by Diana Palmer
“That's risky,” he whispered at her lips. “You're barely covered. I can feel you, even through the cloth.”
“I can feel you, too,” she whispered back, reaching to press her hand over his hard, broad chest. “I wish…”
“You wish what?” he asked gently.
“I wish we were alone on a desert island, just for a few hours,” she replied. “And there'd be no one to see us or hear us, and I could be with you the way we were last night.”
“Desert islands are in short supply around here,” he said with a smile, brushing her hair away from her face. “But I'd like that, too. You're sweet to love.”
Her body tingled at the sound of the word, and she remembered how he'd put it, whispering that it wasn't sex at all. And it hadn't been. Sex was just a physical coming together, a brief pleasure. What they'd shared was deeper, somehow. Almost…reverent.
She searched his pale blue eyes, noticing the tiny lines fanning out from their corners, and the length and thickness of his black lashes. His brows were heavy and dark, and impulsively she ran the tip of her finger over them. It was heady, touching him that way, and he seemed not to mind. His eyes closed.
“Go ahead,” he murmured. “Explore me if you want to.”
She did. It was exciting, too, to run her fingers over his lean cheeks, the place where his nose had been broken and was the most crooked, the chiseled line of his hard mouth, his stubborn chin. He wasn't handsome—not technically. But he had an inner attractiveness that made his looks irrelevant. And his body was just magnificent, she thought with a sigh.
“I like that,” he murmured as she worked her way down to his chest. “I like the way your fingers feel.”
“I like touching you,” she confessed, finding the realization fascinating. “I've never wanted to touch anyone else,” she added vaguely. “It's odd, how I can't seem to stop doing it with you.”
His eyes opened, searching hers. “That sounds serious.”
“Does it?” She returned his scrutiny. “You don't have to look so worried,” she told him, and smiled. “I'm not going to fall madly in love with you and start clinging like ivy.”
“That's a relief,” he said, saying the words without really meaning them. He grinned. “I'd hate to have a lovesick woman hanging on me all the time.”
Her eyes dropped to his chest so that he couldn't see how much his careless remark had hurt. But why should it matter? She didn't care about him. “Well, there's no danger of that,” she told him firmly.
He wondered why he felt irritated by her remark. Did he want her to love him? He drew back, a little disturbed.
She looked sad. Her face had lost its lovely color, and she seemed oddly taut.
“Hey,” he said gently, tilting her chin up until her eyes met his. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I was just wondering if we should marry…”
“I like you,” he said at once. “Don't you like me?”
“Yes!” she said with smiling enthusiasm. “Very much!”
He chuckled. “And together, physically, we create something beautiful and lasting. So why shouldn't friends marry?”
She couldn't think of a single reason why not. There was always the hope that love would come, that he'd learn to care about her; of course there was.
She sighed, watching him, thinking how devastating he was, how masculine and appealing. And he was going to be all hers. No other woman would know him again as she did. He'd be her man. Completely. She felt a wild hunger for possession. She wanted him to wear a ring; she wanted everyone to know that he belonged to her. Her own bold thoughts startled her.
Her green eyes searched his hard face and she thought, I love him. I always have.
She felt the shock to her toes. Yes, she did love him. Otherwise she couldn't have given herself as she had the night before. Especially not when she carried the scars from her first marriage so close to the surface. Why hadn't she realized that before? A purely physical coming together wouldn't—couldn't—have been so profound.
“You're worried,” Gabe repeated, frowning.
“No!” She sat up, pushing back her hair, forcing a smile. “Truly I'm not. I just don't know if I remember how to fish!”
“I'll teach you. That, and more,” he promised, and bent to touch her mouth carelessly with his.
Maggie gasped at the soft contact. It was suddenly so exquisite to know how she felt and have him touch her. She moaned a little and opened her mouth for him.
He caught his breath at her unexpected submission. His heart began to beat wildly. He lifted his head and looked at her, feeling all man and a yard wide—and frankly hungry.
His lean fingers took hold of the strap of her gown and slowly tugged it down, baring one taut, pretty breast to his glittering eyes.
Her lips parted. Her head fell back. She watched him, glorying in the way he was looking at her, in his obvious hunger for her.
“Touch me there,” she whispered huskily.
His heart leapt into his throat. She was going to be a handful. He hadn't expected this. He didn't know what he'd expected anymore. His fingers trailed down her shoulder, her arm. To her ribs, up, but just enough to tantalize. He watched the nipple grow harder and harder at his teasing, heard her breath turning shallow and quick.
“Is it my hands you want, or my mouth?” he whispered, brushing his lips softly against hers.
Her nails gripped his shoulders helplessly. “Anything,” she whispered back, her voice shaking. “Anything!”
“Only for a second, then,” he breathed, bending slowly. “We can't start something now.”
But he wanted to. He cupped her breast in his palm and savored its soft weight as he bent to tease it gently with his lips and tongue and teeth. Maggie was whimpering. The sound excited him almost beyond bearing, but he had to keep his head, he had to be gentle, he had to…God!
He threw her back into the pillows and followed her down, his face hard with passion, his hands pinning her.
