Read Online Commitment by Margaret Ethridge - Free Book Online

mere inch from his. “Oh, Sully, you have no idea how good I can be when I’m bad.”
    ****
    Nothing like the smooth swizzle of Chivas to shift a guy’s worldview. Sheila wanted him to go for women more age appropriate? Well, he wanted to be inappropriate, and he couldn’t give a good goddamn how old Maggie McCann happened to be. This could be wrong. All wrong. But damn, following her out the door of that hotel felt damn good.
    Looked good too. Her hips swayed, but it wasn’t the practiced swish of a runway wannabe. No, Maggie moved with the rolling grace of a woman born to have that killer body. She reminded him of the women in those old movies his mother used to watch. A dame. A broad. A woman with a capital ‘whoa’.
    He stumbled off the curb and into the cab beside her. She laughed, rich and husky, more potent than the whisky burning in his belly and far more intoxicating. “Maybe I should just hand you over to your doorman.”
    He struggled to straighten his suit coat. “Don’t have a doorman. Just a cranky old lady who lives in the apartment below.”
    “Huh.” Maggie sniffled. “Definitely pegged you for the doorman type.”
    Cracked vinyl creaked when he shifted closer, draping his arm over the back of the seat and nuzzling the tender, pink shell of her ear. “Maybe I’m not what you think.”
    “I think you’re drunk, and I’m pretty sure the cab driver isn’t clairvoyant,” she retorted. “ Damen and Division, please,” she called through the Plexiglas window.
    “Clark and Armitage ,” he countered.
    “I’m going home.”
    The stubborn tilt of her chin did him in. He pulled a pin from the sleek coil at the nape of her neck. “With me,” he whispered, brushing his lips to the corner of her jaw when she shivered.
    “Which is it?” the driver snapped.
    He met her wary gaze, holding it as long as he could bear without flinching. “Don’t break my heart, Maggie.”
    “You have no heart.”
    Her voice was thin and soft, but her jaw was delectably firm. He dove for the safety of sweet skin. He knew how to handle that. “Oh, I have one.” Pressing her palm to his chest he whispered, “Come home with me, Maggie.” The organ in question thrummed against his ribcage when she blinked her assent. He pulled those delicate fingertips to his lips and turned toward the driver. “Clark and Armitage .”
    The cab shot from the curb, throwing her into his side. His arm closed around her, holding her close. He wasn’t a fool and he was far from immune to the soft, curve of her breast pressing against his chest. He also couldn’t help but notice she was damn close to wearing out the snap on the tiny little purse she carried.
    “Maggie?”
    “Hmm?”
    “What do women put in these little things?” he asked, gently removing the purse from her fidgeting fingers.
    “Lipstick. ID. A little cash…”
    “I always wondered.”
    She glanced at him from under her lashes. “Did you?”
    Tom set the purse in his own lap and shook his head, crooking a finger beneath her chin. She gazed up at him, wide-eyed and wary again. “No. I don’t really give a damn.”
    Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Yeah, I know you don’t.”
    He wanted to speak—to refute her claim, to prove she didn’t know jack squat about him—only the fear that she might be right spurred him into action. He did the one thing he swore he’d never do. He kissed Maggie McCann.
    Good God, her lips were soft. Full and plush. The kiss lingered, unhurried and unending. The slick gloss she wore tasted like toasted marshmallow. He savored the corners of her mouth. His tongue brushed her full lower lip and those delicious lips parted. The tang of wine on her tongue made him hum low in his throat.
    “Tom,” she breathed as they separated.
    His fingers grazed the corner of her jaw and slid to the pulse throbbing in her throat. He scooted forward on the slippery seat, unable to resist pressing his lips to that delicious spot.