave his belly a negligent scratch. “You have to be careful what you wish for, handsome.” The cat ignored her whispered warning. His eyes drifted shut as his paws reached for the heavens. Maggie shook her head. “I’m serious. Be grateful. This is a pretty good gig here. Was even before Mr. Perfect came along and swept you off your paws.”

He lashed out, taking swipe at her hand. “You little shit!”

Cradling her knuckles in her palm, she stood and stepped over the prone feline, her eyes fixed on the stick teetering on the edge of the sink. The tiny window proclaimed the result clear as day. The faux-marble top was blessedly cool under her hands. She hung on for dear life, sucking in one steadying breath after another.

The moment she was sure her legs could hold her, Maggie dared at peek at the mirror. Loose tendrils of curling red hair escaped the knot at the nape of her neck. Spots of dried wax dotted the tunic top of her paisley scrubs. Her lips were dry and cracked, gnawed a bright red that matched the patches of color rising high in her cheeks. She peered at her reflection, forcing herself to stare straight into panicked green eyes.

Her hand slipped to her stomach, instinctively cradling the rounded curve.
What’s done is done. I got what I wanted. That should be enough. Most of what I wanted
….

She blinked slowly then leaned a little closer, knocking the stick into the sink. Soon it wouldn’t matter anymore. In a few short weeks she’d go from voluptuous vamp to baby beluga, and the point would be moot. There was no way he would want her once she began to expand.

Inhaling deeply, she rolled her shoulders back and stared at her reflection. Her hormones were just running rampant, that’s all. Enjoy it while it lasts. Enjoy him while she could.

Resolved, she plucked the pregnancy test from the sink. Fred wound his pudgy body between her ankles, his tail coiling sinuously around her calf then drifting away. She stared at the glaring result and sighed. “You have to be careful what you wish for, buddy,” she murmured to the marmalade cat. “Make sure it’s not more than what you can get.”

****

Tantalizing aromas greeted him at her door, tempting his taste buds with the promise of savory seasonings. He dropped his briefcase, shrugged out of his coat, and called out, “What smells so good?”

“Roast,” Maggie sang out. “Pork roast.”

He tossed his suit coat over the arm of the couch, flicked open his cufflinks, and palmed them, rolling his sleeve up as he wandered toward the dining area. The tiny table was set for two. Slim tapers in vividly painted ceramic holders cast a flickering glow over the scarred surface. He wandered over to admire her efforts. “Wow. Is it my birthday?”

“My last appointment cancelled, so I was done early. I thought I’d surprise you.”

He glanced up then blinked rapidly as his jaw hit the floor. Maggie posed provocatively in the kitchen doorway wearing a little black dress that clung to her curves. Her feet were bare but for the pale pink polish on her toes, and her smile a little shy. An intense jolt of longing pinged his brain.

The husky timbre of her voice shot straight to his groin. “Surprise.” Thick, glossy black lashes fluttered. “Are you hungry?”

She was the whole damn package cinched with a gauzy apron. He managed to scrape his jaw off the floor and swallowed hard, but that was as good as it got. When he tried to summon an actual word, it came out, “
Wuh
-huh-huh.”

“I have mashed potatoes with garlic and herbs and green beans too.” She waved the spoon clutched in her hand. “The beans are canned, but I doctored them up a bit….”

He saw something there. Just for a second. Those brilliant green eyes flashed with uncertainty. She fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and his hand shot out to still her. Anxious to freeze this moment in time, his fingers curled into the soft curve of her waist. Drawing her to him, he bent his head to brush a kiss to her glossy lips. “You’re perfect.”

“You don’t even know if I can cook,” she whispered.

“I don’t care.”

He kissed her slow and unhurried, tasting, testing, and tempting her closer. Their breaths mingled, his lips lingered. The spoon clattered to the floor when he deepened the kiss. Her delicate hands smoothed his shirt over his chest. When they parted, he raised his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. The wide French cuff flopped at his wrist, drawing his attention.

The shirt was just an indicator of how well she fit his life and all the things he didn’t know he was missing. He bought it one rainy Sunday in the suburbs. They stumbled into a tumbledown old flea market and spent hours pawing through pile after pile of junk. In the midst of the chaos, Maggie unearthed a pair of cufflinks made of delicate strands of sterling woven into a Celtic knot.
She pronounced them perfect and flashed a coy smile as he completed the purchase, murmuring something about loving a man in French cuffs. One quick swing through Nordstrom’s, and he was the proud owner of five crisp, new shirts without buttons on the sleeves.

Tom sighed and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. Women had tried to dress him before. He’d humored them to a certain extent—picking up a sweater one noticed on a display or choosing a blue shirt over white because his date thought it made his eyes look bluer. But the cufflinks were different. Maggie was different, and that difference terrified him.

Christ, I’m a goner.

