And I don't have the right / to ask where you go at night
But the waves hit my head / to think someone's in your bed
I don't want you to get it on / with nobody else but me

18th August, 1888 — Magdalena's, Diagon Alley

Everything in his life might be crap. That was true. But Lorcan Byrne was an adaptable being, and so he had made admirable moves towards being good with the fact that everything in his life was crap, if he did say so himself.

Sealing his status as the biggest disappointment in a family full of loons? That was grand. Eloping with a woman who didn't love him, maybe didn't even like him anymore? That was grand, too; that had always been part of the plan. Feigning to his wife's little brother all summer that everything was fine and dandy between them whilst he came home every night and slept on Maggie's floor because not wanting to sleep with him had naturally evolved into not wanting to sleep with him, even innocently, because nothing was right between them at all? Grand. Abso-fucking-lutely grand.

It was late when he made it back to Diagon Alley tonight, the shopfronts all dimmed, the bakery quiet too, crisp and clean in the shadow through the front window. There was a glow from the upstairs window, and the kitchen there, an echo of a laugh he could hear on the stairs. Maggie's laugh, an honest sound he hadn't heard in - well, longer than he cared to admit. Cane was probably entertaining her. Well, good. She could use some laughter in her life; it'd make up for all his misery.

The door of the kitchen was slightly ajar, and Lorcan had meant to sidle in with a smile, seeing what they were murmuring about in there, but as he glanced in he froze. It wasn't her brother - it was past his bedtime, probably - no, it was Beasley. Beasley, who worked in the shop for her, who had rubbed Lorcan the wrong way from the beginning and who had somehow graduated from cleaning the bakery counters to being up in their house, in their kitchen, with a clean plate and an open bottle of wine and all the husbandly warmth Maggie could possibly desire.

This was... less grand. Less grand, like the stab of disappointment when a newly-iced bun fumbled from his grasp and hit the floor before he'd had the chance to taste it; like... like getting fucking impaled by a sword - not just cleanly through, a nice quick painless death, but a torturous process, the steel being roughed around inside him like a butter churn. He felt a little sick. If he stood here any longer, Lorcan thought his intestines might start spilling out of his gut onto the floor.

He turned on his heel, quick, and marched to the bedroom - her bedroom - and slammed the door a little louder than he'd have liked, because now she would know he was home, but if he hadn't, he wasn't sure he'd have had the room to breathe. None of this made any sense, he thought, stricken, pulling off his mediwizard robes as though the clothes were to blame for constricting him, and patting around senselessly for his nightclothes. If he could be asleep - or look asleep - when she came in, then at least he wouldn't have to assemble an expression enough to speak to her right now, because what on earth did he have to say? Merlin, maybe he'd be better off leaving now, and should go kip on a stretcher in a hospital closet so he wasn't in her way.

Or maybe Maggie had come around on the merits of the kitchen table, these days.

He thought he heard approaching footsteps, and flinched in shock. Fuck, where was his nightshirt?

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The following 1 user Likes Lorcan Byrne's post:1 user Likes Lorcan Byrne's post
   Bella Scrimgeour

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It had been one of those kind of days at the bakery. Not matter what headway they seemed to make, they were always behind and struggling to keep up with the hectic flow of business. It was likely because the fog had lifted and word of mouth had finally reached further into Hogsmeade. At least, that was Maggie's hope. But, as it was, she knew she was going to have to get more help hired if she was going to be able to keep her head above water. Mr. Beasley and Cane had been pretty much stuck up front manning the front end and Maggie running about in the back like a chicken with her head cut off just trying to keep up with the demand of the sweet baked goods. But by the time the work day had ended, the shop was an utter disaster.

The three of them had quickly set to work on cleaning everything, focusing on the front end of the shop before Maggie shooed her little brother off to get cleaned up and something to eat before he had to be off to bed. Not that she imagined he'd actually go to bed. She was sure he would spend most of the night he should be sleeping reading. She wasn't his mother though and she would hardly step in there. He was old enough to know what was best for himself after all.

That had left her to clean up the back by herself. Or it would have been. Mr. Beasley wasn't having any of it and was set on helping her to clean up. They'd gotten it done in a relatively quick time so she'd invited him upstairs to eat some dinner. It was the least she could do, after all. He'd been such a great help since he'd started working in the bakery even if he was an awful flirt. He'd become something of a good friend to Maggie in a time when she'd been clearly struggling. He'd always managed to bring a smile to her even in her worst of days. So when they'd started drinking a bottle of wine, it was no surprise that they would have gotten carried away in conversation and laughter. She had been sitting on the opposite side of the table, quite respectable really, but she had laughed quite a deal more than she had in a long time.

