by Meg Maguire
“You’d do whatever it took,” Steph reiterated, not seeming to have heard him. “You’d go out and find a job doing anything you could, to make ends meet.”
He shrugged and smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Man’s gotta do whatever it takes.”
“But not every man does.”
“I suppose not. But I wasn’t raised that way.”
She shifted in his arms and met his eyes. “You’re a good man. One of the best I’ve ever met.”
He felt himself blushing. “Yeah?”
Her gaze followed her hands as she stroked his neck, his shoulder, chest, belly. He felt the bright heat of flattery first, then something else—something dark and wonderful.
He grinned. “You here to reward me for being such a stand-up guy?”
“I may be.”
He pulled the extra pillow out from under his head and tossed it aside, urging Steph onto her back and straddling her. “Is this some new level we’re at, where the sex is going to be all sweet and tender? Or do you still like it rough and messy? ’Cause I can swing either way.”
“Rough and messy, please.”
His cock roused at that, going from curious to hungry in a heartbeat. “You got it.”
He rummaged in the side-table drawer for a condom and set it aside. Moving his knees between hers, he eased the hem of her dress up her hips, one slow inch at a time.
“Man, you’re gorgeous.” He ran the back of his hand along the soft skin of her inner thigh.
She tugged at his arms, biting her lip with impatience.
He laughed. “And you make me feel objectified in the best way.” He pushed his shorts down and kicked them away, then eyed Steph’s nude panties.
“Uh...better not rip those,” she said. “They cost an embarrassing amount.”
He laughed, stripping them carefully. Steph was ready with the condom, rolling it down his erection with a smooth motion. Goddamn, he could get used to this woman.
“You need anything first?” he asked, stroking her folds, finding her wet.
“Just you. Now.”
The way she held his arms, he knew what she needed. He pushed his hips forcefully between her legs, and entered her with one swift, deep push.
Her fingers curled into claws as she moaned, eyes closing. “Good.”
For a thrilling minute he owned her with quick, bossy thrusts, then flipped them over, seating her tightly atop him. She reached back for the zipper, then peeled her dress away. He urged her hips with his hands, loving her weight on him. She worked to take the orders he issued, her body giving him a hundred tiny signals to say she reveled in this treatment. He made his grip meaner, pleased when her lips parted in unmistakable excitement.
“Ride me.”
She took him rougher.
“Faster.”
She took that command as well, and he thrust from below, intensifying the impact. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she showed him exactly what her extraordinary body could do.
He kept the act up for as long as he could manage, until excitement stole the control from his muscles, his cock begging for relief, leaving the rest of him overheated and frantic.
It was a race now, and he had to work fast. With her in charge of the motions, he slipped his hand between them, rubbing her clit. That fascinating, strong frame tensed, melting on the next inhalation. Arousal had made a mess of his own body, but he could keep his role up with words, at least.
“Harder. Ride my cock.” He hoped he sounded mean—he felt helpless. The best kind of helpless, like the need to come was the cruelest bully, taunting and torturing. He licked his fingers to make them slick, and rubbed her quicker.
“Come for me,” he said.
He saw the shift in her as she abandoned the submissive act to chase her pleasure. She rode him in short, rough thrusts, clit seeking the friction of his fingertips.
He said it again. “Come for me. Right on my cock.”
And she did. The orgasm had her locked arms shaking, her hips pummeling. It shut her eyes and dropped her mouth open, made her face look mean and needy and gorgeous and electrified.
“Good,” he muttered, lost in awe. He could feel her pleasure, a real and physical thing like a fist, squeezing him, pulsing, fluttering. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so big. Or so desired.
It was that last one that did him in. The second her eyes opened he flipped them over, rushing after his own orgasm with a flurry of graceless thrusts.
“Oh. Steph.” He pushed deep, as deep as he could go, and got lost in the perfect bliss of release for an ageless moment. Dropping to his elbows, he pressed his forehead to hers, rubbed their noses together. He laughed—from the pure joy of their physical connection.
The mania lifted like steam, and behind it was nothing but perfect calm and relief. Once the condom was stripped, he collapsed beside her with a happy, exhausted huff.
She turned to stroke his chest. “Good?”
“Amazing. It always is, with you.” He smirked at her. “That wasn’t my best, just now. You had me too wound up to be Mr. Rough-You-Up.”
“It was perfect.”
He smirked at her. “You’re sorta kinky.”
A guilty grin. “Just a little.”
“I like it. It’s fun.”
She laughed. “Oh good. Get used to it.”
His smile waned then. He wished he could get used to it—long-term. But surely she only meant for some finite time being. Still, he wouldn’t let it spoil the moment, or the evening. He shifted and locked their legs together, wishing he could trap her here forever, just like this. But surely if anyone could foil such a strategy, it was a pro fighter.
For now, though, she seemed content to be pinned.
They lay in lazy silence as their breathing slowed.
