Offside Bride (Toronto Titans #2)

14. Maggie

14

MAGGIE

O tto makes a clicking noise. “Squawk off. Mommy and bird.”

Sawyer’s jaw tightens. Ignoring Otto, he stalks toward me, each step deliberate and predatory. I resist the urge to squirm under his hot glower.

“You keep misbehaving just to get my attention…Well now you have it, Trouble.”

His voice is low, dangerous, and oh so sexy. How dare he make me feel this way when he’s the one who stood me up?

Before I can formulate a witty comeback, Sawyer plucks the wine glass from my hand and sets it on the side table. In one fluid motion, he pulls me to my feet, his large hand cupping my jaw and tilting my face up to his.

“You’ve been so naughty,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “I should put you over my knee right now like I promised I would. Remember?”

My eyes widen. Oh, I remember all right. The thought sends a jolt of heat straight to my core. Part of me wants to melt into him, to give in to the heat building between us. But another part—the part that’s still smarting from his casual dismissal earlier—refuses to let him win so easily. I can’t let him see how much he affects me. I’m a woman scorned, after all.

“Naughty bird,” Otto says, then goes into his cage to whistle.

I lean into Sawyer slightly, letting my body brush against his. “Oh, I remember,” I purr, watching his pupils dilate. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

There’s a flicker of triumph in his eyes. He thinks he’s won. But the second his grip loosens, I duck under his arm and bolt out of the room, my laughter trailing behind me.

I dash through the house, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors, heart pounding with adrenaline. There’s a thrill coursing through me, a mix of excitement and defiance.

“Maggie!” Sawyer’s voice booms behind me. “Get back here!”

“Make me!” I shout back, giggling as I round a corner.

I hear Sawyer's heavy footsteps behind me, gaining ground.

“Come back here, woman!” he calls out.

I skid around a corner, nearly wiping out on the slick floor. “Catch me if you can, hockey boy!”

Then, I spot Sawyer’s hockey gear by the hallway closet door and an idea strikes. I grab one of his heavy ice skates and bolt back to the front of the house.

He’s hot on my heels, but I've got the advantage of being nimble and small. But as I find myself in the living room, I realize I have nowhere to hide. I spin around, brandishing the skate like a weapon just as he enters the room.

“Whoa there, Trouble,” he says, holding up his hands. “What are you planning to do with that?”

“Stay back, or I’ll…I’ll…give you a really bad haircut!”

Sawyer’s eyebrows shoot up. “With a skate? That’s a new one.”

He comes at me with that glittering smile. We dance around the living room, me holding up the skate like a cartoon villain, Sawyer trying to look stern but failing miserably. His eyes are sparkling with amusement.

“You know,” he pants, dodging behind the couch, “most wives just yell at their husbands when they’re upset.”

“Give us a kiss,” chirps Otto.

“I’m not most wives,” I retort, vaulting over an ottoman. I skid into the kitchen, and Sawyer’s right behind me, his eyes wild and hair disheveled.

“Maggie, put down the skate before you hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself? HA! That’s rich coming from you.” I point the pointy end of the skate toward him and manage to back him up against the kitchen island. His eyes gleam as I hold the blade to his throat.

“Damn, Maggie. Now what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I cry, completely flustered. I’m trying to look menacing despite being out of breath and probably flushed bright red. “Why did you tell your maid to throw away my art?”

I promised myself I wouldn’t bring that up. Wouldn’t let him win. But I’m past that now.

Sawyer’s brow furrows in genuine confusion. “What? Why would I do that?”

“And where were you really today? Out with some puck bunny?”

His confusion slowly morphs into a grin. “Wait a minute. Are you…jealous?” he says, sounding far too pleased with himself.

“Jealous? Me?” My voice rises embarrassingly. “Psh, no. That’s ridiculous. I’m just…curious. For, um, contractual reasons.”

Sawyer’s grin widens. “Uh-huh. You know your voice goes up an octave when you lie, right? And your eyes just darted to the left. Those are your tells, aren’t they?”

I press the skate blade closer to his throat, trying to ignore the way his Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I don’t have tells,” I lie, my voice still embarrassingly squeaky.

“Oh, you definitely do,” he chuckles, gently taking the skate from my hand. “It’s kind of adorable, actually. And for your information, I always keep blade guards on my skates.”

He runs a finger over the white plastic to demonstrate.

My cheeks burn. All my thinly laid revenge plans have been foiled.

Sawyer casually reaches back and sets the skate on the counter. His intense gaze locks onto mine. I gasp as his hands grip my waist like hot brands.

He backs me up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You’ve been pushing my buttons all month,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “The flowers, the bird, that text…You’re playing with fire, Maggie.”

I try to maintain my composure, but it’s hard when he’s so close, his scent enveloping me. “Maybe I like playing with fire,” I retort, my voice embarrassingly breathy.

His eyes narrow. “Now, tell me who sent the flowers. Is he Irish? Italian? Russian?”

What’s with the ethnicity obsession? Is he casting for The Godfather 4? I press my lips together and shake my head, determined not to give in.

My back hits the pantry door with a soft thud, and suddenly I’m trapped between the hard wood and Sawyer’s even harder body. My heart races, but I refuse to show how affected I am.

“Open your mouth, darling, and tell your husband the truth,” he growls, his breath hot on my face.

I shake my head again, more forcefully this time. My stubbornness is legendary, after all.

Sawyer’s eyes darken. “Open your mouth before I open it for you.”

“Not a chance, puck boy.”

