Crimson Kiss

by Trisha Baker

  "I don't know," Maggie told her honestly. "But isn't he gorgeous?"

  "I can't say I'd blame you for throwing over Johnny for a fellow like that. But how do you know he's serious about you? Doesn't he have to go back to England?"

  That's exactly what Maggie was frightened of—that she'd slept with an attractive stranger who was going to forget all about her. He probably had a lot of girls after him, so why pick little Maggie O'Neill?

  Bridie saw Maggie's brow crease and hastily put in, "Well, anyone can tell he likes you. And he did come over here tonight."

  Maggie brightened. "That's true." Then she crept over to the kitchen doorway. "Aren't you dying to know what Daddy threw us out of the room to tell him?"

  Both girls tried their best to peek outside without either man seeing them. Simon and Jack seemed to be engaged in an intense discussion. Jack looked almost grim until Simon leaned over and said something that put a wide grin on his face. Then Jack got up, and the girls scampered back to the dishes. Jack entered the kitchen to find the pair drying up the dishes. They hoped they had completely nonchalant expressions.

  Jack pinched Maggie's cheek hard. "I guess it's time for me to head over to the movie. Why don't you tag along, Bridie?"

  The girls turned to each other with identical expressions of bewilderment. Maggie's father was suggesting she spend time alone with a fellow? Had hell frozen over?

  "Sure, Mr. O'Neill," Bridie replied haltingly. "Just let me change into my nurse's uniform."

  While Bridie changed, Jack proudly displayed a photograph of Maggie wearing pigtails and holding her mitt. Her brother Frankie had an arm around her.

  "Maggie was fourteen and her brother had her pitch two innings for his team," Jack bragged to Simon. "This little girl struck out six men. She's got a better fastball than a lot of guys I've seen."

  "Daddy," she said good-naturedly, "you always make it sound like I pitched against the Yankees. Those guys were so drunk by the seventh inning they probably didn't even remember how to hold the bat."

  Bridie came back, and they said good night. Maggie was still stunned, and that feeling of acting in a play came over her again. This was unreal—her father leaving her alone with some man he didn't know. She was tempted to call them back.

  What the hell are you doing? Maggie asked herself. You should have asked Simon to leave—the way your father damn well would have if he knew what happened last night. Now he'll expect more of what you gave out last night, you tramp.

  "What did my father say to you?" she asked curiously when she came back into the living room.

  "He said, and I quote, 'English lord or not, if you get my little girl in trouble or break her heart, I'll mop the floor with you.' "

  "Oh, God, I'm sorry." Maggie was so embarrassed—and uncomfortable—at the thought her father might have to make good on that threat in nine months.

  "Don't apologize. It was touching to see your father's concern. I believe I put his mind at ease."

  "How?"

  Simon took her hand and kissed it. "By assuring him my intentions were completely honorable. I told him he need not worry about me breaking your heart—the only heart that might get broken is mine. Are you happy to see me again, Meghann?"

  "Very," she replied, barely able to remember Johnny's name.

  "Good." He inspected a large wooden crucifix hanging by the bookcase. He turned to Maggie. "I take it you're a Catholic?"

  "Didn't I tell you I was last night? Anyway, what else would I be with a name like Meghann Katherine Agnes O'Neill?"

  "Agnes?"

  "It's what I chose for my confirmation name," she explained. "Agnes was the first bride of Christ. She chose to be beheaded rather than marry a rich but mortal noble."

  Simon gave her that slow, arching smile that made her knees weak. "And did you choose her name because you wanted to be a bride of Christ, Meghann—by keeping your body pure and serving the Savior?"

  "N-not exactly," she stammered. "I admired her faith in God. I think it's amazing that some people believe so strongly in an ideal that they're not swayed by the thought of death or torture."

  "Personally, I think it's rather foolish." Simon touched the cross again. "You don't find an object like this to be a garish show of devotion?"

  "Not at all," she told him. "That cross belonged to my mother."

  "Ah." Simon sat down on the couch. "Tell me, how devout a Catholic are you?"