“I’m glad you came over,” he murmured, mussing her hair.
“Me, too.”
“You and your brother must be close, for him to drive you all the way here so late. Tell him if he ever needs any odd jobs done, I’m at his command.”
“I um... I had a talk with him tonight.”
“About?”
“About all this stuff, about not knowing what to do about you and me.”
“What to do about us...?”
“He told me some things that I don’t know if I totally trust, yet, but that I really want to be true. About how if two people are right for each other, then they just have to go for it. Just sign up for the hard stuff, and everything will eventually work out.”
“Right.” This was headed someplace good, wasn’t it? He thought so. His pulse beat hard, throat suddenly tight. He took one of Steph’s hands, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb.
“I think maybe...I think maybe you’re right, for me,” she said quietly.
He held her gaze, heart thumping madly as he waited to hear what was coming next.
“I’d like to find out, anyhow.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’d like that, too.”
“And my entire family and half the gym seem to agree, so maybe I was being stubborn.”
“Or scared,” he offered. “Your reservations weren’t exactly unfounded. I will make a pretty shitty suitor, for the foreseeable future. I can’t take you anywhere nice, or buy you something decent for Valentine’s Day.”
“I don’t care. I have fun with you. Tonight, dancing. At my neighbor’s silly wine-and-cheese thing. Just driving. And, you know.” She smiled guiltily. “In bed.”
He squeezed her hand again, returning the smile. “Well, if you can suffer the lack of glamour, I’d love for you to take a chance on me.”
For a long moment, she didn’t speak. He could sense words lurking just behind her lips, and waited for them to reveal themselves. When they did, her thoughts came out in a great crashing wave.
“How would you feel if I moved in with you?”
He blinked. “If you moved in...?”
“I know it’s all backward. And rushed. But if I’m going t
o take a chance, I may as well take a big one.”
“I—”
“I could kick in eight hundred a month. That’s how much I was budgeting for my rent. Maybe a little more. I’d have to sit down and do some math.”
Wait. So. An extra eight hundred bucks a month...and all he had to do for it was sleep in the same bed with Steph every night?
“That’d be amazing. That’d mean... That’d mean I could keep the frigging heat on during the day. And get my truck serviced properly, instead of praying it won’t just fall apart before my next job materializes.”
She smiled, face full of hope.
“You sure?” he asked. “This doesn’t seem like you. A few weeks ago you wouldn’t even go on a date with me. You aren’t wasted, are you?”
Her grin deepened. “What can I say? You wore me down. Plus you’re really good at sex.”
“What about your dream man? Those fancy guys you had your heart set on?”
“My brain, not my heart. My heart knew what it wanted the second I laid eyes on you...or the day after, anyhow. Once the swelling went down.”
He laughed. “You move here, you’ll have a long commute.”
She shrugged. “I can read on the train. I’ve been meaning to do more of that.”
“You might wind up hating me.”
“And vice versa. But without a lease binding us together, what’s the danger?”
“You might wind up loving me?”
Her smile turned softer, and she brushed her lips against his. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” For a long time he simply held her, lightly drawing his nose along her jaw and throat.
“If we’re still together a year from now,” she murmured, “I’m going to buy you a puppy.”
“A black Lab?”
“Naturally.”
He kissed her chin. “No puppies. My dog growing up came from a pound. That’s what I want. A pre-owned dog. To match your pre-owned boyfriend.”
She laughed. “Whatever you want.”
He sighed, blinking at the far wall. “Eight hundred dollars a month. That’s going to make such a difference, you have no idea.”
She stroked his hair. “Good.”
They’d have to be careful... They’d have to make sure the pressure of helping him stay afloat didn’t leave Steph feeling trapped, should her feelings wane down the road. All the more reason to keep hustling, keep doing whatever it took.
“I won’t let you down. I’m going to be that guy you’ve been wanting,” he said, praying it was a promise he could keep. “It might take a couple years, but I can do that. Get to a point where I can support us both.”
“I don’t need to be supported. Not that way. I just want to feel like when things get too heavy for one person, the other’s prepared to carry them, ’til they’re back on their feet.”
Patrick felt a funny pressure behind his eyes, and blinked it away.
“I just want a teammate, I guess,” she added quietly. “Someone to grab the baton right before I collapse.”
“I just hope I won’t disappoint you.” Or if he did, that it wouldn’t come as a surprise, the next time.
“I don’t know how you could.”
“I don’t have much to offer right now, aside from a financial burden.”
She pushed up on her elbow and met his eyes. “You have tons to offer. You’re kind, and talented, and hardworking. And handsome. And you have a beautiful home. And did I mention you’re amazing at sex?”
He laughed, still feeling all vulnerable and dopey.
“And you cook really good macaroni and cheese,” she added. “And you’d probably drive a hundred miles to help out a friend in the dead of night...and you’d drop everything you’d rather be doing on the off-chance there was work to be had.”
