* * *
The Murphy, Rannigan crowd at Doc Watson’s was exuberant, maybe because of the win, maybe just because it was Friday night. Toasts were given and pints were consumed. Maggie sat slightly apart from the rest, quietly nursing a bourbon. Michael seemed happy but distracted. She imagined his mind was on his trip.
“What’s up, Maggie? We won the case,” Stan said.
Startled, she gave a forced smile. “Oh, you know, it’s just been a long day.” Her eyes met Michael’s at the other end of the table and he gave her a wink. She sipped grimly.
“Hey, Michael, are you watching the ball game tonight?” someone asked.
“Aw, I don’t know,” he said. “Probably.”
“He’s waiting for some hot blonde to meet him so he can get laid,” Josh murmured to one of the guys from downstairs. Maggie pretended not to hear.
“Congratulations, Maggie. Nicely handled.” She looked up in surprise. Rance Stockwell stood smiling at her. “I don’t mean to intrude on your celebration.”
Maggie grimaced. “I’m not sure it’s something to celebrate. This one was rough.”
Rance looked thoughtful for a moment. He reached into his pocket. “If you ever decide to leave the dark side, give me a call.” He handed her his business card.
Maggie smiled sadly. “Thanks.” She put the card in her purse as she watched him return to his own table.
She noticed that Michael kept checking his phone, occasionally frowning, before returning to the raucous conversation. It did seem odd that he was still here. He was usually long gone by now. She didn’t normally stay this long either. She was just in no mood to face an empty apartment feeling the way she did about the way the case went and her role in it.
Pretty sure I have some more drinking to do here, she thought grimly as she ordered another bourbon. Slowly the group dwindled as people began making their way back to their own lives, their own weekends. At one point, Maggie went to the ladies’ room and when she returned, she didn’t see Michael any longer.
Still not ready to go home, she moved to the bar where she found an empty stool at the far end and ordered yet another bourbon.
“Make it two.” She turned to find Michael standing behind her.
“I thought you were gone,” she said.
“I had to see a man about a horse,” he grinned.
Maggie smiled, too. “Pull up a seat if you’re drinking,” she said.
Michael dragged a stool over and Maggie scooted hers as far against the wall as she could. “So what gives, Mags? You don’t seem glad we won the case.”
She frowned, looking into the distance. “It was wrong. Maybe she thought she wanted to sleep with him and then she changed her mind. No means no. Every time.” She stared into her glass. “What we did, what I did...just victimized the victim all over again. That’s not who I want to be.” She downed her drink.
Michael was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s what we do. We defend people who get into trouble.” He watched her disdainful expression. “I know. Sometimes our clients are rat bastards.” Maggie laughed in spite of herself. “But they’re entitled to the best defense we can manage. Rat bastard status notwithstanding.”
“Rat bastard status notwithstanding,” she repeated. They sat without talking for a while, sipping thoughtfully. The bartender rang the bell to indicate the end of happy hour.
She turned to Michael. “Why are you still here? You usually leave long before now.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just wasn’t ready to leave, I guess. What about you?”
“Just not ready to go home, I suppose. You’re leaving tomorrow anyway, right?”
Michael nodded. “Yep.” They sat quietly again.
“So how is it you’re alone tonight? No stunning blonde coming to wisk you off someplace?” She cringed inside. That was a stupid, drunk-ass thing to say.
He grinned again and looked at his hands. “I don’t know. Seems like everyone’s got something going on. I think Vivian’s busy packing for the trip.”
“Vivian...” she repeated, nodding. “Well, on the bright side, you’ll save a fortune on pink champagne while you’re in the Maldives.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, there’s that. Do you want another drink?” he asked.
She grinned. “I would love another drink.”
“Good. Let’s have another.” He motioned to the bartender.
They spent the next hour and a half chatting over drinks about nothing in particular. They laughed as they recalled the incident with Hemphill and Standifer those years ago.
Who would ever have thought I’d laugh about that, Maggie reflected. She smiled at Michael affectionately. The conversation waned again and they sat companionably for a while.
“How about another round?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m done,” she said. “I need to quit while I’m behind.”
“Yeah. I think I’m just going to go home and watch the game,” he said.
She smirked. “Baseball?”
“Baseball. My Yankees,” he grinned. Michael stared into his glass for a moment, then looked back at her. “Come with me.”
Chapter 41
This is probably a bad idea. Maggie stood on the terrace of Michael’s apartment looking out over the city. It looked magical after dark, all dotted with twinkling lights. Even the traffic sounds were muted from this height. Lost in thought as she was, Michael’s voice startled her.
“That’s better. Can I get you something?”
She turned to see that he’d exchanged his suit for jeans and a faded forest green t-shirt. His feet were bare. “Come on in, I’ll pour you something.”
Wordlessly, she followed him back inside the apartment. Baseball was playing on the huge flat-screen television; the sound was low. Michael turned to her. “Relax,” he said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “We’re not at work anymore.”
He continued on to the bar. Maggie stopped by the kitchen counter where she’d dropped her purse, stepping out of her black pumps and removing the jacket of her black skirt suit, folding it carefully and laying it over the back of the couch.
