The Summer He Came Home (21 page)

“I’m good, thanks, and Rebecca didn’t know.” Cain nodded toward the house. “Is Maggie done?”

Surprise crossed the man’s face but was gone just as quick. His eyes narrowed slightly, and Cain didn’t care for the calculating look that crept into them. A slow grin spread across his face. “So it’s true.” He laughed and shook his head. “Didn’t doubt it for a minute.”

“Sorry?” Cain’s eyes narrowed. He knew what was coming even before the words left Bradley’s mouth.

“Dude, you’re banging the maid.”

“What did you say?” He clenched his hands and squared his shoulders.
Son
of
a
bitch.
His anger was instant, the burn hard.

“I…” Bradley laughed nervously. He’d overstepped and realized it too late.

“First off…” Cain took a step forward. He enjoyed the fear that he saw in Hayes’s eyes. He had at least four inches on the man, and while Bradley had gone soft, Cain was lean, in shape, and at the moment very, very pissed off. “Don’t ever call me dude. Got that?”

“Sorry.” Bradley shook his head as a silly grin crept over his features. “I didn’t mean…”

“And secondly,” he interrupted, “I’m not
banging
the
maid
. What are you? Fifteen? What I do in private and who I do it with is none of your goddamn business. Same goes for Maggie.”

“Look, I meant no offense.”

“Your kind never does.”

“Hold on a second, Cain.” The man’s bravado had returned. He puffed out his chest and sucked in his gut. “It was a stupid comment, but really, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” He smiled then, like they were buddies sharing a secret. “Christ, I don’t blame you. With that Southern accent and all that hair, she’s pretty damn hot. Hell, if I could nail that piece, I would, but come on, she’s a fucking maid in a town that you’ll be saying good-bye to in a few weeks, and you’ve been with Natasha
fucking
Simmons, for Christ sake.”

Cain’s anger erupted, washed through him in a cold fury, and he was barely able to keep it together. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to pound his fist into Bradley’s face. Pulverize his nose and shut his filthy-ass mouth. His hands fisted, and he took a step forward but froze when a small gasp caught his attention.

Cain glanced toward the house, and his heart rolled over at the sight of Maggie a few feet away. That she’d heard most, if not all, of the entire exchange was evident. Her face was pale, and hurt shadowed her eyes.

Rebecca was a few feet behind, and to her credit, a look of embarrassed shame colored her cheeks a deep rose.

But it was Maggie’s huge blue eyes that tore at him, and he turned to Bradley, his voice calm, though the underlying anger was clear. “Apologize to Maggie right now, or I’ll kick your ass all over Maple Avenue.”

The threat was real, and Bradley knew it. Cain Black was one of the Bad Boys. Their reputation was legendary.

Bradley turned to Maggie, though the bastard didn’t have the balls to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry if anything I said offended you,” he said stiffly.

She strode past him without a word and jumped into Cain’s SUV.

Cain looked at Bradley in disgust. “You’re an asshole. I’d find someone else to scrub your floors. She won’t be back.”

He didn’t say anything until they’d turned onto Main Street. Maggie sat stiff as a board, her hands clutched tight to a small bag.

“Are you all right?”

Maggie nodded but didn’t reply.

“Maggie, talk to me. What that dickhead said back there…he’s just…you can’t let a small-minded loser like him upset you.” Shit. Was she going to pull away now because of someone like Hayes? The thought twisted his guts.

Her fingers relaxed and she leaned back into the seat. For a few seconds she was silent, but then she turned to him. “He’s just saying what everyone in town is thinking, Cain. He doesn’t have the manners to keep it to himself like everyone else.”

“Maggie, that’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t care,” she said softly.

“What?” He pulled over onto a side street. There was no way he could drive and talk to her at the same time. Not when the conversation was so intense.

Maggie turned toward him. Her eyes still shone with the glimmer of tears. “I don’t care what the gossip is, or what someone like Rebecca or Bradley thinks.” Her voice was tremulous, the soft lilt that caressed her words exquisite. “I deserve a bit of happiness, Cain, and if being with you gives them the power to point fingers”—she shrugged—“I won’t let that bother me.”

He undid his seat belt and slid toward her. “Babe, you gotta know, what he said, about Natasha—”

“Shh.” Her fingers were on his lips, and she leaned into him. “I don’t want to talk about your ex-wife.”

