by Nora Roberts
He felt every shift and sigh, knew when nerves had melted into acceptance. Here, in this big, soft bed, there were no questions. She was, and always had been, everything he wanted.
Long, lean limbs, sumptuous curves, sleek, perfumed skin. Her body had been designed to take and give pleasure. And no one else, he thought as his mouth fused to hers, would take it from or give it to her again. No one else understood her heart, her mind, and her dreams as he did.
No one else.
Her heart leapt, then stuttered as his mood turned urgent. Desperate hands, a ravenous mouth raced over her. Sighs deepened into moans as she matched him beat for beat, flame for flame.
How delicious was madness.
She rolled over, her hands as quick and fast as his, to drive him as he was driving her. Dangerous heights. Pleasure that was a shuddering kin to pain. She rose up. In the shadowed lights her skin gleamed like damp silk. Her eyes, wildly blue, locked on his. One heartbeat. Two.
Now. The demand seemed to shimmer in the air around them. In answer he gripped her hips, fingers digging in. In one fluid move, she took him deep, deep, holding there, holding them both trembling. On a long, feline moan, she arched back, skimming her hands over her own body, from center over torso to breast, where she felt her heart thundering. Slow, very slow, acutely aware of every tremor of her body, acutely aware that his eyes were following her movements, she trailed her hands down until they covered, caressed that mating of bodies.
Glorying in every breath, she sleeked her hands up again, lifted her hair. And began to ride.
The pace she set was hard and fast and merciless. He watched as she drove herself to the peak, shuddered over it. Sensations battered him like an avalanche, blurring his vision. But he knew he’d never seen anything more glorious than Margo lost in her own passion.
When she cried out, flinging herself forward, her hands braced on his shoulders, her hair curtaining his face, he had no choice but to lose himself with her.
“Why do I always feel as if I’ve dived off a mountain whenever I make love with you?” Margo didn’t really expect an answer. She thought Josh was asleep, or at least comatose, but he shifted, his lips brushing over the curve of one breast, then the other.
“Because you and I together, duchess, are a dangerous pair. And I want you again already.” He nibbled his way up to her throat, found her warm, swollen mouth.
She was ready to float again, her arms light and limber as they lifted to circle him. “It’s never been like this for me before.” Through the daze of sensations building fresh, she felt the change. And understood the reason for it. “I know how that sounds.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He didn’t want to think about it. Only wanted to have her, to hold her.
“It does. To both of us.” Suddenly unsure here, where she had always felt so confident, she cupped his face in her hands to raise it. His eyes were heavy with desire, a hint of irritation now working through. “I think we have to talk about it.”
“Neither one of us took a vow of chastity.”
That was true enough. She also knew that though she had taken lovers before, the press had gifted her with a libido and a trail of broken hearts that was well beyond reality.
“We need to talk about it,” she repeated.
“I haven’t asked you any questions, Margo. Whoever, how many ever, have been in your life before, there’s only one now. There’s only me.”
The cool, possessive tone might have annoyed her under other circumstances. It was so Joshua Templeton—I see, I want, I take. But they were still linked, still warm from each other. “There haven’t been as many as you might think. Josh, I didn’t sleep with every man I dated.”
“Fine. I didn’t sleep with every woman I took to dinner.” He snapped it out as he turned over on his back to drag the hair off his face. “It’s now that matters, in any case. Are we straight about this?”
She wanted them to be. It was his anger, the cold control of it, that told her differently. “Josh, my reputation’s never really mattered to me before. In fact, it only added to my bank account. But now . . . it matters now.” Suddenly chilled, she sat up, wrapped her arms around herself. “It matters now because you matter now. And I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how either of us is going to handle it. When it was just sex—”
“It was never just sex for me.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know how you felt, or how I felt, until it was just there. And it’s so big, so important. So scary.”
It surprised him, not just what she said but the way she said it. Nerves, regrets, confusion. All those things were so rare in Margo when it came to the games men and women played.
“You’re scared?”
“Terrified.” She hissed out a breath and rose to yank a robe out of the closet. “And I’m not happy about it.”
“So am I.”
With the beginnings of temper simmering in her eyes, she looked at him over her shoulder. A long, lean male animal, she mused, his hands tucked behind his head now, the start of a smirk on that gorgeous mouth. She wasn’t sure whether to slug him or jump on him.
“So are you what?”
“Terrified, and not happy about it.”
She tugged the belt on the robe, kept her hands in place as she turned. “Really?”
“You know what I figure, duchess?”
“No.” It was the smirk that drew her, had her going back to sit on the side of the bed. “What is it that you figure?”
“It’s all been so easy for us before. Too easy.”
“And this isn’t going to be.”
He took her hand, linking fingers casually. “Doesn’t look like it. Maybe I’ve got a little problem, a hitch, when it comes to other men. After all, the woman I’m in love with has been engaged five times.”
“Three.” She jerked her hand free, aware that her past was constantly going to sneak up and slap her in the face. “The other two were products of an overeager press. And the three were . . . quickly rectified mistakes.”