“Do it,” she challenged. Her eyes were wide and hot, and behind them was the first spark of a blazing need for possession. “Do it. I dare you.”
He shook all over with the effort to control it. She was a siren, lying there with her eyes daring him, her body yielded, promising heaven. Becky. Becky would be back any minute.
He eased his grip on her wrists. “Becky,” he whispered. “She'll see.”
She blinked, as if she hadn't really been lucid. Then she caught her breath as she stared up at him with slowly dawning comprehension. “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” Gabe sat up, drawing her with him, faintly amused even through his own frustrations at the look on her face. “I wasn't the only one who got carried away,” he insinuated devilishly. “What did you want me to do, for God's sake? Take you right here with the door wide open?”
She went beet red. He made it sound like a quick tumble in the hay, and she hated him for it. She didn't consider that he was frustrated and eaten up with desire.
She only knew that he was hurting her.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to sound unaffected by it. “I guess I forgot. I'd better get dressed.”
He let her go with reluctance and watched her tug up the shoulder strap of her gown. The light had gone out of her, even before she went to her closet and started pulling out jeans and a green print blouse.
He got to his feet slowly and went to stand just behind her, not touching. “Don't draw into a shell,” he said gently. “I told you, I'm rusty at this. It…surprised me. That's all.”
It had surprised her, too, but she'd only just realized that she was in love with him. And how could she admit that, when he was only marrying her for Becky's sake? He'd said so. The physical magic was a fringe benefit. He didn't love her. He didn't want to love anybody.
She forced herself to act casual and turned with a smile. “It surprised me, too,” she confessed, her tone light and superficial. “No harm done.”
He
searched her eyes. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You didn't,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I'll get my clothes on. Where are we going?”
“Down on the pond,” he replied. “I keep it stocked with game fish.”
“You'll have to bait the hook if you use spring lizards,” she murmured. “I don't mind worms, but I don't like lizards.”
“Okay.”
She turned, holding her clothes, and stared at him.
He got the message, belatedly. “I'll go see about the gear.” He paused at the door and looked back with steady blue eyes. “I won't leave the room after we're married. I don't think married people should be embarrassed to undress in front of each other.”
“Neither do I,” she agreed calmly. “But we're not married yet.”
“We will be by Friday,” he told her, and went out the door without another word. And that was the first she'd heard of her wedding date.
She was surprised to learn after breakfast that they were going to fish with cane poles instead of rods and reels.
“What?” she exclaimed, staring at the old, enormously long pole he extended toward her. “You want me to catch a fish with that? Where's the safety? Where's the spool? Where's the—”
“It's all one unit, see?” he said reasonably. “Hook, sinker, float, thirty-pound test line and a box of worms. Here.”
She took the worms and the pole and gaped at him. “This ranch is worth a fortune, and you can't afford a spinning reel?”
“I'm not doing it to be cheap,” Gabe began.
“A spinning wheel is how you make cotton thread,” Becky said importantly, looking up at them. “We learned about that in school.”
“No, no, darling, a spinning reel,” Maggie told her. “It's a kind of rod and reel that doesn't backlash.”
“City slicker.” Gabe glowered at Maggie. “What's the matter, can't you catch anything without expensive equipment? I guess you're used to that scented bait, too, and the electronic gadgets that attract the poor old fish—”
“I am not!” she shot back. “I can so catch fish with a cane pole!”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Prove it.”
“All right. I will!”
She grabbed the pole and stalked out of the house, off toward the pond that was several hundred yards down the dirt, ranch road.
Becky giggled, holding her own pole over her shoulder as she and Gabe followed at a respectful distance. “Mama never used to get all funny like that,” she told Gabe. “She sure is different.”
“Yes, isn't she?” Gabe grinned, watching Maggie's straight back as she marched ahead of them.
“Can she fish?” asked Becky.
“I'm not sure,” he replied. “I think so. We'll find out, though, won't we, honey?”
“You bet!”
They sat on the banks of the pond for over two hours. When they returned to the house, Becky had a fish. Gabe had a fish. Maggie had wet jeans and a broken line.
“Poor Mama.” Becky sighed. “I'm sorry you didn't catch anything.”
“She didn't have an expensive rod and reel,” Gabe said, straight-faced.
Maggie aimed a kick at his very masculine seat and fell flat on hers when he whirled, anticipating it, and sidestepped.
The look on her face was comical. He grinned and extended a hand to help her up.
“Next time, don't put so much spirit into it,” he murmured, delighted at the show of spunk. “You're going to have a hard time sitting down. Again,” he added with an innocent glance.
She colored at the insinuation and fell quickly into step beside Becky, ignoring him.
“Isn't this fun?” Becky said, holding up her stringer of one fish. “Just like a real family. I'm so glad I can stay here.”
Gabe glanced at her. “Me too,” he said. “It's kind of nice, having my own daughter.”
Maggie felt warm at the thought of it. But she knew Dennis, and she was frightened. Gabe was formidable; but what could he do with a man like Dennis, who wouldn't fight fair?
