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“Why mugs?”
“Why not?”
“Fair enough.”
“What about your family? Are they in Ocala?”
She paused, as if considering how much to share. It didn’t escape his notice that, though she’d been working for Harris for five months, and was friends with his sister and Anna, he didn’t know much about the woman seated beside him.
“My mom died when I was born, so I don’t remember her. My dad remarried when I was seven. I have a step-sister. A few step-cousins. No one I really talk to.” From the pained look on her face, AJ knew there was more to it than that. There was a history, a family darkness that he knew and recognized.
Maeve Thomas had a troubled family life.
There was pain there, too. I know what that feels like. What that looks like. Kindred spirits. Spirits that are weighted down with an old pain that cannot be alleviated.
Again, something from Swan’s emails pricked at his thoughts, almost like an echo shouted into his mind that only bounced back when he least expected it.
“My mom died seven years ago. It hit Sally the hardest because she was the closest to her.”
“What about your dad?”
“He might as well be dead for all I care. The man is a piece of shit, and I’d rather not talk about him.”
She paused, then nodded carefully.
“Okay. Why construction?”
AJ didn’t know how much time passed as he sat there on the small floral loveseat, sipping vodka from a diabolical coffee mug. He just knew that he hadn’t felt as comfortable with a woman in a long time. It just felt natural to sit with Maeve, listening to her talk, laughing with her. Sharing with her. It was like it was something they’d done before, like it was…familiar. Like they’d been doing it forever.
And he didn’t want it to stop.
Shards of awareness sliced through him. Realization and remembrance tumbled and collided.
Swan.
He didn’t want this with Maeve, he wanted it with Swan.
Who also had an out of control mug collection.
With shaking hands, he placed the now empty mug on the coffee table, drawing himself back until his spine was pressed painfully against the arm of the loveseat.
“It’s late. I’ve got to get home.”
She glanced at the clock over the TV and offered a guilty smile. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Sorry for keeping you. I didn’t mean to bore the hell out of you for so long.” She put her mug next to his, the movement making her thigh rub against his.
Immediately, that simple touch sent desire shooting through him, aimed squarely at his cock. Thankfully, he’d grabbed a small pillow earlier on which to rest his aching arms. It was still there, hiding his half-chub from view.
“I wasn’t bored. On the contrary, I had a great time talking with you, Maeve. And that’s the problem.”
“I don’t understand. Why would enjoying yourself with me be a problem?”
Heavy silence greeted her question, even as her heart hammered like a drum solo in her ears. Between them, a balloon of heat grew, swelling, nearing to bursting.
His eyes burned with lust, piercing her, tearing the clothes from her body in his mind. The junction between her thighs caught fire, scorching her clit, liquefying her need, and leaking it into her panties.
She wanted him, terribly.
Was the problem that he didn’t really want her?
