He drew her onto his hard thighs and shifted her so that her head lay against his shoulder. But instead of kissing her, he just sat, holding her. Outside, rain was beginning to come down. The room was dimly lit and cozy. Her eyes wandered around to the heavy oak desk, the large burgundy leather sofa, the long, wide matching divan, the huge bookcases against one wall and the wildlife paintings covering the other. It was a man's room. Gabe's room.
Closer, she heard his heartbeat, slow and heavy and regular at her ear, felt the sigh of his breath on her forehead. He smoothed her arm gently and his warm fingers felt good.
"It feels good, holding you," he said after a minute. He crossed one leg over the other, shifting her closer. "Comfortable?"
"Yes," she murmured drowsily, closing her eyes. She moved her hand experimentally on his broad chest and arm, feeling the bandage through the thin fabric of his shirt. "How long will it take to heal?" she asked.
"Not much longer, I hope," he muttered. "Damned fool, I should have looked where I was reaching. I dropped my rope behind the chute where we were working the small herd, and didn't look when I leaned over. The rattler got me right on the arm."
She studied his face curiously. "I never heard what happened to the snake. Blood poisoning...?"
He glowered at her. "The snake went the way of most snakes that come too close to me. I took my rifle and shot him."
"With snakebite?" she gasped.
"I had the rifle right next to me," he admitted. "And just enough bad temper to do it before the poison started working. The boys got me to the emergency room, snake's head and all, and they gave me the antivenin. I was sicker than I want to remember for a couple of days. I'd just gotten back on my feet when you showed up with Mother."
"And spoiled your recovery," she recalled, smiling.
"I wouldn't say that." He nuzzled his cheek over her hair. "I have to admit that you've brightened up the place. Nothing like having a woman around to get a man well."
"You should have married," she murmured.
He lifted her left hand, noting the absence of a ring. "Becky's the one who's going to get hurt by the court suit, you know," he said unexpectedly, caressing her fingers gently with his. "From what I saw today, her father won't care who he destroys to get that money."
"Money always meant everything to him," she said. "He grew up poor. Really dirt-poor. But it warped him. He doesn't really care about anyone except himself."
"Stop feeling sorry for him," he chided. "People make their own hells, haven't you noticed? It isn't life that does the damage, Maggie; it's the way people react to it. Attitude is everything in this world."
"This, from a man whose attitude is to flatten anything that gets in his way?" she asked, eyebrows arching.
"It makes things simpler," he said, grinning.
She shook her head. "You always were too much man for any ordinary woman. I never thought you'd find a woman brave enough to take you on."
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful, curious. "Plenty have tried, as you might have gathered. Mother's done her best to supply me with a wife."
"She only wants happiness for you," Maggie said gently. "She doesn't like seeing you grow old all alone."
"Neither do I, sometimes." He brushed his thumb over the palm of the hand he was holding, feeling its softness. "I want a son," he added, looking straight into her eyes.
She felt the wildest kind of excitement. He was only making a statement, she told herself, only expressing a buried desire. But the way he said it, and the way he looked at her, made her body burn to give him that child. She felt herself trembling and knew he could feel it, too.
"I wanted to talk to your attorneys while we were in the city," he said after a minute. "But I thought it was more important to get Becky out of that lunatic's reach. I'll fly back down on Monday and meet with them."
"But—"
"It doesn't do any good to argue with me," he said reasonably. "Haven't you discovered that by now?"
"I don't want to be taken over," she began.
"Sure you do, honey," he murmured, smiling gently as he folded her against his good side and eased her down in the big chair. "And this is as good a time as any to show you that you do."
"Gabri—"
The rest of his name was buried under his warm, ardent mouth. She sighed gently and closed her eyes, drinking in his strength and warmth and masculinity. He made her feel so small and vulnerable, so protected. Nothing would ever happen to her when Gabe was around.
His lean fingers trailed down her arm and suddenly, shockingly, onto her blouse.
"Don't," she whispered, catching his wrist.
