by Diana Palmer
“I haven't spent much time around women in the past few years,” he said, his voice deep and slow in the stillness. “I'm rusty at social skills, so you'll have to get used to a little embarrassment now and then. All you have to remember is that I'm no pretty boy with a line a mile long. I'm a country man with old-fashioned ideas and I'll never hurt you. Physically or emotionally.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you won't seduce me if I smile at you?” she asked, testing emotions she hadn't used in over six years as she looked up at him.
He didn't move. He seemed to be holding his breath. In fact, he was. The softness in those green eyes held him spellbound. He hadn't realized just how vulnerable he was.
“That's about the size of it. You don't trust men, do you?” He touched her face with hesitant fingers. “I suppose we're alike in being wary. I thought I was in love a few times, but I got burned badly once. I guess I've forgotten how to trust women in the years since.”
He sounded just faintly vulnerable, and something inside her stirred like a budding flower. She searched his face. “Damaged people,” she whispered.
He understood immediately, his nod more eloquent than speech. He brushed the back of his finger over her soft mouth. “Come here and kiss me.”
He bent as he spoke, and without the slightest hesitation she rose on tiptoe and kissed him. It was the first move she'd ever made of her own free will toward a man. He made everything so natural, so easy. She was sixteen again, feeling her first passion for a man. And there was Gabe, tough and hard and filling her world, her life.
“Gabe,” she whispered brokenly, holding him gently as she pressed her warm, soft mouth against his and flew up into the sun with the powerful response he gave her.
She felt his hand at the back of her head, pressing her lips hard against his, and then she was free and he'd moved away, turned away, so that she couldn't see the effect she'd had on him. But when he put the brandy snifter down to light a cigarette, she noticed his hand wasn't quite steady.
“You're just dynamite,” she said dazedly.
He turned, his eyes shocked, delighted. He smiled at her. “Hell, so are you.”
It was a real smile, not a smirk or sarcasm. He lit the cigarette but his eyes held hers, searched them slowly. “Are you going to be that honest with me from now on?” he asked. “Because I'll have to warn you, it's dangerous.”
“Telling the truth?”
“Telling me the truth about what you feel when I touch you,” he told her. “My God, I've got a low boiling point with you, Maggie,” he added softly, fervently. “I never dreamed it would be like that.”
“Neither did I,” she said, her voice soft, colored with what she was feeling so unexpectedly. “I…used to…” She stopped, horrified at what she was about to reveal.
“Used to what?” he coaxed, moving closer. “Used to what, honey?” he repeated, touching her lips gently.
“I used to daydream about you,” she murmured, lowering her eyes to his hard chest. “About kissing you.”
“You weren't the only one.” He tilted up her chin. “The reality is pretty devastating. I gather it wasn't like that with your ex-husband?”
She shook her head. “I never really wanted him physically,” she said. “I suppose he knew…. Do men know?” she asked, lifting plaintive eyes.
He nodded slowly. “I would, anyway,” he said. “It's hard to fake.”
“He couldn't make me want him. That made it worse. He had so many women, and I tried not to mind, but after a while, I felt like a Medusa.”
“Why did you marry him?” he asked.
She shrugged. “He was a lot of fun. He'd take me places and give me things.” She smiled sadly. “I'd never had a man pay me any attention. Not like that. I was a pushover.”
“I could have,” he said half under his breath, and the look in his eyes disturbed her. “If you hadn't been so young, honey.”
“You were almost thirty,” she remembered, searching his hard face. “Already a grown man. You fascinated me.”
“I know.” There was a world of emotion in those two words. He brushed back the hair from her temple, his fingers warm and hard and strong. “And frightened you. It was because of me that you stopped coming here to see the girls, wasn't it?”
“Yes,” she confessed softly, smiling. “I knew I couldn't hide what I was feeling. I was afraid you'd see it and make fun of me or be embarrassed.”
