Wishmakers

by Dorothy Garlock

  Their mouths met and were no longer gentle. They kissed deeply, hungrily. His hand found her breast, cupped and lifted it. And then his lips were on her nipple, setting off small explosions deep within her. Each stroke of his tongue and brush of his mustache caused her to melt with mindless pleasure. Her own fingers curled feverishly into the solid muscle of his back, and her lips made forays against his neck.

  His hand moved down over her stomach, and his fingers toyed with the soft curls. She welcomed the gentle fingers with parted thighs and an urgency that incited him to lift his mouth to hers in a kiss that stripped away everything but the need to assuage the ache building to unbearable heights within her.

  “Now? Darling…now?” He slid smoothly over her body, seeking entrance while she waited in rapt and aching anguish. Everything he did felt so good and right that she was caught up in overpowering desire and the need for physical release. She pressed herself to him, her arms winding tightly around his neck.

  His hips made a sudden jerking motion, paused, and then lifted from her. His trembling body lay heavily upon hers, and he gulped air frantically.

  “Lord! Maggie, why didn't you tell me?” His chest heaved as he attempted to control his breathing. “This is your first time!” he said accusingly.

  “I can't help that! Don't stop!” she pleaded, her need for him overcoming all the other emotions that ran the gamut from embarrassment to pride.

  “I thought…I thought…”

  “I chose you! I want it to be you!” Her hands feverishly clung to him, holding him tightly while she rained fervent kisses on his cheek and throat.

  Chip raised his head, his eyes searching her passionclouded ones, and then with a muttered whisper he closed his arms about her in fierce demand.

  There was no room for fear or regret as he entered her, reverently guiding her to accept the gently rhythmic sliding. The pain-pleasure of their joining would be forever imprinted in her memory. She was part of this man. He was the universe, vibrating with all the love in the world, and he was lifting her to undreamed of sensual heights. She no longer wanted him to be gentle as her need rose to meet his. They reached the top of the mountain together in cataclysm of pleasure that left her trembling in his arms as they exchanged soft, moaning kisses and their bodies melted together in the aftermath of heated sensation.

  Chip's damp skin tasted salty against her tongue, and the woodsy odor of him tantalized her nostrils as her fingers clutched the blanket to bring it up and over his shoulders. She cradled him in her arms, and with the soothing motions of her hands up and down the length of his spine she tried to communicate the happiness she'd felt making love with him. She wanted him to know that it had been more than just a sexual experience.

  Chip rolled over on his side, taking her with him. They lay face to face on the pillow, noses an inch apart, legs still intimately entwined, hands and arms clinging. The fire had burned low, the light dim, but they stared into each other's eyes. As their breaths mingled, he moved his face a fraction and placed a light kiss on her lips.

  “Why? How?” His voice was a mere whisper against her lips.

  “Why? Because I wanted my first time to be with you.” He was looking into her eyes and there was something in his face she had dreamed of but never hoped to see. Was it a little like…loving? No, she was simply seeing what she wanted to see. “What was the other question?” Her words melted away on her lips as he kissed them lightly again.

  “How did you manage to stay so innocent?”

  “It just happened. There wasn't much of an opportunity. Not that I would have been promiscuous,” she added hastily. He smiled. “I wasn't allowed to go on unchaperoned dates when I was younger. Later…well, later there was Justin.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  She hesitated, then began honestly, “I was fond of him, and he told me he loved me. I don't think I ever knew there could be…so much more…until tonight,” she stammered. “Oh, I'd dreamed of it, but…I don't want to talk about this!” she blurted with a breathless catch in her voice.

  “Then don't.” Chip possessively gripped her thigh.

  A chill slid down Margaret's spine at the thought of lying naked in another man's arms. And she had almost married another. Her hand moved convulsively over Chip's back and pulled him tightly against her.

  Tenderly he caressed her and kissed her lips time and again. “I'm glad,” he finally whispered. “I'm glad there was no other man before me. I'm glad no other man has ever held you naked in his arms like this!”