  Why was he so interested in her religious feelings? "Apparently not very devout at all," she said tartly. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have condemned my immortal soul to hell by sleeping with a man I'm not married to."

  Simon roared with laughter and Maggie blushed. What possessed her to say things like that around Simon? She was usually blunt, not reckless.

  "Would that all forms of condemnation gave such pleasure," he said, extending his hand to Maggie. "Come closer, my pretty heretic."

  Maggie remained where she was and Simon arched his left eyebrow. She said haltingly, "I don't want you to get the… uh… wrong idea. Um, last night… It's just I've never done anything like that…"

  "Meghann, there's no need to tell me what I already know. Now come sit with me, please." Despite his soft voice, Maggie felt like he was commanding her. And she walked over and sat next to him with no thought of refusal.

  Simon reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small black jeweler's box. He kissed Maggie on the forehead and put the box in her hands. "Open it I've been waiting all night to see if you like my gift."

  Maggie opened the box and saw a beautiful gold pendant on a fine gold chain. She fell in love with it immediately. The pendant was shaped like an acorn and it had emeralds and pearls interspersed throughout the gold hoops. Four letters were dangling down from the pendant. "A-M-O-R," she read out loud.

  "Amor," Simon told her. "It means love."

  "I know. But I thought amour was spelled with a u."

  "Not in the fourteenth century," he replied. "This is an heirloom, darling, its been in my family for centuries."

  "Then I can't take it," she protested. "It's too valuable."

  Simon opened the clasp on the chain and placed the pendant around Maggie's neck. "What you gave me last night was far more valuable. This is just a small token of appreciation. I won't take no for an answer."

  Maggie was touched. No one had ever given her anything so valuable. "If you won't take no for an answer, I guess all I can say is thank you." She leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

  What she'd intended to be a quick peck turned into more when Simon embraced her and eased her body back into the sofa. Without breaking off their kiss, he removed her top and she felt his hand on her thigh. Maggie reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  When the phone rang, Maggie felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. She looked with dismay at the state of undress she and Simon were in. What is wrong with me? Why can't I think straight when he touches me? Maggie untangled herself from Simon and hurried over to the phone. "Hello?"

  "Hi, honey, are you okay? You sound funny."

  Maggie felt guilt mixed with rising shame. "Oh, hi, Johnny. No, I'm fine. I was just a little sick today."

  "I hope I didn't wake you. It sounded like you were out of breath."

  "No, no. How are you? How's Harvard?"

  "Great," Johnny replied enthusiastically. "The dean loved me. He said it's gonna be a snap for me to get into the premed program. And guess what? He also introduced me to the dean of admissions at Radcliffe. Sure, he wants to meet you, but he thinks it should be no problem for you to transfer in the fall."

  That news was enough to make her almost forget Simon Baldevar. "Radcliffe?" Maggie squealed. "Johnny, are you kidding me?"

  "Nope," he said happily. "I told them all about you—the softball and how you've made Phi Beta Kappa every semester that you've been at Hunter. They said you'd probably even get a scholarship. So think about it. With a scholarship and the GI Bill paying my way,
plus if our folks chip in a little, we can get married and get a small apartment up here in September. What do you say?"

  Maggie thought he sounded like the old Johnny again—full of plans and enthusiasm. "I say that's wonderful, fantastic…"

  She broke off because a bare-chested Simon stood in front of her. How can I make plans to get married when I'm sleeping around with a perfect stranger? Simon knelt down in front of her and started kissing her legs with light, feathery kisses. Maggie moaned and nearly dropped the receiver.

  "Hey, are you all right? You sound like you're in pain."

  Maggie couldn't think with Simon kissing her like that. "Uh, Johnny, I'm feeling sick again. I have to go. Call me tomorrow—I should be better by then." She hung up the phone and told Simon, "I think you should leave, I'm engaged."

  In reply, he picked her up by the waist and pushed her against the wall. Then he kissed her hard. Maggie felt a shot of pure desire rush through her. She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him back hungrily.

