To All a Good Night

by Donna Kauffman, Jill Shalvis

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a laugh, when she twisted to glare at him. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying, you just blew all my remaining brain cells. Do you really wear all this…?” He fingered a set of garters, black silk, and felt himself get hard.

  “Yes.” She yanked it out of his fingers and shoved it into one of her pockets. “Lots of women wear pretty things beneath their clothes, you know. It’s not like I’m a freak.”

  “Oh, baby, I never thought you were a freak.” He put his hands on her arms and halted her frenetic movements. “That’s not what I was thinking at all.”

  “What are you thinking?” she whispered.

  He looked into her beautiful face and those eyes that had a way of sneaking past all his defenses. “I’m thinking you’re the smartest, funniest, most fascinating woman I’ve ever met. And you’re so desperate to hide your sexy garters that I’m wondering what else you’re hiding.”

  She ignored that. “Fascinating is a euphemism. You might as well say I have a good personality.”

  “You do.”

  “We both know what it means when someone says that. It means I’m a dog.”

  At that, he tossed back his head and laughed.

  “That’s funny?”

  “Yes.” He hugged her from behind, turning them so that she faced the bathroom mirror. She had a baby blue bra in one hand and sea green panties in her other. Her hair was its usual rioted, gorgeous mess, and her face…Good God, she had a face that reached out and slayed his heart. “You’re beautiful,” he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “So goddamned beautiful, you take my breath away.”

  She dropped the lingerie. Twisting in his arms until she faced him, she cupped his face. “You’re beautiful, too. I know you’re not supposed to tell a guy that, but it’s true. And I don’t mean just on the outside.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I ate all the cookies I made you, and I’m sorry I needed a ride home. You should go, I know you have a flight.”

  Had a flight. “Are you sorry you chose me as your Mr. Wrong?”

  “No.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Do you think it was a fluke? You know, how good it was between us?”

  He arched a brow. “A fluke?”

  “Yeah. Maybe…maybe we should do it again. Just to make sure, you know?”

  Suddenly the blood was rushing from his head for parts south. He nodded, and in the interest of getting to the “again”—which hopefully would involve some of that hot as hell lingerie, he leaned in. He’d just touched his mouth to hers, body hot and hard and ready, when from down below, her doorbell rang.

  The police had arrived.

  “Maybe we can pretend we don’t hear them,” she whispered against his lips, all flushed and heated and sweet, sexy acquiescence in his arms.

  He was all for that idea, but unfortunately the police weren’t going to be ignored. The doorbell rang again, and with a sigh, she backed out of his arms and headed out of the bathroom, the black garters sticking out of her pocket.

  7

  T he police took a report, but with nothing missing, nothing even out of place other than the broken lock, they didn’t seem too hopeful on getting Maggie answers anytime soon.

  When they were gone, she settled back against the front door and eyed the big, bad, sexy man standing in the middle of her living room. “Thanks for staying,” she said, her hormones much more firmly in control now that he wasn’t touching her. “I’ll be fine.”

  He came close. His hands settled on the wood on either side of her face as he leaned in. He smelled like her idea of heaven, and looked good enough to eat—better than even her cookies.

  “Will you?” he murmured.

  “Absolutely. Maybe you can still catch your flight.”

  “That ship has sailed.” He was so close that his body heat seeped into her bones, so close that she could feel that there wasn’t an ounce of softness to him, anywhere. “Back to our other conversation. So, Maggie Bell, what other secrets are you hiding?” He tilted his head, letting the tip of his nose glide along her jawline.

  Oh, God. What was she hiding? Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, except that she’d apparently renewed her huge crush…

  He came in even closer, and opened his mouth on her ear-lobe, making her eyes cross with lust.

  “D-did you know that Kansas state law requires pedestrians crossing the highways at night to wear taillights?” she stammered.

  “I didn’t. But what I do want to know is, how come you’ve denied your body pleasure for two years?”

  “Nearly two years,” she corrected, and felt him smile against her skin. “And I haven’t completely denied myself. I have a shower head.”

  He laughed silkily and she bit her lip to keep any more ridiculous admissions from escaping, sucking in desperately needed air as he glided his mouth along her jaw to her throat. She was melting into a boneless puddle of longing when the doorbell rang again—making her nearly jump out of her skin. Pushing him aside, she ran down the stairs and opened the door to…

  “Scott,” she said, in surprise. She heard Jacob come into the entryway and stop just on the other side of the door, not visible to Scott. Behind the door, she put her hand on his chest to hold him there.

  “I saw your car in the lot,” Scott told her. “But you weren’t in the building anywhere. I got worried. Your tire—”

  “I know.” Funny how just looking at him had always made her a little dizzy from all his fabulousness, but now she didn’t want to look at him.

  She wanted to look at Jacob. Jacob, whose warm chest was pushing back just a little against her palm.

  “I called our mechanic for you. It’ll be fixed by morning,” Scott said. “But how did you get home?”

  She leaned into the door, trapping Jacob between the wall and the door. “I thought you were already gone. I thought everyone was gone. A friend brought me here. Thank you for calling your mechanic.”

