by Becky Flade
When she pulled into the drive outside of Aidan’s, the comforting mix of McCartney and Lennon spilled out of the open windows. She smiled approvingly. She couldn’t fault a man who listened to the Beatles. She knocked on the door and had to wait only a minute until Aidan was standing there opening the door to her.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Maggie. Come on in.” He leaned back to let her pass and skimmed his lips across her temple. “I hope you’re hungry.”
You have no idea, she thought to herself, but planted her tongue in her cheek and told him, “Starved. What smells so good?”
“Breakfast.” He smiled at the droll look she gave him. “Specifically, bacon, home fries, and biscuits. I’ve got to get the omelets on, is Spanish okay with you?” When she nodded, he disappeared deeper into the house and hollered back, “Feel free to snoop all you like.”
Maggie snickered as she strolled through the spacious room—she would’ve whether he’d told her she could or not. Criminy, I bet the whole cabin would fit in this one room. The living room was beautifully furnished; masculine without seeming macho or pretentious; it felt comfortable and lived in. She liked it. She wandered into the next room, which logic dictated should have been the dining room, especially since it was where Aidan had disappeared to, but instead it was an efficient and well-appointed home office. Following the natural flow of the house, she ended up in an eat-in kitchen almost the same size as the living room. “Your home is amazing,” she told him, scooting up onto one of many counters.
“Thank you.” She watched him beat eggs and peppers together. He wore only swim trunks, the traditional sort, which made her smile. His body could easily pull off a modern European bathing suit. Her eyes skimmed from his bare feet to his damp hair.
“Your hair is damp and your shorts are dry, how’d you manage that?” Before he’d answered she put it together herself. “Shit, you had a shower already, didn’t you? I must be a filthy mess, and here you smell like Irish Spring and while making me eggs no less. Where’s the shower?”
Aidan showed her through his bedroom, which she tried not to focus on, and into the master bath, which had her whistling low through her teeth. He also showed her where to find towels and soap before reminding her that breakfast would be ready in about five minutes and they were going into the Jacuzzi directly after. Keeping those things in mind, Maggie simply jumped in and rinsed herself off. Feeling refreshed, she joined Aidan on the deck in her new bikini and the matching sarong she’d splurged on.
When he looked over at her, whatever he had wanted to say stuck in his throat and he spilled orange juice all over his own foot. Feeling very good and very smug and very glad she’d passed on the full piece, Maggie took a seat. She closed her eyes and simply inhaled the feast while Aidan mopped up the mess with a kitchen towel. “Aidan, this looks fantastic.”
“Thanks.” He took the seat across from her and for several minutes they simply ate, oddly at ease in the other’s silent company. He finished first and leaned back in his chair watching her scoop the last of her food onto her fork.
“That was delicious. Thank you.” She wiped her mouth and smiled at him. “Least I can do is the dishes.”
“You’re very welcome and I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a better idea. We’ll clear the table together and leave the dishes for later. I don’t know about you, but I could really use a good soak.”
Maggie smiled. “You’re on.” After they’d stacked the dishes in the sink, Aidan snagged a bottle of champagne to make both of their juices mimosas, and they carried them out to the Jacuzzi. She could feel his eyes on her as she dropped the sarong she’d tied around her waist and stepped into the steaming, swirling water. With a minimum of fuss he sat opposite of her. Both sighed in mirrored bliss. Maggie’s eyes were closed, her head tilted back to enjoy the massaging sensation of the jet against her neck.
“So tell me about Anastasia Boyle.” The request made Maggie smile.
“You didn’t Google her?” She opened one eye and saw he was relaxing in much the same position as she, only his eyes were open and watchful, on her. He shook his head, and Maggie closed her eye again before explaining. “My father was a very successful businessman and my mother loved being married to a very successful businessman. I came along, not the heir they’d both imagined but sufficient, since neither intended to have another child. I had a nanny who loved me very much; she’d taken to calling me Maggie since my middle name is Margaret. And I lived in blissful ignorance as most children do.