“Yeah, I would.”
“And any woman who doesn’t think those things are enough...well, she’s an idiot.”
He thought she must mean his ex, until she averted her eyes, seeming to speak to his chest.
“I should have let you in right away.”
“You were scared.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I was.”
“I bet you’re not used to letting people see that.”
“Not usually.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, again, again, again. For a long time they held each other, speaking only in soft, slowing breaths and idle caresses. Though it had been Steph’s concern all along, Patrick suddenly registered how essential this feeling was—security. Support. He’d lost so much, so suddenly in his divorce. The uncertainty of being on his own with the mortgage had just blended into the whole. But now, with the prospect of help, of some kind of partnership and solidarity...
There was no telling how things would go, but just to know he could feel this again, with another person...
He squeezed her tight, amazed she cared for him this much. Enough to set aside her deepest fear to partner with him. To want to fall in love with him, in spite of those challenges. It made him feel stronger than he had in months. Wanted. Worthy.
“I won’t let you down,” he whispered again, believing it this time. Owning it in every cell in his body.
She smiled at him, and kissed his chin. “You couldn’t if you tried.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from NO DESIRE DENIED by Cara Summers.
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Prologue
Glen Loch, New York, summer 1812
ELEANOR CAMPBELL MACPHERSON sat in the gazebo that her late husband, Angus, had built for her and frowned at the sketch on her easel. This had always been her favorite place on the castle grounds to draw and to think. But today neither was going well. The story she was telling in the picture wasn’t completed and neither was her mission.
Since his death a year ago, Angus had been visiting her in dreams and sending her visions that were helping her to right an old wrong. But for the last two months, the dreams hadn’t been so clear. And she was anxious to finish. Wasn’t she?
Or was she afraid that, once she buried the last of the Stuart sapphires, Angus would be lost to her forever?
When the pain around her heart tightened at the thought, she set down her pencils and walked over to sit on the stone steps that led into the garden. She missed him so much, and there wasn’t anyplace on the castle grounds she could go that didn’t bring back memories.
The gazebo had originally been her idea. She and Angus had chosen the spot for it together, because it offered views of the lake, as well as the castle and the stone arch, both of which he’d built to fulfill his promises to her. Of course, Angus, impulsive as always, had designed the gazebo and started construction immediately. He’d used stones for the foundation and chosen the sturdiest of woods for the benches, the railing and the roof. It had been his gift to her on their first anniversary.
Looking out on everything that Angus had built for her and everything that they’d created together, she recalled that long-ago day when the castle had still been under construction and the gardens had been in their infancy. It was their anniversary, and they’d placed the last stones in the arch together, stones that Angus had brought with him to the New World when he’d stolen her away from her home in Scotland.
He’d built the arch in a clearing at the far end of the g
ardens, just before the land sloped sharply upward into the mountains. It was almost an exact replica of the stone arch that had stood for hundreds of years in the gardens of the Campbell estate in Scotland. According to the legend that her mother and two older sisters had told her, the stone arch had the power from ancient times to unite true lovers. All you had to do was kiss your lover beneath the arch, and that was it. A happy ever after was guaranteed.
Well, she’d certainly kissed Angus many times beneath it. And she’d never forget the night she’d met him there for the last time. Having been promised to another man, she’d snuck out of the ball celebrating the engagement. She had been wearing her fiancé’s gift to her—a sapphire necklace and earring set that had been bequeathed to his family for service to the Scottish court. Mary Stuart had worn the jewels at her coronation, and Eleanor’s husband-to-be had insisted that she wear them at the ball as a display of his love for her.
With a smile, Eleanor recalled how fast her heart had been beating when she’d raced through the gardens to say a final goodbye to Angus. There could be no future for them, because she had to honor the arrangement her parents had made. Plus Angus’s family and hers had been blood enemies for years. But before she could say a word, Angus had kissed her.
Even when she’d tried to say no, he hadn’t listened. Impatient, impetuous and irresistible, Angus had simply swept her away.
Exactly what she’d wanted him to do.
Just the memory had her heart beating fast again.
That had only been the beginning of their story. Eleanor swept her gaze from the stone arch over the lush gardens to the castle and then back again. Angus had delivered on all of his promises. Her husband and lover of fifty years believed in building things that lasted—a marriage, a home, a family. Because of Angus’s story-spinning talent, the legendary power of the replicated stone arch had taken root and spread. Their own three sons had married beneath the stones. Angus invited anyone to tap into the power of the legend, and many Glen Loch locals had taken advantage of his generosity.
Leaning back against a pillar, Eleanor closed her eyes, and let the scent of the flowers and hum of the insects help her find the inner peace the garden always brought her. She’d never once regretted her decision to leave everything behind in Scotland and come here to New York with Angus. In fact, it was the best decision she’d ever made. She had only one regret—on the night she’d run away with Angus, she’d taken the Stuart sapphires with her.