  “No problem.” He was looking past her, as if hoping he’d get invited in, and also trying to see the “friend.” The friend who with shocking stealth filched the garters right out of her pocket, the thief.

  “So who slashed your tire?” Scott asked.

  “Probably just a random thing. Well…” She flashed a quick smile. “Thanks for coming by—” She tried to shut the door but he put a hand on it.

  “Want to grab dinner?”

  How long had she imagined this, him asking her out, then having her realize she was the woman of his dreams? But then, she’d been with Jacob and now…and now she couldn’t imagine being with Scott at all. “Actually, Scott, I’m—”

  “Trying to figure out who might have broken into her house.”

  Maggie turned her head and locked gazes with Jacob, who smiled sweetly—sweetly?—as he came out from the other side of the door, standing a little close as he smiled politely at Scott.

  Scott blinked. “Jacob? What are you doing here? And break-in? Here? Was anything stolen?”

  Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Usually the first question is, are you okay?”

  “Of course, of course.” Scott slapped his forehead. “I’m just flustered. A slashed tire and now a break-in. And you…you visiting. Maggie, are you okay?”

  Well, let’s see. She had Jacob—who now had her garters in his pocket—on one side, and Scott, her maybe Mr. Right—who was currently eyeing Jacob—on the other.

  Who was eyeing Scott right back.

  Two men. Both wanting her. “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe you should come back with me until we know you’re safe.”

  “I’m staying,” Jacob said casually. “She’ll be safe.”

  The testosterone level in the air rose to dangerous heights.

  “I could stay, too,” Scott said. “No problem.”

  Oh, yes it was a problem. They were both a problem. And she had no experience with which to deal with this. She needed Janie. “Okay,” she said, gently pushing Scott over the threshold. “Thank you very much for coming by, but
I’m going to be fine.”

  Jacob smirked.

  So she shoved him over the threshold as well. “And you have a flight to catch.”

  “But—”

  “Good night,” she said, firmly. “To the both of you.” She shut the door, letting out a slow, shaky breath as she leaned back against the wood, suddenly thankful she had Mr. Showerhead after all.

  She ate a can of soup and a piece of toast, and didn’t let herself think about the nice dinner Scott might have taken her to. Or what she might be doing with Jacob right now if Scott hadn’t interrupted them. She changed into her pj’s and slathered on some of her skin care from the vial.

  Someone knocked at her door and she hesitated, then looked through the peephole.

  A dark eye looked back at her. A dark eye that seemed to be filled with both wry humor and annoyance, complete with a dash of affection.

  Jacob pulled back so that she could see all six-feet-two inches of his leanly muscled frame, the one that tended to make her brain cells simultaneously combust.

  He waggled his fingers at her.

  She pressed her forehead to the door while her heart went off like a jackhammer. “Go away, Jacob.”

  “Let me in.”

  Just his voice made her quiver. What was wrong with her?

  “Stress,” he said through the wood when she inadvertently spoke out loud. “That’s what’s wrong. I have the cure for that, by the way.”

  Oh, God. “Stressed is desserts spelled backwards.” She could use a dessert right about now….

  Then he did something to really turn her on. He lifted a bag of chocolate cookies to the peephole. “Cookies that you don’t have to make. And unlike someone I know, I didn’t eat them all. Open up, Maggie.”

  With a sigh, she grabbed a throw blanket from her couch and threw it around her. “I’m in my pj’s.”

  “I won’t look.”

  A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth, and she pulled open the door. He was wearing clean clothes: a pair of dark Levi’s, a dark polo shirt, and a dark smile to match, which had her pulse leaping to attention.

  Bad pulse. “I don’t need you to stay—”

  “I know.” He pushed past her and tossed a duffel bag down to her couch. “But I am.”

  He smelled good. Dammit, why did he always have to smell good?

  She put her hands on her hips. “Jacob—”

  Turning back to her, he gripped her waist, pulled her up against him and kissed her until she didn’t know her name. Disarmed, she stared up at him when he pulled back. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It has to do with the fact that I wouldn’t leave you alone tonight even if I didn’t want to do that all the damn time.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and turned in a slow circle, coming back to face her, his eyes dark and full of things that took her breath. “Look, you were there for me once. Let me be here for you now. Don’t ask me to leave you alone tonight.”

  She thought about how she’d felt earlier standing between him and Scott, how really, there hadn’t been any choice to make at all. And how that scared her because she no longer understood herself or what she wanted. “We’re not having sex.”

  “Let me guess. Because you have your showerhead.”

  She’d known that would come back and bite her on the ass.

  “Don’t worry, I understand. I doubt any guy could compete with a showerhead. How about a blanket? Can I ask for a blanket?”

  She pulled one out from the small chest she used as an ottoman, then watched him kick off his shoes and lie down on her couch. He was of course too long for it, with his calves and feet sticking off the end, but he merely tossed the blanket over himself and closed his eyes. “Could you get the light?”

  She just stared at him. “You missed your flight for me. Why did you miss your flight for me?”

  “I realize you’ve been using a showerhead as a boyfriend, so you might have forgotten how the friend part works. Friends stick by each other when they’re in trouble.”

