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At the wobble in her voice, Mac’s hands flexed on her hips. “I want to hug you.”
“Please do.”
Mac moved, wrapping his arms around her back and plastering her to his front. Maggie let her arms squeeze him back. She tucked her face into the warmth of his chest and let out a deep breath. Maggie felt the tension slowly seep out of Mac’s shoulders as she sagged into his body, letting him hold her entire weight. They stood together on the dance floor through two more songs. As the third started, Maggie squared their bodies, pressing their hips together and Mac froze, muscles stone solid once more.
Mac let her go by degrees. His arms unwound from the small of her back and resettled on her waist. He pushed her hips back from his, letting her chest still rest against the soft purple of his sweater. It almost felt like Mac nuzzled his nose and chin against the top of her head before he pulled completely out of her grip, her arms falling back to her sides as she stared up at him. Maggie swayed towards him.
“I’ll take you home,” Mac said. “Tell Shay.”
Maggie pulled her phone out to send a message to her friend and saw a new one waiting in her notifications.
Dean:
Sounds like a perfect night out. I can be there in ten if you still need a getaway driver.
Maggie looked up at Mac as he shamelessly read the text over her shoulder. He winced when he noticed her eyes on him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be.” And for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, Maggie made sure Mac was watching when she wrote back.
Maggie:
I'm good. Mac has me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MachandedMaggieintothe front seat of his SUV in silence. His eyes dropped to her thighs, and she smoothed down her skirt, a blush staining her cheeks and throat. His gaze stuck for a moment before he shook himself, his hair catching the light from the street lamps. Mac shut the door before Maggie could say a word, and she watched through the windshield as he jogged around the car to the driver’s door. He didn’t look at her as he slid into his seat. Maggie turned to look out her window at the doors of The Dark Side.
Shay knew Maggie planned for a ride home with Dean, but she sent them a quick message about heading out, trying not to stare at the man sitting next to her. She’d touched Mac plenty of times, had been alone in the same room as him, but this was different, more intimate. The atmosphere was charged like the air during a lightning storm. The car rumbled to life under her seat, and Maggie slid her phone away. Even if they rode the entire way home without saying a single word to each other, it felt rude to be on her phone.
Mac wasn’t a talker. It was kind of refreshing, actually. Maggie was comfortable talking with a tiny set of people, mostly because she took so long trying to figure out what to say that the conversation had either died or moved on by the time she got her words together. Mac used short, straightforward responses—they took a lot less brain power for Maggie to de-code—and didn’t rush her to answer.
The sound of denim shifting over the upholstery dragged Maggie out of her thoughts as Mac leaned into her body. For a moment, Maggie froze. He was so much closer than he’d been a minute ago, and his body was so much bigger than hers. With the seat at her back, there was nowhere that she could go. Mac froze too, his glare deepening, and then with a harshly muttered “fuck,” he reached for her seatbelt and dragged it across her chest and clicked it into place.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the engine.
Mac sat back against his seat and braced his hands on the wheel. “Don’t apologize to me, Maggie. I shouldn’t have invaded your space like that.”
Maggie reached out and put her hand on his arm. Mac’s biceps were rock-solid with tension. Her apology hadn’t been for flinching—Maggie had once startled over a rock—but because she’d seen the hurt in his eyes when she had. She’d apologized because once she’d seen that it was Mac leaning into her space, Mac caging her body against the seat, she’d been relieved. Mac would never hurt her. She knew that. He’d gone out of his way more than once to make sure that she felt safe and in control of her own body.
“I trust you, Mac.” Under her hand, Mac’s muscles relaxed by minute degrees. “I wasn’t paying attention, and you surprised me, but I know you. I said ‘I’m sorry’ because I thought—” This was ridiculous. There was no way her reaction had actually hurt him.
Mac turned to face her, his eyes zigzagging back and forth between her own, brows still pulled together as though her words didn’t compute.
“Thought what?” he asked.
Maggie sucked in air, the scent of pine and iron making her dizzy. She forced herself to look into his whiskey eyes and, for a moment, they both sat there suspended. As if moving a single muscle would break whatever tiny ties were slowly knotting between them.
“I thought maybe I’d hurt you. Your feelings, I mean.”
Mac closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his seat. Maggie felt those tiny ties pulling her into him.
“I would never hurt you, Maggie.” Mac’s voice was low and gravely, like ten miles of bad road. “I would rather—I’d never hurt you.”
Maggie unclipped her seatbelt and leaned across the car, letting her right arm come across the front of Mac’s chest. The left looped around the back of his neck. A bottle of water dug into her hip, and she had to be careful not to knock the gear shift with her knee, but hugging Mac was more important. He didn’t turn and hug her back, but his hands looped over the arm she’d laid across his front and he held on to her, too.
“I know,” Maggie said against his ear, his body relaxing into hers. “I know, I know, I know.”