Cain gathered her close, inhaled her scent as she nestled in his arms, and for a few moments felt absolute peace. Everything about her felt right.

“I want to take you out tonight,” he murmured next to her ear. She shivered in his arms, and he shifted his body. He was hard, ached for her with an intensity that was painful.

“What about Michael and Tommy?” She turned, and he thought that he could look into her eyes forever. They were dark, luminous pools of navy.

“Already looked after.”

“
Really
.” Her eyebrows knit together. Damn, but her eyebrows were perfect.

“I called Sharon on her cell, and her husband is picking them up. They’re not heading back to the campground, but Michael’s been invited for the night. They’re going to pitch a tent for the two of them in the backyard.”

“Oh.” She sounded unsure, and he was afraid he’d overstepped.

“I didn’t think you’d mind, considering they were supposed to be together until tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. How’s Sharon’s father?”

“He’s good. Apparently it was a small stroke, but he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“So”—her fingers crept along her chest—“two nights in a row. That’s a record for me.”

“Good to know.” He chuckled.

“If we’re going out, I’ll need to shower.”

The thought of Maggie naked and wet in the shower did all sorts of crazy things to him. “That sounds like an amazing idea.” He nuzzled her neck and smiled at the groan that slipped from between her lips. “I could use a shower myself.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

Holy hell, but she set him on fire. Cain grabbed her mouth with his. He cupped her face between his hands and marked her with a deep, passionate kiss that left them both breathless when he finally pulled away.

“Let’s go,” he said hoarsely.

He made it back to Maggie’s in record time, and the two of them were like giddy teenagers—all fumbling hands, tearing of clothes, and the mad, insane,
desperate
need to be together.

Hot water mixed with passion made for a hedonistic experience. Cain took his time and cleaned every single inch of his woman. He lathered and stroked and kneaded and massaged until she trembled against him. He was man enough to admit to a certain amount of pride in the fact that he’d coaxed several orgasms from her as he did so.

And when he finally drove his body into hers, when her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, her breasts crushed against his chest, and the heat of her surrounded him in a warm, wet sheath, he experienced something he’d never known before. Complete and utter surrender.

He felt like…he’d just come home.

“Oh Cain, that was…” She was breathless, and he kissed her bruised lips.

“Yeah.” He wrapped her in a towel and carried her into her bedroom. “It was.”

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. Cain loved the sound of her laughter.

“Dammit, Maggie, we should just stay here and eat and have sex and then eat some more.”

“And have sex?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She walked to her dresser, and his eyes followed the smooth, easy lines of her body. She was petite, but had a dancer’s body—lithe and fluid. He felt a twinge below once more—her ass was damn fine to look at as well.

“We should hurry up. I want to see Michael before Sharon’s husband picks him up.” She slipped into a pair of pink boy-short undies and he groaned. Christ, it wasn’t fair what a little slip of lingerie could do to a man. “Where are we going?”

“What?” He dragged his gaze from her delectable body.

“Tonight? Where are we going?” She bit her lip. “I don’t know what to wear. Not like I have much choice but…”

He crossed to her, stooped, and closed his mouth around one of her nipples, teasing the peak into a hard pebble as his tongue stroked.

“God, Cain, if you keep this up we won’t make it out the door, and I need to see my son.” She pushed him away with a grin, though her heightened color told him all he needed to know. As much as he couldn’t keep his hands off her, she felt the same.

“The Coach House.”

“What was that?” she asked.

“It’s where we’re going, so dress casual. Jeans are fine. Promise me something though.” His grin was wicked as he feasted upon the perfection of her breasts.

“I don’t make promises until I know the consequence.” Her eyes flashed, and he welcomed this saucy side of her wholeheartedly.

“Promise me you won’t wear a bra, and as for the
consequence
…” He laughed at the expression on her face and pulled her close for one more kiss. “The consequence,” he murmured against her mouth as his hands reached down to cup her butt, “will be a repeat of last night…if you’re up for it.”

***

Maggie had never been to the Coach House. In fact, until a few hours ago she hadn’t been aware of its existence. She glanced around. Her initial reaction? She wasn’t missing much.