  "I don't think you would have made a good bride of Christ." With a lusty grin, he told her, "And I don't think you'll make a very good bride to that young man either. Will you think of me on your honeymoon, sweetheart? Will you hunger for me?"

  "Don't…" she began, but he put a finger to her lips.

  "Be my bride, Meghann." He kissed her again and carried her into the bedroom.

  When he put her on the bed, she asked him, "What do you want from me?"

  "You needn't sound so plaintive. I want nothing that you do not wish to give me. Shall I leave, Meghann?" He ran one finger lightly from her chin to her navel.

  This was it; all she had to do was tell him to go. Her life would return to normal. She'd keep this encounter a secret and marry Johnny Devlin. Maggie looked up, ready to tell Simon to leave. But the words died on her lips when she looked into his eyes. Why did she feel like she was drowning when she gazed into his eyes?

  Simon saw the invitation in her eyes and leaned down. "I believe you've made your choice, my sweet."

  Maggie kissed him with no thought of consequence, no thought for anything but the almost primal desire she felt at his touch.

  "Beautiful," Simon murmured after he undressed her. Maggie felt almost caressed by the slow, sweeping gaze that roamed over her body. Then Simon lay down on the bed and positioned her so she was straddled across his body. "Make love to me."

  "What?" Maggie said in a breathy whisper so far removed from her normal voice that it was like hearing a stranger speak. What was happening to her? This sensuous woman, with her husky voice and bold hands and lips, who confidently explored the lean, hard body beneath her… Could she really be Maggie O'Neill?

  "Make love to me," Simon repeated, and grasped her hips tightly, bringing her down on top of him.

  This felt even better than last night. Maggie arched her back, delighting in the strong hands that guided her hips, pushing her up and down in a rhythm that caused unbelievable pleasure to course through her.

  Emboldened by the new position, Maggie began to move independently of Simon. Seeming delighted with her new assertive behavior, Simon removed his hands and allowed her to set the pace for their lovemaking. It was a long, lovely pace she set until the sweet tension building inside her became an unbearable need and she brought them both to a shuddering, gasping finale.

  At least this time I remember making love, Maggie thought afterward, her head comfortably nestled by Simon's heart. How bizarre that she'd forgotten last night and all the divine things they'd done until Simon showed up on her doorstep. Then Maggie frowned, realizing her recollection of the night before was still fragmented; she still had no memory of Simon leaving the apartment after they made love. Maybe she'd fallen asleep and Simon let himself out. Well, she certainly couldn't ask him. How insulting that would be—oh, by the way, I totally forgot going to bed with you, could you please refresh my memory?

  Maggie felt Simon stiffen and she looked down, frowning at the suppressed mirth twinkling in his eyes.

  "What's so funny?" she demanded, thinking it was almost like he was laughing at what she'd been thinking… her inability to remember the night before.

  "It's not amusement," Simon said, and brushed his fingers across her cheek. "I'm simply very happy."

  "Oh." Maggie smiled and said softly, "I'm happy too."

  "Truly?" Simon questioned, reaching up to wrap his arms around her so she was pressed tightly against him. "Happy enough to remain with me for eternity?"

  "Eternity?" Maggie squealed. She got her arms free so she could hug him close and kiss his lips with a resounding smack. "Oh, Simon! Are you asking me to be your countess?"

  Simon laughed, a clipped sound that made Maggie frown. "I am asking a great deal more than that. I want you to belong to me utterly."

  Belong to him? What a strange way to put it—why didn't Simon ask her to marry him, tell her he loved her and wanted her to love him back? "I don't understand."

  "Of course you don't." Before Maggie could say anything else, Simon rolled around so she was lying under him. Then he grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head. Simon was looking at her with the strangest expression, great tenderness mixed with something… predatory. Yes, that was it! He was looking at her like he wanted to own her. "I don't want to hurt you." The intensity in his eyes almost frightened her. "Promise me you'll remember that—no matter what happens, I never want to hurt you."

  Maggie was confused. Who are you? she almost asked. Why are you here? Then she looked into those beautiful golden eyes and felt so protected, so loved. "I think I'm falling in love with you," she heard herself say.

