But as nice as it was, it just wasn’t enough.
“I guess this bed isn’t sturdy after all,” she whispered in challenge. “You seem to be worried it will break.”
He stopped.
Libby smiled up at him. “I won’t break, either, Michael.”
He gave a small growl, covered her mouth, and moved again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm. Libby clung to his shoulders and moaned her pleasure out loud.
He stopped again. “Don’t do that,” he hissed, his brow covered with sweat, his eyes dark with passion, and his arms trembling as he held himself off her.
“Do what?”
“That thing,” he whispered desperately. “There, that,” he hissed, pulling nearly out of her. “I want this to last.”
Libby’s muscles involuntarily tightened, and Michael hissed again, pulling completely out and rolling onto his back.
“That’s a terrible thing to do to a man who’s trying to hold on to his control.”
Libby turned on her elbow and patted his chest. “I’m not doing it on purpose. I’m not even sure what ‘it’ is.”
He picked her up as if she were a feather and carefully slid her on top of him. Libby sucked in her breath, dug her nails into his chest, and moaned. She set the pace this time and indulged herself in this newfound freedom to wiggle and move and drive them both mad.
And she was doing a fine job of it, until Michael reached down and caressed her, just as he had that first night in front of the hearth.
Libby’s last coherent thought as she climaxed was that the moose on her headboard had a silly smile on its face.
Chapter Twenty-one
“You have six toeson each foot,” Libby told Michael, staring down at the bottom of the tub since she couldn’t look anywhere else without getting a face full of soap.
“Nay!” he shouted in horror. “I do!”
He also looked down, his hip pushing Libby into the shower wall. The spray from the showerhead hit her square in the face. She turned so she wouldn’t drown and gave Michael a sharp poke with her elbow to keep him from crushing her.
“This isn’t working,” she sputtered. “You’re hogging all the water, and I’m getting squished.”
He tried to pick her up to set her in front of him, but she slipped through his fingers like unset Jell-O. Libby shrieked, scrambled to stay upright, and got another mouthful of water. Michael quickly used one hand to protect her head from slamming into the wall and wrapped his other arm around her waist before she could fall.
“And you worry about us wearing a helmet,” he said with a laugh. “You’re a bit accident-prone, aren’t ya?”
“I am not. This shower wasn’t built for two people,” she sputtered, finally giving up and stepping out of the tub. She peeked back past the curtain at Michael. “Not when one of those people is a giant.”
He quickly rinsed off, having to duck to rinse his hair, and stepped out beside her.
“Your turn now,” he said, holding the curtain back. “I’ll just stand here and watch, to make sure ya don’t kill yourself.”
A loud knocking suddenly came from the kitchen.
Libby gasped and grabbed a towel to wrap around herself.
Michael just closed his eyes. “I know that sound,” he said with a sigh. “That’s a cane knocking against your door.”
Libby didn’t gasp again, she shrieked. “Oh, my God. You have to hide,” she said, shoving at Michael. “No. Wait. Get dressed, and crawl out the bedroom window.”
He gave her an incredulous look. Then he took his time wrapping his towel around his waist before he sauntered into the kitchen to greet their urgently knocking, uninvited visitor.
Libby ran into her bedroom and disappeared inside her closet, not coming out until she was fully dressed. When she walked past a mirror on her way to the kitchen, she noticed her hair was standing on end and she still had soap in one ear.
Dammit. Why did Father Daar have to come to breakfast this morning? If he really was a wizard, he wasn’t a very bright one. He was always popping up at the most embarrassing times.
Libby stared at herself in the mirror, watching her face suddenly fill with horror. Oh, God. He knew. Father Daar knew about her gift—and he was in the kitchen, with Michael, whodidn’t know about it.
And he never could know. Michael would think she was a freak or something—an aberration. And he’d probably never let her anywhere near his son again.
She had to talk to Father Daar before he said something. Michael still had to get dressed, and that was her chance. Libby took a deep breath, rubbed the soap from her ear, and ran her fingers through her hair. Suddenly, having Michael greeting the priest wearing only a towel was the least of her worries. So, as calmly as possible and with a smile plastered on her face, Libby finally walked into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Father,” she said, going to the counter and starting the coffee. “Did you weather the storm okay?”
Both men eyed her suspiciously.
“Michael, why don’t you get dressed while I make breakfast?” she instructed as she sliced the bread. “And could you go check and see if the girls gave us any more eggs?”
He appeared to be rooted to the floor, water dripping from his hair, his arms crossed over his chest, and his towel barely clinging to his hips by one small tuck of its corner.
“I already checked yar girls,” Father Daar said, pulling eggs from his pockets. “And I only found these three,” he said, glaring at Michael as if he were the uninvited guest.
“I’m hoping ya got more in the fridge, ’cause I’m mighty hungry this morning.”
Libby shot her own glare at Michael, nodding her head toward the bedroom, silently telling him to go get dressed. He smiled, tucked his thumbs into the waist of his towel, and slowly strolled into the bedroom.
Libby waited until the door shut, then went up to Father Daar just as he was opening the fridge. She grabbed him by the arms, forcing him to face her. “I don’t want you to say anything to Michael about my gift,” she whispered. “I don’t want him to know.”
Daar raised one bushy white eyebrow. “And why would that be?” he asked, not bothering to whisper at all.
“He’ll think I’m crazy.”
“MacBain?” he asked in surprise. “Nay, girl. He’s the last person who would think such a thing.”
“I’m not taking that chance. Promise me you won’t say anything.”
Both of his brows rose. “Do ya truly think ya can keep something like that a secret?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “Libby, hiding yar gift from MacBain will cause ya far more trouble than the gift itself. Do ya have any idea what the man is capable of if his temper gets riled?” He visibly shuddered and stepped back, out of her grip. “I’d rather not be a party to that, if ya don’t mind.”
“I’m not trying to deceive him. I’m trying to protect him.”
“From what?” Daar asked, frowning.
“From me. From whatever this is I’ve got.”
“It’s not a disease,” he snapped. “It’s a gift.”
“It might as well be a disease,” she snapped back, getting a bit angry herself.
He sighed, scratched his beard, and studied her with sagacious regard. “Libby,” he earnestly began. “Trying to hide it from MacBain will only compound your troubles. It takes a powerful lot of energy to keep a secret. Energy that could be better spent understanding your gift instead of trying to ignore it.”
“What are ya trying to ignore?” Michael asked, tucking his shirt into his belt as he walked out of the bedroom and over to the counter. He poured himself a cup of coffee.
“What should Libby ignore?” he repeated when neither of them answered. He turned and looked at Libby, lifting one brow in question.
“Ah—the mystery of who made my bed,” she quickly prevaricated, shooting a glare at Daar when he snorted.