by Barbara Mack
She could hear his voice rumble in his chest, hear the pleading tone in his low utterance, could feel the affection in his grip, and knew suddenly that if she tried to get up, he would let her. If she pushed his chest, and slapped his face, he would let her go back to her room, and she would never face any consequences save his shame in the morning. The knot in her throat began to dissolve, and her clamp on his shoulders eased. An unfamiliar lightheadedness made her catch her breath, her fingers fair tingling to burrow through the hair she saw peeking from his unbuttoned shirt.
“No, I can do that,” she said shyly. She turned to face him fully, and leaned forward to quickly put a haphazard, crooked kiss onto his lips. His lips were firm, and dry beneath her own, and Maggie lowered her eyes chastely as she hurriedly pulled her head away.
“There,” she said shakily. “Now I am off to bed, and you need to do the same, for I am sure that you will have the aching head tomorrow, what with . . . “
He chuckled and Maggie felt him shake under her hands. Her eyes flew to him, startled. Her mouth still tingled from the contact with his, and she was not feeling the least bit amused.
“Oh, Maggie, love,” he said, and cupped his hand around her cheek. “I have had better kisses from my dear departed granny.” He laughed again, and held her tightly as Maggie huffed and tried to jump off his lap. “Do not be mad at me, darlin’. Let me show you how it is done.”
Nick lifted his hands away from her and held them in the air, as if to emphasize their innocence.
“I will not even touch you, and you can stop whenever you want. I promise.”
Maggie wavered between common sense and desire, and desire won out. “All right,” she said. “But if I say stop, you stop, all . . . all right?”
He smiled at her, his molasses colored eyes glittering dangerously. “I will put my hands behind my back,” he said. “You just pull away whenever you want to quit, and I will quit.”
Maggie nodded nervously and swallowed hard. Nick angled his head forward to meet hers, and she felt him still smiling as he kissed her sweetly, his lips molding to hers. He tasted of smoke and whiskey, and the combination was not unpleasant. Maggie licked her lips when he drew away, and his eyes followed the move intently.
“All right?” he murmured, and Maggie nodded her assent to continue the kiss. His tongue came out and licked a warm, wet path down the seam of her mouth, and she gasped with the sensation. Nick was quick to follow up his advantage, opening his mouth, pressing more firmly against her. His tongue swept inside her mouth to wrestle with hers, and suddenly Maggie was on fire and she could not get close enough to his body. She pushed her every curve against his warm torso, her breasts against his chest, her arms twining around his neck, and still it was not enough.
Nick kissed his heart out, kissed out his frustration of weeks, his anger at himself, his helplessness at the situation. Maggie twisted and squirmed on his lap, and still she was not close enough. She grasped his shirt in her two hands and squirmed harder.
“More?” he murmured, breathing heavily, his hands going up to still hers.
“Yes,” she said, and leaned back into him. He cradled her face in his hands, controlling the direction of her head, changing the angle so as to get the best feel. She pressed against him more tightly with a moan, her arm pulling him down closer, fingers raking through the thickness of his hair. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts through her lips, and the hoarse sound of her panting set him on fire. He bent her backward and followed her down, buried his face in her throat, nuzzling the soft creases, and Maggie cried out, her body arching up to his, drawing attention to those sweet orbs that haunted his every waking moment, and not a few of his sleeping ones. He cupped a palm around her firm breast, feeling her hardened nipple against his palm, watching her face as he did so. She moaned again, and Nick bent his head to suckle her breast right through the thin cotton of her nightrail, then pulled back to blow on the wet material. Her hands grasped the back of his head frantically, pulling his hair in her frenzied attempt to urge him back down. Nick laughed softly in triumph, put his mouth back to her nipple, and was rewarded with another cry of ecstasy. He stood suddenly, and Maggie’s eyes flew open.
“Please,” she whimpered, but he was only moving to lie her down on the couch that graced one corner of the library. He knelt beside her and buried his head between her breasts, alternating his affection between the two of them, and Maggie tugged on his hair again, wanting, wanting . . . something else. She wanted something to ease this feeling almost of pain she had between her white thighs.