“I wouldn't have done either,” he told her, his voice gentle. “I'm not sure how I would have handled it, but I'd have managed without hurting your pride too much.” He pursed his lips musingly. “I lost track of you after the girls left school. I always meant to look you up again, but your family moved to Austin.”
“It's just as well,” she said. “You'd have wanted more than I could give.”
He smoothed her hair. “No, I wouldn't have,” he said firmly. “I'd have respected your innocence. I wouldn't have asked you to give it to me without a commitment.” His chest rose and fell slowly. “Maggie, are you going to be able to handle a physical relationship again?”
She felt her body relaxing against his, felt her helpless reaction to his strength. Her fingers played with a button on his shirt, and she bit her lower lip, succumbing to old memories and new hungers all at once.
“I don't know,” she said.
He nuzzled her cheek with his. “Shall we find out?”
Her lips parted on a trembling breath. “I'm afraid.”
“No reason,” he said gently. His mouth brushed over her cheek, her ear. “I'm older. It's hard for me to lose control now. I won't do anything you don't want me to do.” He smiled against her cool cheek. “No sex, honey. Just some very light lovemaking.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “I want to,” she said, letting him see the mingled hunger and apprehension.
“Remember who I am,” he breathed, touching her hair. “I'm Gabriel. I'll never hurt you. Never.”
She reached up and he bent to lift her, but he grimaced and had to set her down.
“Damn,” he groaned, rubbing his arm and laughing through the pain. “Damned snake! It's still sore.”
“Your poor arm,” she said softly, touching it lightly. “I'm sorry.”
“So am I,” he said, sighing. “It's slowed me down a little.”
She smiled. “I think I like that. For now, at least.”
He glared at her, moving into the big armchair with slow ease. “Come here, then,” he said, holding out his hand. “But watch where you touch.”
“Prude,” she accused, and actually laughed. It was the first time she'd been able to joke in so long.
He drew her onto his hard thighs and shifted her so that her head lay against his shoulder. But instead of kissing her, he just sat, holding her. Outside, rain was beginning to come down. The room was dimly lit and cozy. Her eyes wandered around to the heavy oak desk, the large burgundy leather sofa, the long, wide, matching divan, the huge bookcases against one wall and the wildlife paintings covering the other. It was a man's room. Gabe's room.
Closer, she heard his heartbeat, slow and heavy and regular at her ear, felt the sigh of his breath on her forehead. He smoothed her arm gently and his warm fingers felt good.
“It feels good, holding you,” he said after a minute. He crossed one leg over the other, shifting her closer. “Comfortable?”
“Yes,” she murmured drowsily, closing her eyes. She moved her hand experimentally on his broad chest and arm, feeling the bandage through the thin fabric of his shirt. “How long will it take to heal?” she asked.
“Not much longer, I hope,” he muttered. “Damned fool, I should have looked where I was reaching. I dropped my rope behind the chute where we were working the small herd, and didn't look when I leaned over. The rattler got me right on the arm.”
She studied his face curiously. “I never heard what happened to the snake. Blood poisoning…?”
He glowered at her. “The snake went the wa
y of most snakes that come too close to me. I took my rifle and shot him.”
“With snakebite?” she gasped.
“I had the rifle right next to me,” he admitted. “And just enough bad temper to do it before the poison started working. The boys got me to the emergency room, snake's head and all, and they gave me the antivenin. I was sicker than I want to remember for a couple of days. I'd just gotten back on my feet when you showed up with Mother.”
“And spoiled your recovery,” she recalled, smiling.
“I wouldn't say that.” He nuzzled his cheek over her hair. “I have to admit that you've brightened up the place. Nothing like having a woman around to get a man well.”
“You should have married,” she murmured.
He lifted her left hand, noting the absence of a ring. “Becky's the one who's going to get hurt by the court suit, you know,” he said unexpectedly, caressing her fingers gently with his. “From what I saw today, her father won't care who he destroys to get that money.”