  She could feel a stirring between them, and she smiled against his throat. Her hand found his hard, flat belly, slid upward over his ribs and chest caressingly, and lay palm down over his thudding heart.

  “Was it…did I do…all right?”

  He rolled her onto her back and raised his head so he could look at her. “Why the hell do you think I've got this silly grin on my face?” He deposited quick, darting kisses on her parted lips. “I feel like a kid on Christmas morning.”

  “Did Santa bring you everything you wanted?”

  “You bet! And more.” He kissed her forehead gently. “Were you disappointed with your first experience? I wanted it to be good for you.” His voice was deep and husky, his expression one of great tenderness.

  Her arms tightened about him. “It was wonderful. Thank you, Chip,” she whispered, her voice full of joyous tears.

  “Sweetheart…”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MARGARET TURNED HER face and let her lips drift along the smooth skin of Chip's collarbone, finding the hollow of his throat, where she planted a tender kiss. They lay pressed close together in Chip's bed. He had fallen into a deep sleep after their tumultuous lovemaking, and she had lain satiated, cozy, and content in his arms. She had responded vigorously to his instruction in the elementary pleasures of loving, and now she cherished the knowledge that he was her first and only lover.

  She had been embarrassed when he urged her to the bathroom after their first lovemaking; embarrassed, too, that it was he who insisted they use something to protect her against pregnancy during the rest of the long, delicious night spent in his bedroom. Now, warm and nude, cozily stretched against his very male body, she felt a sickening thud in the pit of her stomach when she thought of how readily he'd produced the precautionary device. But he was a man in his mid-thirties, she told herself. No one could doubt his fundamental virility—it radiated from every pore in his aggressively masculine body. Frantically she pushed the thought of his being with someone else out of her mind. What she really wanted to do was bury her face in his shoulder and whisper to him that he was hers now. She would give him all the loving he'd ever need. But of course she couldn't say that. He'd simply taken what she had freely given. He cared no more for her than he had earlier in the evening when he'd called her “old Ed's spoiled darling.” Tears of regret slid from her eyes. He would never see her as a woman capable of living beside him as his life's companion. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving this place, leaving him. She shut her eyes tightly to hold back the tears. Don't spoil it, she cautioned. Hold him. You have the rest of the night to hold him in your arms. This may be all you'll ever have of him.

  “Wake up, Maggie.”

  Margaret tried to shrug off whatever was shaking her shoulder. She heard the voice again, louder this time, opened one eye, and was instantly awake. Chip was standing beside the bed.

  “Are you going to sleep all day? I've been waiting for a couple of hours for you to wake up.”

  Margaret's eyes wandered over his smoothly shaved face and freshly washed hair. He was wearing a faded flannel shirt and a pair of the bleach-splotched jeans.

  “I guess I was tired.” She squinted her eyes to bring his face into focus.

  “Arlene will be bringing Penny home this morning. You'd better get up unless you want them to catch you in my bed.”

  Naturally apprehensive, Margaret peered up at him, trying to discern his expression. Last night she had
felt happy and young and cherished. They had made love all through the night. It was almost as much happiness as she could take at one time, and she wanted desperately to feel that the closeness of mind and body they'd shared had carried over into the light of day.

  “Will I have time for a bath?” Everything was not as comfortable and easy as she had hoped it would be. The realization hit her like a dash of cold water.

  “Sure. The house is warm. I found there was some fuel oil in the tank after all, so I started the furnace.” He went to the door, and her heart settled with a sickening thud.

  “Chip.” She clutched the covers to her. “Will you get me a robe?”

  He nodded and left the room. Margaret closed her eyes against an unwanted surge of hot tears. It had meant nothing to him! Nothing deep or lasting. She'd aroused him physically, and that was all. He'd used her body to relieve his needs. He came back with a blue robe in one hand and her glasses in the other. He tossed the robe onto the end of the bed and placed her glasses on the nightstand.

  “You'll need these to find your way to the bathroom.” There wasn't a trace of humor in his voice.

