Maggie tossed and turned in bed. She'd spent the whole afternoon in
Steve's room, sometimes holding him when he cried, sometimes listening as
he told her about Lynn, sometimes just sitting with him so he wouldn't be
alone. When he'd finally drifted off to sleep, she turned the TV on, with
the volume low, and read the newspaper to pass the time. Now she was
mentally and emotionally exhausted, but she still had too much pent up
kinetic energy to let her sleep. She wasn't used to sitting still so long.
She sighed, rolled over, and cursed the full moon that made the blinds in her window glow. Turning the other way, she cursed the nightlight she'd left on in the bathroom, but knew she'd never get up and turn it off. Steve might wake in the night and need something. She rolled onto her back, groaned, and cursed the giggling couple in the hall. Then she picked up her pillow and put it over her face, pinning it close to the sides of her head with her hands. The big, squishy pillow could block out light and noise, but it did nothing to still her troubled thoughts; so, she cursed it and them, too.
She wanted Steve, ached to be near him, and had done so from the moment she caught herself checking him out as she watched him checking out the blond in line ahead of him at the bank. When she'd seen the emotions that crossed his face--joy, confusion, recognition, disappointment, sorrow, pain, and guilt--all in a two-second flash as the woman turned and walked past him without a word, she had know this was one good-looking gringo with a whole lot of problems. Usually, other people's problems sent Maggie running for the hills. She'd dealt with quite enough of her own in the past and didn't make a habit of getting entangled in anyone else's, but for some reason, with this guy, she'd wanted to fix everything for him.
Then the gunshots had erupted in the bank, she and the gringo cop had stopped the robbery, and he'd driven her to the emergency room where her future boss (who happened to be his father) had dug a bullet out of her culo. Then she and the cop had found the robbery was just a distraction to cover the murder of a bank executive who was about to provide evidence to the FBI on a drugs/sex-slavery/illegal-immigration/money-laundering operation. They'd nearly caused an international incident when they found their liaison with the Mexican government and police was involved in the crimes. Finally, they had brought him and the rest of the organization down, and made it back home, more than a little worse for wear. It had taken them almost two weeks to write all the reports, and the trickiest part proved to be explaining how Steve had been thrown in jail for nearly beating the cojones off Ramírez.
After the trip to Mexico, Maggie had taken a job at Community General as an infectious disease and ER specialist, thumbed her nose at the FBI supervisor who'd spent the last five years breaking his promises to stop dragging her out of the lab and trying and make a field agent of her, and found herself gently but insistently fending off advances from her newest friend, the brave and sexy, troubled gringo cop. After about a month, she'd finally relented. They'd had a few very pleasant dates, and when Mark had gone off to the conference in Houston, Steve had convinced her to take a week off and spend it with him.
Now, here she was, spending a sleepless night at a B&B in a little Northern California town with a Spanish name where she had yet to meet a single person who spoke Spanish. The object of her desires was just a few feet away. She was trying to decide which she needed more, a cigarette, or a cold shower, when she turned on her side again, tossed the pillow away, and opened her eyes to see Steve's form silhouetted in the glow of the bathroom nightlight.
"Maggie?"
"¿Qué quieres?"
Steve shrugged. He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew how he felt.
"I…don't feel like being alone right now."
She lifted the blanket and slid over to make room for him.
"Ven aquí."
"Maggie, are you sure?"
She wasn't sure what would happen, but she was sure she wanted him in her bed eventually, so she said yes.
"Mags, I really don't want…that is…"
"You don't want to have sex. I understand. We are both tired and need sleep, and you don't want to be alone. We can be together here, asleep in the bed as well as we can be together awake and sitting or standing anyplace else."
Steve hesitated. She patted the mattress beside her, and he reluctantly came over and lay down beside her. She curled up close to him and hugged him around his chest. He wrapped his both arms around the long, tanned arm she had thrown over him, pulled it to his face, and kissed it. Then he turned on his side and snuggled back against her, letting her cradle and comfort him yet again.
"Gracias, Maggie."
"De nada, gringo," she murmured on a yawn and cuddled closer, wrapping her arms protectively around him and rubbing soft circles on his stomach.