“The point being,” he said, with what he considered admirable patience, “that none of my relationships ever progressed that far.”
“Which could be taken as a fear of commitment on your part.”
“Could be,” he murmured. “But the simple fact is I’ve been in love with you nearly half my life. Nearly half my life,” he said again, sitting up so that his eyes, dark as shadows, were level with hers. “Every woman I touched was a substitute for you.”
“Josh.” She only shook her head. There was nothing she could say, nothing that could rise above the wave of emotion that swamped her.
“It’s demoralizing, Margo, to watch the woman, the only woman you really want, turn to anyone but you. To wait and to watch.”
It was thrilling, and panicking, to think it. To know it. “But why did you wait?”
“A man has to use what advantage he has. Mine was time.”
“Time?”
“I know you, Margo.” He skimmed a finger down the curve of her cheek. “Sooner or later you were going to get in over your head, or just get bored with the high life.”
“And you’d be right there to pick up the pieces.”
“It worked,” he said lightly and snagged her wrist before she could jump out of the bed. “No reason to get frosted.”
“It’s a perfect reason. You arrogant, egotistical son of a bitch. Just wait till Margo fucks up and then step in.” She’d have taken a swing at him if he hadn’t anticipated her and grabbed her other wrist.
“I wouldn’t have put it exactly that way, but . . .” He smiled winningly. “You did fuck up.”
“I know what I did.” She tugged her arms outward and only succeeded in performing a warped rendition of patty-cake. “I also got out of that mess with Alain on my own.” It was the flicker in his eyes that stopped her. It was there and gone quickly, but she knew every nuance of his face. “Didn’t I?”
“Sure you did, but th
e point is—”
“What did you do?” Incensed, she batted her trapped hands against his chest. “You weren’t in Greece. I’d have known if you were. How did you fix it?”
“I didn’t fix it. Exactly.” Hell. “Look, I made a few calls, pulled in a few markers. Christ, Margo, did you expect me to sit around on the beach while they were toying with tossing your butt in jail?”
“No.” She spoke quietly because she was afraid she might scream. “No. I have a crisis, you ride to the rescue. Let go of my hands.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, judging the temper in her eyes. “Listen, all I did was make it go away faster. They didn’t have anything on you, didn’t want to have anything on you. But there wasn’t any point in you cooling your heels in custody longer than necessary. All you’d done was have the bad taste and poor sense to hook up with some slick con artist who was using you for cover.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“And since you have mentioned it, yet again, I’ll admit that I’ve had plenty of experience with bad taste and poor sense.” She jerked her arms, fuming when he held firm. “But I’m over it now. I took charge of my own life, damn you. And I put it back together, piece by piece. Which is something you’ve never had to do. I took the risk, I did the work, I—”
“I’m proud of you.” Deflating her completely, he brought her fisted hands to his lips.
“Don’t try to turn this around.”
“Proud of the way you faced what had to be done and turned it all into something unique and exciting.” He opened her fingers, pressed his lips to her palm. “And moved by you. By the way you stood there tonight, by the things you said.”
“Damn you, Josh.”
“I love you, Margo.” His lips curved. “Maybe it was my poor sense that made me love you before. But I’m even more in love with the woman I’m with now.”
Defeated, she rested her brow against his. “How do you do this, wind me up, spin me out? I can’t remember why I was mad at you.”
“Just come here.” He drew her into his arms. “Let’s see what else we can forget.”
Later when she lay curled beside him, the weight of his arm around her, the sound of his heart beating slow and steady under her ear, she remembered it all. They had, she realized, resolved nothing. She wondered if two people who had known each other so long and so well could understand each other’s hearts so little.
Until tonight, she’d never been ashamed of the men she had let into her life. Fun, excitement, romance had been everything she’d looked for, dreamed of. Most women had viewed her as competition. Even as a child she had had few female friends other than Laura and Kate.
But men . . .
She sighed and closed her eyes.
She understood men, had at an early age deduced the power that beauty and sex could wield. She’d enjoyed wielding it. Never to hurt, she thought. She had never played the game with the risk of genuine pain on either side. No, she’d always been careful to choose game partners who understood the rules. Older men, experienced men, men with smooth manners, hefty wallets, and guarded hearts.
None of them would interfere with her career, her ambitions, because the rules were simple and always followed.
Fun, excitement, romance. With no spills, no tangles, no hard feelings when she moved on.
No feelings at all. But plenty of poor judgment.
Now there was Josh. With him her power was different, her dreams were different. The rules were different. Oh, the fun was there, and the excitement, and the romance. But there had already been spills and tangles.
Didn’t it follow that someone was going to get hurt?
However much he loved her, she hadn’t yet earned his trust. And inches behind trust, she thought, was his respect.
He loved the woman he was with now, she remembered. But she wondered if he was waiting to see whether she would stay or run. And she wondered, deep down wondered, if she was waiting too.
After all, he’d been born to a life of privilege, had the in-the-blood advantage of being able to choose and discard anything—and anyone—at his leisure. If it was true that he’d wanted her for so long, he’d waited and watched, and, being Josh, he’d reveled in the challenge.