Just as she'd gotten up from the table to see to the dirty dishes and Mr. Beasley set about getting his coat on to leave, Maggie heard a door slam. She turned back to her shop helper with eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He looked just as surprised at the sound and was quick to take his leave. Maggie quickly pulled the apron off that she'd still been wearing and made her way down the hallway to see what on Earth was going on.

Opening the door, she was met with darkness but with the shape of a figure clearly in her room. It was Lorcan. It had to be. Right? What kind of burglar would break in and then slam a door? But still unsure, she quickly whipped her wand out from her pocket and cast lumos to see in the darkness.

She was met with the sight of Lorcan in a pair of pajama trousers and.. no shirt. She gulped at the sight, cheeks instantly flushed as she stepped further in to close the bedroom door behind her. "Everything alright?" she asked, her tone hesitant and wary but her eyes glued quite firmly to the bared skin she was seeing.

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Lorcan started almost guiltily when light flared up from her wand, illuminating the room all of a sudden so that he felt as though he'd been caught at the scene of a crime. Not that he was doing anything wrong, but - Lorcan was fairly certain she had only barged in to be annoyed at him, to tell him off for - intruding, or storming around so loudly, or - oh, he didn't know. Ruining her evening, probably - inevitably - like his very presence meant the stormclouds rolling in.

He was still motionless, frozen in the process of patting around for his nightshirt in what had been the dark. Alright, this looked a little strange. Lorcan glanced sidelong, to see if the shirt was in sight, but all he could see was his mediwizard robes pooled over the chair. He probably ought to have continued searching, and avoiding her gaze - but curiosity got the best of him, and he looked up. Her cheeks were flushed, so she must be vexed about something, and she was staring hard, but there was surprisingly little anger in her tone.

Everything alright, what a question. If only she knew. If only he could explain the feeling, the tightness in his chest, a hideous sort of ache that had burrowed its way so suddenly into his bones at the sight of her there in the kitchen. He couldn't say any of this to her face, because what would that achieve? Humiliate himself a little bit more, as if their first night in this place hadn't been final enough. Apparently he'd let the scorching memory of that fade too fast, or he'd know better than to be even thinking things might change.

"I'm fine," he said blandly, non-committal, offering her a shrug that felt false even to him, a little too exposed. "It's fine. You can -" he gestured vaguely at the doorway, as if to urge her back towards the kitchen - "carry on, you know. I didn't mean to interrupt you."

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It wasn't until he actually turned to look at her and some that she was able to tear her gaze away from his bared back and then chest. His turning only brought more of a blush to her cheeks. Trying to focus on his face, she remained silent for a minute. Even as he told her she could "carry on," she decided to move further into the room instead.

The room wasn't overly large, that was for sure, but it felt decidedly smaller with him in it. Moving to a wardrobe, she pulled a clean nightshirt from it and offered it to him. "I got laundry done," she said simply before moving over to sit on her bed after he'd taken it.

Her eyes feel to his bared chest again, clearly unable to avoid the draw of it. "And there wasn't anything really to interrupt," she said softly, dragging her eyes back to his face, "It was a long and rough day. He stayed late to help clean things up so I fed him dinner. I saved some if you're hungry." She wanted so bad to just get back to the way things had been before things had gotten complicated and confusing but she didn't know how and it was the most frustrating thing ever.

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The following 1 user Likes Magdalena Byrne's post:1 user Likes Magdalena Byrne's post
   Elias Grimstone

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She stepped towards him instead, and Lorcan swallowed uncomfortably, not sure how he was going to keep up the nonchalance he needed if she started looking any closer. Instead, he watched, confused, as she headed for the wardrobe, handed him a nightshirt - he was even more perplexed when she moved to her bed next instead of leaving.

"Thanks," he said, a little confounded. He paused in bunching up the shirt to get at the sleeves - before he could put it over his head, and stop feeling so underdressed - as she answered him. Why was she being so nice about this? So soft and understanding, saving him dinner - oh. It didn't take Lorcan long to figure it out. She wouldn't have meant for him to see their dinner, would she? That was why she felt the need to explain herself, why she was being so conciliatory. Maggie felt bad for him. Sorry for him. Because she knew how he felt, and because he was pathetic, and because she had been trying to break it gently that she'd found someone else.

