Chasing the Sunset

by Barbara Mack

  Maggie looked up and saw him, and a beautiful smile burst into life on her face. Nick felt a pang in his heart at the open welcome apparent on her features. She was absolutely incapable of subterfuge; everything she thought, everything she said, and everything she did was refreshingly honest. There was not a false bone in her whole beautiful body, and she was breaking Nick’s heart. He did not want to believe in her, did not want to believe that any woman could be so genuine and guileless, but Maggie flew through the days like a happy child, running everywhere, excited at every new experience.

  Once she had bared her emotions to him on that morning, they had come spilling out in a torrent, and now they just kept coming. She was full of laughter, and love, and delight in the world, and he was afraid for her. She obviously adored him, her new best friend, and he did not want to disappoint her, did not want to make that light in her pretty green eyes go away. She came running to him in the stables ten times a day, eager to show him something, or tell him something, or just to hug Tommy, who soaked up all the attention like a little sponge.

  Nick tried to tamp down his desires, tried to put out the fires that burned inside of him, and it was not working. He stared at her so often and so hungrily that every person who saw him look at her knew his innermost thoughts. The only person who did not seem to know what was eating him up was Maggie, and he did not want her to know. He knew that she had been through horrors that he could not even imagine, with that sick, perverted husband of hers, and he did not want to ever again see her look like she did when she had first arrived, all skinny and about to jump out of her skin. He knew that she could not handle what ran through his mind every time he looked at her, with what she had been through, and he was not about to scare her. But her very presence seemed to set his skin on fire and suck all the air from his lungs; he could barely breathe when she was near. Even if it killed him, he would not lay a hand on the girl, he thought grimly. And it just might be the death of him, he thought as she ran toward him now. It just might.

  Maggie could not stop the un-ladylike grin that spread across her features when she saw Nick any more than she could stop her steps from quickening as she hastened toward him. She was happy to see him, and what was wrong with that? And being that she was happy to see him, what was wrong with showing it? She laughed out loud with the sheer joy of being alive, of being in the company of this handsome man who was her friend.

  “Nick!” she cried. “I vow, the sunset this evening was the most gorgeous I have ever seen. You should have been here.” A smile lit up his austere features, lightening the lines of strain that pulled them tight.

  Truly, he is the most handsome man I have ever seen, Maggie thought. Those brown eyes look at me and make me want to melt into a puddle at his feet, like ice on a hot day. Her eyes flicked over him, noting the droplets of sweat that stained his shirt and beaded on his neck. I would like to lick those off, she thought dreamily. I wonder what he would taste like? She blushed to the roots of her hair with the thought, wondering where it came from. Her husband had cured her permanently of any sexual curiosity, she had thought, and she wondered now why the thought of that with Nick did not lately raise in her the disgust she usually associated with the act. In fact, the idea of it sent a hot flush through her, made parts of her ache in a way that she had never felt before. Her pulse thumped, she felt weak, and she had the strangest sort of feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had the oddest urge to lean up against Nick, to rub on him like a cat, to feel his skin touch hers. It would soothe her, somehow, to have him touching her.

  Nick could read the dawning interest in her eyes, and he cursed silently.Her thoughts were as clearly visible to him as if someone had written them all over her forehead. Transparent as glass, she was, and innocent as a newborn babe to boot, once married or not. That old deviate had taught her nothing about physical desire, that was for sure, and she was a young, healthy girl, was his Maggie . . . Christ, I cannot take this, he thought. It is hard enough to not touch her as it is, and now this! She was beginning to get inquisitive about the things that went on between men and women, and she was looking to the one person available to her to explain it.

  I will not do it, he thought savagely. This is where I draw the line. She can experiment on someone else. That thought sent a twinge of discomfort through him. He did not want her to experiment on someone else. He wanted to see her looking this way at him while she was flat on her back in his bed, those magnificent breasts in his hands. He cursed silently again.This line of thought was getting him nowhere. It certainly was not easing his frustration one whit.