“You like to cause trouble, don’t you?” He tsks, shaking his head. “Trying to slit my throat with my own ice skate…”

Before I can process what’s happening, Sawyer’s lips crash into mine. It’s not a gentle kiss—it’s all fire and fury, filled with pent-up frustration and desire. He cuffs both my wrists with one hand and presses them above my head against the pantry door.

“Now tell me,” he growls.

“Go to H-E double hockey sticks.”

A hint of laughter plays on Sawyer’s lips. His body presses me harder against the pantry, and his fingers tighten around my wrists.

“I see the way you look at me. Why do you insist on making trouble?”

His mouth crashes on mine again. Short and hot. Then his eyes burn into me, waiting for an answer.

When I don’t respond, he growls more forcefully, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, breathless and dizzy.

He smiles and takes my mouth again. I try to resist, I really do. But as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entry, I find myself melting. It’s angry and passionate and absolutely delicious.

Sawyer’s hot mouth dips to my jawline, then down my neck, tasting every inch of my skin, totally messy and feral. He is so beautiful and perfect, I might die. The groan of appreciation that starts low in his chest and escapes his mouth rumbles against my skin like a seismic phenomenon.

I can’t think straight.

“You’re mine,” he hums into my neck, and I almost forget why I was even mad at him in the first place.

He effortlessly spins me around and hoists me by the waist onto the kitchen table. My heart races, a rush of excitement coursing through me.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, his eyes dark with desire.

I glare at him, still annoyed despite the heat pooling in my belly. “I want to kill you,” I spit out.

He laughs, the sound sending tendrils of pleasure over my skin. His hands are everywhere. His lips are everywhere.

My hands, which were pushing against his chest, now fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, my body betraying me as I fold into his embrace.

Then he gently pushes my back down against the tabletop.

“No!” I yelp, squirming beneath him. “People eat here.”

“Mmmmm,” he murmurs against my neck, tugging gently on my hair.

“It’s unsanitary.”

His rumbly laugh tickles my skin. “I’ll buy a new table.”

I try to summon my anger, but it’s rapidly dissolving under his touch.

“I hate you,” I manage to say, though it lacks any real conviction.

“No, you don’t,” he counters confidently.

“Why did you cancel on me?” I demand, needing answers before I completely lose myself in him.

“Family problems,” he says tersely. “Who sent you the flowers?”

“None of your business,” I retort.

“Oh, I think it’s my business,” Sawyer says, moving on to kiss my belly button.

“And what makes you think that?” I challenge, even as my traitorous body arches into his touch.

“Because I’m your damn husband,” he growls. “Now, are you going to tell me, or do I need to make you talk?”

I scoff, even as my pulse quickens. “Ha, not happening.”

Sawyer pauses his exploration of my neck to look up at me, winking. His voice drops to a husky whisper.

“Oh, you’ll talk, wife. I can be very persuasive.”

I snort. “Somebody’s overconfident.”

His lips curve into a wicked smile. “And somebody woke up and chose violence.”

Heaven help me, I want to give in to him. And then, like an angel, Otto swoops into the kitchen, landing squarely on Sawyer’s head, flapping his wings.

Sawyer starts flailing his arms, trying to shoo Otto away without actually touching him. “Come on, you feathered menace! Scram!”

Otto, clearly enjoying himself, makes a loud smooching sound. “Whatcha doin’?” he squawks, pleased with his new perch.

I collapse into a fit of giggles, sliding off the table and doubling over. Tears stream down my face as I gasp for air between laughs.

“Maggie! Get your damn bird off me!” Sawyer shouts.

I’m doubled over now, tears streaming down my face as I watch the ridiculous scene unfold. Sawyer’s face is getting redder by the second.

“Pretty boy! Pretty boy! Wanna ’stachio?"

“Maggie!” Sawyer grunts.

I try to speak, but all that comes out is more giggles. I wave my hand in a weak attempt at an apology, but it’s useless.

Then Otto, apparently bored with his new perch, hops off Sawyer’s head and lands on the kitchen island. He struts over to the fruit basket and starts poking at an apple with his beak.

Sawyer shakes his hair out and glares at me. “Oh, you think this is funny, do you?”

I nod, still giggling uncontrollably. “Hilarious, actually. You should see your face right now.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. “Okay, that does it.”

In one smooth motion, Sawyer lunges forward and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I let out a surprised squeak as the world suddenly turns upside down.

“Sawyer! Put me down!” I demand, still giggling.

He carries me upstairs and to my bedroom, and I yelp as he tosses me onto the bed with a bounce.

Red hot heat courses through me as his eyes rake over my body with want. My husband is a beast, ready to pounce. He takes hold of my bare leg and traces circles on my lower calf with one finger. And then, as if his finger wasn’t enough, he bends over me, pressing his lips softly on my inner ankle. One, sweet, solitary kiss.

“Goodnight, Magpie,” he says, setting my foot down and folding the bottom of the blanket over my feet. Then he turns to walk away, taking his warmth with him.

I’m about to bury my face in a pillow and scream when Sawyer’s voice catches my attention. “What have we here?”

Lifting my head, I see him holding one of my books. My stomach drops. Oh no!

“ Touchdown for Love ,” he reads, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Why, Margaret, did you write this?”

I bolt upright. “Maybe,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.

He studies the cover, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Interesting choice of cover model. Very…chesty.”

“It’s called marketing,” I retort, trying to sound nonchalant.

To my horror, Sawyer tucks the book under his arm and heads for the door.

“What are you doing?” I yelp. “Why are you taking that?”

He pauses at the threshold, throwing me a wink over his shoulder. “I like to read before bed. And I might learn a thing or two about what you like.”

And just like that, he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

“Ugh!”