Maggie Moves On(87)

“No, ma’am. I am not.” He shot her that devilish grin. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d fumble my way through it for you. But I think we both could use a rest before another attempt.”

“You want to take a nap with me?” A nap was something on Maggie’s list of Things Other People with Free Time Do. Like go to the spa or plan meals.

“No Bonus Day is complete without a nap,” he insisted, pulling back the covers with a flourish.

She had gone skinny-dipping, jumped off a cliff, climaxed under a waterfall, and gone on a home furnishings shopping spree. Why not add a nap to the day?

“We’re not getting in that bed in these clothes,” she said, gesturing at her dirt-streaked shorts and shirt.

He gave her that slow, wolfish smile, and her heart said, Uh-oh.

His shirt hit the floor, followed swiftly by his shorts.

She had no choice really but to follow suit.

It wasn’t a bad way to spend a day, she thought as Silas pulled her up against him. His chest and thighs cradling her while his arm anchored her to him. Hot skin, hard muscle, and the crisp coolness of fresh sheets. He’d left the balcony doors open, and the warm breeze billowed the sheer curtains into the room like ghosts returning home.



An hour later, after she’d rolled over and onto Silas to sleepily demand more, and after she’d fallen asleep again, Maggie awoke with a start. She lay still for a long moment, trying to determine what had pulled her back to the surface.

The house was quiet. Well, as quiet as a 150-year-old mansion got. The kittens had found their way onto the bed and were curled up on Silas. One on his feet and one on his hip. Whatever had woken her, this was a picture that needed taking.

She managed to reach her phone on the new and convenient nightstand without breaking Sy’s hold on her. Settling back against him, she snapped a midsiesta selfie of woman, man, and cats. She looked amused and disheveled. Silas, on the other hand, looked like a sleeping god. His hair was tousled. One honey-blond curl fell over his forehead. His lashes formed long, inky lines over closed eyes. Those perfect lips were partially puckered as he breathed slow and deep.

His arm was heavy, draped over her waist, hand cupping one breast. Even unconscious, Silas Wright was a boob man.

No matter what happened, she knew she’d hold on to this day, this memory, this moment in time. Nothing on her to-do list would have been this satisfying to complete, and she wondered if that had been his point.

She could work any day. Every day. But would she remember those days like she’d remember today? Would she treasure those days the way she would this?

How odd that so many of her favorite memories from childhood and adulthood had happened right here in Kinship.

She closed her eyes, and then it hit her. The oddity that had niggled at the back of her mind earlier in the day when she’d been looking up at the bluff side of the house. Her heart rate kicked up a bit.

Easing out of Sy’s grip proved tricky. But she managed it without waking him or the kittens. She dragged on her shorts and shirt and jogged downstairs.

She made it halfway down the porch steps before realizing she’d forgotten shoes and, remembering her toe, ran back inside to grab her work boots.

Finally, standing on the south side of the house, she counted carefully. The buzz in her blood got louder.

She hurried back inside and up the three flights of stairs, winding around and around.

On the third floor, she poked her head into the front room with the glassed-in turret and the twin windows that faced the river. Then did the same in the next room. It was smaller, but it had the same two windows on the south wall.

The closets of both rooms lined up with each other. At least, that’s the way it seemed. But now Maggie wasn’t sure.

Back in the hall, she paced off the distance between the rooms.

“I knew it,” she breathed. Excitement bubbled up in her. She found boxes of bathroom tile just off the landing to the stairs and ripped the tops off two of them. When the cardboard was in position, she headed back downstairs and out the front door.



“Silas!” Maggie said, bursting into the room.

He was just starting to sit up, kittens scrambling off him, when she jumped. She landed on him, and to his credit, he caught her.

“You sure know how to wake a man up, Mags.”

Hands on his shoulders, she straddled him. “I need you to come downstairs and tell me if I’m crazy,” she said breathlessly.

“You’re not crazy. But you are sweaty,” he said on a yawn.

“I ran up and down a couple flights of stairs. Also, I think my boobs are sunburned,” she admitted.

He rolled and pinned her beneath him. “I’ll examine them thoroughly in a minute,” he told her, then pretended to fall asleep on top of her.

“Very funny, Wright.” She gave his butt a hard pinch. “I think I found something.”

“Yeah. It’s called my ass,” he said into her hair. “Which given how much that pinch stings might also be a little sun-kissed.”

“Please,” she asked, putting a little extra breathiness into the ask.

He sighed theatrically. “You know I can’t deny you when you use that voice. But if this is some kind of trick to get me to do work, I’m going to tie you to this bed and leave you here for a week.”

“I’ve got an Abe Lincoln that says you won’t regret getting out of bed,” she tried again.