Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(37)
“That feels really nice,” I say, and my voice is husky. His mouth pulls up at one corner as he glances at me. He gently returns my hand to my side and starts on the other one, and I close my eyes against the lovely pressure. My hand feels boneless and small in his, smooth and warm and cherished. When he’s done with the left, he takes both my hands in his, sliding his fingers between mine with a slowness that makes it feel like the most intimate gesture in the world. He gently folds my arms behind my back, making me arch out toward him a little. He waits until I open my eyes.
“So,” I say, and he kisses me then, not letting go of my hands. He kisses gently at first, but with such intensity, like it’s the most important thing in the world that he kiss me just exactly right. And he does. God! His lips are firm and smooth and warm, and he takes his time, kissing and kissing me until I pull my hands free and grip his thick, wavy hair. Then without his lips leaving mine, he lifts me onto the counter and moves closer. His tongue brushes mine, and electricity jolts through me, weakening my limbs. His arms are around me so tightly I can hardly breathe. It’s like being pulled against a granite wall, safe and solid.
When he pulls back a little, I’m literally panting and it’s hard to focus. His eyes are heavy-lidded, too, his mouth parted.
“Stay,” he rasps.
“Okay,” I breathe.
Then he kisses me again, lifts me off the counter and carries me into his bedroom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I WAKE UP ALONE, roughly twelve hours after I arrived. It’s just starting to get light outside.
“Malone?” I call out softly. There’s no answer, but Colonel’s head pops up at the side of the bed. “Hey, Colonel,” I say, patting him. I get out of bed, pull on my shirt and pants and pad into the kitchen. There’s a note on the table, anchored by the little tin of hand cream.
MaggieCoffee’s there if you want it. Take this.
And that’s it.
I sigh and flop in the chair. I gather the “this” in his note is the hand cream, and I take a minute to study my hands. They do feel better than usual, and the redness is a little less, but I still feel mildly disappointed. After changing-your-perspective-on-the-world, mind-altering, life-transforming, earth-moving, sky-shattering sex, it would have been nice to see the other party responsible.
I realize I’m smiling. Possibly purring. Then, acknowledging that I have to get home for a shower and change of clothes before I go to the diner, I get up to find my socks.
All that morning, I’m in a great mood. Every now and then, a bit of last night will flash through my head, and I feel quite steamy. A little smile stays on my lips as I flip home fries and pancakes, crack eggs and pour coffee. Malone, I assume, is out checking his traps. Soon he’ll come back. Maybe, for the first time, he’ll come into the diner. Maybe he’ll finally cash in on that piece of pie. Maybe he’ll stare at me as I try to act normal. He might even smile as he drinks his coffee.
I didn’t see him smile last night, not really. It was dark. But boy, it was
“Maggie, love, could I get a spot of coffee?”
“Hey, Father Tim,” I call. Now the blush on my cheeks is from guilt.
“Don’t you look rosy this morning! I rang you last night but got your machine.” Tim holds up his cup for me to pour, the move of a regular.
“Oh, well, you know, I think I just felt like going to bed early,” I stammer. It’s not a lie. “You know, sometimes you just get…and you just…have to go to…bed.” Or get carried to bed, as the case may be, by the incredibly sexy guy who lifts you like you’re a bit of milkweed seed and kisses you like it’s his last act on earth…which, I’m happy to say, it wasn’t.
Father Tim notices my daze. “Are you all together, Maggie? You seem distracted.”
I glance around the diner. The morning rush is past, Judy is checking lottery numbers and Georgie is whistling in back. I decide that I owe my pal here a little time and sit down. “Sorry, Father Tim. How are you?”
He leans back in his seat. “Well, now, I’m just fine, Maggie,” Father Tim says, and proceeds to tell me about the choir’s latest endeavor. “It would’ve required divine intervention for them to pull off that Beethoven piece, and it seems that our Lord was busy with other things,” he chuckles.
Beethoven. Malone plays Beethoven. My cheeks warm, but I force my thoughts back to Father Tim.
Maybe it’s because I’m not a proper parishioner, maybe it’s because we’re roughly the same age, but I know Father Tim and I have a different relationship. A true friendship. He’s told me all about his family, his childhood, and I’ve reciprocated. I like to think he’s not just a priest with me, but a regular guy, if priests are allowed to be regular guys. Of course, that’s the kind of thinking that leads me into trouble, but even a priest must need to relax around someone once in a while.
Half an hour later, he leaves the diner. And while I’m always happy for his friendship, it’s something of a revelation that I suddenly have someone else to think of. Even if it’s Malone who barely speaks…at least it’s something. In the space of a night, Father Tim isn’t the only man in town. About time you left My boy alone, I imagine God saying. “Sorry,” I whisper.
I glance at my watch. Jonah usually takes only a couple of hours to check his traps, but I know that Malone is more serious than my brother. He has a lot more traps, too, and further offshore, as well. Still, I hope Malone will make it in today. If he doesn’t, maybe he’ll call.