"You let me do it before," he whispered back, brushing his hard mouth over hers. "You aren't going to tell me you don't enjoy it, are you?"
"It's...it isn't...right," she faltered, searching for the words that would express what she felt.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "Because I'll think you're easy?" he asked matter-of-factly. "Now that's a hell of a misconception. I know plenty about you, Maggie Turner. What I know best is that you've had a rough time with men and that you're about as clued up as a pretty kid at a carnival. Do you think I'm callous enough to play around with you under those circumstances?"
The question floored her. She hadn't expected such a blunt explanation.
"No," she had to answer him honestly. "No, I don't think you're callous."
"Then let go of my wrist, sweet, and let me show you how good it feels to have my hand on your warm skin," he breathed, smiling as he bent again to her mouth.
He was a bulldozer, she thought dimly. A human, blue-eyed bulldozer with a mouth as sweet as mountain honey. He opened her lips with his and pushed his tongue gently into her mouth, feeling her stiffen at the new intimacy.
"Give it a chance," he whispered. "Deep kisses are an acquired taste. Let me."
She hesitated for an instant but then she gave in, letting his tongue invade her mouth. It was frightening, the sudden explosion of feeling that the searching motion caused in her body. She stiffened again, but not in rejection; she moaned, gripping his hard arms.
Meanwhile, one lean hand had moved the fabric of her blouse aside and was sliding warmly under it and around her. She felt the clasp of her bra give suddenly and the cool breeze of the room on her bare flesh. Her nipple hardened even as his fingers began to search teasingly at the edge of her breast, lightly exploring.
Her breath sounded odd. It caught in her throat and sighed out in little gasps. He heard it and smiled even through his own wild excitement.
"God, you set me on fire," he murmured, lifting his head as his hands slid around her and under her breasts, holding their warm, soft weight as he stared directly into her shocked eyes. His thumbs edged up, and she shuddered as they found and tested the tiny peaks of her breasts. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked softly. "I haven't touched a woman like this for a long time."
"It doesn't hurt," she said, her voice husky.
He looked down and expertly lifted the bra away so that her breasts were revealed, small and high and very firm. "Yes," he said with a kind of reverence. "Yes, this is how I pictured you, all the long years in between: sweet, pretty little breasts so soft and warm in my hands—"
"Gabriel!" she burst out, shocked by his intimate description of her.
"Don't cover them," he whispered, bending to her parted lips. "Let me look at you. Let me touch you. We're both adults, Maggie. We're hurting no one."
He had such a silky, deep voice. It hypnotized her. She stayed very still, trembling softly as he caressed her mouth with his lips. His hands cupped her, testing her softness, adoring her womanliness.
She felt her body stretching, arching upward to savor what he was doing to it. Her head fell back, her eyes half-closed. She was sixteen again, burning for him, aching for his body. Dennis and all unpleasantness was pushed to the back of her mind, while Gabe held her body in ardent bondage.
He li
fted his lips from hers and looked down, watching her body plead. "Yes," he whispered. "I want that, too, Maggie."
He bent, lifting her against his arm, and softly brushed his mouth over the very tip of her breast. She whimpered. Her fingers caught in his hair, tugging gently.
"You're trembling all over," he breathed. "I've never in my life felt so hungry for a woman."
As he spoke, he opened his mouth and put it completely over one soft, pretty breast. She felt the warm, moist darkness envelop her, and she arched even further to give him total access to her, trembling as his mouth fed on her softness, bit at her, tasted her. Her mind hardly worked at all, drowning in sensation.
His hand slid down her back to her hips and drew them suddenly under his, then he turned her in the big chair so she could feel the pressure of his arousal.
Her eyes opened to look up into his. She shuddered, but she didn't try to move away. "I hated it...when that happened to Dennis. Why is it...so beautiful with you?" she whispered tearfully.
He couldn't answer her. His mind was in turmoil, his body in anguish. He bent again to her sweet mouth and kissed it as if he'd die trying to get enough. Despite the sore arm, he lifted her close, fighting his shirt out of the way so he could feel her soft breasts against his chest.