  Maggie laid a slender hand on his arm and he flinched slightly, easing away from the tantalizing brush of her hand as unobtrusively as possible. She smiled at him, gently, her eyes lingering with such favor on his features that it almost felt like a stroke on his overheated skin.

  “Do you want to go and dabble your feet in the water?” she asked. “It is awfully hot, and you are all . . . sweaty.”

  So saying, she took her index finger and ran it slowly through the perspiration on his neck, smiling an enigmatic smile. Nick stared at her finger as if mesmerized.

  “I have got to go somewhere,” he said in a dazed manner, his gaze never leaving the hand that had touched him, followed it as she put that same finger, the one that she had run through his sweat, onto her full lower lip, her tongue darting out to meet it, followed it as she brushed it through the soft curls that surrounded her pixie face, followed it as she touched the front of her dress. “I have got to go . . . somewhere.”

  He stared at her wildly, she thought. He seemed mesmerized by the way she had licked her finger, so she decided to try it again. Her emerald eyes held his, and she flicked her tongue out again to lick slowly along the length of her finger. She watched a flush of color spread slowly up from his collar, and his mouth twitched.

  “Do not play with me, Maggie,” he said in a harsh, low voice. “You do not know what you are doing. I am a grown man, not a little boy. Cut your teeth on someone else.”

  ”What if I do not want somebody else?” she asked in a husky voice. “What if I want . . . only you?”

  His face hardened and became a mask that Maggie could not read. Only his eyes were alive; they licked over her and set her on fire everywhere they touched.

  “You cannot have me, little girl,” he said cruelly. “I want a woman, and I only want her in my bed. I have got no other use for them, and you would just go mixing up love and lust.” His eyes met hers. “That is all it is, Maggie. Lust.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. Maggie felt her bravery disappear, and she felt her shoulders slump. What did she think that she was doing, anyway? She was not a woman that anyone would want. She imagined that she saw desire on his face. It was only wishful thinking, a mirror of her own thoughts.

  “Let’s go back,” Maggie said quietly, when she could no longer meet Nick’s gaze.

  “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go back.”

  He set off at a swift pace that soon had them at the house and left Maggie standing on the doorstep all alone, while he went . . . somewhere.

  **********************************

  “I am sorry, Sally,” Nick said ruefully, his arm crossed over his eyes as he lay naked in her bed. “I do not know what is the matter with me.”

  Sally laughed shortly, and reached over him with a plump white arm to the bedside table. She picked up a cheroot from a decorative box.

  “Oh, sugar, you do too,” she said in her sweet-as-honey drawl as she lit the little cigar, making acrid smoke swirl around the bed. “Everybody knows about that pretty little thing you have got livin’ at your house. At least show me the courtesy of not lyin’ to me. I thought we were better friends than that.”

  Nick lowered his arm to stare at her, at the blonde hair that flowed around sweetly rounded shoulders, at the face that had comforted him many, many nights since the disaster of his wedding.

  “We are friend
s,” he told her. “As good friends as I can ever be with a woman. I did not realize you were dissatisfied with our arrangement, “he said stiffly.

  ”You thought I would make everything all better again, just like I have done forever,” she said sharply. “Well, I cannot nurse you through every woman in your life, and I will not. Do not cheapen what we have had by using me as your back up woman, Nick. I am worth more than that.”

  She held the sheet firmly to herself with one hand, eyeing him defiantly, and he felt a burst of shame. Sally Henderson was a fine woman, and she deserved better than to be used to distance himself from his problems. She was the widow of an old friend of his, and they had naturally turned to each other for consolation when they had needed it. The affair had been mutually beneficial, he had thought, but evidently it was time to move on. He could not sleep with her every time he needed to take the edge off because of Maggie.

  Hell, he thought tiredly, he could not sleep with her at all if tonight was anything to go by. He swung his long legs off the edge of the bed. He had been as close to Sally as he could allow himself to be. He brought her presents, he slept with her, and he had maintained their relationship within strict borders. She was his mistress; he was her lover. They did not share secrets; they provided release for each other, and that was all.

