Her lips parted. "I don't mind—"
"Well, I do." He lifted her away and got to his feet, bristling with masculine frustration as he jerked up his clothing.
Maggie watched him as she slipped into her own things, admiring the fluid grace of his body as he dressed with deft, sure motions.
"You're very good to look at," she said absently.
"I'm in a temper," he grumbled. "Don't push your luck."
"Why? What will you do?" she teased softly, smiling.
He glared at her. "Do you really want to know?" He leaned down, his shirt unbuttoned, and put his hand on either side of her. With his hair tumbling over his forehead, his mouth swollen, his eyes narrowed, he was so sensuous that she wanted to reach up and kiss that hard mouth senseless.
"Yes," she challenged.
"I'll throw you on the carpet," he whispered with mock fury, "where I'll strip you and ravish you until you scream for help."
"Ravish me how?" she whispered back, her lips parted. "Show me."
His breath caught in his throat. She had potential. There was passion in her. It had been crushed out, but he could revive it. He could make her burn for him. He knew he could.
He bent and rubbed his open mouth against hers in a rough, inciting caress. "Like that," he murmured. "And this." His tongue teased around her lips, probing in quick thrusts until she lifted toward him with a tiny moan.
But he drew back, smiling rakishly. "Next time," he said, watching her, "we'll have to have a radio beside us, to drown you out. You're noisy,"
"If I am, it's your fault," she shot back, and laughed. Her hair was in a tangle, her makeup gone, but she was still a dish. "You did all those shocking things to me."
"Were they shocking?" he asked curiously.
She lowered her eyes to his broad, sexy chest. "I felt pleasure. That was shocking," she corrected. "I loved it. Every second of it. I didn't think women were supposed to really enjoy it."
"My God, he was a basket case, wasn't he?" he asked curtly.
"Emotionally, I guess he was. And is. I feel halfway sorry for his wife." She looked up. "He'll hate the idea of Becky being here. He'll fight it with every dirty trick he can find. He was always jealous of you, even though there had never been anything between us. My parents adored you. They were always talking about you."
He smiled. "I liked them, too. Let me worry about your animal of an ex-husband." He pulled her to her feet and held her close to his lean, relaxed body. "You just worry about me."
She slid her arms around his neck. "I want to make love to you," she said with unexpected passion, searching his eyes. "I want to give you as much pleasure as you gave me."
"You did," he said, stunned. "Didn't you know?"
She colored a little. "You were...very quiet."
"I always am," he replied softly. "But I felt it all the same. You felt it just before I did," he added with a gentle smile. "I don't imagine you had the presence of mind to notice what was happening to me. I felt your body shuddering...."
"Don't," she whispered, pressing close.
"It shouldn't embarrass you to talk about it," he said at her ear, smoothing the dress against her back.
“I’ll get used to it," she promised. "But it's all so new."
"Yes." Everything seemed to be, with her. He closed his eyes as he rested his cheek against her hair. It smelled of flowers. So did she. Her body was soft and warm, and his began reacting to it all over again.
And this time, when she felt it, she laughed delightedly.
"You witch!" he cried, shocked into laughing himself. "I thought you were too shy to talk about it"
"I'm only shy, not numb," she teased, and moved even closer. "Gabe, I love it when...this happens. I love being a woman."
His chest expanded until he thought it was going to burst. "We'd better say good night before I lose my head again." He lifted his face and searched her eyes. "I'm sorry if I forced this on you. I want to marry you. But I didn't mean to back you into a corner."
She touched his shirt. "Actually it wasn't a corner you backed me into, it was a sofa you laid me down on...."
"Stop that," he murmured darkly, and pinched her.
"You stop it," she returned with pert defiance. "I'm a big girl now, I could have said no if I'd wanted to."
"Bullfeathers," he snorted. "You were half out of your mind. I'm the one who should have—"
"Bullfeathers?" Her eyebrows arched.
He glowered down at her. "Well, there's Becky," he said, glancing away. "I can't very well use my regular words around her, can I?"
