Marguerite hissed as she pricked her finger with the needle for the third time. She glared up at Roxton, who walked across the living room with her rifle, towards where he was cleaning them. "Seriously, Roxton, how did you manage to lose all the buttons on your shirt?" She grumbled, sticking her finger back in her mouth before shuffling in her seat and looking back down at the button she was sewing back on.

"I'm not entirely sure you want to know." He said, checking the sight on her rifle before placing it back on the table and picking up his own.

Marguerite set his favourite blue shirt in her lap and looked up at him expectantly. "Now that's just to interesting to pass up." She smirked. "What did you do?" She was waggling her eyebrows and Roxton winced slightly.

"Nothing, really."

"All those Amazons wandering around and you did nothing to your shirt." Her eyes bellied her implication and Roxton moved to make sure the table was between him and her, regardless that she was still quite comfortably seated.

"Yes." He swallowed.

"Is that so?" She set his shirt on the seat beside her and stood slowly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes..." The closer she moved, the less sure his voice sounded.

"John," She drew out his name, much the way she did every time she felt it necessary to manipulate information out of the Lord.

"I swear, Marguerite, I wasn't in the least attracted to her." He stumbled backwards into the kitchen as she slowly inched towards him.

"Not in the least, huh? So that headlock I found you in? Just a rouse?"

"I told you as much at the time." Roxton stumbled backwards and knocked a skillet to the floor as he realised he could move back no further. He was trapped between the counter and Marguerite getting moving closer, with that terrifyling look in her eye.

"I didn't believe you then and I don't believe you now."

Resting her palms on the counter on either side of his hips, Marguerite moved as close to him as she dare get, pressing her chest to his chest and looking up into his eyes.

"What really happened to your shirt, John?" Her eyes sparkled with an innocence he knew she didn't possess and in an attempt to avoid looking into those deep, bewitching, green eyes, he tried to shuffle away. Not realising any move he made would have his entire body, rubbing up against hers. He groaned as she smirked and lifted one palm to rest against his chest. "Are you alright?" She teased and he glared at her.

"Hippolita happened to my shirt, are you happy?" He growled.

"Not in the least." Her eyes narrowed and suddenly, she was furious. She slipped her hands from the countertop and stepped back. Spinning on her heel, she moved to storm away but Roxton was faster. Grabbing her wrist he spun her back around and staggered them both into the island bench, her backside pressed against it with his arm holding firm around her waist.

"Don't you dare." He warned and she bit her lip, defiantly.

"Don't I dare, what? I wasn't the one off ripping my shirt with some Amazon floozy!"

"Nothing happened, Marguerite."

"And If Veronica and I hadn't come to the rescue? What would have happened then?" She stared into his eyes and he blinked for a moment.

"Nothing. I would have found a way out of it."

"Oh yeah right and I'm the Virgin Mary!" She rolled her eyes and tried to pull away from him, but he held on tighter, pressing her against the bench until it almost hurt.

"Marguerite, I promise you. Nothing happened and nothing was going to." His voice was so sincere she almost found herself believing him on his words alone. But knowing Marguerite, Roxton knew she needed more proof. Glancing over her shoulder, in order to throw her off, Roxton immediately captured her lips.

She whimpered against him, pressing her palms against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away, but she knew he was too strong for her. A part of her was always afraid of him for that very reason. For not only did those arms protect her, they also had the power to hurt her.

Sometimes she feared his temper, for it ran as hot as his passion but as she felt his fingers latch around the back of her belt and lift her easily up onto the bench, without even breaking their bruising kiss, she felt completely enraptured.

Roxton pulled her knees apart, fisting his hands in her khaki skirt as she kicked her boots off behind him. His hands found their way back to her waist and one crawled up her back and through her hair until her braid came loose and her curls tumbled down over her shoulders.

"I love your hair like that." He breathed out, running his fingers along her scalp as she inched her body closer to him and pressed her heels into the counter, raising herself higher as he pressed his lips to her throat and kissed a line down to her gaping blouse.

Leaning back slightly, Marguerite grinned wickedly as she pressed her palms to his chest and gathered the fabric of his shirt in her fists. She raised her eyebrow and Roxton watched her curiously, before she ripped his shirt apart, tearing it straight down the front.

"You know," He smirked, brushing the stray curls from her forehead. "-most often, this form of one-upmanship is not an attractive quality."

"My my, Lord Roxton. I wouldn't think you to be the kind of man to shy away from a little fair competition."

"In my book," He looked into her eyes, deeply studying them as he ran his hands down her sides, feeling her waist as she tightened her arms around his shoulders and hooked her feet around the back of his legs. "-there is no competition."

Grinning triumphantly, Marguerite kissed his lips quickly. "I'm glad to hear it." She gripped the back of his head and kissed him hungrily, devouring him before pushing at his chest until he stumbled backwards and she hopped down from the counter.

"Where are you going?" He practically whimpered and Marguerite smirked.

"I haven't finished mending your shirt, unless you want to do it yourself."

Unable to form an adequate response, Roxton stared at her for well over a minute before he found his way back to the forgotten rifles on the table. And watching her intently, he went back to cleaning them, though his heart was no longer in the task.

Marguerite smirked and picked up his shirt again. Watching as he angrilly picked up her rifle, attempting to clean it over again, she laughed out loud before she caught his eye then suddenly, she dropped her sewing to the floor and bolted from the room. A grin spread on Roxton's face before, like a good faithful puppy-dog, he followed her.