“Please, please,” she begged him. She opened dazed green eyes to stare into his brown ones. “Nick, I . . . “
”I know,” he said. His hand slid down her body slowly, and Maggie’s stomach convulsed under his touch. “You hurt . . . here.” Nick’s hand came to a rest between her thighs, and Maggie gripped it tightly between clenched legs with a cry.
“Ssshhh, ssshhh . . . “he whispered, and went to his knees beside her. “I will make it all better for you, I promise.” He bent to kiss her again with drugging slowness, his mouth dragging hard against hers and lingering. “Say you will let me, sweet Maggie . . . let me make you feel good.” He shared his breath with her, moved his head to lick the delicate whorl of her ear, and then whisper into it. “Let me, please, Maggie.”
She nodded, incapable of speech, and he kissed her again while his hand pulled up her nightrail and stroked the satiny smoothness of her inner thigh. Nick laid his head on her stomach, and traced a finger into the warm, wet recess between her legs. He stroked her, round and round gently, then more firmly. Maggie’s back arched up sharply as he inserted first one finger,
then the other, never ceasing his relentless fondling.
“Nick!” she cried. “Oh, that feels . . . “Then conversation was lost to her as her world shattered into a million pieces, and she could only let out an inarticulate scream of pleasure. She clamped her thighs around his hand, and still he stroked, never ceasing until her whole universe shattered again and again, and her only thought was the pleasure she felt in the damp folds between her thighs.
After what seemed an eternity, she fell back limply against the couch, hair soaking wet with sweat, still breathing harshly. She opened heavy-lidded eyes when she felt Nick’s head lie upon her breast, pressing random kisses against her sensitive nipple. Her hand slid through his hair to the wet skin at the back of his neck and she felt him shiver and stiffen at her touch. His hand came out to grasp hers and pull it firmly to his chest as he rocked back on his knees to smile crookedly at her.
"I vow, Maggie . . . “His eyes smiled into hers. “You take my breath away.”
“I was going to say that,” Maggie whispered, and felt the heat of a blush rise through her whole body. She was suddenly conscious of her disordered clothing, and she pulled down her nightrail to cover her legs. When she tried to pull her other hand away from Nick’ grip, he would not let her.
“Do not,” he said huskily. “Do not be embarrassed, or shamed. You did not do anything wrong. I tricked you into this, but I am not really sorry. I am glad you let me please you. I would not trade that for anything, Maggie.” He pulled her hand up to place a kiss in her work-worn palm, and Maggie shivered and felt another unexpected twinge between her thighs.
“What . . . “She cleared her throat. “What about you? You . . . you did not . . . even I know . . . “ Maggie gave up trying to explain what she meant, blushed even harder, and indicated his obviously still-powerfully-aroused body with a wave of her hand.
“I do not have to,” he told her, and helped her to a sitting position. “I wanted to make you feel good. I wanted you to know that it could be good between a man and a woman. Oh, hell, Maggie, I drank too much whiskey tonight,” he said, and rubbed a rueful hand through his hair. “But not enough that I wanted to leave you with child, or make you hate me. I do not want you to leave. I do not want you to stop being my friend.”
“I will not
leave,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “But I could still . . . “Her hands reached out to stroke him, and Nick groaned and thrust his hips helplessly against her hands, then held himself away.
“No,” he said with a crooked smile. “I cannot believe I am telling you this, but no. Don’t press your luck, Maggie. I have only got so much control. Go to bed, and sleep, Maggie. Just forget this . . . just forget about this ever happening. ”
He helped her to her feet and shooed her out the door of the library, returning to sit on the couch which still held the scent of her; the smell of arousal lingered in the air and all around him. He wondered cynically if he could take his own advice. He doubted it. He doubted very seriously if he would ever forget the events of this night.