Maggie laughed delightedly. He made the sun come out, he made her whole and free and so happy. "Oh, Gabe," she breathed, and embraced him suddenly, holding him, hugging him. "You're wonderful."
He knew instinctively that, like Becky, she avoided physical contact most of the time. The fact that she was relaxed enough with him to initiate it now was devastating. He held her, ignoring the anguish of his body.
"Honey, I'm glad you think so," he murmured against her hair. He smoothed it, admiring its silky texture. His arms contracted gently, and he smiled.
"I never imagined it would feel like that," he said absently, and nuzzled her cheek. "I used to dream about undressing you, touching you. Long after you left here, you'd invade my dreams. I should have realized then..."
"Realized what?" she murmured dreamily, He stopped, shocking himself with what had popped into his mind. He ignored it, put it away quickly. No, this wasn't going to happen; he wouldn't let it.
“Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking back." She stared across his broad chest to the window beyond. "Gabe...was it like that with her?" He stiffened a little. "Her?" "The woman you were so much in love with." He drew a quick breath, hesitating. He didn't want to talk about it, to remember it
"I shouldn't have asked," Maggie said when she realized how personal a question she'd asked him. She lifted her head. "I haven't the right to ask you such questions."
"Haven't you," he replied quietly, "after the intimacy we've just shared?" He touched her face with oddly explorative fingers. "Maggie, it's never been like that with anyone," he said at last. "Not even...with her."
She blossomed in front of his eyes, her face suddenly radiant, unexpectedly beautiful.
He laughed nervously. Imagine, feeling nervous with Maggie. He bent and brushed her mouth with his. "Go to bed. We'll talk again in the morning, in broad daylight. You're very seductive at night, and we've already committed one big blunder, thanks to my sudden lapse."
"It was a very nice sudden lapse," she whispered.
"I thought so, too." He let her go. "Get out of here, will you? This stoic front is going to shatter if you keep looking at me like that."
"One can hope, can't one?" She sighed theatrically, looking at him like a lovesick puppy.
He glared, and she grinned. "Good night," she said pertly, and left him, without even realizing the sudden, sweet difference in her manner. But Gabe noticed. And his eyes began to glow with a soft, budding light. He felt the first tingle of possession. And it wasn't at all unpleasant.
Chapter Eight
Becky was up at dawn, bouncing on her mother's bed with her dog in her arms. "Wake up, Mama!" she laughed. "Look, the sun's out!"
"Well, tell it to go away," Maggie mumbled, and put the pillow over her head.
"You have to get up!" the little girl persisted.
"Why?" her mother said from under the pillow.
"Because we're going fishing," came a deeply male voice from above her. The covers and pillow were suddenly torn away, leaving Maggie exposed and defenseless in her pale-blue gown, staring up into Gabe's laughing face.
"Fishing?" She gaped at him through sleepy eyes. He was already dressed in jeans and a print shirt, looking fresh and rested and vibrant. And she felt like an oversqueezed cloth.
"Fishing," he replied. "Honey, go downstairs and tell Jennie we all want a big breakfast, then tell your grandma that we'll be leav
ing before she gets up. Okay?"
"Okay!" Becky jumped down with the puppy clutched tight against her pale-blue shirt and ran off, ponytail flying.
"But I'm so tired," Maggie moaned. Then she came fully awake and realized that she wasn't only tired, she was sore, and knew why, and blushed.
"My, my, no wonder you're tired," he murmured with a devilish grin. He sat down on the bed beside her and leaned over her on his forearms. "Mmm, aren't you a pretty thing when you wake up?" he mused, studying her disheveled dark hair and flushed oval face.
"You're pretty, too," she said, her huge green eyes staring at him admiringly. "Good morning."
"Good morning, sunshine," he teased, and bent to her warm, soft mouth.
There was a new tenderness in him, one that radiated from him like spring sunshine. She sensed it and delighted in it, reaching up to bring his chest down against her breasts.
