Michael crossed his arms and glared at his nephew. “Luke. Why don’t you tell Aunt Maggie what occurred here?”

Luke cocked his head in a way he thought was cute. Maggie refused to admit he was right. “Played rocket blaster,” he declared. “See?”

“No!” they both yelled in unison.

Too late. Luke stomped down on the last juice box. The liquid exploded in a spray and drenched everything in sight. Including them.

Michael grabbed him and hauled him up in his arms. “You are in big trouble,” Michael warned. “Wait till your mother gets home and I tell her what you did.”

Maggie smothered a mad giggle at the whole ridiculousness of the situation. Her fake husband stared at her in astonishment. “You think this is funny?”

She bit her lip. “Well, kind of. I mean, it’s so bad I feel like I’m on Punk’d.”

“Can you clean this up while I give Luke a bath?”

She glanced at the mess. “But I have the baby. He’s quiet, and I’m not removing my finger until it prunes and falls off.”

He seemed caught between the two scenarios, unsure which was worse. “Dios, fine. Come help with the bath then.”

She trudged after him, and he peeked in on the other two. “You guys stay right here and play until Luke is out of the bath. Then bedtime for everyone. Capisce?”

“Yes, Uncle Michael,” Robert stated solemnly.

Maggie glanced at him with suspicion. Somehow those chocolate-brown eyes seemed funny, as if he had some other master plan in mind. She ignored the crazy gut instinct and sat on the toilet seat while Michael plopped Luke in the bath. “So you’re telling me your cousins do this for fun every night?”

He poured in bubbles and shook his head. “Something tells me they are more organized than us. But yes, I am sure this is what most of their evenings are like.”

She rocked Thomas and tried not to sound curious. “What about you? Is this what you want, too?”

He seemed to think about the question. Then nodded. “Si.”

“Really? All this glamour?” She lifted a brow. “Do you realize there won’t be any sophisticated dinners, or working late to close a deal, or jetting off to some tropical island on a moment’s notice? You’d willingly give up your freedom?”

For a brief moment, a melting tenderness passed over his features as he gazed at the naked boy in the tub. He ruffled his nephew’s hair and looked straight into her eyes.

“Yes.”

His answer rocked through her and made her want. Imagine a man who wanted to come home to this type of chaos? Who willingly chose to be part of the mess and enjoy every crazy part?

“Hi, Uncle Michael!”

They both turned toward the sound. A four-year-old ghost boy stood in the doorway grinning. Maggie blinked and stared harder. The only features still visible were his eyes, a touch of golden-brown hair, and a flash of red lips. The toddler looked like a demented child Joker. And why was he naked?

She braced herself for an explosion but Michael remained calm. “What did you do, Robert?”

“I found this bottle in Aunt Maggie’s purse!” he declared with pride. “Lotion!”

Maggie closed her eyes.

Michael pinned her with his own assessing gaze. “Hm. I thought I told you to put your purse on top of the refrigerator so it wouldn’t be a temptation.”

She huffed out a breath. “I hid it behind the couch because I had no time! As soon as I got through the door Lizzie and Brian shot out like their asses were on fire. Now I know why. Why would someone ever want another one after Robert?”

The giggling mad Joker cackled. “Ass! Aunt Maggie said ‘ass’! Ass means butt. Ass, ass, butt, butt.” The song went on and Maggie shuddered.

“Use that word again and I will wash your mouth out with soap,” Michael said. “Now, get into the bath.”

“Um, Michael?”

“What?”

“You’re going to have some trouble. The lotion is waterproof. Won’t come off for hours.”

Michael plucked his second nephew off his feet and placed him in the tub. He rested his hands on his hips as if anticipating a huge business deal. Damn, why did he look so adorable mussed, wet, and smelling of apple juice? “We can do this.” He rubbed his hands together, knelt beside the tub, and grabbed the washcloth. “Can you check on Ryan for me?”

Maggie shifted the baby to her other hip. Her finger released with a wet pop. Thomas stared back with wide eyes and a drooly grin, and her heart shifted. The trusting innocence in his gaze made her want to be worthy. What was happening to her?

She walked into the boy’s bedroom. “Ryan, where are you?”

“Here!” He crawled out of the closet with his Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt hiked up over his belly and stuck his hands in the air with sheer pride. “I do dough!”

Yep. He did dough all right. Maggie took in the red and green clay that plastered his body and face. Thomas shrieked in pleasure and stuck both hands into her hair. The laughter bubbled up inside and threatened, but she wasn’t sure if it was the giggles of a person turning insane like the Joker, or a way to cope with madness. “You did great, buddy. Follow me; it’s bathtime.”

“Bath!”

He darted out the room and into the bathroom and she followed. With a decisive click, she closed the door behind her and trapped everyone into the tiny bathroom. Steam billowed and fogged the mirrors.

“You gave them the Play-Doh, huh?”

Maggie nodded. “Yep. In my defense, I thought it was child-friendly. Live and learn. Figured if we’re all in here together, nothing else can happen.” She shot him a worried look. “Right?”

