Page 68 of The Locksmith's Promise

His lips firmed and he nodded. “I get that. But that wasn’t my question. Do you love me, Maggie?”

I threw up my hands. “Of course, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you.”

He relaxed back into the couch, a small smile teasing lips I remembered kissing all too well.

My gaze drifted over his face.

I wanted to smooth my thumb over the crease between his brows, dance the tips of my fingers over the smile lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, press my cheek against the soft rasp of his bearded jaw.

I wanted it so badly it brought tears to my eyes.

My attention drifted further, spanning the width of his shoulders and the contours of his chest before drifting to the growing bulge at his groin.

The answering pulse in mine.

Voice husky, he murmured, “It’s not the most romantic declaration, but I’ll take it.”

He held my gaze, his knowing all too well where my thoughts had wandered.

“I’ve missed you so much, Maggie,” he admitted softly.

“I can’t,” I gasped, raising my palm to ward him off though he hadn’t moved. “I’m not ready.”

All traces of humour dissipated. “There’s no rush, baby,” he assured me quietly. “All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“A chance for what?”

“For you to get to know me again, to learn that you can trust me.”

“Baxter,” I warned. “You don’t know what a mess I was when things fell apart.”

“I want to know,” he claimed. “I want you to tell me everything. God, I wish I’d been there for you.”

I wrestled with the remnants of that old despair. “You don’t know what it took to scrape myself off the floor. I can’t go back there.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t be sure.”

“I am.”

“Bax—”

“Maggie,” he clipped. “Do you fucking love me?”

“Yes!”

“Then give us a chance!”

The walls I’d built against hope were crumbling to dust, and instead of letting them fall, I was frantically plugging the holes.

What if he changes his mind?

Plug.

What if he’s not the same person I loved before?

Plug.

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