“When I was ten my father was indicted and convicted of embezzling millions from his company, and the government seized nearly everything we had. My mother was left with the small trust fund she’d inherited from her family and me. My father never explained himself, not to the authorities, not to his stockholders, nor, to the best of my knowledge, to my mother before killing himself two months into his sentence at a federal penitentiary.” She didn’t bother opening her eyes as she continued.
“We moved, shamefaced, to a small suburban college town outside Philadelphia. My mother got a job as the social director for the local country club; it paid well and with the trust fund to fall back on we were far from poor. She bought a beautiful single home on a friendly street full of families. I loved it there; the only sadness I really felt was the loss of Mrs. O’Connell, my nanny. She’d been the only parent I’d ever known and Mother was a poor substitute. In Mother’s opinion we were destitute. Middle class was a huge step backward. And the necessity of raising a child and working full time was beneath her. She let me know without any compunction on a daily basis that her station in life was far above what she’d been saddled with, and that somehow was my fault.
“When I was fourteen, she met a very rich man with whom she fell very quickly and deeply in love.” Though Maggie had managed to keep a conversational tone throughout, sarcasm wormed its way into her voice and she couldn’t help it. “Only he had a firm no-child policy and told her he wouldn’t marry her until after I’d left for college. Son of a bitch, or Joel as he’s known to his face, meant it and kept his word. My relationship with my mother deteriorated further. I was gifted with the deed to the house when I graduated from high school and they married two weeks later; I was invited as a guest.
“At the reception, Joel took me aside and explained that marrying my mother was a huge risk for him because of the scandal attached to our family name, but that the public perception that she, and by extension I, were victims was her saving grace. And he loved her so much he was willing to take on the burden of a stepchild. As though my mother hadn’t told me every day for four years that if not for me she’d be Joel’s wife. Whatever. Then he advised that if I ever did anything to cause him any embarrassment, I’d find my mother’s pampered ass on my doorstep. As an incentive to keep out of trouble, he’d pay for college with the understanding that I’d be expected to pay him back. I thanked him, wished him and my mother the best of luck, and told him not to worry about my tuition, I had it covered.
“I sold the house to pay for school. When I graduated I got a very nice congratulatory card from Mother and Joel, written by her personal assistant, and a portfolio of the all-expense paid tour of Europe that was my reward for four scandal-free years. My best friend got the exact same card and portfolio. I sent mine back; she cashed hers in. We took a weekend trip to Cancun, used the rest to set ourselves up in an apartment, and I legally changed my name to Maggie O’Connell.” Maggie did open her eyes now and stared at Aidan, daring him to show her the pity she neither wanted nor needed. To his credit, though his eyes were sad, she saw no pity. “And that was the end of Anastasia Boyle.”
“Why aren’t you angry or sad? How can you just be so matter-of-fact?” Aidan asked.
“Easily, it is a matter of fact. Mrs. O’Connell and I never lost touch even though she returned to Ireland after we lost everything. The family next to ours, my best friend’s family, raised me during the eight years I was stuck liv
ing with just my mother. They kissed my hurts, paddled my behind, and held my hair out of my face when I was sick. I was loved. I still am.” Maggie drained the mimosa and laid her head back. “A lot of other children had it way worse than I did.”
“You are an amazing woman, Maggie O’Connell.” Aidan was staring, she could feel it.
“Nah.” She denied the compliment with a wave of her hand. “I’m just a woman hoping my revelations will encourage you to open up a little.”
“What do you want to know?”
Maggie laughed, her eyes popping open, before she gurgled, “Oh Aidan, what a loaded question that is.” He blushed, which Maggie found endearing. She decided the furry truth could wait a little longer—they both knew she knew, he’d as well as admitted it yesterday in the stable—what she wanted now was to know the why and how of it. But that, too, could wait. “How about you tell me something you won’t mind my knowing?”
