A Maggie Mae Misadventure #2
Maggie Mae Castro is sure she’s either losing her mind or she’s fallen in love. She’s not sure which would be worse. Lately she can’t find anything, not her lipstick nor her grandma’s pill case. All she wants is an aspirin and the ability to fire Shasta, the most useless beauty consultant to ever breathe air.
When Shasta winds up dead, crushed by steel shelves full of Shy Kitty cosmetics, Maggie doesn’t believe it’s an accident. Things get even stranger when anonymous gifts arrive, each with the same message: “You’re mine, Maggie.”
FBI Special Agent Clive Poole doesn’t like strange men sending his girlfriend flowers and presents. He especially doesn’t like the possibility that the creep might also be responsible for Shasta’s death. He’s sticking to Maggie day and night. Maggie is his and only his.
Maggie isn’t thrilled about this, especially since their last full-frontal encounter ended with her dropping her reservations and her panties. But Clive will stop at nothing to keep Maggie safe from a madman who would do anything to have her.
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~Excerpt from You’re Mine, Maggie~
The doorbell rang.
“You expecting someone?” Super Agent asked.
“Probably Miguel wanting to borrow something.” I rolled off the couch and went to the door. “Like money or my car…again.”
Nope. Not my brother.
A deliveryman held a huge vase of red roses. “Maggie Mae Castro?”
“Oh,” I sighed. If my self-control was weak before, it now lay on its back with X’s for eyes. Super Agent was gonna get so lucky.
Super Agent pressed against my back. “What’s this?”
“Sign here.” The delivery dude handed me a clipboard, which I scribbled on and passed back. He gave me the flowers, which weighed a ton. “Have a nice night.”
“Thank you.” I hefted the roses over to my dining room table and set them down. I leaned down and inhaled their scent. “Mmm.” I loved roses. I looked up to see Super Agent on my porch, hands on hips.
He came back inside and slammed the door. “Who are those from?” His tone had an edge I didn’t like.
“What the hell do you mean who are they from?”
“I’d like to know who’s sending my girlfriend flowers.” He actually thumped his chest on the word my.
I might have gone all gushy inside at his possessive use of the word girlfriend if it wasn’t for the accusing look he was giving me.
“Must be from my other boyfriend. The one who sends me flowers.”
He lunged for the card, but I snatched it away just in time.
It was like watching a lion puff himself up for battle. He even roared. “Who are they from?”
“Obviously not from you!” And why weren’t they from him? What the hell?
His nostrils flared, and if it was possible, he got even bigger. “Maggie,” he warned.
I put a hand up and glared. When I was sure he wasn’t going to grab for the card again, I opened it. Well, that was anticlimactic. I turned the card over, then pinched the envelope open, thinking I’d missed something.
He grabbed the card out of my hand and read it. His dark complexion reddened as he shook the card in my face. “I’m going to ask you one more time, who these are from?”
“I have no idea. I thought they were from you. Obviously I was wrong.” I got mad all over again. “And why haven’t you ever given me flowers?”
“What?” He shook his head. “That’s not the point here.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I think it’s a darn good point.”
“I’ll buy you some freaking flowers already.”
“Well, I don’t want them now. They’d just be guilt flowers.”
He slapped the notecard down on the table and pointed at the flowers, which had lost all their specialness since I’d thought they’d been from Super Agent. Now they kind of freaked me out.
“Who sent these?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“I don’t like this.” His tone scattered goose bumps up my spine. It was his FBI-Special-Agent voice.
“What do you think it means?”
“I think it means someone likes you. A lot.”
We silently glanced down at the crumpled, unsigned note on the table.
YOU’RE MINE, MAGGIE