by Ginna Gray
Maggie set the glass on the counter and looked back at him. She had been striving to ignore the disturbing feelings that gripped her and keep this light. She’d wanted to make it clear that she did not harbor any foolish notions that what had happened between them would lead anywhere, or that she even wanted it to. She had thought Wyatt would be pleased and relieved. Instead, she could see that he was offended.
No, he was more than offended—he was hurt. He tried to hide the reaction behind anger, but it was there in his voice and in his eyes.
Holy Mary and Joseph, the perversity of men was beyond belief. He’d all but shouted from the rooftops that he wasn’t interested in marriage or any kind of permanent relationship, but now his nose was out of joint because she wasn’t, either. She supposed it was some sort of male ego thing.
Did he think this was easy for her? Her own emotions were skittering all over the place like ball bearings spilled on a marble floor, for pity’s sake. One of them had to be sensible. This thing between them—this sweet ache when she looked at him, this tightness in her chest, this crazy, walking-on-air feeling—it was just...just...chemistry. That was all. It would burn itself out soon. It had to.
No matter how he made her feel, a serious relationship was out of the question. She didn’t trust love and wanted no part of it. She certainly wasn’t foolish enough to let herself fall for a man like Wyatt. Even if he weren’t a self-proclaimed, dyed-in-the-wool bachelor, he was too possessive, too protective and controlling. He would smother her.
The only way to handle this was to keep it light and let the infatuation run its course. No strings, no regrets.
Maggie sighed. Except—curse the man—seeing that angry hurt in his eyes twisted her heart.
She walked back into the bedroom. “Aw, c’mon, Wyatt.” Standing between his knees, she bracketed his face with her hands and looked deep into his eyes. “‘Tis not true, a’tall. You have to know that I’m attracted to you. That I...well...I have feelings for you,” she said in a caressing voice. “Strong feelings. Would I have made love with you, after all those years of abstinence, if I didn’t? Hmm?”
“I don’t know, would you?” he asked testily. “I’ve seen first hand how curious you are about everything. Maybe you merely wanted to find out what making love was all about?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Well, so what if I did? I still wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been tremendously attracted to you.” Tipping her head to one side, she cocked an eyebrow and rubbed his earlobes between her thumbs and forefingers. Her smile was coaxing, her voice soft as velvet. “Bad as I hate to admit it, you’re...well...special to me. You have to know that.”
“Oh, yeah? How special,” he grumbled, and Maggie almost chuckled at his sullen expression. He looked like a sulky little boy.
“Very special.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his head forward until his face was snuggled against her breasts. His breath filtered through the cotton knit and feathered over her skin, warm and moist, sending gooseflesh prickling down her arms. A delicious little shiver rippled through her, and she closed her eyes and smiled. “Very, very special,” she whispered.
She loved the feel of him, she discovered, massaging his scalp with a slow, seductive rhythm. And the smell of him. Burying her face against his crown, she inhaled deeply and ran her hands down the back of his head, over his broad shoulders, down his back, exploring the broad muscles that banded it. She luxuriated in the freedom to touch him, delighted in the warmth and firmness of his flesh.
She kissed the top of his head, then his ear.
And the taste of him. Ahh, yes, the taste of him. “You’re the only...” The tip of her tongue traced the swirls in his ear, then dipped inside in a quick foray that made him suck in a sharp breath. “...man I’ve ever...” She gave his lobe a sharp nip. “...wanted.” Her tongue lathed the tiny hurt, then her hot breath filled his ear.
Wyatt shuddered and tightened his arms around her.
“Ah, Maggie, Maggie,” he groaned against her breasts. He trailed his open mouth up one warm slope. Her nipple puckered and hardened into a tight, almost painful nub as he drew it into his mouth and suckled her through the soft material.
An incoherent sound tore from Maggie. She clutched his hair with both hands, her neck arching back. His hands slid up under the hem of her T-shirt and cupped her buttocks, and every sane thought flew right out of her head.