She felt vaguely uncomfortable and rubbed her arms, now bare in her sleeveless grey chiffon blouse, as she crossed the room to the bar. Michael was behind the sleek black counter, his back turned, so she sat on one of the ultra-modern black bar stools, tucking her feet carefully onto the footrest as she noticed the mirrored front of the bar. He was reaching into the glass-fronted oak cabinet that complimented the apartment’s light hardwood floor. From this vantage point she could appreciate the way his shirt hugged his torso, the contours of his shoulders and back evident as he moved.
Focus, Maggie. She cleared her throat. “This really is a beautiful apartment.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “But not your style,” he quipped, grinning.
Maggie blushed. “I like more classical design, of course, but this is very nice,” she said, fidgeting with her bracelet.
Michael turned around and placed two heavy glass tumblers on the counter. Beside the glasses he placed a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve bourbon. Maggie frowned slightly and looked up at him. “This isn’t the same bottle I gave you a few years ago, is it?”
He grinned. “Yes, it is.”
She shook her head. “But how...? I mean, why didn’t you drink it?” Her face fell. “You didn’t like it.”
“Are you kidding? I love this. I only bring it out for special occasions, for people I know will appreciate it.” He poured for them both. “Every year you get me great bourbon, but the year you gave me this?” He lifted the bottle admiringly. “You knocked it out of the park.” He replaced the bottle and walked around the bar to where she sat. On the bar stool she was as tall as Michael.
Maggie snickered. “Baseball reference.”
Michael laughed and lifted his glass. “To baseball, especially my Yankees, may they win the pennant!” Maggie laugh
ed and touched her glass to his.
“And, to friends,” he added, regarding her warmly.
Maggie sipped quietly, blushing again. She set down her glass and turned to look out the huge wall of windows, fidgeting absently with her bracelet again.
Michael nodded at her wrist. “Is that the one I gave you?” he asked.
She looked down, surprised. “It is. I forgot that I had it on. I wear it a lot, actually, but most of the time it’s hidden beneath my sleeves.” She held it out for him to see. “I love it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned,” she said earnestly.
Michael took her hand and looked closely at the bracelet, fingering the moonstones and turning it around her wrist. “You should have beautiful things,” he murmured. He lifted her hand and turned it over, gently pressing her palm to his lips.
Maggie felt her heart pound. She’d had a lot of bourbon. That could explain the rush of heat she felt. It could. She slowly moved her hand to cup his jaw, feeling the prickle of his ever-present five o’clock shadow. His soulful brown eyes drew her like a magnet, as though some invisible force pulled her to him, or him to her, it was hard to tell.
“Aw, Mags,” he breathed, just before their lips met. Like the handful of other times they’d kissed, the heat was instant, the hunger and desperation, tongues seeking and finding. When he pulled back she was breathless.
“I should probably go,” she whispered. She slid off the stool and unsteadily stepped away from the bar. Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her to the kitchen counter where she’d left her things. Maggie stopped at the counter, her back to him, and she closed her eyes.
“I wish...” he began, and stopped.
Maggie licked her lips, eyes still closed. “What do you wish?” Her voice was husky.
Michael lightly caressed her upper arms with his finger tips and nuzzled the back of her neck through her long red hair. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
Maggie felt her skin prickle with goosebumps, her nipples tighten and extend. She felt a surge of moist heat at the apex of her thighs. Michael brushed aside her hair and streamed tiny kisses down her neck from behind her ear down to her collarbone and as he did, a low whimper escaped her lips.
Maggie turned slowly. She could see the heat in his eyes and she knew he saw the same reflected in her own. She placed the flat of her palms on his chest and dragged them slowly down his body to the hem of his shirt. He felt firm and tight.
Eyes on his, she moved her hands under the shirt, resting them on his belly and he closed his eyes, groaning slightly. She moved in to kiss the corner of his mouth then traced kisses along the jawline she’d held a moment ago.
Michael pressed into her, pinning her against the counter and he gripped her hair, gently pulling her face up to meet his. His brown eyes smoldered with desire and he stared into hers briefly before pressing his lips to hers with bruising intensity.
Maggie moved her hands up to touch his face again, to tangle her fingers in his hair, and she kissed him with matching ferocity. His hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her even closer, his arousal pressing hard against her leg. Slowly he drew his hand up her body to her breast, which he cupped and kneaded, finding her erect nub and giving it extra attention.
She gasped into his kiss and he broke away from her lips, looking down as he tugged her blouse free from the waist of her skirt and worked the buttons open, exposing her smoke grey lace bra.
He looked back up at her, a question in his eyes. In response, she pulled up on the hem of his shirt. Michael grinned and wasted no time whipping the green t-shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. Returning his attention to her, he gently traced the lace trim of her bra with his fingers before tugging down the demi-cups, freeing her full, round tits.
“Holy...” he whispered, burying his face between them, kissing her sternum lightly before covering first one pebble-hard nipple then the other with his mouth, suckling and working them with his tongue.
