Chapter 4 Steamy Hour

Maeve's POV

I opened the bathroom door, steam billowing around me, and nearly jumped out of my skin — Herman was standing there in the dim hallway, his tall figure looming ominously and blocking the way to my bedroom.

"You know there is a consequence to your mistake, right?" His voice was dangerously soft.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I instinctively glanced back at the bathroom trash bin. Then I remembered: before my shower, I had already dug the pregnancy test packaging from the bottom, watching as the cardboard blackened and curled in the lighter's flame until nothing remained but ash that I had washed down the sink.

The memory helped steady my nerves. He had no evidence to accuse me of the pregnancy.

"I don't know what mistake you're referring to," I said, forcing my voice to remain even despite my nightgown offering little protection against his scrutinizing gaze.

His dark eyes narrowed as they swept over me. "This morning. Who did you meet?"

Relief flooded through me as I realized he didn't know about the pregnancy test. This was about something else—something I could handle. I allowed my shoulders to relax slightly, though I kept my expression carefully neutral.

"I ran into Eugene outside Maple Creek Coffee," I said, matching his gaze with what I hoped was the right amount of casual indifference.

"Ran into?" His voice carried a dangerous edge. "Tell me exactly what happened. Every detail."

I took a deep breath, preparing to navigate this minefield. "I was getting my usual coffee. He was walking past, probably headed to a meeting. We exchanged a few polite words, nothing more."

"What exactly did he say to you?" Herman stepped closer, his presence filling the doorway. I could smell his cologne now, that expensive scent that usually meant trouble.

"He said hello, asked how I was doing." I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears. "I said I was fine, and that I needed to go. That was all."

"Did he touch you?" Herman's fingers suddenly wrapped around my wrist, not quite painful but a clear warning.

"No! Of course not." I shook my head emphatically. "It was a completely innocent encounter. There were people everywhere — you can ask anyone at the coffee shop."

His grip loosened slightly, but his scrutiny didn't waver. "But you was acting strange earlier, Maeve, when Mother mentioned the wedding."

I felt my heart rate spike again. It wasn't Eugene that had caused that reaction—it was the sudden rescheduled checkup threatening to unravel everything. But I couldn't tell Herman that.

Yet, before I could formulate a response, he closed the distance again. His cologne—subtle notes of cedar and bergamot—filled my senses as his fingers traced along my jawline. The touch was possessive, demanding.

"You are mine," he breathed against my lips, and then his mouth claimed mine in a bruising kiss. I gasped, and he took advantage of the moment to plunge deeper, his tongue seeking mine with desperate intensity. My hands unconsciously gripped his shirt as he guided me backward until my spine met the cool surface of the counter.

The forbidden nature of our situation hit me with the impact—his family just downstairs, blissfully unaware of what was happening in this pristine bathroom. His sister's laughter echoed from the garden, making me flinch.

"Herman," I managed between kisses, "we can't... not here..."

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his breathing ragged. "Then stop making me so jealous," he growled, frustration and desire mingling in his voice. His fingers tangled in my still wet hair, pulling me closer. The possessiveness in his touch sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Stop making me want to remind you who you belong to."

His other hand, rough but tender, slid down to my hip, bunching the delicate fabric of my dress. The cool air against my skin made the situation more pronounced, more electric. I could hear Maria downstairs, her voice a distant distraction as she called everyone for dessert.

"Someone could come upstairs," I protested weakly, my resolve crumbling as my body betrayed me, arching instinctively into his touch.

With a measured, deliberate motion, his hand slid up to encircle my throat, thumb pressing gently against my pulse point. The gesture made my breath catch in my chest. "Then you'll have to be quiet, won't you?" he murmured, dark satisfaction coloring his voice. His other hand drifted to my lips, tracing them with a delicate, almost purposeful touch. "Open your mouth," he commanded softly. "Suck."

I parted my lips instinctively, my breath hitching as he slipped two fingers into my mouth. The intimacy of the act sent a rush of heat through me, my knees threatening to give out. He pressed his fingers against my tongue, directing each tantalizing movement, playing with the sensitive muscle until a soft whimper escaped my throat, betraying the power he held over me.

Satisfied with my response, he withdrew his fingers only to spin me around to face the still-foggy mirror, his chest pressed firmly against my back, the hardness of his desire unmistakable as it pressed against me, renewing my own fervent craving. The mirror reflected our clandestine embrace, each breath and touch immortalized in the hazy glass. His eyes, dark and feral, locked onto mine with a predatory gleam.

"Maeve," he whispered, his voice a husky rasp in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "I want you to see exactly how much you belong to me."