The water suddenly stopped, and Michael lifted her out of the tub and quickly wrapped her in a towel. He threw another towel over her head as he swept her against his chest and carried her into the bedroom.
Candlelight flickered through the room, and dozens of roses tucked into vases sat on every available surface. Libby’s tears finally spilled free at the realization that Michael really could be romantic.
Michael set her on the bed, pulled the towel away, and tenderly kissed her on the cheek.
“Don’t ya dare cry,” he whispered, slowly rubbing her hair dry. “You’re not hurt, I no longer want to throttle ya, and Santa Claus won’t bring ya a bureau if ya cry all over his bed.”
“I ruined your surprise,” she croaked, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. “You bought me flowers. And candles. You do know how to be romantic, and I ruined it.”
“Shhh,” he crooned, laying them both down on the bed and gently tucking her up against his side. “Only supper is ruined, lass. The rest of the night is ours to enjoy. Do ya still have stars in your head?”
“No. They’re in the truck.”
He pulled back, his eyes probing and suspicious. “In the truck?” he repeated.
“With the chickadees,” she added, snuggling against him and closing her eyes. She yawned and patted his chest, letting her fingers rest in the silky hair around his nipples.
“You have a beautiful chest.”
He threw one leg over her hip and pulled her against him. “You have a beautiful chest, too,” he said with another sigh. “You may sleep, Libby, but I’m going to wake you up every hour.”
“The condoms are in the drawer.”
“To see if ya have a concussion, lass,” he said with yet another sigh, this one exasperated.
“I don’t.”
“I’m glad. But I’m waking ya up, anyway.”
Libby lifted her head. “Are you going to sneak out again before morning?”
He tucked her back against his chest and held her there. “Nay. Robbie is staying at the Dolans’ tonight. He’s going with Leysa and Rose to Bangor tomorrow to do some shopping.”
“I shopped in Bangor. My truck’s full.”
“Aye. Full of stars, ya said.”
“And other stuff,” Libby mumbled, stifling another yawn.
Michael rearranged her so that her mouth faced up and her breasts pushed against him instead.
“Are ya warming up?” he asked, pulling the quilt over her back. “And are ya hurt anywhere else, other than your head?”
“No, but I am going to ache in the morning.”
“Nay. I’ll see what I can do about your aches… in the morning, lass. Now, go to sleep.”
“Promise you’ll be here?”
“Oh, yes.”
With his words settling over her like a gentle caress, Libby snuggled against Michael and fell asleep in her new bed, content that she was safe from the storm and people-eating puddles.
Michael stared at the ceiling, listening to the gentle rise and fall of Libby’s breathing.
Sleet pelted the window as the storm continued to rage with blatant disregard for anyone unlucky enough to be caught outside.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. He had just come to the end of his patience when he’d heard Libby drive into the garage. He’d been through two hours of hell waiting for her to come home, and the five minutes it had taken her to come inside had been filled with fantasies of throttling the woman for scaring him.
How the hell could he have guessed she’d go check on the chickens first? And that she’d throttle herself before he could?
Guilt was a terrible emotion but one he was sadly familiar with. He’d failed two women in his life, and he had to take extra care that he didn’t fail Libby.
Michael rubbed his chest where she’d hit him with the snowball almost two weeks ago.
She didn’t know it, but she had struck him square in the heart—and left a permanent mark that time would not only deepen but spread, until Libby was so much a part of him that he wouldn’t know how to live without her.
He already couldn’t live without her.
Stars, he thought with a silent chuckle. What had she been talking about? And a date tomorrow night? She’d planned to ask him out, and then she’d intended to bring him back here and seduce him. In her new bed. Which Santa Claus had made.
Well, Santa Claus was suddenly curious.
Michael slowly inched out of bed, carefully wrapping the quilt around Libby and putting one of the pillows up against her back where he had been. He walked softly into the kitchen, put on his boots, and headed into the garage. He closed the huge garage door to keep out the storm and then opened the back door of her truck.
The interior light came on but was shadowed by shopping bags stacked against it.
Michael whistled and shook his head in amazement.
No wonder Libby hadn’t been able to stay awake. She didn’t have a concussion, she was beat tired from shopping. It was a good thing the lady owned a full-sized truck. She needed one for her obvious buying addiction.
Michael started pulling out shopping bags and carrying them into the house, making four trips before he found the chickadees. They were perched on lamps, life-sized little critters flitting around on a birch trunk almost two feet tall. He carried the two lamps into the living room and set one at either end of the mantel. He plugged them in and turned them on, then stepped back to see how they looked.
They looked damned good to him, their light casting a soft glow on the smooth river stones. Satisfied that he’d found Libby’s chickadees a new home, Michael spun on his heel and went back out to the truck.
He tossed the rolled carpet over his shoulder and grabbed two more shopping bags. A thin, colorful package fell out of one of them. He picked it up off the floor of the truck, turned it over, and smiled.
Stars. A gross of stars, the label said, that glowed in the dark and would stick to most surfaces. Michael slid the package into the bag and went back into the kitchen. He dropped the bags onto the table on the way by and continued into the living room, setting the carpet in front of the hearth and rolling it out.
More chickadees, as well as other woodland birds. Perfect. It matched the lamps and fit nicely between the hearth and the couch.
Libby might have ruined his surprise tonight, but when she woke up in the morning, he’
d have another one waiting for her. He went back to the kitchen and started unpacking all the shopping bags, pulling out sheets, curtains, a package that said it was a dust ruffle—whatever the hell that was—and towels.
But the stars kept drawing his attention. What did Libby want with stars? He opened them, pouring them out onto the table. One hundred forty-four, all varying in size. He read the label again and slowly started to laugh. Stick to the ceiling, the instructions said.
Libby wanted to sleep under the stars. Well, dammit, she would. Tonight. Michael kicked off his boots and quietly walked into the bedroom, leaning over Libby to make sure she was sound asleep. He covered her face with the edge of the quilt before turning on the light, then carefully reached up and started sticking the stars on the ceiling.
He made the Big Dipper over the north end of the bed, then moved to the foot and laid out Orion. He clustered several of the stars in a long row to mimic the Milky Way and set out as many constellations as he could make.
He needed more stars. There was still half the ceiling to fill. He stepped off the bed and went back to the kitchen table, dumping out whatever shopping bags were left. He found six more packages of stars.
Six? Hell, had she planned on doing the whole house?
Michael sat down at the table and poured the last of the wine into his glass, took a long drink, and stared at all the stuff Libby had bought.
She was nesting. Sitting in front of him were all the signs of a woman settling in. Libby had adopted Maine as her new home and was surrounding herself with its trappings.