She worried at the problem without finding any resolution. She thought about mentioning it to Gabe but knew he wouldn't listen. He wasn't even taking the custody suit seriously, he was so certain of winning. Maggie wasn't that certain. And she was afraid. Becky was her whole world. She'd do anything to keep Dennis from using her as a key to the trust. Anything!
Gabe made blood-test appointments for himself and Maggie, and the next day, after they left the doctor's office, the couple applied for a license at the county courthouse. Then the waiting began.
Janet helped with the invitations, which were extended by telephone because there wasn't time for anything elaborate.
“It will be fine, dear,” she assured Maggie. “We're just inviting some friends from Houston—John Durango and his wife, Madeline. They've been married four years now, and have two boys. At first they thought their sons would be identical twins, but they're very different. They don't look anything alike.”
“That might be a blessing,” Maggie commented.
“I agree.” Janet studied the younger woman. “Are you and Gabriel going to have children of your own?”
“Yes,” Maggie said, smiling.
Janet nodded. “I'll like that. I'll like that very much.” And she went back to telephoning.
“What do the Durangos do?” Maggie asked Gabriel the next day just before he left to help finish the branding.
“Do?” He stared at her. “Hell, John owns an oil company.”
“Excuse me, I don't read minds very well,” she muttered, glaring at him.
“Madeline is a mystery writer. She did The Grinding Tower, which ran as a miniseries on television,” he added.
“That was one of my favorite books! You actually know the writer?”
“Well, I guess I do,” he said. “She's just a person.”
“She's a writer!”
“Just a person,” he emphasized, “with a marvelous talent and a lot of sensitivity. Writing is what she does, not what she is. You'll see what I mean when you meet her.” He pursed his lips. “She threw a pie at John and dumped spaghetti on him. She stranded him on a country road with a broken-down car—my God, he was lucky to have survived until she agreed to marry him.”
“Sounds like a rough courtship,” she remarked.
“It was. He made her pregnant,” he said softly. “And she tried to run, thinking that he'd only want her out of misplaced responsibility.”
Her eyes searched his. “And did he?”
Gabe smiled. “He'd loved her for years. She didn't know, until then.”
“What a nice ending.”
“They thought so. John's brother, Donald, was sweet on her, but he gave up with good grace, went off to France and married a pretty young artist. They have a daughter now.” He brushed back her hair with a gentle hand. “Stay out of the sun. You're getting blistered.”
Maggie made a face at him. “Look at yourself.”
He grinned. “Like leather,” he murmured. “My skin doesn't burn anymore.”
She wanted to reach up and kiss him, but then she remembered that he didn't want her love. It wasn't going to be a love match. She had to keep that in mind.
He ruffled her hair affectionately. “See you later.” And he moved off the porch to light a cigarette, every step vibrant and sure. She loved to watch him walk. He was so graceful. He looked all man, delicious.
She turned with a hard sigh. She had to stop making love to him with her eyes. God forbid he should notice. That wasn't what he wanted from her, after all.
And in the days that followed, it did seem that he wanted nothing more than companionship. The night before they were to be married in a quiet ceremony at the small country church nearby, Maggie was living on her nerves. Gabe hadn't even touched her since the morning he'd taken her and Becky fishing. He'd been roughly affectionate and polite, but nothing more.
“When do the Durangos get here?” she asked him
after supper, when Janet had taken Becky upstairs to read her a story and Jennie had left.
“In the morning,” he told her. “They'll fly up and back the same day. John's in the middle of some financial manipulating. Oil's about hit rock bottom, you know. He's had to diversify pretty quickly.”
“Too bad,” she murmured. She sipped her coffee, oblivious to the quiet, steady look he was giving her.
“Suppose I lose everything one day,” he asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair. “What would you do?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Get a job, of course.”
He burst out laughing. “Always the unexpected.” He shook his head. “Get a job. Would you leave me?”
“No, I wouldn't leave you,” she said reasonably. “Why should I?”
“Forget it. I suppose I'm thinking out loud.” He drained his coffee cup and stood up. “You'd better get some rest. Tomorrow's the big day. Got the rings?”
He'd given them to her the day before, a small diamond and a matching gold band. Nothing fancy at all, and she'd been a little disappointed because he'd only given her the box and walked off without bothering to put the engagement ring on for her.
“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. “I have them.”
“You aren't going to back out on me, are you, Maggie?” he asked suddenly, pausing at her chair.
“No.” She looked up. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“Not at all. Why?”
“I just wondered,” she said, staring at her mauve slacks. “You don't seem to…” She hesitated, glancing up at him. “Well, to want me anymore.”
“Not want you!” The words were half amused, half angry. “Why?”
She was embarrassed now, shy of him when he looked at her with that vaguely superior, very adult expression on his hard face. What was she supposed to tell him? That since he never made any advances, she'd decided he was regretting his decision? She couldn't!
“Why?” he repeated.
Her face went rigid. “You don't touch me.”
“Sure I do,” he argued gently. “I touch you all the time.”
“Well, not like you did before,” she muttered.
“You haven't been all that approachable,” he said. “I thought you didn't want it.”