“Money always meant everything to him,” she said. “He grew up poor. Really dirt-poor. But it warped him. He doesn't really care about anyone except himself.”
“Stop feeling sorry for him,” he chided. “People make their own hells, haven't you noticed? It isn't life that does the damage, Maggie—it's the way people react to it. Attitude is everything in this world.”
“This, from a man whose attitude is to flatten anything that gets in his way?” she asked, eyebrows arching.
“It makes things simpler,” he said, grinning.
She shook her head. “You always were too much man for any ordinary woman. I never thought you'd find a woman brave enough to take you on.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful, curious. “Plenty have tried, as you might have gathered. Mother's done her best to supply me with a wife.”
“She only wants happiness for you,” Maggie said gently. “She doesn't like seeing you grow old all alone.”
“Neither do I, sometimes.” He brushed his thumb over the palm of the hand he was holding, feeling its softness. “I want a son,” he added, looking straight into her eyes.
She felt the wildest kind of excitement. He was only making a statement, she told herself, only expressing a buried desire. But the way he said it, and the way he looked at her, made her body burn to give him that child. She felt herself trembling and knew he could feel it, too.
“I wanted to talk to your attorneys while we were in the city,” he said after a minute. “But I thought it was more important to get Becky out of that lunatic's reach. I'll fly back down on Monday and meet with them.”
“But—”
“It doesn't do any good to argue with me,” he said reasonably. “Haven't you discovered that by now?”
“I don't want to be taken over,” she began.
“Sure you do, honey,” he murmured, smiling gently as he folded her against his good side and eased her down in the big chair. “And this is as good a time as any to show you that you do.”
“Gabri—”
The rest of his name was buried under his warm, ardent mouth. She sighed gently and closed her eyes, drinking in his strength and warmth and masculinity. He made her feel so small and vulnerable, so protected. Nothing would ever happen to her when Gabe was around.
His lean fingers trailed down her arm and suddenly, shockingly, onto her blouse.
“Don't,” she whispered, catching his wrist.
“You let me do it before,” he whispered back, brushing his hard mouth over hers. “You aren't going to tell me you don't enjoy it, are you?”
“It's…it isn't…right,” she faltered, searching for the words that would express what she felt.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Because I'll think you're easy?” he asked matter-of-factly. “Now that's a hell of a misconception. I know plenty about you, Maggie Turner. What I know best is that you've had a rough time with men and that you're about as clued up as a pretty kid at a carnival. Do you think I'm callous enough to play around with you under those circumstances?”
The question floored her. She hadn't expected such a blunt explanation.
“No,” she had to answer him honestly. “No, I don't think you're callous.”
“Then let go of my wrist, sweet, and let me show you how good it feels to have my hand on your warm skin,” he breathed, smiling as he bent again to her mouth.
He was a bulldozer, she thought dimly. A human, blue-eyed bulldozer with a mouth as sweet as mountain honey. He opened her lips with his and pushed his tongue gently into her mouth, feeling her stiffen at the new intimacy.
“Give it a chance,” he whispered. “Deep kisses are an acquired taste. Let me.”
She hesitated for an instant but then she gave in, letting his tongue invade her mouth. It was frightening, the sudden explosion of feeling that the searching motion caused in her body. She stiffened again, but not in rejection; she moaned, gripping his hard arms.
Meanwhile, one lean hand had moved the fabric of her blouse aside and was sliding warmly under it and around her. She felt the clasp of her bra give suddenly and the cool breeze of the room on her bare flesh. Her nipple hardened even as his fingers began to search teasingly at the edge of her breast, lightly exploring.
Her breath sounded odd. It caught in her throat and sighed out in little gasps. He heard it and smiled even through his own wild excitement.
“God, you set me on fire,” he murmured, lifting his head as his hands slid around her and under her breasts, holding their warm, soft weight as he stared directly into her shocked eyes. His thumbs edged up, and she shuddered as they found and tested the tiny peaks of her breasts. “I'm not hurting you, am I?” he asked softly. “I haven't touched a woman like this for a long time.”