She became a purely sensual creature, filled with voluptuous feelings of pleasure, giving herself over to them with no thought, no hesitation, just letting the sensations take her.
Instinctively she pressed closer and put her knees on the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling him.
Wyatt made a low, guttural sound. Grasping the hem of the T-shirt with both hands, he whisked it over her head and sent it sailing. He twisted with her, and in an instant she lay on her back with him over her, sprawled between her legs, his hot hands running wild over her body.
“Ah, God, Maggie.” He lifted up on his elbows and looked at her. Immediately his hands cupped her breasts and his mouth laid claim to first one, then the other.
Maggie’s back arched up off the mattress and her keening whimper filled the tiny room. Her head thrashed from side to side and her hands clutched at him as the drawing pleasure seemed to tug at her womb.
Wyatt teetered on the edge. He was on fire, his control slipping fast. His blood pounded. The need that gripped him was savage, consuming. The feel of that tiny, soft body writhing beneath his was driving him insane. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted this one. He hadn’t known it was possible to want a woman this much.
“Maggie,” he gasped, running his tongue along the underside of her breast. “I think it’s...time...for your second...” He stopped, unable to resist pressing a kiss to her midriff, then her belly. “Your second lesson in lovemaking.”
“Mmm, I...I think you’re...ri-right.” With the tip of his tongue, Wyatt drew a wet line on her skin, from her navel to her throat. Maggie lay with her head thrown back, breathing heavily. She moaned and dug her fingernails into his back. “But, Wyatt...there’s...just one thing.”
“What?” he gasped against her skin.
“I’m still...wearing my bunny slippers.”
He raised up partway. A slow, wicked grin curved his mouth. “I know. And it’s really turning me on.”
* * *
The next morning, lying in bed with Maggie snuggled in his embrace, Wyatt was in a pensive mood as he watched the sunrise through the window. He looked down at the woman in his arms. Damn, it felt good to have her next to him. It was funny. He’d never liked the morning-after scene in the past, but with Maggie it was different.
The thought of having to part with her at all depressed him. If their affair continued, would it be this way every time he left her?
Maggie shifted against him and her eyelashes fluttered against his shoulder. Watching her, he smiled. She came awake slowly, stretching and yawning like a kitten, arousing him instantly. It was amazing, after the night they had just shared, but his hunger for her was as strong as ever. Hell, it was amazing he was even capable of desire.
“Mornin’,” she mumbled, blinking sleepily. “Mmm, I feel so delicious.” A twinkle lit her eyes, and she ran her hand over his belly. “So do you.”
He caught her hand when it began to inch lower. “Now none of that. Behave yourself, woman.”
“Why? I’d rather be wicked and wanton. I’ve discovered I like it.” Grinning devilishly, she turned her head and nipped his shoulder.
Wyatt grunted. “I noticed. Nevertheless, it’s time to exercise a little restraint. After last night you have got to be sore.”
“Mmm, a little. But ’twas worth it.” She rose up a bit and leaned over and kissed his belly, then trailed the tip of her tongue around his navel.
Wyatt shuddered. He cupped the back of her head and held her there for a moment, his eyes closed in ecstasy. Then he re
leased her head and dragged her back up into the crook of his arm. “For a woman who was a virgin less than eight hours ago you sure know how to drive a man crazy.”
“I’m a fast learner,” she said with a wicked grin.
“I’ll say. You— Now cut that out, you little devil.”
“Why? Don’t you like it?”
“You know damned well I do. Too much. But— Hey, watch it!” Laughing, he wrestled with her to keep her wandering hands under control. “Stop it, Maggie. We’re not going to make love again just yet, and that’s that. Not until you’ve had a chance to recover.”
“Well, rats. ‘Tis a fine lover you’re turning out to be. Give a girl a taste of heaven, then snatch it away.”
“It’s for your own good. I probably ought to be horse-whipped for making love to you so many times last night as it is. Anyway, one of us has to show a little decorum and restraint and since you won’t do it...”
“Och, restraint. What a terrible word. I don’t believe in it, myself.”