Soon, Steve heard her breathing even out and her hand stopped its circular motion on his abdomen, and, feeling safe and warm and loved in her arms, he settled down for the night and quickly followed her into dreamland.
She sighed, rolled over, and cursed the full moon that made the blinds in her window glow. Turning the other way, she cursed the nightlight she'd left on in the bathroom, but knew she'd never get up and turn it off. Steve might wake in the night and need something. She rolled onto her back, groaned, and cursed the giggling couple in the hall. Then she picked up her pillow and put it over her face, pinning it close to the sides of her head with her hands. The big, squishy pillow could block out light and noise, but it did nothing to still her troubled thoughts; so, she cursed it and them, too.
She wanted Steve, ached to be near him, and had done so from the moment she caught herself checking him out as she watched him checking out the blond in line ahead of him at the bank. When she'd seen the emotions that crossed his face--joy, confusion, recognition, disappointment, sorrow, pain, and guilt--all in a two-second flash as the woman turned and walked past him without a word, she had know this was one good-looking gringo with a whole lot of problems. Usually, other people's problems sent Maggie running for the hills. She'd dealt with quite enough of her own in the past and didn't make a habit of getting entangled in anyone else's, but for some reason, with this guy, she'd wanted to fix everything for him.
Then the gunshots had erupted in the bank, she and the gringo cop had stopped the robbery, and he'd driven her to the emergency room where her future boss (who happened to be his father) had dug a bullet out of her culo. Then she and the cop had found the robbery was just a distraction to cover the murder of a bank executive who was about to provide evidence to the FBI on a drugs/sex-slavery/illegal-immigration/money-laundering operation. They'd nearly caused an international incident when they found their liaison with the Mexican government and police was involved in the crimes. Finally, they had brought him and the rest of the organization down, and made it back home, more than a little worse for wear. It had taken them almost two weeks to write all the reports, and the trickiest part proved to be explaining how Steve had been thrown in jail for nearly beating the cojones off Ramírez.
After the trip to Mexico, Maggie had taken a job at Community General as an infectious disease and ER specialist, thumbed her nose at the FBI supervisor who'd spent the last five years breaking his promises to stop dragging her out of the lab and trying and make a field agent of her, and found herself gently but insistently fending off advances from her newest friend, the brave and sexy, troubled gringo cop. After about a month, she'd finally relented. They'd had a few very pleasant dates, and when Mark had gone off to the conference in Houston, Steve had convinced her to take a week off and spend it with him.
Now, here she was, spending a sleepless night at a B&B in a little Northern California town with a Spanish name where she had yet to meet a single person who spoke Spanish. The object of her desires was just a few feet away. She was trying to decide which she needed more, a cigarette, or a cold shower, when she turned on her side again, tossed the pillow away, and opened her eyes to see Steve's form silhouetted in the glow of the bathroom nightlight.
"Maggie?"
"¿Qué quieres?"
Steve shrugged. He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew how he felt.
"I…don't feel like being alone right now."
She lifted the blanket and slid over to make room for him.
"Ven aquí."
"Maggie, are you sure?"
She wasn't sure what would happen, but she was sure she wanted him in her bed eventually, so she said yes.
"Mags, I really don't want…that is…"
"You don't want to have sex. I understand. We are both tired and need sleep, and you don't want to be alone. We can be together here, asleep in the bed as well as we can be together awake and sitting or standing anyplace else."
Steve hesitated. She patted the mattress beside her, and he reluctantly came over and lay down beside her. She curled up close to him and hugged him around his chest. He wrapped his both arms around the long, tanned arm she had thrown over him, pulled it to his face, and kissed it. Then he turned on his side and snuggled back against her, letting her cradle and comfort him yet again.
"Gracias, Maggie."
"De nada, gringo," she murmured on a yawn and cuddled closer, wrapping her arms protectively around him and rubbing soft circles on his stomach.
Soon, Steve heard her breathing even out and her hand stopped its circular motion on his abdomen, and, feeling safe and warm and loved in her arms, he settled down for the night and quickly followed her into dreamland.