by Andrews, Amy
CHAPTER THREE
Nash spent the next two weeks ignoring his attraction to Maggie. Something he never did. He’d learnt from his sister’s passing that life was short and should be lived to its fullest. But during their talk the other night he’d realised Maggie was not the type of woman with whom he could indulge in a quick fling.
There was something about her that flashed a big red warning light at him. Maggie was a forever kind of woman. And he wasn’t a forever kind of guy.
He had years left of his training to go, several in London and then back to the bush. Maybe one day he’d find a nice country girl to settle down with, maybe have what his parents, his grandparents had.
Maybe.
But then he made the fatal error of joining the staff for Friday night drinks and he knew he couldn’t deny it any more. Two hours of watching Maggie’s mouth sucking down amber liquid from long-necked bottles and he was wishing he was her beer.
She was driving him to distraction.
He had to have her — despite the warning light. Despite knowing it was crazy.
He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this badly.
She lifted her gaze to his for a brief second before she hastily looked away and smiled at something the person beside her was saying. Nash knew she could feel the pounding of attraction growing out of control, too.
Louder than the noise of the juke box and the chatter all around them.
It was as if the social situation, far removed from the hospital, had changed the boundaries between them.
She’d been slipping him furtive looks all evening when she’d thought he hadn’t been watching and while it was dim inside, her desire flared like a lighthouse beacon, beckoning him closer.
Even though the rocks were treacherous and he risked being snagged, their attraction pulled at him like the undertow of a tsunami.
Damn it. He needed another drink.
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief as Nash left the table. She’d felt the weight of his gaze all evening and it excited and terrified her in equal measure. The overwhelming feeling of inevitability sucked the breath from her lungs.
He looked his usual laid-back sexy self tonight, in faded jeans and a polo shirt the exact shade of his tropical-waters eyes. It touched all the right places on him.
And inside her.
He looked good enough to sprinkle with sugar and eat with a spoon.
God, this was getting way out of hand. They’d spent a fortnight studiously avoiding each other. The zing between them was still there but it was as if he’d decided to crank back the vibe. He didn’t flirt. He was polite, friendly.
And that suited her just fine.
In fact, she was very grateful for his detachment and returned it in the same spirit. But tonight it was if a channel of energy had opened up across the table between them, a portal visible only to them, and the bounds they’d subliminally put on their relationship had been sucked away.
Nash returned to the table with a glass of beer and looked directly at her, his gaze grazing her face before dropping to the V neckline of her T-shirt. Then he flicked it up and Maggie could see the raw hunger in his eyes.
She stood. She couldn’t bear it any longer. If she didn’t leave now she was going to drag him into the loo just to get it out of their system.
‘I’m off,’ she announced. There was a chorus of protest but Maggie waved it all away.
‘Me too.’ Nash stood, his beer untouched. ‘Do you think you could give me a lift?’ he asked, looking directly at her.
Maggie swallowed, hoping the heat between them wasn’t as obvious to everyone else. ‘I’m getting an Uber.’
‘Good. We can share.’
The desire in his gaze light up his blue eyes like a beacon and scared her witless. But she nodded anyway.
There was quite a crowd at the ride share point and Maggie’s heart belted along at triple time as they stood side by side, hyper aware of the people around them.
‘What are we going to do about this, Maggie May?’
Maggie heard the murmur of his voice near her ear and knew they were standing at a crossroads. The wise thing to do would be to stick to her side of the path. But as she looked up into his face she knew she wanted him to kiss her more than she’d wanted anything in the last decade, and she knew she was powerless to resist.
Tonight, anyway.
She glanced around at the people behind, relieved to see they were too engrossed in their own conversations to be paying any heed to theirs.
‘One night,’ she said, amazed at the steadiness of her voice as she took charge of her destiny ignoring the bongo-drum of her pulse. ‘One night only.’
Nash’s heart crashed to a brief standstill in his chest before galloping madly. He searched her gaze for a moment. He’d expected her to knock him back, to persist with her denial. But she was looking at him calmly. Intently.
