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Her son clutched his pole, and Maggie tugged the edges of her robe together, suddenly conscious of the fact she was still in her jammies. The plain cotton robe fell to just above her knee, and Lord knows it covered more than her bikini did, but still.
Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head. She tucked an errant strand behind her ear and shuffled nervously, her bare feet cold on the worn hardwood.
A soft knock at the door startled her, which was ridiculous, considering she knew he was out there. With a dry mouth, she carefully unlocked three heavy-duty dead bolts and was able to jump out of the way before Michael yanked it open.
Cain’s eyes found hers immediately, and that familiar feeling—the one she’d grown to resent—hit her in the belly. It twisted and electrified her insides in such a way that it was hard to breathe. Heat crept along her skin, cajoling goose bumps from her flesh as the early-morning air slithered across her bare legs.
“Morning, Maggie.” His voice was low, warm, and her name rolled off his lips in an easy drawl.
He was dressed in an old pair of jeans and a white T-shirt with the Rolling Stones logo emblazoned onto the front. It was as faded and worn as his jeans, which fit every inch of his long legs like a glove.
His jaw was shadowed with day old stubble and he smiled, a lazy lift to his mouth, as he ran his fingers through the mess of hair atop his head. The edges of his shirt lifted, exposing a large expanse of his toned lower belly, and of course her eyes went there. To that delicious male “cut” that only served to emphasize his hips and abs.
Did he practice that maneuver? Was there anywhere else to look?
She dragged her eyes away and cleared her throat. His warm brown eyes were hooded, and he looked like he’d rolled out of bed minutes earlier. His smile widened even more, and her lips tightened in reaction. Cain Black was working it, but she wasn’t in the mood to play.
“I’ve packed enough food for the both of you. Extra sandwiches, snacks, soda, and I tossed in a couple bottles of water.”
“Did you put in my Snickers bar?” Michael asked hopefully.
Maggie rumpled his curls, kissed the top of his head, and nodded.
Michael glanced up at Cain. “We only have one, but I’ll share, okay?”
Cain chuckled. “All right, but I warn you, Snickers are my favorite.”
“Me too! I’d eat them every day, ’cept Mom says too much sugar isn’t good for your teeth.”
Cain winked. “Well, your mom would be right.” He paused. “Is that your gear?”
Michael nodded and grabbed his small plastic tackle box and fishing pole.
“All right, buddy, we should head out.”
“Sweet!” Michael ran past Maggie and was out the door, not one look back or kiss good-bye. Nothing.
“Make sure you call Mommy on her cell if—”
He’d already disappeared inside Cain’s truck.
“—something happens,” she finished lamely.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Trust me. I grew up on this lake.”
Resentment flushed her body with a hot wave of heat as she met Cain’s gaze once more. His eyes were dark, intense, and she flinched when his hand reached for her, but she refused to move away.
Maybe she didn’t want to.
Cain paused, his eyes not wavering, and her tummy twirled crazily, as if hundreds of butterflies were having a party. Gently he pushed away the curtain of hair that had fallen from her ponytail, near her temple.
Her heart thrummed against her chest as his fingers grazed the bruise from her fall. His touch was soft, and an ache erupted inside as he caressed her there. It had been so long since anyone had touched her in that way. Years.
“Your stitches are looking good. I don’t think there’ll be a scar.” The timbre of his voice had changed, an added depth that coated his words in silk. She swallowed and nodded, unable to answer.
His eyes lowered and settled on her mouth. The air around them thickened—it must have—because all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe. She heard the catch in his breath as he exhaled and wondered if his heart was beating as fast and furious as her own.
Heat suffused her cheeks, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from his mouth.