  “There is obviously something between you two, at least on your part,” Sally said at his back, not unkindly. “You are going to have to deal with it, and not in your usual way,” she said wryly. He could hear the smile in her voice. She was careful to keep it so; she wanted no hint of the chagrin she felt to show. “I am apparently not the solution this time.”

  “I should have married you, Sally,” he said, turning and taking her hand. “Why didn’t I?”

  “Because I would not have had you,” she told him haughtily, then ruined the effect by grinning broadly. “Anyway, I have been considering getting married again, and not to you. Get on out of here, you. Go talk to that girl.”

  She pushed at his shoulder, and Nick leaned to kiss her mouth softly, then brought up both her hands to press a kiss on her white knuckles, one at a time.

  “It has been grand, Sally,” he said, a crooked grin twisting the corners of his mouth. “Thank you.”

  Sally tossed her hair, giving him a practiced smile that Nick thought bordered on shy. That was almost ridiculous considering the content of their former relationship. Her bright blue eyes met his, then her lashes swept down to cover whatever emotion it was he saw flash briefly in their cerulean depths.

  “He is a lucky man, whoever he is.”

  “Go on,” she said tartly. “Just go do it. Stop wastin’ time.”

  Sally wanted him to leave so that she could indulge herself in a good cry. She thought Nick had been happy with her; they had been lovers for over a year, and she had thought that maybe, just maybe, he had started to need her. That was not the case, she saw now. She had tried every trick in the book, save one, and she refused to ruin her figure by getting pregnant, even for Nick. She had been just a convenience to him, nothing more. She could at least maintain the appearance of giving in gracefully. He would never know how she wanted to rant and scream at him, how she wanted to pound her fists on his chests.

  Nick chuckled to himself as he put on his clothes. He was still chuckling as he mounted his horse and started the ride home. Who had have thought it? Sally shoving him out the door, and straight into someone else’s arms. Not that he was going to go into Maggie’s arms.

  He whistled softly to himself on the trek home, all of a sudden in a surprisingly good mood. The moon was full, and Jet shied nervously at the shadows cast by the trees, and at the way the wind moaned and rustled through the grass and made it stir as if it were a living creature. The horse whickered softly, and Nick soothed him automatically, making a clucking noise with his tongue. It was a night made for lying naked in bed with your arms close around your lover and whispering secrets, he thought ruefully. Too bad he did not have a lover any longer, or that he did not care to reveal his secrets to anyone. He would have to make do with a whiskey and a book.

  Once Jet was put to bed and Nick was slumped in a chair in the library, he rubbed his forehead, sipped his whiskey, and stared moodily at the empty grate of the fireplace. He had not bothered to light a lamp, and it was dark. He preferred it that way, just the moonlight and him. He was going to drink enough to put himself to sleep for once, and he was not going to think of that vulnerable, beautiful, sweet girl who lay sleeping upstairs . . . in a bed that belonged to him, with her perfect breasts unfettered, just waiting for him to . . .

  Nick cursed himself savagely, drawing up his sprawled legs to sit up straight and try to ignore the rising evidence of his arousal. His permanent arousal, or so it seemed, except, of course, for when he had the chance to relieve that self-same arousal, he thought sourly. Then what happened? Why, it went away, with but one errant thought of the toffee-haired charmer that haunted his every waking moment. Nick tossed back the whiskey and reached for the bottle to pour another. If he was going to get drunk, he might as well do it right. He tossed that one down, too, and then brought the bottle to his mouth for a long, reckless swig. He gasped and rubbed his mouth on his sleeve. He started to feel warm, so he sprawled back out and loosened the buttons on his fine linen shirt, noticing that his coordination left something to be desired. Oh, well, he thought, and brought the bottle back to his mouth, being drunk has its disadvantages. A crooked grin twisted his mobile mouth, and Nick started to feel a sight better about his situation. He was relaxed for the first time in weeks.