"That'srisky,"hewhisperedatherlips. "You're barely covered. I can feel you, even through the cloth."
"I can feel you, too," she whispered back, reaching to press her hand over his hard, broad chest. "I wish..."
"You wish what?" he asked gently.
"I wish we were alone on a desert island, just for a few hours," she replied. "And there'd be no one to see us or hear us, and I could be with you the way we were last night."
"Desert islands are in short supply around here," he said with a smile, brushing her hair away from her face. "But I'd like that, too. You're sweet to love."
Her body tingled at the sound of the word, and she remembered how he'd put it, whispering that it wasn't sex at all. And it hadn't been. Sex was just a physical coming together, a brief pleasure. What they'd shared was deeper, somehow. Almost...reverent.
She searched his pale-blue eyes, noticing the tiny lines fanning out from their corners, and the length and thickness of his black lashes. His brows were heavy and dark, and impulsively she ran the tip of her finger over them. It was heady, touching him that way, and he seemed not to mind. His eyes closed.
"Go ahead," he murmured. "Explore me if you want to."
She did. It was exciting, too, to run her fingers over his lean cheeks, the place where his nose had been broken and was the most crooked, the chiseled line of his hard mouth, his stubborn chin. He wasn't handsome—not technically. But he had an inner attractiveness that made his looks irrelevant. And his body was just magnificent, she thought with a sigh.
"I like that," he murmured as she worked her way down to his chest. "I like the way your fingers feel."
"I like touching you," she confessed, finding the realization fascinating. "I've never wanted to touch anyone else," she added vaguely. "It's odd, how I can't seem to stop doing it with you."
His eyes opened, searching hers. "That sounds serious."
"Does it?" She returned his scrutiny. "You don't have to look so worried," she told him, and smiled. "I'm not going to fall madly in love with you and start clinging like ivy."
"That's a relief," he said, saying the words without really meaning them. He grinned. "I'd hate to have a lovesick woman hanging on me all the time."
Her eyes dropped to his chest so that he couldn't see how much his careless remark had hurt. But why should it matter? She didn't care about him. "Well, there's no danger of that," she told him firmly.
He wondered why he felt irritated by her remark. Did he want her to love him? He drew back, a little disturbed.
She looked sad. Her face had lost its lovely color, and she seemed oddly taut.
"Hey," he said gently, tilting her chin up until her eyes met his. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "I was just wondering if we should marry..."
"I like you," he said at once. "Don't you like me?"
"Yes!"shesaidwithsmilingenthusiasm.
"Very much!"
He chuckled. "And together, physically, we create something beautiful and lasting. So why shouldn't friends marry?"
She couldn't think of a single reason why not. There was always the hope that love would come, that he'd learn to care about her; of course there was.
She sighed, watching him, thinking how devastating he was, how masculine and appealing. And he was going to be all hers. No other woman would know him again as she did. He'd be her man. Completely. She felt a wild hunger for possession. She wanted him to wear a ring; she wanted everyone to know that he belonged to her. Her own bold thoughts startled her.
Her green eyes searched his hard face and she thought, I love him. I always have.
She felt the shock to her toes. Yes, she did love him. Otherwise she couldn't have given herself as she had the night before. Especially not when she carried the scars from her first marriage so close to the surface. Why hadn't she realized that before? A purely physical coming together wouldn't— couldn't—have been so profound.
"You're worried," Gabe repeated, frowning.
"No!" She sat up, pushing back her hair, forcing a smile. "Truly I'm not. I just don't know if I remember how to fish!"
"I'll teach you. That, and more," he promised, and bent to touch her mouth carelessly with his.
Maggie gasped at the soft contact. It was suddenly so exquisite to know how she felt and have him touch her. She moaned a little and opened her mouth for him.
He caught his breath at her unexpected submission. His heart began to beat wildly. He lifted his head and looked at her, feeling all man and a yard wide—and frankly hungry.
His lean fingers took hold of the strap of her gown and slowly tugged it down, baring one taut, pretty breast to his glittering eyes.