  She held her breath through the seconds of silence that followed. The face that looked down at her was a blur, but it wasn't smiling—she could see clearly enough for that. Even his voice seemed different now. It was less friendly, though not really harsh. He turned abruptly and strode to the door, quietly closing it behind him.

  Margaret slipped into the bathroom, her mind a buzzing hive of confusion. She sat in the tub of warm water and soaked her aching muscles. Chip had not let her sleep until near dawn. There had been an electric charge running between them that had generated new sparks with every touch, every murmured endearment. It was as if they'd been starving for each other. No caress was too rough or too soft. She swallowed the tightness in her throat. How could he be so indifferent after so many hours of sweet, hot, shared passion?

  She uttered a small groan when she stepped out of the tub. Chip had made love to her as gently as her own passion would allow, but her body, unaccustomed to a man's rough hands and rock-hard intrusion, was rebelling now. She dusted herself with talc and smiled a secret, soft smile when she touched her sensitive nipples. The thought of his mouth on her breasts sent unexpected shivers through her body. Oh, God, I love him, she thought. But what do I do now?

  She dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt and tied her hair at the nape of her neck with a shoestring ribbon. With the dark-rimmed glasses firmly on her nose she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and walked into the kitchen. Her new boots made squeaky sounds on the tile, but there was no one there to hear them. The electric coffee pot was perking, and a large slice of ham lay in the skillet on the stove. Voices were coming from outside the kitchen door, and she looked through the glass.

  Tom MacMadden stood beside his dusty station wagon. He was wearing a dark suit and a small-brimmed felt hat. This was Sunday, Margaret thought, and he'd probably been to church. She opened the door to speak to him, but Chip's voice reached her before she could step out.

  “She'll be ready to leave by the end of the week. Right now she's like a puppy let off the leash. Everything is new and exciting, but as soon as the novelty fades she'll be off to make fresh discoveries.” His voice was brusque.

  “She said somethin' about buyin' out your shares in the mill,” Tom said slowly. “They could've sent her up here to feel you out.”

  “I don't think so. I doubt she knows any more about business than Penny does. I think Rachel knew we'd look out for her. Does it bother you having her around?”

  “Nope. Guess I thought it would, but it don't.”

  “You think I should pack her out of here, don't you?”

  “Makes no difference to me. Just don't go gettin' soft on her. She'll wind you 'round her finger.”

  Margaret stood fighting a strange tight feeling in her stomach. They were talking about her. The awkwardness of the situation made her clench her teeth.

  “I'll take her to the mill and up to the logging camp on Flathead. That should satisfy her curiosity. She'll be ready to get back to the city after that.”

  Margaret was inwardly raging, her breath coming fast and hard. This was the same man who had held her in his arms last night and called her sweetheart. Today he was talking about getting rid of her! He was dismissing her as casually as he had dismissed Beth, the young girl who had a puppy-love crush on him. Margaret was flooded with resentment, and her heart pounded in response to her anger. The men had stopped talking. She waited a moment, took a deep breath, straightened her back stubbornly, and stepped out onto the porch.

  “Good morning, Tom.”

  “Mornin'.”

  “Have you been to church already?”

  “I usually go to early mass.”

  “Had I known, I would have asked to go with you. If you come by this way next Sunday, I'd appreciate a ride.” She didn't look at Chip, but she could feel his eyes on her. Both men obviously knew she had overheard their conversation. What right did they have to discuss her as if she were an outsider nosing into company business. Damn them!

  “I suppose I could give you a lift, if you're still here.” Tom put emphasis on the last words.

  “I'll be here.” She glanced at Chip, then back to Tom.

  Tom opened the door of the station wagon. “Guess I'd better be gettin' on. See ya, Chip. 'Bye, miss.”

  “Don't let me chase you away, Tom.” Despite her determination to handle herself coolly, she felt defeated and humiliated. She had been so naïve! Chip was going to take her sightseeing, as if she were a tourist. Last night must have been an additional bonus in the package deal! Never had she had to fight so hard to keep her expression calm and pleasant.