"I don't think he thought it was nothing," Lorcan interjected, cursing himself for sounding more bitter than he'd meant. It hadn't looked like nothing. Well, it had looked like dinner, but - Maggie hadn't ever looked happier, and he wasn't going to slash her chances at that again. Beasley certainly wouldn't be complaining. And Lorcan - Lorcan was going to suck it up and deal with it. Make things clear. "I mean," he said, clearing his throat forcefully, and pulling the nightshirt on over his head to steel himself, "I mean, you don't have to pretend for my sake. I get it. Fair is fair. Look," he said, snatching up his mediwizard robes as though he were going to pull them on over his pyjamas, "I'll go out again, and then you won't have to feel guilty." And he wouldn't have to lie awake, staring at the darkened ceiling, and dwell on Maggie being with someone else all night long.

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Maggie just simply nodded in response to his thanks. She figured it was something simple she could do to show she cared. Because, truly, she did. She cared more than she'd ever really thought she'd have been able to admit. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to admit it. Not without him thinking she was absolutely crazy. It was a terrifying thought.

But then everything seemed to take a drastic turn. She was a bit confused, not quite sure what he meant or what he was getting at. Did he think that there was something more with Mr. Beasley? Was he..jealous?

She stared at him, mouth slightly agape and with her eyes wide in shock. As he reached for his robes and told her he'd leave so she didn't have to feel guilty, she got to her feet. "Lorcan, wait," she said softly and reached out to grab his arm, "Please just stay and talk to me."

Her grip tightened just slightly but a finger gently caressed his arm as she took in a deep breath. "There's nothing going on between him and I and there never will be," she said in a slightly more firm tone but still far from angry, "No matter what had happened or what will happen, I take those vows seriously."

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Honestly, he didn't know why she was staring like that. Was she really surprised?

He was surprised, at least, when she grasped him by the arm, her whole demeanour somewhere confusing between gentle and firm, the touch almost tender; Lorcan glanced up at the ceiling, pained. Now she had him trapped here. He was trying to be an adult about this, so he couldn't just storm out - but at the same time, how could he take this? What was there to talk about?

Though he didn't protest, he could feel the grimace growing on his face as she spoke, and he balled up the robes he was holding and let them drop to the floor in defeat. But, if she had expected the grimace to soften at her explanation, Lorcan thought despairingly, she was utterly, utterly wrong. "Come on, he's been after you since this place opened," he countered first, far more certain than she. "And I don't mind..." Lorcan declared, although his insides were writhing furiously at the barefaced lie, "Do what you want. No one's expecting you to be a saint, least of all me." (She might have expected him to try a little harder to match her morals at first, but he'd already gone and dashed her hopes of that, hadn't he, way back with the lonely hearts. So it was her turn now, and that was fine.)

Something about her last remark saw his stare shoot back to her, though, his eyebrows crashing together incredulously. "Wait a minute, now you take those vows seriously? Since when?" he scoffed, folding his arms defensively, trying to slip out of her hold and step back in the process. Since they hadn't even kissed at the ceremony? Right, of course. "They've always been a sham and you know it. You told me this was all convenience." Where did she get off, forgetting that now, pretending she was the perfect wife, pretending that he'd asked for this and she'd - wanted it?

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Maggie just watched him as he made whatever excuses he could manage. She was well aware that Mr. Beasley was a notorious flirt, but that's how it had all started with Lorcan, too. She supposed it made sense he would think she'd fall for the whole routine all over again. It made sense, in a way. She, however, had no interest in the other man. He was nice enough and his help around the shop was greatly appreciated. But, beyond that, she had no plans to encourage him. Even if it seemed Lorcan was giving her the go ahead to do so.

Her grip loosened just slightly when he mentioned not expecting her to be a saint though. Her gaze fell from his in that moment and she let him pull away from her as he folded his arms and took a step back. She winced, just slightly, as he continued. She couldn't blame him for being angry with her. She had made a point to him that it was all for a convenience. It was silly for her to hold a claim to believing in vows even though she'd pushed him away that first night.

Taking a step back of her own, she felt her skirts brush against her bed once again. She sat down once more, a sigh escaping her as she folded her hands in her lap. She was tired. There was no anger or fight left in her when it came to Lorcan and that hurt. Damn did it hurt.