“Let’s pray.” With efficient motions, he stripped Ryan and placed him in the tub with his brothers. “I think I need help here. I’m on the second washcloth and the lotion is only half off. Can you scrub Ryan?”

“What about the baby?” Thomas cackled and reached up and shoved a handful of her hair in his mouth. He emitted sucking sounds of ecstasy. “Ah, gross,” she moaned, trying to disengage herself. “Can I put him down on the ground?”

“Yeah. Make sure there isn’t anything he can reach first.”

She gave a good scout to make sure there was nothing but a messy floor covered with bubbles from the splashing. She yanked two towels from the rack and spread them down, then placed Thomas in the middle. His fists clenched in her hair again and he howled, refusing to let go.

“Ouch, ouch. Michael, help me.” Firm hands carefully disentangled the baby’s fists from her aching scalp. The lower lip quivered. A howl echoed through the small space and her nerves screeched in agony. No wonder they said a baby’s cry could make a person crazy. She’d do anything to stop him. “Oh, God, he’s crying again. Give me the rubber ducky there.”

Quickly, Michael handed her the squishy toy and she stuck it in the baby’s hands. He shoved it in his mouth and gummed the toy madly. “Smart move,” Michael commented.

She grinned with pride, crawled over to the tub, and grabbed a washcloth. They worked in efficient silence until Maggie spotted the lovely olive skin beneath the clay and the water turned white. The boys chattered nonstop, alternating between Italian and English in a musical melody soothing to the ears.

“Uncle Michael, who is the bestest superhero? I think it’s Superman.”

Michael crinkled his brow as he pretended to think hard. “Superman’s pretty awesome because he can fly and bend steel. But I like Batman.”

Luke gasped. “Me, too! Batman beats up bad guys.”

“But he can’t fly,” Robert pointed out.

“Yes, he can,” Michael said. “He uses his equipment to fly like a bat. And he has cool gadgets and the best car in the world.”

Robert considered it while his brother practically oozed adoration. “I guess so. Aunt Maggie, who is your bestest?”

She slanted Michael a naughty look. “Thor.”

“Why?”

“I like his long, blond hair and hammer.”

Michael laughed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless. Such a girl.”

“Yeah, such a girl,” Robert mimicked.

“I don’t feel like a girl right now,” she muttered. Her pretty white peasant blouse stuck to her skin with sweat and steam. She used her elbow to push back sticky strands of hair, and she already knew her makeup had long ago slid off her face. No wonder mothers never wanted sex. Who’d crave an orgasm when a good night’s sleep was even better? “I’m a mess.”

She was about to laugh off her girly comment when his gaze snagged hers.

Coal-black eyes delved into hers and stripped past all the barriers. Energy hummed between them, ridiculous in the domestic setting, but burning real and bright. Her nerve endings tingled with awareness as she stared back, helpless to break the connection.

“I think you look beautiful,” he said softly.

Everything inside her shook hard and broke open.

Maggie surrendered. Lifted her hand to reach for his, to beg his forgiveness for her crappy behavior, to tell him every last secret and emotion locked up inside of her.

Suddenly, Robert reached down between his legs and grabbed his penis. Luke caught him and giggled, pointing at his own while his brother began hitting it back and forth, like a Ping-Pong game. “Pee-pee! Boys have pee-pees, and girls have Vaselines!”

Robert stopped and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Vaginas, Luke. Vaginas.”

The magic of the moment between Michael and Maggie blurred and disappeared. They both looked at the two boys, and Maggie fought back a blush. Maybe it was Fate stepping in. Or Earth Mother. Whoever it was, she grabbed on to the distraction.

“Yes, well, let’s not touch our private parts. Here’re the towels to dry off.”

She refused to be embarrassed by a couple of toddlers. For God’s sake, she handled grown-up male equipment on the set all the time without a stumble.

They ignored her. “Why don’t girls have pee-pees, Aunt Maggie?” asked Luke.

She looked to Michael for help but a bad-ass grin curved his lips. She refused to back off from the obvious challenge. She could talk honestly with children. No problem. “God made them different. And you’re right, Robert, girls have what we call vaginas.” She shot Michael a satisfied smirk. Take that.

“But without a pee-pee, girls have nothing to touch! What do you do?”

Silence descended. Michael mashed his fist against his mouth in an effort to still his mirth.

Ah, hell. She gave up and waved the frickin’ white flag. “Ask your uncle.”

With her last ounce of dignity, she grabbed the baby and stalked out.

Jerk.

• • •

Hours later, she sank to the floor next to the boys’ bunk bed and lay her head against the side. The soft sounds of little boys snoring drifted in the quiet air. They refused to go to sleep unless someone lay beside them, so Michael hurriedly took his exit and she was more than happy to delay any alone time between them. Her fingers still held Robert’s—the tiny hand relaxed and warm in hers. Maggie sat on the carpet and stared into the distance, remembering.