  Simon offered her a lopsided grin before he started kissing her breasts with such slow, teasing caresses she almost screamed. "I should hope so," he murmured, not raising his head. "Because I am already in love with you."

  "Oh, God," she whimpered, shocked by the ache filling her at his touch. They'd just finished making love and she felt like she'd die if he didn't enter her again. What was Simon doing to her? "Make love to me!"

  Simon looked up and smiled in triumph. "What will you do for me in return?"

  "I… what," Maggie panted, unable to concentrate on anything but the hot, almost unbearable throbbing building inside her. "Any… anything you say!"

  "Sweet little Meghann," Simon said almost sadly, teasing her nipples unmercifully with casual flicks of his tongue. "You don't know what anything is."

  "Then tell me," Maggie pleaded. "Just tell me what you want and I'll do it."

  Her appeal brought nothing but a cynical grin to Simon's face and he still refused to enter her. "Please," she mewled, close to hating him for the way he was making her grovel. Hadn't he just said he loved her? Why was he treating her like this?

  Simon placed one finger inside her and started moving it around in a maddeningly slow, circular motion. "Oh, God," she answered with a sigh.

  "Meghann, I want you as I've never wanted any other woman. But if I take you, it's forever. I'll only be satisfied if I have all of you… body and soul. That means no one—not your family, not your friends or any interest—comes before me. You give yourself to me completely or not at all. Will you agree to that?"

  In the years that followed, Maggie realized exactly what she gave Simon that night, but at that moment, she was too filled with lust to be able to think. Hardly aware of what she was saying, she screamed, "Yes—body, soul, everything! Just take me! Please!"

  "Oh, I intend to," he whispered as he thrust deep inside her, making her scream again. Maggie felt the world fade away as the now familiar haze of lust and fierce, insatiable need enveloped her. Nothing mattered but the mouth devouring hers, the clever hands that brought her to such a feverish pitch, and the wonderful, driving force that made her dig her nails into Simon's back and beg for more. In her blissful abandonment, Maggie barely heard Simon when he said, "Don't worry, sweetheart. I intend to make you mine before this night is over."

  * * *

  C
HAPTER FOUR

  « ^ »

  Maggie smelled something awful under her nose. She jerked away and opened her eyes. Dr. O'Shea, the family doctor, was standing over her with a small brown bottle.

  "Thank God, you're awake!" Bridie cried.

  Dr. O'Shea saw Maggie looking at the bottle. "Smelling salts, banshee. You fainted." Dr. O'Shea called her "banshee" because of the way she used to scream when he had to use a needle.

  "When did I faint?"

  "An excellent question. Do you think you can help us with the answer? But first, I have some questions of my own. How many fingers am I holding up?"

  "Three."

  "Very good. Now what time is it?"

  Maggie didn't want to answer any more questions. She was tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. She glanced at the window, and then she moaned. The light was hurting her eyes. "Why don't you tell me?" she asked Dr. O'Shea sleepily.

  "Five P.M."

  "Five," Maggie murmured in that same drowsy voice, "but that means I've been in bed the whole day."

  "Maggie, I was so scared when I came home and I couldn't wake you up," Bridie said. "You were so pale and…"

  Dr. O'Shea noticed the anxiety on Maggie's face and said mildly, "Let's not get upset here. The important thing is my favorite patient is awake now, so she's going to help me figure out what's the matter. Now, Daddy tells me you weren't feeling so good yesterday either? When did you start feeling sick?" Maggie saw her father sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "I guess yesterday morning," she told Dr. O'Shea while he examined her eyes. "I woke up sick… I was throwing up a lot and I was really cold." She yawned; she didn't even have the strength to sit up.

  "Chills? Was there a fever?"

  "Yes, but it went away last night."

  "What else do you feel? A little tired, maybe?"

  "Yes," Maggie answered, "very tired… like I could sleep all the time."

  "Well, we can't have that. What would all your boyfriends do with you sleeping all the time? Anyway, what's the number up to now, brat… twenty boyfriends, thirty?"