Maggie leaned her head back, moaning with pleasure. She could feel moisture begin to slide down her legs. As if he sensed it, Michael moved his hand between her thighs and slid it up to her moist center, caressing her through her panties.
“Oh, God, Michael,” she gasped.
There was concern on his face when he looked up. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes flew open. “No! Please don’t stop,” she begged.
Worry was replaced with a seductive smile when he hitched up her skirt and tugged down her panties, kicking aside the grey lace as he lifted her onto the counter. He grinned down at the smooth place where her thighs met, then looked back at her with one eyebrow mischievously cocked.
In one swift movement, he tossed both of her legs over his shoulders and plunged his mouth onto her sex. Maggie moaned unintelligibly as Michael used his tongue to lap mercilessly at her pink folds.
Just as she thought she couldn’t last, he stood up and grinned wickedly. Wiping a finger across his lips, he offered it to her. Maggie opened her mouth, tasting her essence, taking his finger into her mouth and sucking it sensuously.
He used his other hand to work her sex again, this time sliding first one finger into her, then two. As he moved them in and out, he used his thumb to stroke the erect button of her clit as Maggie neared the edge once again.
She sucked his finger with increasing intensity, as though it was his cock. He brought her closer to her climax and she released his finger as she leaned back her head, eyes closed.
“Oh, God! Oh, shit! Fuck! Oh, fuck!” she cried. Her whole body convulsed with her release, her juices flooding his hand.
He slowed his movements as she wound down, laughing gently as he did. “Yes, but did you enjoy it?” he chuckled.
Chapter 42
Gently, Michael helped her down from the kitchen counter. When her knees threatened to buckle, he pulled her close. “Oh, Michael,” she breathed.
He chuckled indulgently, lightly brushing his lips against her temple. Maggie responded by finding his lips with her own, kissing him fiercely as she ran her hand down his body to the place where his arousal was still evident. She gripped him, stroking him through the cotton of his jeans and he groaned into her kiss. She stepped back and cocked her eyebrow impishly before sinking to her knees between his bare feet.
He watched as she unbuttoned his fly, reached into the top of his grey boxer briefs, and released his massive erection. She gazed up at him, wry smile on her face. Her open grey blouse framed the globes of her tits, still pushed out of the top of her bra. The sight made him even harder.
Michael reached down to stroke her hair. “Jesus, Mags...” he sighed.
Maggie leaned forward to lick upward from the base of his rock-hard shaft toward the head and he watched as she did, waiting in anticipation. With her tongue, she flicked at the tip, lapping up his arousal that had pooled there. Michael leaned his head back in pleasure as she took the whole of him in her mouth.
“Oh...Jesus, Mags...” he repeated, as she slid her mouth up and down, adjusting her suction as he responded to her movements.
Moments later, he placed his hand on her head. “Stop, baby,” he said. “I want to fuck you proper.”
Maggie smiled up at him as he helped her off her knees. “Do you have any...” she began.
“In the right-hand drawer of my bathroom sink,” he replied. He kissed her before sending her on her way. Michael sank onto the couch and leaned back, his erect cock still waiting for release. She’s amazing. Who would have thought she’d be so passionate?
She found what she was looking for in the drawer he’d described. Grabbing a foil packet, she closed the drawer and looked up, catching herself in the mirror. She looked wanton, her blouse open, her tits hanging over the cups of her bra. Her skirt was wrinkled from being shoved up around her waist.
Quickly, she removed her clothes and left them on the bathroom floor. In Michael’s bedroom, she found the dress shirt
he’d taken off. It still smelled like his cologne. She pulled it on without bothering to button it.
Entering the living room, she stopped, striking a model pose. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, turning to give him the full effect.
He smiled lazily. “I completely approve. My shirt never looked better.” Maggie knelt before him again, tearing open the packet and removing the condom. Winking mischievously, she placed the tip of it in her mouth and she kept her eyes on his as she lowered her face to his cock, sheathing him using only her mouth.
“Holy shit, Mags, that’s fucking hot!”
She gave him another wry smile. “I have many skills of which you were heretofore unaware,” she said as she straddled his lap and covered his mouth with hers. Michael took advantage of his open shirt to fondle her tits, squeezing them, pinching her nipples and bringing them to attention.
Maggie placed her hands on his shoulders and shifted herself over his cock, gently sliding down over him. “Oh, God, Michael,” she breathed as she sheathed him, taking him deep inside. They stayed like that for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes. Then she began to rock up and down, her breasts brushing against his face.
Michael caught her left nipple and suckled voraciously, causing her to groan. He could feel her arousal soaking his lap and he began to thrust from beneath her in unison with her movements. Maggie began to clench around him. “Oh, shit!” she cried out.
“I want you from behind,” he growled, as he lifted her off of himself. He placed her on her knees leaning over the back of the couch and he stood behind her, gripping her hips. Abruptly, Michael thrust back into the warm space he’d just left and she gasped.
As he pounded into her, he noticed the tattoo on her hip he’s seen those years ago. The memory pushed him to the edge as once again he felt her contract around him. They cried out their release in unison and he continued to thrust until they collapsed against the back of the couch.
Rannigan's Redemption: Complete Collection Page 19