Maggie hugged her pillow to herself in her bed and smiled sleepily, the warmth that she felt having little to do with the temperature outside. Forget tonight? She never would . . . and neither would Nick. She had found out tonight that he desired her just as much as she desired him, and she could make him forget his principles and love her the way she was meant to be loved. She had been married once, had gone the respectable route, and it had been a nightmare. She was never going to do that again. She wanted Nick in her bed without benefit of clergy, and she would have him there if it took her all the rest of her days. She no longer cared about other people’s perceptions of events, only her own, and she would be his mistress. She’d had enough of marriage and all the cruelties it entailed; a wife was her husband’s property, like a cow or a dog. Ownership of everything was transferred to him when they were married, and he could do anything he wanted with it and with her. What did women need with money? A husband could provide anything that she needed.
A small, enigmatic smile curved her lips. No, no more husbands for her, not ever. But a lover, now that was another thing entirely.
FOUR
Maggie rolled over and punched her pillow viciously, her mood a far cry from her smugly complacent one three weeks ago, after her interlude with Nick in the library. She cursed fiercely under her breath, using words that her poor sainted mother had probably never even heard. Why, she would have died of apoplexy on the spot if she had ever heard Maggie talk this way, and she’d had no idea that Maggie had often hung around the docks when she was supposed to be safe and snug in Colette’s home two doors down.
Maggie smiled, temporarily appeased, as she thought of the fine chase that she and Colette had led their mothers upon. They had often told their mothers they would be playing in the other’s house, when in reality they were headed straight for the docks and adventure. That was where Maggie had picked up her colorful language, and she wondered if Colette still used all those fine, descriptive words when she was angry, or if life ... or her husband ... had beaten all that lovely defiance right out of her. Colette had gotten married right before she had left St. Louis, to the oldest son of a highly respected merchant. Jeffrey, his name was, and he had adored Colette since he was in short pants. Maggie had been invited to the wedding, but she had not been allowed to go, of course. In fact, she had been beaten just for asking. She closed her mind to those old memories. They had no power to hurt her here.
Maggie flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, her skin so hot that she felt as if her chemise might burst into flames at any second. She suddenly sat up and stripped it off defiantly, throwing the poor abused chemise onto the floor before she sprawled in a wanton display of naked limbs on her disordered bed. Who would know that she was sleeping naked? Not Nick, that was for sure, she thought sourly. She had been so positive she could entice him to her bed, so confident, but it was hard to seduce someone who was never around, and when he was around he was never alone with her. He had stopped his practice of eating in the kitchen to sit at the massive oak table of the dining room, and he had brought home everyone in the county to have dinner with him. He had brought home horse traders, neighbors, even Uncle Ned who normally ate in the kitchen with her had to have a meal with Nick. Why, she wagered he locked his door at night and wedged a chair under the shiny doorknob that she scrubbed so diligently once a week, just for safe measure!
Arrogant, aggravating man! Just when you thought you had him figured out, he went and turned out to be some noble . . . idiot! Maggie’s pulse thundered hotly in her neck, feeling as if something were struggling to get out, as if she were nothing but some great big cocoon with the real her hidden inside . . . and it was time to come out. The thump-thump of her pulse could be nothing but her new wings beating madly inside, trying to find an exit.
She smiled faintly at her fantasy, and felt the tiniest bit cooler. Why, oh why, could nothing go her way? Had she not suffered enough? Was she not to be allowed any happiness at all in her life? Nick wanted her, she knew it, and he was deciding what was best for her. She just would not have it. It was shameful, the way he just went ahead and did what he thought was right for her, and she was going to bring it to his attention . . . just as soon as she could catch him alone. Her mouth twisted wryly. The way her luck was running right now, that was going to be around the beginning of the next century.
She grinned to herself, then giggled out loud at the picture her imagination conjured up.
Her bent and wizened, walking slowly but persistently after a gray-bearded Nick, who wobbled alarmingly on his cane as he struggled to get away.