She cried out, shocked at the sensations she felt. Never with Dennis, never like this. She wanted him. She wanted to lie down and feel his weight on her body; she wanted total union with him.
Time seemed to slow, to stand still. She was crying, and when the world came into focus again, he was comforting her with the most exquisite kind of tenderness.
"Shh," he breathed into her mouth. "Shh, calm down now. It's all right, calm down." He pressed her hot cheek against his chest and rocked her, gently smoothed his hands along her back, easing away the passion between them. "That's my girl," he whispered. "Just be still."
"I feel so strange," she whispered unsteadily.
"So do I." He laughed gently. "Would you like to know where?"
"Hush," she mumbled, hiding her hot face.
He ran his fingers through her thick short hair, testing its silkiness. "Were you frightened of what was happening?" he asked softly.
"A little," she told him.
His fingers touched her ear, sending delicious thrills through her sensitized nerves. "Eventually, I'll have to know."
"Know...what?" she hesitated.
"Whether or not you're capable of giving in to me completely," he replied. His chest, beneath her bare breasts, rose and fell heavily. "This kind of thing gets unmanageable pretty quickly, Maggie. For Becky's sake, we can't have an illicit relationship. You see that, I hope."
Things were going too fast. She stood up, tugging her blouse together, and stared down at him. "It's too soon," she said, wary.
“No, I don't think it is." He watched her fumble with buttons. He didn't bother with his own, merely sprawled back in the chair, his broad, hair-covered chest bare and welcoming, his mouth swollen and sensuous and smiling with pure male appreciation of her. "You'd better start seeing it that way, too, honey. You're going to need some help when you get into court. Especially now, with your ex-husband's scandalous opinion of our relationship."
"I'll deny it."
He lifted an eyebrow. "By all means," he suggested, and picked up his brandy snifter. "His attorney will get you on the stand and ask if you and I have ever been intimate, you'll blush like somebody's embarrassed child, and he'll have Becky."
That was true, but it didn't help her pride. She finished fastening her blouse and glared at him. "What do you propose to do about it—marry me?" she asked with faint sarcasm.
"Why not?" he replied casually, and took a sip of brandy. "You're pretty and honest, you've got a lovely little girl, and I'm a lonely man. You need money, I've got it. We're a match made in heaven."
"Those aren't good reasons to get married," she returned, but she felt as if the ground had been cut from under her. She wanted him. Physically, at least. He attracted her, and perhaps she wouldn't freeze in his arms. He was strong and powerful and rich. He'd take care of them both, of Becky and herself. And in bed, he'd give her what she'd never had with a man. But why was he offering? He wasn't a marrying man, he'd said it before. What did he expect to get out of it? Or did he just want Maggie so much that he was willing to give up his freedom to have her? That didn't make a lot of sense, either. It would be a risk, marrying him. What if it didn't work out?
The turbulence of her thoughts showed in her face as she looked at him.
"Go ahead," he said, "torment yourself with what-ifs." He finished the brandy. "You've got a little longer to play on the line before I start reeling you in." He got to his feet and towered over her. "Just remember, honey, I make a hell of an adversary. I won't give up or give in. If I want you, I'll have you."
"By force?" she demanded with a bit of her old spirit.
"Never by force, pretty girl," he replied. He bent and brushed his mouth over hers. "I want to ravish your senses, not take something you don't want to give me. Physical pleasure has to be shared, or it's selfish. You've had enough of that already."
She searched his eyes, afraid of him, hungry for him. "Can it be shared, Gabriel?" she asked in a whisper, her eyes wide and curious.
"If both partners are intent on giving more than they expect to get," he said enigmatically.
"And it...isn't supposed to hurt?"
His eyes burned down into hers. "No," he bit off. "It isn't supposed to hurt. Ever."
She dropped her gaze to his bare chest. "I didn't know. There was no one I could ask, you see. Even my best friend, Trudie. I can't talk about things like that."
