He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “We are at home. I’ll gladly strip naked and cuddle under a blanket with you later.” He winked, and she blushed beet red.
She sighed and lowered her head to the side, resting it on her bent knees, but still looking at him. “I’m not a very good seductress.”
He laughed, his free hand reaching forward to run over her head and down her back, eliciting a shiver. “Of course you are. Look at you. Gorgeous and tempting, sitting in your bath.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Come. Let me wash your hair, before I become even more distracted.” Leaning forward, he stole a quick kiss, before he found her homemade shampoo. Lifting up a small pitcher, he rinsed water over her head to dampen her hair again, smiling when she tilted her head back.
When he began to gently massage the shampoo through her hair, she moaned with pleasure. “I’ve always loved having my hair washed. Or combed. It’s one of my favorite things.” She nearly purred with delight, when he slowed down his movements, deliberately massaging her scalp. “Oh, that feels so good.”
Finally he rinsed away the shampoo, brushing her hair to one side of her back, so he could kiss one shoulder. “Do you desire more of a bath?” he asked in a raspy voice.
She gasped when his marauding hands moved to her front and tickled her belly. Arching into his touch, she exclaimed, “No!” as he touched a sensitive spot. She turned in the tub, her gaze now lit with passion. “Take me to bed, Philip. Please.”
He ran a finger over her cheek, nodding. “Let’s get you dry,” he whispered, helping her to stand. After lifting her out of the tub onto a small towel, he ran a large towel over her, his tender touch eliciting more gasps and moans. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”
“I’m on fire,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, love.”
He rose, his fingers busy stripping away his clothes. Soon he had maneuvered them to their bed, and they were lost to their passion.
Afterward he held a dozing Maggie in his arms, a chuckle bursting forth. Her fingers played over his chest, and he had never felt so lighthearted. So full of hope for the future.
“What amuses you?” she murmured, battling sleep.
“I’ll never think of that bathtub the same again.”
“Good,” she said, as she kissed his chest. “I’ll never want you on the porch again.” She raised her gaze to meet his. “I love you,” she whispered, as she tumbled into sleep.
He kissed her head, his fingers stroking through her silky locks. “As I do you, beloved.”
Chapter 14
A few weeks later and only a few days before Christmas, Maggie raced to the Bordello, after receiving a message that Aileen was ailing. Her scarf flapped around her, as she skidded along a patch of ice, flinging her arms out to keep her balance. Although a part of her knew she should have looked for Philip or a brother to escort her, she had felt such an urgency to help Aileen that she had dashed to the Bordello without a second thought. She had also felt tremendous relief to no longer live in fear that she wanted to celebrate that feeling, even though she was afraid for Aileen. Upon arriving at the Bordello, she heaved the door open, frowning at not seeing the bulky man Kevin had told her always stood as sentry. “Madam?” she called out.
“Back here, Maggie,” Nora called out from her office at the rear of the building. Her voice sounded aggrieved rather than agitated, but Maggie knew the Madam was well able to handle a crisis.
Rushing down the hallway, Maggie barreled inside, her frantic gaze searching for Aileen. She saw two chairs by a lit fire, a desk, a darkened corner, but no sign of Aileen. “Where is she? What happened?” She spun at the sound of the door closing behind her. “No!” she screamed, taking a step back, as she faced Jacques. “No,” she whimpered, as she looked to Nora in utter betrayal. “How could you?”
Shrugging, Nora ran a hand over her shiny royal-blue satin skirt. “How could I not?” She smiled at Maggie, her gaze hard and calculating, with no evidence of the warmth and the friendship she had always shown Maggie in the past. “I run a business, Maggie, a business that hasn’t had as successful a year as I’d hoped.”
“My da would help you. You know he would,” Maggie pleaded, instinctively backing up a step, as Jacques took a step toward her. Her breath caught at the rage in his gaze, and soon she was against a wall, her hands searching for anything to use to protect herself.
“Ah, mon petite chou,” Jacques murmured. “How disappointed I am that you aren’t more delighted to see me again. I have missed you.” He took another step closer, smiling when she gasped in fear at his proximity. He slammed his hand against the wall by the side of her head, grinning when she whimpered in terror. “You did not believe something like a marriage would keep me from you, non?”
Panting, Maggie attempted to corral her fear. “I have a husband. He will—he will …” Maggie moaned, when Jacques leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“He will do nothing, ma chérie. You are mine again.” He ran his nose over her cheek, and she quivered at his touch. “Who are you to reject me? Nothing more than a bastard.”
“I’m not a bastard,” Maggie said in as strong a voice as she could muster. “I’m Maggie O’Rourke Dunmore.” She squealed when Jacques roared at her use of her married name and slammed his hand against the wall again, this time incrementally closer to her head. He had never struck her in her face before, and the threat