Now that the challenge had been met . . .
“I’ll hate you for it,” she murmured and pressed her lips to his shoulder. “Whoever does the hurting, I’ll hate you for it.” She curled closer, wishing he would wake, wake and make her mindless again so she wouldn’t have to worry and wonder.
“I love you, Josh.” She laid her palm over his heart and counted the beats until hers matched them. “God help both of us.”
Chapter Nineteen
The cliffs were always the place Margo went for thinking. All of her major decisions had been made there. Who should be invited to her birthday party? Did she really want to cut her hair? Should she go to the homecoming dance with Biff or Marcus?
Those decisions had seemed so monumental at the time. The crash of waves, the smell of the sea and wildflowers, the jagged sweep of rocks from dizzying heights had both soothed and aroused her. The emotions she felt here went into all those decisions.
It was here she had come the day before she ran away to Hollywood. Just after Laura’s wedding, she thought now. She was eighteen and so certain that life with all its mysteries was passing her by. She was desperate to see what was out there, to see what she could make of it. Make from it.
How many arguments had she had with her mother during those last weeks? she wondered. Too many to count, she thought now.
You’ve got to go to college, girl, if you want to make something out of yourself.
It’s boring. It’s useless. There’s nothing for me there. I want more.
So you always have. More what this time?
More everything.
And she’d found it, hadn’t she? Margo mused. More excitement, more attention, more money. More men.
Now that she had come full circle, what did she have? A new chance. Something of her own. And Josh.
She threw her head back, watched a gull swoop, skim the air, and bullet out to sea. Far out on the diamond-blue water a boat glided, glossy and white, the sun just catching the brass-work to wink and flash. The wind swirled up and spun like a dancer, teasing her hair, whipping at the draping silk of her white tunic.
She felt shockingly alone there, small and insignificant on the high, spearing cliffs, with destruction or glory only a few small steps away.
A metaphor for love? she thought, amused at herself. Deep thoughts had never been her forte. She was alone without him, solitary. If commitment to Josh was like a leap from a cliff, would a woman like her fly up or tumble and crash?
If it was a risk she was willing to take, what would it do to him? Would he trust her? Could he? Would he believe in her, stand with her? Would he, most of all, be willing to hold through all the ups and downs of a life together?
And how, in God’s name, had she leaped from love to marriage? Jesus, she was actually thinking of marriage.
She had to sit down.
Shaky, she eased down onto a rock, waited for her breath to come back. Marriage had never been a goal in her life. The engagements had simply been a lark, a tease, no more serious to her than a wink and a smile.
Marriage meant promises that couldn’t be broken with a shrug. It meant a lifetime, a sharing of everything. Even children. She shivered once, pressed her hand to her stomach. She wasn’t the motherly type. No, no, white picket fences and car pools were light-years out of her realm.
No—she nearly laughed at herself—it wasn’t even to be considered. She would live with him. The situation as it was now was perfect. Naturally, it was the way he wanted it as well. She couldn’t understand why she’d gotten so worked up over it. The penthouse suite suited their needs, their lifestyles, gave them each a chance to fly off, together or separately, when the whim struck.
Nothing
permanent, nothing that hinted at obligation. Of course, that had been the answer all along. Hotel life was in his blood, and it was part of her choice of living. Tired of looking at the same view? Pack up your clothes and find another.
Of course that was what he would want. And what she would be comfortable with.
Then she turned and looked up, higher still, at the house with its rock-solid permanence, its strength and its beauty. Towers added by new generations, colorful tiles set by the old. She knew that memories made there lasted forever. Dreams dreamt there never really faded away. Love spoken there bloomed as free and as wild as the tangled vines of bougainvillea.
But it wasn’t hers. A home of her own was something that had always eluded her. She turned away again, looked out to sea, surprised that her eyes were stinging.
What do you want, Margo? What in God’s name do you want?
More. More everything.
“Figured you’d be here.” Kate dropped down on the rocks beside her. “Good day for sea gazing.”
“You must be feeling jazzed this morning.” Laura laid a hand on her shoulder. “Last night was a smash, beginning to end.”
“She’s brooding.” Kate rolled her eyes at Laura. “Never satisfied.”
“I’m in love with Josh.” Margo stared straight ahead when she said it, as if speaking to the wind.
Kate pressed her lips together, considered. Because she couldn’t see Margo’s eyes behind the shaded lenses, she tipped them down on Margo’s nose. “Lowercase or uppercase ‘l’?”
“Kate, it’s not high school,” Laura murmured.
“It’s still a relevant question. What’s the answer?”
“I’m in love with Josh,” Margo repeated. “And he’s in love with me. We’ve lost our minds.”
“You mean it,” Kate said slowly and shifted her gaze from Margo’s eyes to Laura’s. “She means it.”
“I’ve got to walk.” Margo rose quickly and began to follow the curving line of the cliffs. “I’ve got all this energy I don’t know what to do with. And all these nerves that keep circling around from my head to my gut and back again.”