“So I’ve noticed. But this time it’s necessary.”
“Oh, all right, killjoy.” She grabbed a piece of flesh along his ribs and gave it a twist.
“Ow!” He rubbed the tender spot, but his mock scowl bounced off her bare back as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
She stretched again, arms over her head, arching her back with such sinuous grace Wyatt almost hauled her back down on the bed with him. Lord but she was so beautifully made—tiny and delicate and perfectly shaped, a masterpiece of womanly curves and creamy skin.
Maggie stood without the least trace of self-consciousness and headed for the bathroom stark naked. “Up and at ‘um, Your Nibs. If we’re not going to sample any more of those delightful pleasures it’s time we hit the road,” she said over her shoulder.
Wyatt watched the enticing flex and bunch of her round little bottom, a lecherous smile curving his mouth. “Why? We weren’t headed anywhere in particular, anyway.”
Maggie stopped at the door to the bathroom and looked back at him. Her expression was one he was beginning to recognize. Her eyes sparkled, the corners of her mouth curved upward and a glow of excitement and anticipation lit her face from within, signaling a return of that insatiable restlessness that drove her.
“Ah, but there’s no tellin’ what wonderful things are waiting out there. We might miss them if we stay here.”
The statement, Wyatt discovered over the next several days, summed up Maggie’s philosophy. She rushed at life head-on with her arms open wide. Everything drew her, everything fascinated her. From the tiniest trivial item to the grandest adventure, she embraced it all. Life, to Maggie, was a giant smorgasbord of delights to experience—to taste and touch and smell and hear and behold. To live. She didn’t want to miss a single thing or waste a single minute.
At times she seemed not quite real to him, a magical, fey creature, like one of her leprechauns. She was always so joyful, so optimistic and high-spirited, it was as though she wasn’t quite tethered to the earth.
As he began to see things through her eyes it amazed him how much he had never noticed before, all that he’d been missing. Maggie showed him how much beauty there was in the world if you only opened your eyes to it. Not just the majestic beauty of the scenery, although they spent plenty of time enthusing over that, too, but minuscule things, ordinary things, like tiny wildflowers growing out of a crevice in a rock or a spiderweb laden with dew and sparkling like diamonds in the early morning sunshine.
She also led him on one adventure after another. Some were fairly tame and some were hair-raising, some he enjoyed and some scared him spitless, but none were dull.
Some of Maggie’s exploits were difficult for Wyatt to swallow, such as parachuting and bungy jumping off a bridge over a mountain gorge. There were times when he had to literally bite his tongue to stop himself from erupting with rage and forbidding her to try a particular activity, but, exercising a supreme effort of will, he managed to control himself. Barely.
As they inched their way through the Southwest, making a meandering loop through New Mexico, Colorado, Utah and Arizona, they also went hang gliding, white-water rafting, took a ride in a glider plane, went off-road driving in the San Juan Mountains, tried their hand at river fly-fishing, kayaked down a raging river and bicycled over a mountain pass.
And between it all, snug in the tiny bedroom of the camper, they made love. Fantastic love. Hot, sweaty, breath-stealing love. Carefree love spiced with boisterous play and laughter. Sweet, slow, magical love that made their hearts pound and their bodies sing and filled them with such joy and pleasure it was almost pain. During those times the world was well lost to them. Maggie’s restless nature at last found peace, and for the first time that he could remember, Wyatt forgot about business and responsibilities and simply relaxed.
Alone in their own little world inside the tiny camper they concentrated solely on each other. Without either of them noticing, in many ways, day by day, they grew closer.
Like lovers everywhere, each developed an easy acceptance of the other’s personal habits and foibles and personality quirks. They grew comfortable with each other’s bodies and relished the familiarity that developed between them, the freedom to touch and caress at will, to relax and be themselves.