No doubts. No Maggie of old.
Just double chocolate fudge brownie eyes sucking him in, tempting him further. And one night was good. Enough to quench the attraction but not for it to be misconstrued as anything other than two adults having a good time.
Perfect. ‘Works for me.’
Maggie breathed again. ‘How far away do you live?’
‘Ten minutes.’
‘I’m closer.’
Her Uber pulled up. ‘Get in,’ he said, opening the door.
A trill of lust squirmed through Maggie’s abdomen at what she’d just initiated, and her hands trembled a little before her legs kicked into action. She hesitated at the door for a moment then Nash smiled at her like he already knew all her secrets and wild horses wouldn’t have kept her out of the cab.
She slid across the seat, greeting the driver, aware of Nash like she’d never been aware of anyone before as he scooted across the seat. He moved in close, draping his arm along the back of the seat, crowding her, surrounding her.
He nuzzled her ear and her neck, and when his hand skimmed her thigh, slowly creeping up one denim-clad leg, Maggie almost whimpered out loud she was so turned on. She should have been mortified that they were necking like teenagers but she was so utterly caught up in his heat and his smell and the sexual squall lashing her insides and scrambling her thought processes, she couldn’t have cared less.
She wanted to feel his lips on her so badly she turned her face towards him, her mouth seeking his as she clutched at his shirt, fisting it. ‘Nash,’ she whimpered as his lips brushed lightly against hers. Soft, teasing. She clutched his thigh, trying to anchor herself in the maelstrom.
Nash felt her desperate whimper right down to his toes and knew her torment. He wanted to tear her clothes off right here and now, push her back against the seat and have his way with her, audience or not.
And if he deepened the kiss that’s exactly what would happen. ‘Shh, Maggie,’ he whispered, kissing her forehead, her eyes, her cheek. ‘Nearly there.’
Maggie made a sound of protest deep in her throat. How could he be so controlled when she was practically blind with lust? His thigh felt thick and powerful beneath her hand and she massaged it convulsively, trying to claw back her breath, her sanity.
Nash clasped his hand over hers as it moved higher. God, didn’t she know he was holding on by a thread? He placed his forehead against her cheekbone, forcing himself to slow down, to think practically for a moment while he still had the chance.
‘Have you got condoms at your place?’ He had two in his wallet but no way was that ever going to be enough - they were going to go at it all night long. They might have to ask the driver to stop somewhere for supplies.
Maggie only just heard the question over the thrumming of the pulse in her ears. She shut her eyes, desperately trying to gather her thoughts. Protection, Maggie, protection — think!
It had been too many years since it had been an issue.
‘Oh...er...yes.’ Think. Think. She did have some somewhere. ‘I have a...a box...’ Where. Where? ‘In...in my bedsid
e drawer.’
Nash pressed a kiss to her temple and moved his hand further up her leg. ‘I hope it’s full.’
Maggie strained to think again. ‘Well, it’s been a while since I’ve used any but I’m pretty sure they’ve barely been touched.’
Nash felt strangely satisfied by the admission. ‘Good. The way I feel right now, we’re going to need every one.’ And he kissed her full on the mouth.
Maggie’s head spun as she clung to his chest and opened her mouth to his deep, wet kiss, moaning low in her throat.
‘Er...’ the driver, who had been studiously discrete, coughed. ‘We’re, uh, here.’
Nash pulled his mouth away, thanked the driver and practically dragged Maggie out of the car. ‘Keys.’
Maggie, too lust-drugged to coordinate herself, handed him her purse and clung to his hand as his long legs strode up the path. They reached the front door and she leaned her hip against it watching through a sexual haze as Nash sorted through her keys.
The subdued light from a sensor light spilled across his profile and down the tanned column of his neck as the keys jingled. She leaned forward, the flutter at the base of his neck too tempting to resist. She pressed her lips to it, his stubble grating against them. The smell of man enveloped her and she inhaled deeply, his aroma making her dizzy. She moved her lips higher to the ridge of his windpipe.