Her lips parted. Her head fell back. She watched him, glorying in the way he was looking at her, in his obvious hunger for her.
"Touch me there," she whispered huskily.
His heart leapt into his throat. She was going to be a handful. He hadn't expected this. He didn't know what he'd expected anymore. His fingers trailed down her shoulder, her arm. To her ribs, up, but just enough to tantalize. He watched the nipple grow harder and harder at his teasing, heard her breath turning shallow and quick.
"Is it my hands you want, or my mouth?" he whispered, brushing his lips softly against hers.
Her nails gripped his shoulders helplessly. "Anything," she whispered back, her voice shaking. "Anything!"
"Only for a second, then," he breathed, bending slowly. "We can't start something now."
But he wanted to. He cupped her breast in his palm and savored its soft weight as he bent to tease it gently with his lips and tongue and teeth. Maggie was whimpering. The sound excited him almost beyond bearing, but he had to keep his head, he had to be gentle, he had to...God!
He threw her back into the pillows and followed her down, his face hard with passion, his hands pinning her.
"Do it," she challenged. Her eyes were wide and hot, and behind them was the first spark of a blazing need for possession. "Do it. I dare you."
He shook all over with the effort to control it. She was a siren, lying there with her eyes daring him, her body yielded, promising heaven. Becky. Becky would be back any minute.
He eased his grip on her wrists. "Becky," he whispered. "She'll see."
She blinked, as if she hadn't really been lucid. Then she caught her breath as she stared up at him with slowly dawning comprehension. "Oh."
"Oh, indeed." Gabe sat up, drawing her with him, faintly amused even through his own frustration at the look on her face. "I wasn't the only one who got carried away," he insinuated devilishly. "What did you want me to do, for God's sake? Take you right here with the door wide open?"
She went beet red. He made it sound like a quick tumble in the hay, and she hated him for it. She didn't consider that he was frustrated and eaten up with desire. She only knew that he was hurting her.
"Sorry," she said, trying to sound unaffected by it. "I guess I forgot. I'd better get dressed."
He let her go with reluctance and watched her tug up the shoulder strap of her gown. The light had gone out of her, eve
n before she went to her closet and started pulling out jeans and a green print blouse.
He got to his feet slowly and went to stand just behind her, not touching. "Don't draw into a shell," he said gently. "I told you, I'm rusty at this. It...surprised me. That's all."
It had surprised her, too, but she'd only just realized that she was in love with him. And how could she admit that, when he was only marrying her for Becky's sake? He'd said so. The physical magic was a fringe benefit. He didn't love her. He didn't want to love anybody.
She forced herself to act casual and turned with a smile. "It surprised me, too," she confessed, her tone light and superficial. "No harm done."
He searched her eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"You didn't," she said quickly. Too quickly. "I'll get my clothes on. Where are we going?"
"Down on the pond," he replied. "I keep it stocked with game fish."
"You'll have to bait the hook if you use spring lizards," she murmured. "I don't mind worms, but I don't like lizards."
"Okay."
She turned, holding her clothes, and stared at him.
He got the message, belatedly. "I'll go see about the gear." He paused at the door and looked back with steady blue eyes. "I won't leave the room after we're married. I don't think married people should be embarrassed to undress in front of each other."
"Neither do I," she agreed calmly. "But we're not married yet."
"We will be by Friday," he told her, and went out the door without another word. And that was the first she'd heard of her wedding date.
She was surprised to learn after breakfast that they were going to fish with cane poles instead of rods and reels.
"What?" she exclaimed, staring at the old, enormously long pole he extended toward her. "You want me to catch a fish with that? Where's the safety? Where's the spool? Where's the—"
"It's all one unit, see?" he said reasonably. "Hook, sinker, float, thirty-pound test line and a box of worms. Here."
She took the worms and the pole and gaped at him. "This ranch is worth a fortune, and you can't afford a spinning reel?"
Books By Diana Palmer Page 23