  “We’re friends?”

  “Well we’re not sleeping together.”

  He said this a little irritably, which made her want to smile. “I’m not in trouble, Jacob.”

  “I think you’re mistaken. Go to sleep, Maggie. I’m exhausted, far too exhausted to argue with you. Maybe even too exhausted to have all that sex you don’t want to have.”

  She turned off the light. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Probably you should be more specific.”

  There in the dark, she both rolled her eyes and felt…hungry. “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  She went to bed, and fell sleep while trying to remember why they weren’t having sex. Just a one-time thing, she reminded herself…and woke up in the middle of the night dying of thirst. Or at least that was the excuse she gave herself for wanting to steal a peek at the gorgeous man sleeping over. She tiptoed into the living room and found him sprawled on her couch, both legs hanging off, one arm dangling down, face relaxed, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

  He wasn’t a snorer. Good to know. God, she really wished she’d asked for a two-time thing instead of a one-time thing. If he opened his eyes right now, she’d just tell him so.

  But he didn’t.

  She shuffled her feet. Cleared her throat.

  He still didn’t budge.

  Dammit. Stepping closer, she touched his blanket. Faked a sneeze. Nothing. Feeling like an idiot, she went to the kitchen. There were no clean glasses in the cupboard, but her dishwasher was clean so she grabbed one from there. Then she opened the refrigerator door for something to drink, and in the harsh glare of the refrigerator light, caught a glimpse of movement on her right.

  Her intruder. Without thinking, she shoved the refrigerator door into him, hearing the “oomph” of air leaving a set of lungs.

  Irrational fear took over, and she backed up, tripping over the open dishwasher, which she fell into, hitting her butt on the still open bottom tray, hard. The whole thing gave, falling out of its hinges, hitting the floor, taking her down with it.

  “Maggie!” At the crashing sound, Jacob slapped his hands along the wall, looking for the light.

  “Don’t turn on the light!” she cried.

  Okay, she was alive, but he could hear the pain in her voice. Although he was the one who’d been hit in the belly with a refrigerator…

  He’d been asleep for maybe an hour before the sheer discomfort of the short sofa had gotten to him. That and the soft padded footsteps of Maggie leaving her bedroom. When she’d stood over him, he’d held his breath rather than say anything, because what would have come out of his mouth would have been “I like your pj’s, now take them off.” Then she’d gone into the kitchen, and he had no idea why, but he’d followed without saying a word, which turned out to be a mistake because she’d slammed the refrigerator door into his gut.

  Finally, he found a light switch and hit it, and then went still as he took in the sight.

  “I told you not to,” Maggie said on a sigh.

  She was sitting in the opened dishwater tray in a camisole and panty set, bare legs dangling over the sides, her arms bracing her up as she attempted to lever herself off the broken plates beneath her. “Jesus, Maggie.” She had to be cut all to hell, and he rushed forward to lift her out.

  But she held him off. “Don’t touch me.” She tried to lift herself out and failed. “Okay, touch me.”

  Yeah. He just wished she meant it.

  8

  “I ’m fine!” Maggie shouted this for the third time in as many minutes through her bedroom door to a worried sounding Jacob.

  How she’d managed to lift herself off of the broken plates and glasses—and let’s not forget the utensils—she hardly knew. She’d managed only with Jacob’s help, as if the whole situation hadn’t been embarrassing enough, and then she’d escaped down the hall and into her bedroom.

  The mirror over her dresser
wasn’t telling her much so she moved into her bathroom, stood on the toilet to get onto the counter, pulled down her panties, and twisted around to look into the vanity mirror.

  Not good. She had a few cuts oozing a little blood, and already bruises were blooming. Nothing appearing too serious, but they weren’t pretty. At the knock on her bedroom door, she nearly fell off the counter. “Don’t come in!”

  “Maggie, let me see.”

  “No!”

  “You’ve got to be cut up. There’s blood in the dishwasher.”

  Ew.

  “You might have glass splinters.”

  Oh, no, she did not. She poked at one of the cuts, sucked in a harsh breath of pain, and admitted he might be right. But if she did have glass in there, it was staying in there.

  Forever.

  Jacob knocked one more time, didn’t get an answer, and thought fuck it. He opened her bedroom door.

  He had a quick view of the four-poster iron-rod bed piled high with pillows and thick bedding before he turned to the open bathroom door.

  She was standing on the counter yanking up her panties, where she’d clearly been trying to get an up close and personal view of her injuries.

  “Hey! The bedroom door was shut!”

  “And I opened it.” He strode over to her, scooped her up off the counter and put her down, accidentally knocking her toothbrush to the floor. “How bad is it?”

  She slid her hands to her ass. “Not bad at all.”

  “Liar.” He picked up her toothbrush and put it back on the counter, but she shook her head. “Wrong side.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s the toilet side of the counter. Dentists recommend that a toothbrush be kept at least six feet away from the toilet to avoid airborne particles resulting from the flush. You just put it within four feet. I’ll have to throw it away.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one. Enough stalling. Let me see.”

  Resignation flashed across her face, as well as discomfort at the realization he saw right through her. “No,” she said.