Free Commitment by Margaret Ethridge Page A

memory, trying to recall the exact state of her apartment. There were clothes strewn all over the bedroom floor. Had she changed her sheets this week? Would he care? Oh God, had she cleaned the litter box? She hesitated at the threshold, jingling her keys in her palm.
    “As a matter of fact, it might be pretty trashed right now,” she said, sneaking a glance at him from under her lashes as she separated her house key from the rest. “I usually clean on Sundays.”
    Tom ducked his head, grazing her cheek with the barest of kisses and pulling the pin he’d loosened earlier from her hair. “Unless I’m gonna need a tracking device to follow you through a maze of stacked up newspapers and magazines, I couldn’t really give a damn.”
    She sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the riot of tingles his touch incited. Her fingers trembled when she slid the key into the lock. He pulled a curl loose from her sleek up-do. Maggie made a stab at the second lock as he wound her hair around his finger. The heat gathering low in her belly coiled a bit tighter.
    He moved closer. The hard planes of his chest and stomach teased her back. Her bottom nestled against his thighs. His hand covered hers and the key slid home. The doorknob slipped in her damp palm. The warped wood was stuck, as always.
    Flashing a sheepish smile, she nudged him away with her elbow. He conceded the space, his eyebrows shooting up as she threw her hip into the effort. The door swung open wide. “Takes a magic touch.”
    The surprise in his violet eyes melted into admiration then flared to something hotter, deeper, more urgent. He advanced on her. “Do it again.”
    Maggie stumbled into the apartment, her eyes locked on his. He stepped into her space, his stride confident and purposeful. A tinkling laugh gave her nervousness away. She wanted to clamp a hand over her mouth, but a low growl cut the tension like a machete.
    Tom whirled, searching out the source of the threat. Keeping her knees primly pressed together, Maggie lowered herself to the floor and ran her hand over her cat’s arched back. “Fred this is Tom. Don’t eat him,” she whispered to the cat then straightened. “Tom, this is Fred.”
    The two men in her life sized each other up. She was pleased when Tom met her rotund roommate’s unblinking stare without a flinch. “Fred,” he acknowledged with a nod.
    Fred turned his attention to Maggie, winding his way around her ankles. “I should give him a little food. Otherwise, he won’t leave us alone.”
    Her wrap slid from her shoulders. One end drifted to the floor when she tossed her purse onto the hall table. Fred promptly pounced. A stack of unopened mail slithered from the table, falling to the floor with a splat. She gently but firmly removed the butter-soft cashmere from the cat’s claws. She looked up and found Tom grinning at her. “What?”
    “You’re a slob, Cinderella.”
    “I told you I clean on Sundays.”
    She spun away from the cocky man crowding her entry and sashayed toward the kitchen, hoping to distract him from her lack of housekeeping. It worked like a charm. She pulled a can of cat food from the cabinet, simultaneously opening the drawer that held her fancy new can opener. When she removed the opener from the drawer his fingers closed around hers again.
    “Let me.”
    His breath stirred the tendrils he’d loosened. She stared at the counter, trying to blink away the swirl of desire and confusion his proximity stirred. He freed the opener from her grasp but didn’t step back. Instead he planted one shiny shoe on either side of hers, reached around her for the can of cat food, and set to work, trapping her in his embrace.
    “You keep taking things away from me,” she observed.
    “A princess shouldn’t have to do the drudge work.”
    “I’m no princess.” She felt him tense then the lid popped free from the can. Tom set the can opener on the counter. She hoped for a little breathing room, but at the same time