"Except with me, apparently," he mused, his eyes gently indulgent. He caught her hand in his. "Sit down."
He dropped down onto the big sofa and let her curl up next to him again as he lit a cigarette. "I hope you're not sleepy. This may take a while. Don't look at me, if it helps. I'm going to tell you all about sex, Miss Turner. I think it's time, don't you?"
She looked up at him, feeling her face color. "I know..."
"Nothing," he said for her, grinning. "But you will when I'm through. Now be quiet and listen."
It was fascinating. He might have been a university lecturer giving a cram course in sex education. He did it without vulgarity, in a matter-of-fact way that didn't embarrass or shock her. And when he was through, she knew more than marriage and having a child had taught her.
She caught her breath. "I never realized it was so complicated," she told him.
"It's a miracle," he replied. "In every respect. And miracles shouldn't be twisted into minor amusements. The only times I ever had sex with women, I was involved emotionally. I couldn't lower my pride enough to buy it."
And men were supposed to be indifferent about feelings? She stared up at him, fascinated. "Did you learn...all that...with women?"
The corners of his firm mouth curved up. "Not all of it, no. I wanted to be a doctor when I graduated from high school. I took two years of premed before I switched to veterinary science. I learned all sorts of interesting things about bodies and how they work."
"So I've noticed," she murmured.
He touched her chin, tilting it. "Sex is beautiful," he said softly. "In the proper circumstances, it's an exquisite expression of love and commitment. God must have thought so, because He allowed children to come of it."
She searched his pale eyes, smiling. He was an enigma. Such a hard, unbending man to be so sensitive. "Thank you for the lesson," she said.
"My pleasure. Hearing it might not remove those scars, but it could put what you've experienced into perspective. You aren't frigid; you're just untaught."
"I could never talk to Dennis about sex," she recalled quietly. "He said it was my fault that it was never good."
"I'm afraid he had it backward," he replied. "A considerate lover can make it good."
Her eyes lifted. Her lips parted to ask the question, but at the last se
cond she got cold feet and averted her eyes.
He leaned close to her ear. "What do you want to know, big eyes? How I am in bed?"
"Of course not!" she blurted.
He took her earlobe gently between his teeth and teased it, and she felt the sensations all the way to her toes. "I'm slow, and thorough, and I know where all the nerves are," he whispered.
She made a wild little sound and darted away from him, her eyes like saucers in a face burning with embarrassment
He laughed, leaning back against the sofa to study her frenzied confusion. "Running away so soon?" he murmured. "You wanted to know. I told you."
"You were being kind, for once," she grumbled "Now you're back to your old cutting self."
"I'm frustrated," he replied. "I should have explained frustration to you. It makes bears out of nice men."
"You never were a nice man," she told him, brushing back her hair.
"That's true," he agreed pleasantly. He winked at her. "But I'm sexy."
She smiled. "I guess you are," she agreed unexpectedly.
He lifted an eyebrow. "I'm delighted that you agree. At some future date, would you like me to prove it to you?"
"Well..."
"Chicken," he chided. "Go to bed. Tomorrow, I'm taking Becky for her first ride. You can come, if you like."
"Gabe, she's so small," she protested.
"And I'm big," he replied. "And I'll take good care of her. And her mother."
"I can't help being overprotective," she said defensively.
"It's just a stage you're going through," he told her. "You'll outgrow it. I'll help. Now, scoot. Let me drink myself to sleep, so that I can forget this swollen arm you damn near burst."
"I damn near burst?" she echoed blankly.
"Trying to rape me," he replied with virtuous indignation. "Look at me, for God's sake! Shirt half off, fingerprints all over my chest, I smell of whatever kind of perfume you've bathed in..."
Her eyes widened. He was flirting with her. She'd had so little experience with flirting. But it seemed like fun.
"You took my blouse off," she countered. "Women have equal rights."
"I took more than your blouse off, actually," he mused, staring at her breasts. "The ancient Greek women used to go bare-breasted, did you know? You'd have knocked the competition dead."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 19