Nash, having trouble finding the right key, shut his eyes as her tongue caressed the path of his carotid pulse. He reached for her hip, the contours beneath moulded perfectly by the tightness of denim. ‘Maggie,’ he moaned.
Their lips sought and met and opened and he backed her against the door, his body covering hers wanting to feel every inch of her against him, the keys forgotten. Her mouth was warm and wet and inviting, and when she moaned and shoved her fingers into his hair he pushed his thigh between her legs and ground it against her.
Maggie gasped at the surge of pure desire that scorched her, and rubbed herself against the thick wedge of hard muscle sandwiched at her centre. She grabbed his shirt, faint from need. Her fingers brushed the contours of his chest and he felt warm and vibrant and very, very male.
‘Inside,’ she croaked as his lips left hers to nibble down her neck and his hand stroked a sinful tattoo on her hip.
Nash hauled himself away with difficulty, his breath harsh in the still night. ‘Right,’ he said handing her the keys. ‘Open the bloody door.’
He stood aside for her and she took the heavy keyring from him, turning to insert the front door key into the lock. She pushed it in but then Nash’s lips were at her neck and his heat was at her back and she shut her eyes as her head lolled to the side to give him better access.
‘Damn it, Maggie,’ he whispered against the arch of her neck, his lips caressing her heated skin, ‘open the door.’
Maggie fumbled with the key as her flat-lined brain grappled with even the most basic task. Her fingers, heavy and useless, fumbled with the lock. But then the key turned and the door was opening to them, and then they were on the other side in the dark, fumbling for each other. She was turning and he was reaching and they fell into each other like lovers starved for an eternity of the other’s touch.
She reefed his shirt out of his jeans as he toed off each of his shoes. He pulled at her shirt, lifted it over her head and flung it to the floor. She returned the favour, his muscles shifting beneath her fingers as she reached the good stuff.
Maggie couldn’t ever remember feeling this focused or desperate - this crazed – over getting a man naked. She must have with her ex, in the beginning before conception sex and fertility treatments had derailed their lives. Back when sex had been for fun instead of procreation.
Like this.
Nash fumbled with the clasp on her purple lace half-cup bra. ‘Off,’ he growled. ‘Take it off.’
Maggie’s pelvic floor muscles seized at his rough demand. No. It had never been like this with Pete. Never.
The light from a streetlamp filtered in through a nearby open doorway and Nash’s frustration was well rewarded as she unclasped the bra and her naked breasts fell free, bathed in milky light. They were rose-tipped and heavy, her skin lush and creamy.
‘Oh, my,’ he whispered, taking a moment to just look.
Maggie blushed at his reverent exclamation and part of her wanted to cover herself beneath his hungry gaze. But another part wanted to lean back against the door-frame and wantonly arch her back like an old-time film starlet.
Blood roared in her ears as his eyes explored every inch of her. ‘And those,’ he said, his voice rough as he pointed at her jeans.
Nash watched as Maggie unzipped, peeled the denim down her legs and stepped out of their confines. A scrap of matching purple lace underwear hid the last piece of her from him and he reached out to her hip. ‘You’re even more beautiful than I imagined, Maggie May, and I’ve been imagining this...a lot.’
The heat in Maggie’s cheeks intensified. Beneath his gaze she felt beautiful. Not ten years his senior. Not some kind of Mrs Robinson or an infertile divorcee - somehow less of a woman.
She felt his equal, his partner. And all woman.
Closing the distance between them, her nipples tightened as they grazed against the light smattering of blond chest hairs. She rose on her tippy-toes, twined her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down so their lips met.
His mouth was hot against hers, sliding fire across her lips and into her mouth and beyond to her stomach, her breasts, her belly.
Her soul.
She opened for him, wanting more, welcoming the heat with more of her own. Fighting fire with fire.