In the past Wyatt had always shied away from getting too familiar with the women in his life. He hadn’t ever wanted a comfortable “fit like a glove” relationship. Nor had he wanted to know about a lover’s family or personal things about her past history. They were merely two people who enjoyed each other for a while then went on their separate ways, the proverbial two ships that passed in the night. True, that passing sometimes lasted months, on one occasion even a couple of years, but he’d always known that they would eventually part.
Yet, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, when Maggie’s defenses were completely shattered, Wyatt found himself gently probing for information about her past.
There were gaps in her story that worried him. The need to know everything about her, every single event that had shaped her life and made this tiny, fascinating creature the woman she was, nagged at him like a persistent itch.
“Maggie?” Wyatt trailed his fingertips up and down her bare arm from wrist to shoulders, in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
Shifting slightly, Maggie sighed and snuggled her cheek more firmly against his bare chest, wrinkling her nose when the curly hairs tickled. “Hmm?”
“These relatives you lived with in Ireland, how long did you say you were with them?”
“I told you, four years.”
“Oh yeah.” His fingertips skimmed down her arm, circled the small knobby bone at her wrist and traced a path upward again. “Were you happy there?”
“Happy?” She repeated the word, testing it as though she wasn’t quite sure of its meaning. After a moment he felt her shrug. “I was okay. Mainly I was marking time.”
“Why? What were you waiting for?”
“Och, to grow up, naturally. So I could leave and be on my own.”
His fingers paused at her shoulder to thread through the cloud of curls that tumbled there. He watched, fascinated, as the bright locks twined around his fingers and clung as though they had a life of their own. He loved her wild hair. It was as vibrant and alive as the rest of her. For several minutes he said nothing, just toyed with her hair and thought.
“Maggie?” he said finally.
“Hmm?”
“Did they abuse you?”
“What?” She jerked up and braced herself on one elbow and stared at him, her blue eyes round as saucers. “Sweet Mary and Joseph, what brought that on?”
“Did they?”
“Cousin Seamus? Mercy, no. There was never a more peaceful man born. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She didn’t bother to tell him that most of the time, when her mother’s cousin wasn’t working in the peat bogs, he was too far gone in his cups to even notice her.
Of course, that wife of
his, Noreen, wasn’t above taking a swing at her now and then, but Maggie had been too nimble for the harridan and had managed to dodge most of her blows. Noreen had wanted the money that John Hightower had sent, but not his bastard.
“Did his wife ever abuse you?” Wyatt persisted, as though he’d read her thoughts.
“Wyatt—”
“Did she?”
The look in his eyes told her he would not let the matter drop until he’d gotten an answer. Maggie sighed. “Oh, all right. If you must know, she smacked me around a few times.” She told him of Noreen’s resentment toward her, of her bad temper and hostile attacks. “But I was quick on my feet. I dodged most of the blows.”
“Most of them?” His eyes narrowed ominously. Maggie shivered and quickly sought to pour oil on troubled waters.
“Och, man, you’re making too much of it. ‘Twasn’t really abuse. Noreen was just bad-tempered, ’tis all. She treated her own children the same way. Anyway, I spent most of my time away from the house. Ran wild through the hills, I did. Mind you, some of the local folks complained to Father McGinnis—said I was a regular little savage. Anyway, I was gone from the house so much, Noreen didn’t get many chances to smack me.”
She put her head back on Wyatt’s chest and snuggled against him. His arm tightened around her, but his body remained stiff, his jaw clenched. He felt her small, soft breasts pressing against his side, the delicateness of her bones, and the thought of someone hitting her made him feel murderous.
* * *
Maggie had never before allowed anyone to get as close to her emotionally as Wyatt had. The bond between them had occurred so naturally, so easily, she had not noticed at first. She was surprised at how wonderful it felt to be close to another person, but it also made her nervous, and she instinctively set limits, put up barriers.
She was perfectly willing to talk with Wyatt about anything and everything—as long as the conversation did not get too personal. She made love with him, she revealed her faults to him, admitted her shortcomings. She allowed him to see her at her worst and her best, and everything in between. In their day-to-day living and loving she was completely uninhibited and open.
