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. The glow of the bathroom light cast long shadows across his face, making his sharp features appear even more severe. His presence was like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating, and I felt the air thicken around me.

"You know there is a consequence to your mistake, right?" His voice was dangerously soft, each word dripping with a quiet menace that made my stomach twist.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, frantic and desperate to escape. I instinctively glanced back at the bathroom trash bin, my mind racing. 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 of the tiny embers flickering and dying in the porcelain basin helped steady my nerves. He had no evidence to accuse me of the pregnancy. No proof. Nothing but his suspicions at most.

"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, lingering on the curve of my shoulder, the way my hair clung to my neck in wet tendrils. "This morning. Who did you meet?"

Relief flooded through me like a cool wave, washing away some of the tension coiled in my chest. 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, sharp enough to cut through the fragile calm I had managed to maintain. "Tell me exactly what happened. Every detail."

I took a deep breath, the scent of steam and soap still lingering in the air, and prepared 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 like a predator cornering its prey. I could smell his cologne now, that expensive scent of cedar and bergamot that usually meant trouble. It wrapped around me, suffocating and inescapable.

"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, his grip firm and unyielding.

"No! Of course not." I shook my head emphatically, my damp hair brushing against my cheeks. "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. His eyes bore into mine, searching for cracks in my facade. "But you was acting strange earlier, Maeve, when Mother mentioned the wedding."

I felt my heart rate spike again, a fresh wave of panic crashing over me. It wasn't Eugene that had caused that reaction — it was the sudden rescheduled checkup. Once they drew blood, everything would be revealed. Then again, if he was this controlling just because of one random encounter with Eugene, how would he react when he discovered I was carrying his child? No, I couldn't tell him that.

Yet, before I could formulate a response, he closed the distance again. His fingers traced along my jawline, the touch possessive and demanding, and it sent a shiver down my spine. His breath was warm against my skin, and I could feel the tension radiating from him, a coiled spring ready to snap.

"You are mine," he breathed against my lips, his voice low and rough with emotion. Then his mouth claimed mine in a bruising kiss. I gasped, while he took advantage of the moment to plunge deeper, his tongue seeking mine with desperate intensity. My hands unconsciously gripped his shirt, the fabric crumpling in my fists as he guided me backward until my spine met the cool surface of the counter. The marble was cold, even though my clothes, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine.

The forbidden nature of our situation hit me with the impact — his family just downstairs, blissfully unaware of what was happening in this 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, his eyes dark with a mix of frustration and desire. "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, a mix of fear and something else I didn't want to name. "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, yet 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 implication of the act sent a rush of heat through me, my knees threatening to give out. But he was relentless, pressing his fingers against my tongue, playing with the sensitive muscle until a soft whimper escaped my throat.

Satisfied with my response, he withdrew his fingers only to spin me around to face the 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."