“You don’t want to eat?”

The question startled him. Shaking his head to clear it, he latched onto the distraction. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I just…It smells great,
Mags
.”

Her smile widened exponentially as she gestured to one of the place settings. “Then let’s get to it before it gets cold.”

Ten minutes later, she shot him a glance. “You’re not eating.” Spearing a bit of over-cooked pork, she offered the tines of her fork. “Do you want me to feed you?”

Tom yanked his gaze from his rolled-up shirtsleeve. He couldn’t stop thinking about those cuff links, this shirt, and the woman sitting across from him. French cuffs were a declaration—a lifestyle change. French cuffs meant eschewing the convenience of tiny plastic buttons and espousing a world where effort had to be expended to hold things together. And he did it. For Maggie. He couldn’t help but wonder how far she’d go for
him
.

Raising an eyebrow, he fixed her with a steady stare. “Would you?”

“Open wide.”

He closed his eyes as he took the bite she offered. The fork was warm from her mouth and the meat savory. He wanted her. Not in the naked and bent over a table kind of way, but in the whole wrapped up in his life way. The thought had him practically vibrating in the seat.

“Maggie.”

Her name came out too abrupt, too urgent. He opened his eyes to meet her wide green gaze and forced a shaky smile. He plucked the fork from her hand and dropped it to the plate, weaving his finger through hers as if she could anchor him. She blinked away the confusion clouding her eyes when he opened his mouth and no words came out.

A nervous smile twitched her lips. “What? What’s the matter? Speak, boy. Is Timmy in the well?”

He managed a weak chuckle in appreciation of her lame joke and shook his head. “I just…” His finger tightened around hers. “I just…You’re happy, right?” he managed in a rush. “With how things are going? I mean, obviously we’re not pregnant yet, but other than that…Me and you? You’re okay with how things are with us, aren’t you?” When she reared back, he leaned in, desperate to keep her from slipping from his grasp. “I am, I mean…Really happy. I think things are going really well—”

Stubborn pride had him clamping his mouth shut the moment she wrested her hand from his. He looked away as she slipped from her chair and rushed into the kitchen. He stared at the wall, the muscle in his jaw ticking with tension. Somewhere, there on the cat-hair-dusted floor, his heart lay split open wide and bleeding. He didn’t want to risk a peek.

“I have something for you.”

His head jerked up. He clenched his teeth and sucked in a deep breath before turning to look at her. Maggie leaned against the doorway, waving a plastic stick as if it was a magic wand.

“I’m happy with all that and with how the getting pregnant thing is going, too,” she said, a slow, sly smile creeping across her face.

“Huh?” His forehead creased into a frown when she waved the stick in front of his face again. He caught her wrist and leaned back, squinting to bring the scrap of plastic into focus. A blue line streaked across the tiny window. His head jerked up, their gazes met, and her smile unfurled like a flower in bloom. “You’re pregnant?”

The quick, herky-jerky movements of her head could have gone either way, but his brain engaged at last, reminding him that she wouldn’t be standing there brandishing a stick she’d peed on if the answer wasn’t yes. Eyes locked on hers, he rose from his seat, winding his fingers around hers and trapping the magic wand in her closed fist.

“We’re pregnant,” he whispered, dipping his head to seal the declaration with a kiss.

Tom rested his forehead against hers and waited. Her fingertips trailed along his spine scattering sizzles of sensation to the tips of his toes, but the urge to bolt he expected was a no-show. He gave it another full minute, but the panic he’d almost banked on didn’t come.

Her last hope for escape had evaporated. So had his. The stark realization made his heart skip a beat even as a chuckle rolled up from his stomach. He let it fly as he wrapped his arms tight around her. Relieved, he gulped a huge lungful of the fresh, lemony scent of her soap.

“Maggie,” he whispered into her ear.

“Hmm?”

He grinned as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, swaying into his body. His hands slid down, tracing the line of the zipper that snaked down her spine. He sank into the chair again and pulled her into his lap, shaking his head in wonder.

“Nothing…Just Maggie.”

Her smile tickled him. The lift of her cheekbones nudged his jaw. Her lips curved as she kissed his throat, branding him as hers. Sharp teeth scraped his pulse, nipping playfully. He knew damn well she could make it jitter like a jackhammer.

“Tom?” She pressed a soft kiss to his ear. He shivered and shied away when her warm breath washed over damp skin.

“
Mmm
?”

Soft, tender kisses trailed along his jaw before looping back to his ear. He gathered her closer. Burying his face in her hair, he took another hit of pure Maggie then released his breath on a chuckle. He tugged her hair until she lifted her head.

Her cheeks glowed pink, and her bright eyes sparkled with delight. She pressed the pregnancy test into his hand and sealed the deal with a giddy smack of a kiss. “You okay there, Daddy-O?”