"Convenience, sham," she shrugged, still unable to meet his gaze. She simply looked at her hands in her lap as she fidgeted with them there. "Whatever it is or was, it doesn't mean I intend to go sleep with someone else," she said softly, "It doesn't mean I don't care. No matter how you feel or what you think of me, I've never stopped caring." With a deep breath, she finally glanced up to him with defeat more than evident on her features. "Vows were made and if I'm to ever share a bed with anyone, it'll be with my husband," she said, her voice catching slightly as she continued, "Or I guess I'll die a virgin. Whichever comes first I guess."

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Even as his frustrations rose and fell, she didn't seem to rise to it. All she did was sit back down. If he'd wanted to, he could have ended the conversation here and left. A part of him wanted to, actually, so that he didn't have to hear the answers to all those questions he'd already known. She was a good person, big surprise. She was a good person and now she was destined to be unhappy, and it was all because of him.

But he stayed, and waited, swaying a little on his feet in pure, dizzying anticipation. It doesn't mean I don't care, she said, and something bloomed and burst in his chest in an instant, like spring in full force, but the blossoms blew away mere moments later, because: caring about vows and commitments and arrangements did not mean caring about him. He thought she cared about him a little, she always had, because that was just how she was - and she would see the good in him, and had always used to enjoy his company, had put up with him from the start even though he had only been a stupid flirt. But she did not care like that - like he did - and Lorcan wasn't surprised about this, but he didn't know how to tell her.

If only she had married someone she might one day care for enough. He made a strangled noise in his throat when she'd finished, trying to construct words out of a shapeless lump of sorry. "I know you care," Lorcan admitted - not enough, not enough, but he wouldn't say it, he couldn't bear to say it - so instead he just bit his lip and edged nearer, dropping down onto the edge of the bed, close enough beside her that all the regret in him might radiate into her without him having to explain it. "I never wanted you to be miserable, you know?"

"I wish you had a better husband," he added, with a sigh and a shake of his head and a hollow laugh. He should never have proposed the idea in the first place, but - he hadn't thought about how unhappy she would turn out to be. His voice got a little quieter, a little more sorry. "I wish you'd married someone you wanted."

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The following 1 user Likes Lorcan Byrne's post:1 user Likes Lorcan Byrne's post
   Edric Umbridge

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Maggie was stunned into silence rather quickly as the man before her seemed to deflate in such a way. She hadn't seen this side of Lorcan before. It was always witty banter, pure lust, or anger. Those were the versions of him she'd seen, the ones she knew. Of course, she new the flirtatious side best. It was what had lured her in to the point to where she could have fallen for him as she had. But she hadn't seen that side in months. Not since they'd actually gotten married. Everything had changed then. Everything had been ruined.

She bit on her own lip as she watched him, blue eyes wide as she took it all in. The thought of him wishing she'd married someone she wanted hurt her more than she'd thought it could. She knew she'd emphasized the whole convenience thing but she'd have never actually gone through with the marriage if she hadn't wanted to be with him. It didn't matter if it had started out as a means to an end. But, perhaps, that was what had hurt him most. That she'd only done it to get what she wanted and thought he'd been expendable. It broke her heart. Mainly because that had been the main rationale. And in the process, she'd clearly hurt him. And bad.

Tentatively, she reached out to him, her hand resting on his arm again. She just rested it there, a soft and gentle touch as she tried to smile at him as best she could but there was no denying the pain within her eyes. "Lorcan, there's not a better husband out there for me," she said softly, doing her best to keep her eyes on his features, "I married someone I wanted to." She'd clearly just been awful at showing that and she wasn't sure if she could even salvage everything that had happened.

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She placed a gentle hand on his arm. He tensed up, at first, if only because they had not so much as touched each other in months, and suddenly he felt like he'd been starving from it. But he forced himself to relax, and as the moments ticked by, the pressure of her hand began to feel a comfort. He glanced at Maggie as she spoke, sounding as gentle as her hand felt, and he felt another burst of something in his chest from it. And then immediately felt terrible again, because it was more than he deserved, and he didn't know how all the events of the summer had brought them here, to a place where all her dreams were a mess and he was getting comforted about it.  

"I'm not sure that's true, Cinderella," Lorcan said with a wry smile, finding the first of her phrases easier to counter. Maybe she had wanted to marry him. But if she had wanted to marry him back in spring, she would not feel the same way when she finally opened her eyes and understood him properly.  