Chapter Eight
Maggie waited while he decided what he wanted to tell her and how he wanted to say it. “My mother raised me alone. I never knew who my father was; all she’d say when I asked was that he had given her the best gift ever: her little boy. She never dated; literally, not once in my entire childhood did she go out on a date, not that she wasn’t asked and often. My mother was young and beautiful. She was fantastic. She was my best friend. She worked hard to take care of us both, and I never heard her complain.” Aidan began.
“When I got into my mid to late teens I thought maybe my mother was gay and just didn’t know how to tell me. Or perhaps she’d foolishly gotten involved with a married man and she was ashamed. All I really knew about her family was that they had been very strict and religious. Either scenario would have caused a rift between her and her relatives. Also she would want to protect me from any embarrassment or rejection. So it was just us; all we had was each other.
“My freshman year in college she was diagnosed late with a very aggressive form of cancer; she only had a couple months. I took a leave of absence from school to take care of her, despite her arguments. Actually that was the worst fight we’d ever had; the only time I can remember that she raised her voice to me. But I won a bitter victory. I was with her each day and with her when she passed. It was terrible to watch my vibrant, funny, intelligent mother suffer every day, and it was worse that I felt a small measure of relief when she finally passed and her pain was over.” Aidan paused and took a long gulp of his drink.
“She tried to be brave and not let on how much she was hurting, but toward the end she couldn’t hold it back any longer. I held my mother’s hand while she cried. It’s the only time in my life I saw her cry and it broke my heart. Her funeral was packed full of our friends, neighbors, her co-workers—later it was a balm to know how much she was loved, but at the time I just wanted everyone to leave and let me mourn. Afterward, people were crammed into every corner of our little home when a stranger approached me.
“He was an attorney for my mother’s family. Imagine the shock of finding out my mother had living relatives only an hour’s drive away. The lawyer was there to request that I come to meet my maternal family. My grandmother and a great aunt were all that remained. They wanted to get to know me a little. To the best of my knowledge, they’d never expressed an interest before. I was bitter, angry, and grieving, but also curious to meet these people, perhaps get some answers to questions I never thought to ask my mother. But most important was the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I thought I’d see my mother in their faces. God, I was so wrong, Maggie.”
“That’s plenty, Aidan, you don’t have to tell me anymore.” She knew she’d earned this measure of trust, but it was hurting her to hear and see his pain. Her heart ached for the young man who’d had his entire world destroyed in a matter of months.
“No, it is okay, it actually feels good to get it out. I haven’t spoken about my mother in so long.” Aidan took another sip before continuing. “According to my grandmother and great aunt, my mother ‘got’ herself taken advantage of by some man and got pregnant with me shortly after graduating high school. The family couldn’t approve an abortion, obviously, and they couldn’t force my mother to marry a man whose name she didn’t know. They decided I’d be put up for adoption, anonymously. Though Mom was supposed to go to a very prestigious college, her family planned to send her abroad for the duration of the pregnancy and handle the adoption there. She would return after she’d lost the baby weight and start college a year later than expected.
“It was acceptable for young women of privilege to take a year off to travel abroad provided she was well chaperoned. The family’s reputation would not be tarnished. Mom refused. They cut her off. Her trust and other such things were kept from her, and she was put out in the street, pregnant and alone.
“They never had any communications with my mother again ’til she called to ask that I be taken care of after her death. My mom broke nearly twenty years of silence to make sure I would get the inheritance I was due. And these awful women, who showed not an ounce of remorse or grief, wanted to see what kind of man I was before agreeing to give me what they’d stolen from my mother.
“At first I couldn’t grasp how my mother, my insanely private and religious mother, would have had sex with a man whose name she did not know, unless she was just protecting the man. But I had this sudden sick feeling in my gut; this horrible intuition that explained why my mother never dated throughout my entire childhood.” He drained the glass, and Maggie slid over to his side, gripping his hand in hers, feeling that same sick feeling in her gut.
“I asked them if she’d been raped. Her great aunt made a face and told me it was vulgar to speak in such a manner. Her mother, my grandmother, simply stared at a point over my head and actually said that regardless of the details surrounding the situation, the family could not have afforded the scandal of an illegitimate birth.
