Merry and Bright(19)

“Well we’re not sleeping together.”

He said this a little irritably, which made her want to smile. “I’m not in trouble, Jacob.”

“I think you’re mistaken. Go to sleep, Maggie. I’m exhausted, far too exhausted to argue with you. Maybe even too exhausted to have all that sex you don’t want to have.”

She turned off the light. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Probably you should be more specific.”

There in the dark, she both rolled her eyes and felt... hungry. “Good night.”

“Night.”

She went to bed, and fell sleep while trying to remember why they weren’t having sex. Just a one-time thing, she reminded herself . . . and woke up in the middle of the night dying of thirst. Or at least that was the excuse she gave herself for wanting to steal a peek at the gorgeous man sleeping over. She tiptoed into the living room and found him sprawled on her couch, both legs hanging off, one arm dangling down, face relaxed, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

He wasn’t a snorer. Good to know. God, she really wished she’d asked for a two-time thing instead of a one-time thing. If he opened his eyes right now, she’d just tell him so.

But he didn’t.

She shuffled her feet. Cleared her throat.

He still didn’t budge.

Dammit. Stepping closer, she touched his blanket. Faked a sneeze. Nothing. Feeling like an idiot, she went to the kitchen. There were no clean glasses in the cupboard, but her dishwasher was clean so she grabbed one from there. Then she opened the refrigerator door for something to drink, and in the harsh glare of the refrigerator light, caught a glimpse of movement on her right.

Her intruder. Without thinking, she shoved the refrigerator door into him, hearing the “oomph” of air leaving a set of lungs.

Irrational fear took over, and she backed up, tripping over the open dishwasher, which she fell into, hitting her butt on the still open bottom tray, hard. The whole thing gave, falling out of its hinges, hitting the floor, taking her down with it.



“Maggie!” At the crashing sound, Jacob slapped his hands along the wall, looking for the light.

“Don’t turn on the light!” she cried.

Okay, she was alive, but he could hear the pain in her voice. Although he was the one who’d been hit in the belly with a refrigerator . . .

He’d been asleep for maybe an hour before the sheer discomfort of the short sofa had gotten to him. That and the soft padded footsteps of Maggie leaving her bedroom. When she’d stood over him, he’d held his breath rather than say anything, because what would have come out of his mouth would have been “I like your pj’s, now take them off.” Then she’d gone into the kitchen, and he had no idea why, but he’d followed without saying a word, which turned out to be a mistake because she’d slammed the refrigerator door into his gut.

Finally, he found a light switch and hit it, and then went still as he took in the sight.

“I told you not to,” Maggie said on a sigh.

She was sitting in the opened dishwater tray in a camisole and panty set, bare legs dangling over the sides, her arms bracing her up as she attempted to lever herself off the broken plates beneath her. “Jesus, Maggie.” She had to be cut all to hell, and he rushed forward to lift her out.

But she held him off. “Don’t touch me.” She tried to lift herself out and failed. “Okay, touch me.”

Yeah. He just wished she meant it.





8


“I’m fine!” Maggie shouted this for the third time in as many minutes through her bedroom door to a worried sounding Jacob.

How she’d managed to lift herself off of the broken plates and glasses—and let’s not forget the utensils—she hardly knew. She’d managed only with Jacob’s help, as if the whole situation hadn’t been embarrassing enough, and then she’d escaped down the hall and into her bedroom.

The mirror over her dresser wasn’t telling her much so she moved into her bathroom, stood on the toilet to get onto the counter, pulled down her panties, and twisted around to look into the vanity mirror.

Not good. She had a few cuts oozing a little blood, and already bruises were blooming. Nothing appearing too serious, but they weren’t pretty. At the knock on her bedroom door, she nearly fell off the counter. “Don’t come in!”

“Maggie, let me see.”

“No!”

“You’ve got to be cut up. There’s blood in the dishwasher.”

Ew.

“You might have glass splinters.”

Oh, no, she did not. She poked at one of the cuts, sucked in a harsh breath of pain, and admitted he might be right. But if she did have glass in there, it was staying in there.

Forever.





Jacob knocked one more time, didn’t get an answer, and thought f*ck it. He opened her bedroom door.

He had a quick view of the four-poster iron-rod bed piled high with pillows and thick bedding before he turned to the open bathroom door.

She was standing on the counter yanking up her panties, where she’d clearly been trying to get an up close and personal view of her injuries.

“Hey! The bedroom door was shut!”

“And I opened it.” He strode over to her, scooped her up off the counter and put her down, accidentally knocking her toothbrush to the floor. “How bad is it?”