"I told myself I was being selfless or something, y'know," he confessed, with a touch of rue at himself and all the decisions he had ever made in the past in it, "offering to marry you, like that. Like it was some kind of good deed, and I was only doing it for your sake. But I - I'm not that kind of person. I don't do selfless things, Maggie." He supposed he should be ashamed of himself for that, for how he had always been - but at least honesty was a start. He forced himself to stare at her squarely, so she knew he was being serious. "I think I was just being selfish all along. Because I... liked you, and it was so easy to just -" He shrugged and trailed off, head bowed forwards again. Well, he hadn't gotten her, had he? He didn't have her, and he was only so miserable now because things hadn't worked out the way he wanted. He was a terrible human being, and that was why he was so bad at doing things for anyone else's happiness but his own. Served him right, probably.

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The following 1 user Likes Lorcan Byrne's post:1 user Likes Lorcan Byrne's post
   Edric Umbridge

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Maggie felt the bit of tension when she'd reached out to him but he didn't pull away from her, not like he had before. She wasn't sure how else to react to it though beyond simply leaving her hand there to rest gently on his own arm. She wasn't accustomed to any of this. Feelings and frustrations. It wasn't in her realm of known areas. Really, she was used to ignoring things and going about her business. Whenever she'd been made fun of as a girl, she'd simply withdrew further into herself and avoided others. It had been easier that way. But she couldn't do that with Lorcan, not anymore anyways. She was growing to hate the tension in the air between them and something needed to be done. What, exactly, she wasn't sure.

His use of the nickname had her smiling though, a true smile. It'd been so long since they'd been able to joke and laugh with one another. She realized in that moment that she sincerely missed it. He'd always had a way of brightening things for her even when they'd seemed beyond dismal. And even in that moment, when there was still so much tension, he had a way of lightening things. It was just for a brief moment though.

He looked to her straight on then and began to explain further. Her smile faltered some as he spoke, her heart aching by what she was hearing. She'd never really seen his proposal as a selfless act though she supposed she could understand it now that he explained it. It had just been an absurd and even slightly crazy idea. She'd brushed it off initially but then she'd turned the tables on him and proposed to him. If anyone had been doing something in their own self interests, it'd been her. She was the one that had gotten the most out of their marriage. He'd just gotten a leg shackle that made it harder for him to continue doing the things he was accustomed to doing. And for that she felt guilty.

But then he said he liked her. She stared, obviously in shock, but he'd looked down again. She'd always kind of figured he'd liked her to an extent but it seemed to be more than that in that moment and she felt her heart rate quicken at the very thought. She hated to get her hopes up, to think that maybe there was and could be more than just a convenience between the two of them.

Hesitantly, the hand on his arm came up to touch under his chin and bring his face up so that he looked to her again. "Liked? she asked, a slight emphasis on the word, "As in past tense?" It was a scary question to ask. Because if it was a past tense sort of like.. well.. she didn't know how she'd be able to handle that.

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It was hopeless, wasn't it? Trying to read her face. A smile, and then not; something that might be surprise, but maybe not; she might feel the same, and she damn well might not. He couldn't learn anything by looking, so it was better not to.

But of course she was forcing him to now, a light hand coaxing him upwards, so that Lorcan might be laid out transparently for her all again. He'd already admitted more than he had ever meant to, ever dreamt of - what was he trying to do, here? Confess, so that he could look like a better person, a person he was not: someone who might be deserving of her, someone she might learn to love?

Liked, past tense. It was what he had said - thoughtlessly, but true. Lorcan jerked his head in a fractional nod. If she - anyone - had asked him a few months back, when she'd just been a pretty baker girl through a glazed window, he might have said differently. Called that infatuation love, like he always did. It wasn't hard to be in love; all his attachments had been strong. Lorcan had spent more time being besotted than not - captivated, enamoured, enthralled, all of it - and every girl was as worthy of his attention as the next.  

"That was then," he murmured. And then, abruptly, he had thrown his lot in with just one; and what had she turned out to be? The one girl he couldn't have. And the feeling, whatever he had felt for her before, was no longer the same. Liking her had been buoyant - now that they spent every day in stark proximity, everything in him had turned to lead. Well. Amidst the endless torture, there were moments when he could feel the leaden feeling fracture: glances he caught of her at work, kneading or kneeling at the oven or determinedly fixing the displays, messy and oblivious and consumed by her toil; the way she had just smiled, bright and unselfconscious; her touch under his chin that had made something dangerous spark in his gut again.