  “Nice seeing you again, Tom,” she called before walking back into the kitchen.

  Her knees felt weak, and she held tightly to the back of a chair. She was totally unnerved, and in order to have something to do she went to the counter and poured coffee from the percolator. She heard Chip come into the kitchen, but she didn't turn around. The silence lengthened. Why didn't he say something, for heaven's sake?

  “Eavesdroppers seldom hear anything good about themselves.” His voice was softer than she'd expected.

  Damned if he was going to put her on the defensive! She whirled and faced him.

  “What did you expect me to do? Say ‘Hey, fellows, stop talking about me, I'm listening’?” She was engulfed in such hurt and rage she scarcely knew what she was saying. “If you don't want me here—and it's evident you don't—that's tough, because I'm staying if I have to use all my corporate clout. But I must warn you! I may be like a puppy let off the leash, but I certainly won't lick the hand that cuffs me.” She was almost breathless when she finished, but she held her head proudly.

  He continued to look at her, with unwavering eyes, eyes the color of a cloudless sky.

  “I didn't mean that in a derogatory way.” His lips barely seemed to move when he spoke.

  “A dog's a dog!” she said lightly. More than anything in the world she wished to keep him from knowing how crushed she was, how miserable she felt, how his denial of her would tarnish forever the memories of the beautiful moments they had shared. Her glasses had slid down on her nose, and she jabbed them back into place.

  “I didn't say I didn't want you here, Maggie. I said you'll be ready to leave once you've seen it all.” His voice was patient, and it infuriated her that he was speaking to her as if she were a child.

  “You showed me your particular kind of hospitality last night. Thanks for the show!” She flung the words in his face, and evidently they couldn't have been more cutting.

  He reached her in two strides, and his hands came down on her shoulders like hundred-pound weights. “Shut up! You mention that in a dirty way again and I swear I'll…slap you!”

  “You do and I'll have you arrested!” she gasped. Forcibly calming herself, she said, “I came here to look things over and decide if I'm go
ing to sell to you. I'm not leaving until I do.” To herself she vowed: I'll never sell my shares to you, Duncan “Chip” Thorn. I'll give them to a charity first! He was staring down at her coldly. Why in the world was he acting this way? She was the one who had cause for anger.

  He released her arms. “Eat some breakfast, and I'll take you upriver in the boat.”

  “Why? Is this one of the side trips of the tour?”

  “You could call it that. You want to see the area, don't you? We'll just about have time before Penny and Arlene get here. I've got work to do this afternoon.”

  As she turned to take the cereal box from the cabinet she heard him leave the room. Then she was alone. It was simultaneously a relief and a sickening misery. She could cry now if she wanted, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her red-rimmed eyes when he returned. She allowed herself the luxury of relaxing her tight features; they felt as if they'd been set in a plaster cast. Automatically she poured the cereal into the bowl and added the milk. She would eat if it killed her, although she wondered how she would get a single spoonful down her tight throat.

  There were a million unanswered questions floating around in her mind. Why did Tom MacMadden care whether she stayed or not? Why did Chip speak about Rachel as if he knew her? And Chip never had fully explained why it was that Tom knew her identity and no one else did. She didn't allow her mind one thought of the night she'd spent in his arms. She couldn't think of that now—the hurt and humiliation were too raw.

  Margaret doggedly finished the cereal, then went into the bathroom to put in her contact lenses. She tied a scarf about her head and picked up a pair of sunglasses, although the sun was obscured behind a gray cloud bank. With her mackinaw over her arm she waited in the kitchen for Chip. He came in wearing his coat, so she slipped on hers and followed him down the path to the wooden jetty where the outboard motorboat was moored.

  Chip stepped into the boat and held out his hand to assist her. She put hers into it and looked into his face. He was looking at her in a way that shriveled her soul. It was a cold, angry, violent look. Even through the dark glasses his eyes trapped hers, and her heart beat so fast it seemed to fill her ears.