His tongue tangoed with hers and she dug her nails into his shoulders, pushing closer, whimpering her need. His big hands smoothed over her back, drawing circles over her shoulder blades and ribcage, trailing fire there too as he anchored her to him. She could feel his arousal pressed into her stomach and she pushed against the hard length, aching to touch, aching for him to be inside her.
Her hand went to his belt and Nash groaned. ‘Hold on,’ he murmured, scooping her up, gathering her into his chest and looking for a place to get horizontal.
‘End of the hallway,’ Maggie murmured, her lips at his ear, her arms clinging to his neck.
Nash didn’t need any more direction, striding down the passageway and pushing the door open with his knee. He crossed to the bed and lowered her until she was stretched out before him.
Then he stood and looked. Just looked. She was beautiful.
Maggie felt her cheeks grow hot as his gaze travelled over her with a thoroughness that left her breathless. She squirmed. ‘Nash.’
His gaze trekked back to her face. She was flushed and had pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘God, Maggie, you’re gorgeous.’
The awe in his voice was a huge turn-on and Maggie could feel her nipples hardening beneath his frank gaze. ‘I think one of us has too many clothes on,’ she murmured.
‘You’re right.’ He reached down, ran his finger under the edge of her lace knickers and tugged.
‘Not quite what I had in mind.’ Maggie rolled her eyes but lifted her hips.
Nash grinned as he tossed the article on the floor behind him. ‘Perfect,’ he whispered.
Maggie was on fire. His eyes roamed over her nakedness like it was his own private playground and again she was struck by the urge to arch her back. Her blood thickened, simmered, boiled. ‘Your turn.’
He reached for his jeans then, unzipping and stepping out and Maggie was speechless as he stood before her clad only in his underwear. Like a marble statue overlayed with the flesh and blood of a warm, vital man. Washboard abs - well defined and gloriously bronzed. His broad shoulders and chest even more impressive from her reclining position.
‘God, you have a magnificent chest.’
He chuckled. ‘You’ve got a pretty nice one, too.’
A trail of blond hair bisected his abdominal musculature, wisping down behind the band of his
underwear, and her fingers itched to follow it.
Maggie vaulted upright, their gazes locked. She raised a hand and placed it flat against his stomach, feeling his muscles tense beneath her palm. Letting her hand slide, it lowered to his waistband.
‘These now,’ she requested huskily.
Her gaze zeroed in on the erection his underpants were barely restraining, and Nash felt a punch to his gut as she moistened her lips. He watched as she lifted a tentative finger and traced the thick ridge.
‘Maggie.’ His warning was half whisper, half groan.
She glanced up, dragging her gaze from the bulge in his pants, removing her hand. ‘You’re magnificent everywhere.’
Nash was mesmerised by the desire in her eyes, by the way she looked at him like he was the only man on earth. He lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked it, his fingers pushing into her hair, brushing at her fringe, cupping the back of her head.
Her lips shone in the semi-dark and he wanted some of them. ‘Lie back, Maggie,’ he whispered.
Maggie fell back as he asked and she watched as he stepped out of his underwear and she was finally able to see him in all his glory. She exhaled a ragged breath at his proud length, ready, eager before him. He put a knee on the bed beside hers and she held her arms out to him, exulting in the knowledge that all that hardness would soon be inside her.
Nash lay on his side, propped on his elbow, looking down at her. Their gazes locked and he traced the planes of her face with his index finger. Over her eyelids, across her cheekbones and the moist seam of her lips. He continued lower, holding her gaze as his finger traced down her throat, dipping into the hollow, down her chest, over her stomach to her belly button. Then he reversed the process.
‘Nash,’ she whimpered against his finger as it trailed across her mouth.
He pushed his finger gently against her mouth to still her protest, pausing to study her lips. He rubbed his thumb over the bottom one and then the top, smearing the moisture all over.
‘Nash.’ Maggie was trembling with want, his intense gaze zeroed on her mouth incredibly erotic.
‘Shh,’ he whispered, mesmerised by their movement, by how they looked all swollen and moist from his ministrations. He just had to taste them.