Maggie flung herself out of the bed to stand naked in her window, hoping to find a breeze. She felt a sneaking thrill at her own scandalous behavior. If she was going to go her own way and be naughty, she might as well start doing what she liked in other ways, too, she thought defiantly. It was hot and clothes were just a . . . a damned nuisance when it was so sweltering! Maggie grinned. Her mother was probably spinning in her grave. They were both probably up in heaven, right now, Ma in a fine snit, with Da patting her hand the way that he always did when she was upset.
Now, dear, it is not as bad as you imagine, I am sure. Our Maggie is a fine, upstandin’ girl, and I am sure she has a reason for doin’ the things she is been doin’. After all, darlin’, she is right. Nobody can see her naked when she is in that room all alone, and the cursin’, well, you can blame that on her Da, I am afraid. I always was a terrible one to watch my mouth when I was angry.
Maggie laughed out loud, and suddenly realized that it was the first time she had thought of her parents without the pain that stabbed her like a dagger with every memory of them. She took a deep breath. It felt good to be free of the piercing grief of the last three years, felt good to remember them with laughter instead of tears. She leaned out the window, feeling deliciously wicked and definitely cooler as a breeze blew across her and tightened her nipples into hard little pink nubs. Maggie shuddered and remembered when Nick had taken her nipples into his mouth and sucked on them. She touched herself there, and felt a throbbing, almost-pain assault her body. It had been so perfect, that time in the library. She wanted that again.
The moon was a curved sliver of pearly-white, Venus a blue-white dot right beside it. She
craned her neck back and stared up into the sky. God’s toenail, Maggie thought. That is what Da always called the moon when it looked like that. I remember sitting contentedly in Da’s arms, the moon looking just like this, Mama beside us with that indulgent smile on her face.
Everything looked so different at night, darkness cloaking even ugly scenery with a mysterious beauty. She loved the night; loved the way it smelled, the quietness of it, the blue-black shadows that camouflaged ordinary objects, the rustles and noises of animals as they went about their business. It was soothing, somehow, to her soul, to stare out at the beauty of the night. It had been one of her Da’s favorite things, too. Mama had not understood about the night, but she had known that it pleased them, and so it had pleased her, too.
The white gauze curtains were sticking to her sweaty self like glue, and Maggie brushed irritably at them, then halted. What had that been, moving in the shadows by the horse barn? She leaned forward intently, straining
her eyes as she tried to penetrate the ebony night. She bit back a gasp as the silhouette moved once again, and separated to become two distinct shapes. One was unmistakably a woman, and the other . . . the other was her Uncle Ned. Maggie gripped the curtain and took a step to the side as the Ned-shadow hesitated and looked up toward her room, then slipped into the barn after a long, tense moment, the woman-shadow following right on his heels. Maggie let out the breath she had not realized she was holding. What was Uncle Ned doing sneaking around in the middle of the night? And who in the name of God was that woman? Maybe it was a lady friend. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sudden giggle at the thought of gruff Uncle Ned with a girlfriend. Maggie resolved right then to tease him unmercifully on the morrow. That sly old thing, sneaking around in the middle of the night like a youngster with his light-of-love! Maggie giggled again. Uncle Ned, with a lady friend! She had not known he had it in him.
Maggie went back to bed with a lighter heart, distracted from her troubles at the very least. She dropped off to sleep quickly, but was troubled the night long with dreams of Nick. Nick touching her, kissing her as he had done in the library, skimming his hands down the overheated skin of her body.
Nick was telling her he loved her, his head laid in supplication in her lap as he begged her to come to him at night. She touched the silky blackness of his hair, running her fingers through the thick, soft stuff as he pleaded with her to be his, please love him, because he could not live without her. Then the texture of his hair changed underneath her fingers, became coarse and oily, and Maggie realized with horror that it was David’s face that lay in her lap, and his features were distorted with hatred, just as they had been on that last day. Suddenly, they were back in his office, where she had found the stacks of Ned’s letters hidden behind the book she had been trying to filch to secrete away in her room, nearly one letter for every month of the more than three years of her parent’s deaths. She had gone through them frantically, disbelieving, and she had lingered there too long. He had come home from his office to find her still there, poring over them.