“I told them, quite vulgarly, that they could take their money and shove it up their shriveled little asses. I wanted nothing from them. I was escorted off the grounds. The last thing I heard was ‘blood tells.’ They both died, one right after the other, less than six months later. The family estate was well established; the money, the holdings, everything, must pass to the nearest living relative, which was me. I got it all.” Aidan sighed. “That’s it for today; we’re supposed to be enjoying the morning and all we’ve done is share sad tales.”
Maggie shook her head, “No, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other better, which we are doing. I’m sorry, Aidan, about all of it. And I’m glad those miserable old bitches died. They probably would’ve gotten along quite well with my mother.” She paused. “I hate broccoli. Won’t eat it. Don’t even like the smell of it. I love strawberries, but I break out in hives whenever I indulge in them.” Aidan just looked at her, amused and confused. “I figured we told each other our sad stuff. Broccoli and strawberries aren’t sad, but it is a part of who I am.”
“Maggie, that’s not all my sad stuff.”
“I didn’t tell you all my sad stuff either, but I want you looking at me with the hunger and the heat that you were earlier, and we’re not getting back there without a serious change of topic. So tell me something not sad.”
“When I was seven I wanted to be Superman, so I dressed up in my mother’s blue leotard and jumped off the kitchen roof.” Maggie smiled at him, picturing a small Aidan running around dressed up as a Superhero.
“I caused a three-vehicle car accident when I took my driver’s test. Nobody was hurt, but I still failed.”
“You think?” Aidan laughed.
“I don’t fail well,” Maggie said a little defensively.
“What happened?”
“A squirrel ran out into the street and I swerved into the other lane to avoid it. I hit the car driving toward me and the car behind me hit us. A couple of fender benders really. But I jumped out of the driver’s seat hollering, ‘Is the squirrel okay? Did anyone see if the squirrel is okay?’ Which rea
lly pissed off the trooper.” Aidan laughed again, a little harder this time. “It’s not that funny, Aidan.”
“You couldn’t bear to see a squirrel run over, but you were going to shoot that bear, huh?”
“I didn’t want to hurt the bear; I was trying to pro . . . .” Maggie trailed off, her eyes going wide and round, her mind racing. She’d rationalized through the night that there were any number of ways he could’ve learned she needed a new sleeping bag—hell, she’d mentioned it to Sly more than once. But no one knew about the incident with the bear except the wolf that had saved her. She looked into his eyes, questions ready to tumble out.
He shook his head and smiled gently, taking the sting out of the refusal. “Not today, Maggie. You know something? I can’t remember the last time someone held my hand.” Maggie hadn’t realized she still had his hand gripped in hers and tried to release it. He held on tighter. “I like it.”
He rubbed his thumb against the pulse point in her wrist and Maggie felt it trip before racing. Raising their linked hands out of the frothing water, his gaze locked to hers, he lifted her wrist to his mouth and gently kissed the battering pulse. Maggie shivered despite the heat of the water swirling around them. She saw Aidan’s gaze flicker over her and she knew he’d noticed her flushed cheeks. His eyes lifted again, and she saw that the heat and the hunger had returned. They’d smoldered before, now they blazed. Maggie continued to shiver, in both anticipation and apprehension. What was happening between them, somehow she knew, was going to change everything. Change her.
He pulled her a little closer as he put his lips on the inside of her elbow. Maggie’s free hand came up to rest on his chest; she could feel his heart beating under her palm, the pace as fevered as her own. She moved slowly, inching closer as his mouth moved further up her arm. When they were face to face, he dipped his head low, his eyes hooded but locked on hers. Aidan’s lips hovered very close to hers; she could taste his breath, sweetened from the mimosa, on her tongue and her mouth watered. He brushed his lips gently against hers, barely touching flesh to flesh. Maggie whimpered softly as desire coiled in a painful knot low in her stomach.