It was dimly lit, with the requisite neon beer signs strewn about—Budweiser and Miller the most popular—and a small stage tucked into the corner. The smell of stale beer and fried foods filled the air, and even though it looked less than respectable, she had to admit the atmosphere was upbeat, the energy and vibe electric.

She sat next to Cain. They were in a booth that gave them a clear view of the stage, and she’d been told it was theirs—as in the Bad Boys’. And though she’d never been one of
those
girls—the kind that clung to their men with rabid glee—she totally loved the fact that his arm was draped around her shoulders.

It made her feel like she belonged to someone, and that was something she hadn’t felt in years.

She noticed the looks, the whispers, nudges, and pointed fingers, but didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, Maggie relaxed and was worry-free. She accepted a cold beer from Cain and took a long drink, loving the desire she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. Desire he made no effort to hide.

She’d taken him up on his dare and wore a low-cut fitted black vest—with no bra—and she’d matched it with her only good pair of jeans. They were old, well-worn, but fit her curves snugly, and though they were low in the waist, Maggie had no problem showing off her trim belly.

Something
he
would have flipped over. She shuddered at the thought of Dante, Michael’s father, and tucked it away immediately. She wasn’t going there, not tonight.

“So Maggie, where are you from?” Mac smiled. “I detect the sultry South in your voice.”

She set her beer bottle on the table and turned to Cain’s friend. Mackenzie’s bruises and scrapes had pretty much healed, but none of them detracted from his good looks. In fact, they gave him an edge that a good many women liked, judging from the looks he’d garnered when they walked in. The man was golden sun, piercing green eyes, tall athletics, and as charming as Cain.

He was also smart. His intensity made her uncomfortable, though she smiled in return and kept her voice light as she answered. “That would be correct.”

“Whereabouts exactly?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” Jake interjected. He was seated opposite them and had taken his eyes off the entrance long enough to join the conversation. Raine had indicated that she might stop in for a drink, and he was noticeably on edge.

Mac glared at Jake. “It was just one question, and for the record”—he turned back to Maggie, a wide grin on his face—“I want to know a little more about the woman who’s turned Cain into the guy who holds hands and fills Jack’s Hut with a freaking boatload of tulips.”

The lights dimmed even more, and a loud growl of approval rushed through the crowd. Cain squeezed Maggie’s shoulder and whispered into her ear. “Don’t mind Mackenzie. He gets a little intense sometimes.”

But she caught the unspoken questions in his eyes. He wondered about her past, and so he should. They were sleeping together. His life was pretty much an open book, but hers…was closed.

There was no way she was opening up that can of worms, not with Cain.

“You all right?” He leaned over and swept his mouth across hers.

She nodded and whispered, “I’m fine.” It was scary, really, how good she’d become at lying.

His dark eyes studied hers until she glanced away.

A man strode onto the stage. He was tall, lean—all legs—and wore a wide-brimmed cowboy hat perched at an angle on his head. His T-shirt was emblazoned with the name Texas Willie in crimson.

He flashed a toothy grin to the audience and picked up his guitar, his arms all sinew and rope. The man looked to be in his early forties, though Maggie had a feeling he was probably younger. He had the look of a person who lived on the edge, and the goatee that adorned his thin, pale face only emphasized the fact.

He glanced in their direction, piercing black eyes crinkling as he smiled, tipped his hat, and bellowed into the mike. “Well, what do you know, Mr. Hollywood is in da house.” The crowd erupted as he strummed a power chord and the rest of the band took their places.

Cain held his beer up in acknowledgment and grinned.

“Just so you know, my friends…” Texas Willie began to play a blues melody that was raw, catchy, and real. “Hollywood isn’t the only one who can rock it!”

Texas Willie’s announcement brought another round of cheer, and the band threw themselves into the first song of what was to be a rollicking, blues-heavy set.

The music infiltrated the space around them. Its infectious melody slid over her skin, and though she tried, Maggie couldn’t relax. Mackenzie’s eyes touched hers a little too often, and she felt as if everyone in the bar was staring at them.

Raine didn’t show, and Jake’s frosty attitude grew colder as the evening progressed, but Cain…he was lost in the music, and it was a beautiful thing to see. His foot tapped to the beat, his fingers thrummed along the top of the table, and his head bopped to the rhythm.