  He slid further down in his chair, and propped one boot clad leg on the cherry side table. A small noise had him turning his head to see Maggie come creeping in and replace a book upon the shelves. He must have made a noise of his own, for she gasped and whirled around, her unbound hair swirling in a fragrant cloud around her shoulders.

  “Nick?” she said uncertainly, taking a step toward him.

  “Stay back,” he said flatly, as he sat up and took another long pull from his friend, the whiskey bottle. “Better yet, go back to bed. Take ‘nother book with you, if you want. Just go.”

  The lunar light spilled in from the window and outlined her shape in the thin cotton gown and robe that she was wearing. Outlined it in great detail, he thought woozily.

  “Go quick, Maggie,” he said huskily. “Go on, get out of here!” He gestured toward the door with the hand that held the bottle.

  “Why, you are drunk as a lord, Nick Revelle!” she said indignantly, putting her fisted hands on slim hips. “What on earth are you doing sitting here in the dark drinking god-knows-what?”

  “Should have known it was too good to be true,” Nick said to himself as she advanced on him. “I could not have one moment of peace in m’ own house, now could I?” He managed to get one more swig from the whiskey bottle before she pulled it from his grasp and placed it out of his reach on the side table. The warm sweet scent of her rose up all around him, and he pulled a silky swatch of her hair to his nose and inhaled deeply.

  “You always smell so good,” he said dreamily. Maggie straightened slowly, pulling gently as he continued to hold her hair. He let the slippery strands slide through his fingers, then reached out suddenly to pull her sideways down across his lap.

  Maggie gasped, and quivered, un-nameable feelings rising in her as she felt the hardness of his thighs under her bottom. She braced her hands against his chest, for her feet were dangling against his shins, and she felt decidedly unsteady. Her eyes met his, and she caught her breath at the heat that blazed from his gaze.

  “I told you to go,” he said lightly, holding her captive with his molten gaze. “Too late now. You took away my fun, and now you have to pay the price before I will let you leave, Maggie girl.”

  The linen shirt he wore was thin and damp, and Maggie could feel every contour of his chest beneath her palms. Her heart began to beat out a fast rhythm, and she moved her outspread hands experimenta
lly. She stifled a gasp as his hands snaked out to grasp her hips firmly.

  “What is the price?” she asked shakily, that strange combination of fear and delight that she always felt in his presence making her hands tremble wildly.

  “A kiss, sweet Maggie,” he breathed softly, leaning in so close that she could feel the warm, whiskey-scented exhalations against her cheek. “One little kiss, for me to take to my cold, lonely bed and cuddle up with for the rest of the night. Not too much to ask, is it?”

  “N . . . no,” she said huskily, uncertainly. “I guess not, I mean . . . you could kiss me, and then I will . . . I will go to my room.”

  “Ah, no,” he said gently, shifting her weight until she fell sideways against his chest with a

  little squeak, one of his arms circling her waist, the other still grasping her hip. They were so close now that Maggie had to tilt her head back to see him, and her hands clung to his shoulders for support. His sensual mouth was just inches from hers. The pupils of his fine dark eyes were dilated with drink and lust. If she moved her head fractionally, they would touch, and that thought made panic rise suddenly in her. A knot had lodged in her throat, and she shivered in his arms despite the heat she felt rising off his body. She held his shoulders so tightly that her knuckles began to whiten. Her fear rose up from the depths of her stomach and threatened to choke her, and she knew that he could feel it beginning to take over her consciousness. She saw it in his eyes, saw his passion for begin to gentle, felt it in the way that his hold on her loosened.

  “You have to kiss me, little Maggie.”

  He placed a quick caress against the side of her mouth, so softly that if her eyes had been closed, she would have wondered if she had imagined it. His big hand rubbed soothingly against her back, and his grip loosened. He pressed his mouth against her temple, touching the pulse that beat so swiftly there. “That is not so bad, is it Maggie?”