He breathed out slowly, drinking her in, no more in control of himself than he had ever been. "It's a little more than like, these days." Lorcan laughed, partly abashed at himself and partly amused, because it was ridiculous, not just a little but a lot, and she probably knew it, especially from the way he'd been acting, especially tonight. He might as well just out with it. Though if it had taken her this long to tell, maybe he hadn't been as obvious as he thought?

His gaze dipped, briefly, to her mouth. Torturing himself, again. "I'm mad about you, Maggie."

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The tension was ridiculous and Maggie soon felt her heart sinking at his words. It was her turn to feel the pain, it seemed, and there was no denying the flicker of pain in her eyes at his first three words. There was a silence that feel between them after, her hand falling almost limply to her lap as she tried to wrap her mind around what he'd said. It was devastating, really, but she wasn't sure what else she should have expected. Ever since that first night there in their kitchen, life had been hell. It had been her fault then, too.

If she'd have just let things continue the way she'd really wanted, perhaps they'd have never wound up the way they had. If she'd just let herself enjoy his presence and touch.. Some many ifs and possibilities that there could have been. But now she'd ruined it. He no longer liked her and truthfully she had no one to blame but herself.

She'd just about resolved to give him a simple nod and take her leave. She didn't want to push him toward something he no longer wanted. But as she had braced herself and looked to him to continue, she found him still looking at her and continuing on. Her heart rate picked up again as she fought the butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes widened slightly at the word more and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

Blinking in a bit of shock when he admitted to being mad about her, there was no way of stopping the broad grin that spread over her lips. Any words that she may have had to say before quickly left her mind and she simply acted. Leaning forward, she kissed him. It was far from a soft and tender kiss, one filled with a passion and longing that had perhaps been suppressed for too long. She found herself moving as close to him as she possibly could, nearly in his lap as a hand grasped at his night shirt and the other looped around to the back of his neck to pull him even closer. Surely, in that moment, actions spoke much louder than any words she could have managed to say.

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She hadn't said anything in answer.

But she had smiled.

And then the torture was over, more abruptly than it had begun: Maggie's mouth was on his, her hands on him, and it was more than he'd been envisioning. Lorcan would have let out a laugh if he could, startled and delighted. He should have stopped to consider what she meant by this - if she meant anything at all. Was this enough answer in itself, really? He wanted to say yes. But - just because he'd admitted that didn't mean she felt any differently, deep down. He didn't mean for her to do this simply because he'd all but asked for it, do it out of some sense of obligation, repayment for his sacrifice.

But satisfaction was swelling up too quickly for thought, and she was nearly in his lap and not having his hands on her now would be tantamount to a crime, so Lorcan let his arms snake securely around her waist, pulling her in the rest of the way, and careening forwards to keep kissing her back - keep kissing her as if it could make up for the months he had suffered from not being able to kiss her - keep kissing her as though they could pick up right where they'd left off on their first night here.

Except, you know, in her room this time.

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Feeling his hands around her waist had Maggie reeling with excitement. The months since their first night in the apartments above the bakery had been torturous, downright miserable. But it felt as if they were going to be able to pick right back up from where they'd left off. And, this time, she had no desire or even thought of stopping it before it could reach the ultimate heights of passion. She'd longed and waited to feel his lips against hers again that finally getting to feel them had her entire body aching and burning.

Eventually, however, she had to catch her breath. As she sat on his lap, awkwardly straddling his legs some with a hand clutching tightly to his nightshirt and the other at the nape of his neck, she pressed her forehead against his as she worked at getting her ragged breaths to calm down some.

"First," she said slowly between her ragged breaths, "I've no intentions of stopping this tonight." She hoped that didn't make her sound like some little wanton hussy, but she wanted to let him know that even though she'd stopped the kiss to catch her breath she wasn't about to ruin the night for them. Again.

"Second, I've been mad about you since day one," she added, smiling a bit sheepishly as she admitted such a thing, "I had just never expected you to think of me in the same way." And that had been the crux of the problem for her. Afraid that any and all feelings she had toward him wouldn't be reciprocated. It was easier to ignore said feelings than to risk having her heart crushed if he didn't feel the same way.

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