“It doesn't hurt,” she said, her voice husky.
He looked down and expertly lifted the bra away so that her breasts were revealed, small and high and very firm. “Yes,” he said with a kind of reverence. “Yes, this is how I pictured you, all the long years in between—sweet, pretty little breasts so soft and warm in my hands—”
“Gabriel!” she burst out, shocked by his intimate description of her.
“Don't cover them,” he whispered, bending to her parted lips. “Let me look at you. Let me touch you. We're both adults, Maggie. We're hurting no one.”
He had such a silky, deep voice. It hypnotized her. She stayed very still, trembling softly as he caressed her mouth with his lips. His hands cupped her, testing her softness, adoring her womanliness.
She felt her body stretching, arching upward to savor what he was doing to it. Her head fell back, her eyes half-closed. She was sixteen again, burning for him, aching for his body. Dennis and all unpleasantness was pushed to the back of her mind, while Gabe held her body in ardent bondage.
He lifted his lips from hers and looked down, watching her body plead. “Yes,” he whispered. “I want that, too, Maggie.”
He bent, lifting her against his arm, and softly brushed his mouth over the very tip of her breast. She whimpered. Her fingers caught in his hair, tugging gently.
“You're trembling all over,” he breathed. “I've never in my life felt so hungry for a woman.”
As he spoke, he opened his mouth and put it completely over one soft, pretty breast. She felt the warm, moist darkness envelop her, and she arched even further to give him total access to her, trembling as his mouth fed on her softness, bit at her, tasted her. Her mind hardly worked at all, drowning in sensation.
His hand slid down her back to her hips and drew them suddenly under his, then he turned her in the big chair so she could feel the pressure of his arousal.
Her eyes opened to look up into his. She shuddered, but she didn't try to move away. “I hated it…when that happened to Dennis. Why is it…so beautiful with you?” she whispered tearfully.
He couldn't answer her. His mind was in turmoil, his body in anguish. He bent again to her sweet mouth and
kissed it as if he'd die trying to get enough. Despite the sore arm, he lifted her close, fighting his shirt out of the way so he could feel her soft breasts against his chest.
She cried out, shocked at the sensations she felt. Never with Dennis, never like this. She wanted him. She wanted to lie down and feel his weight on her body; she wanted total union with him.
Time seemed to slow, to stand still. She was crying, and when the world came into focus again, he was comforting her with the most exquisite kind of tenderness.
“Shh,” he breathed into her mouth. “Shh, calm down now. It's all right, calm down.” He pressed her hot cheek against his chest and rocked her, gently smoothed his hands along her back, easing away the passion between them. “That's my girl,” he whispered. “Just be still.”
“I feel so strange,” she whispered unsteadily.
“So do I.” He laughed gently. “Would you like to know where?”
“Hush,” she mumbled, hiding her hot face.
He ran his fingers through her thick short hair, testing its silkiness. “Were you frightened of what was happening?” he asked softly.
“A little,” she told him.
His fingers touched her ear, sending delicious thrills through her sensitized nerves. “Eventually, I'll have to know.”
“Know…what?” she hesitated.
“Whether or not you're capable of giving in to me completely,” he replied. His chest, beneath her bare breasts, rose and fell heavily. “This kind of thing gets unmanageable pretty quickly, Maggie. For Becky's sake, we can't have an illicit relationship. You see that, I hope.”
Things were going too fast. She stood up, tugging her blouse together, and stared down at him. “It's too soon,” she said, wary.
“No, I don't think it is.” He watched her fumble with buttons. He didn't bother with his own, merely sprawled back in the chair, his broad, hair-covered chest bare and welcoming, his mouth swollen and sensuous and smiling with pure male appreciation of her. “You'd better start seeing it that way, too, honey. You're going to need some help when you get into court. Especially now, with your ex-husband's scandalous opinion of our relationship.”
