His hair was a dark mane around his handsome-as-the-devil face. He was in his shirtsleeves, his bronze silk cravat an elegant knot beneath the trimmed scruff on his chin. His navy waistcoat hugged his lean torso, and his tan trousers followed the sinewy line of his legs, tucking into tall, polished boots.
And he was, indeed, prowling before the fireplace like an impatient beast.
Quince shuffled off, and before the door had closed, Rhys came straight up to her. His mouth claimed hers in a passionate greeting. She kissed him back with burning eagerness. Their lips and tongues fused, heat pouring through her in waves. It was as if desire had been simmering between them since their night in the cave, and now it boiled over.
Finally, they had to come up for air.
Tracing his thumb over her bottom lip, he said huskily, “Christ, I needed that.”
“Me too,” she blurted.
His eyes gleamed. “Ah, Maggie, you do know how to flatter a man.”
Ruffled by the intensity of her desire, she managed a snort. “As if you need to be flattered.”
“There’s where you’re wrong. We males like to have our manhood stroked.”
“Then stroke it yourself,” she retorted.
He lifted his brows.
Realizing her unintentional double entendre, she felt her cheeks blaze.
Rhys’s laugh was husky. “That’s taking self-sufficiency to a new level, isn’t it? I, personally, prefer to delegate this particular task. Then again, I’m not as formidable as you.”
Maggie was torn between his sensual teasing and his assessment of her. “I’m formidable?”
He playfully tweaked a curl that had come loose at her temple. “You, sweeting, are a force of nature. You run a shop, explore caves, and raise a child. You also somehow find time to bake the tastiest apple cake I’ve ever sampled. Compared to that, I’m basically a lazy sod.”
She couldn’t tell if he was pulling her leg.
“I just do what needs to be done. Besides,” she averred, “you’ve many positive qualities.”
“Do I?”
“You’re honorable and kind, for starters.”
“Those aren’t qualities I’m generally known for,” he said wryly.
“Well, you have been to me…and Glory.” Maggie swallowed against a pulse of emotion. “Thank you for listening to her last night. I didn’t even know that Billy Pinkleton was pestering her.”
Over supper, Glory had revealed that the blasted Pinkleton boy had been calling her names ever since she beat him in a tree-climbing contest. Although Maggie had chastised Glory for engaging in hoydenish behavior, she’d been more bothered by the fact that her daughter hadn’t told her about the bullying. And that Snelling had turned a blind eye to Glory’s mistreatment by her classmates.
How could Maggie not know all this? How could she be so remiss in her duties as a mother?
“Don’t blame yourself.” Again, Rhys displayed his singular ability to read her thoughts. “Glory’s a bright child. If she doesn’t want you to know something, she’ll find a way to hide it.”
She stared at him.How does he understand Glory so well?
Indeed, he’d given the girl sound advice on how to deal with the unwelcome attention. It had made Maggie wonder at his own experience of dealing with bullies. The time that she’d asked about the pressures of being different due to his mixed heritage, he’d brushed her off. Yet she knew how cruel children could be. Could it be that this handsome, confident fellow had suffered unpopularity in his life?
“Glory looks up to you,” Maggie said. “Sees you as a hero for saving the shop.”
“I’m no hero.” The flatness of his tone took her aback. He retreated to his desk, shuffling through some papers. “I’m just a man and not a very good one at that.”
She followed him there, facing him across the desk. “Since your return, you’ve been nothing but good to me. Honest and true to your word.”
“Maggie…there’s something I need to tell you.”
