Rage of Passion

by Diana Palmer

  She threw up her hands. “Since when did that ever stop you? Weren't you the one who was backing me up against trees when I'd barely gotten here in the first place?”

  His eyebrows arched. Maggie in a temper was a new and tantalizing proposition. He tilted his chin up, pursing his lips as he gazed down at her. “My, don't we sound frustrated, though?”

  “We aren't frustrated.” She threw her napkin down and got to her feet. “I think I'll go to bed.”

  “So early? It's barely seven o'clock,” he remarked with a glance at his watch.

  “I'll need plenty of rest to cope with tomorrow,” she said, turning.

  “Maggie.”

  She stopped with her back to him. “Yes?”

  He moved closer. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the warmth of him behind her. “If you want me to make love to you, all you have to do is tell me. Not even that. Cut your eyes around, smile at me, flirt with me…. Men need a little encouragement. We don't read minds.”

  “I've done everything except take my clothes off for you,” she said through her teeth.

  “No, you haven't. You've managed to keep right out of my way all week. I haven't been avoiding you, honey. It's pretty much the other way around.”

  She drew in a slow breath. He was right. She hadn't realized it, but he was right. “I'm sorry, Gabe,” she murmured. “I've been worried—about Dennis, and if we're doing the right thing to marry…. I've been worried about a lot of things.”

  “Want to talk?” he asked gently.

  She nodded without turning her head.

  “Come on, then. The cattle can live without me for a while.” He caught her hand in his and led her into his study, closing the door behind them. “I won't lock it,” he said dryly, letting go of her hand. “Does that make you feel more secure?”

  “I'm not afraid of you that way,” she told him, surprised that he should think so. “You're nothing like Dennis. I know you won't hurt me.”

  “I suppose that's something,” he said gently. He held her gaze for a long moment, feeling the electricity all the way down to his toes. He laughed because it disturbed him, and he turned away to perch on the edge of his desk and light a cigarette.

  He'd cleaned up for supper but was still wearing denims and a green print shirt. He looked very Western, completely masculine, and Maggie's fingers itched to run through his thick black hair.

  He was doing his own share of looking at the picture she made in loose mauve slacks and a taupe blouse, both silky and very sensuous. With her short dark hair framing her face and her green eyes wide and soft, she was a vision.

  “You look more and more like your mother,” he remarked unexpectedly. “She was a beauty, too.”

  Maggie flushed. “I'm not pretty.”

  “You are to me,” he replied. “I like the way you look.”

  “Thanks.” She sat down on the long leather divan and folded her hands in her lap.

  “You wanted to talk,” he said, waving his cigarette in her direction. “What about?”

  “What if we lose the court case?”

  “For God's sake, we aren't going to lose,” he said shortly, impatient with her. “I won't let him have Becky.”

  “If the court says so, we'll have to.”

  “The court won't say so.” He lifted the cigarette to his mouth.

  “I can't help worrying.” She sighed. “Becky and I have had some hard knocks because of him. She's worried, too.”

  “Well, I'm not,” he told her. “Everything's under control. There's no need to dwell on it.”

  “That's right, just tell me. Like you tell everybody.” She got to her feet, lashing out at him for the first time. “You're Tonto and the Lone Ranger. Nothing bothers you, you can beat the world….”

  “I can sure as hell try,” he agreed, smiling. “Come here, saucy little woman. You're just frustrated, and I can take care of that.”

  “Oh, can you? How?” she asked with a cold, level stare.

  His eyebrows arched. “Ouch,” he said. “You want to bite, don't you?”

  “I hate men,” she muttered, glaring at him.

  “I figured it would come out sooner or later. I guess it's a good thing it was sooner.” He crushed out his cigarette, slowly and deliberately, and came off the desk into a posture that made her heart race.

  “Don't you touch me,” she challenged, backing up. “I'm not in the mood to be subdued by the superior male.”

  “Oh, I think you are,” he said with a slow, devilish smile. He moved toward her, holding her eyes, backing her toward the divan she'd vacated. “I think that's exactly what you want—to be shown that I still find you desirable.”

  “I won't beg for your exclusive attentions!”

  “I wouldn't beg for yours, either,” he replied easily. “I don't think people need to be put in that position.” He stopped when she'd reached the divan and, watching her, began to unbutton his shirt with slow, careless motions of his lean fingers.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Getting comfortable,” he murmured. “Lie down, Maggie.”

  “You said we wouldn't…!”

  “And we're not going to,” he promised. “But I think you need some reassurance. Maybe I need it, too. Marriage is a big step.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Come on, lie down,” he coaxed. He took her by the waist and eased her down onto the wide divan, sitting up long enough to strip off his shirt.

  His chest was broad and brown and covered with a thick wedge of hair, and she stared at it helplessly, remembering how it felt to run her hands over it, to experience the touch of it against her breasts. Her lips parted on a wave of remembered pleasure.

  He saw that, and something in him began to burst with delight. Her eyes were sultry. He loved the way they devoured him acquisitively. She wanted to touch him. He wanted that, too.

  His ribs swelled with a deep breath. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Touch me there.”

  She didn't need a second invitation. Sitting up, eyes glowing intently, she tangled her fingers in the liberal growth of his chest hair and caught her breath, loving the wiry feel of it, the play of muscles beneath it, the sudden quickness of his breathing.

  “You make me burn when you do that,” he whispered above her head. “I don't think you realize how expressive your eyes are when you look at me.”

  “You have a very sexy chest,” she murmured, pressing her hands flat to savor its warm strength.

  “I could return the compliment,” he said dryly. “You're a sweet sight, too.”

  His hand had worked its way between them. His knuckles were drawing gently over her collarbone, her shoulder. He ran them slowly down to the soft swell of her breast and farther, to the nipple that grew swiftly hard at the tender abrasion.

  “Wouldn't you like to lie against me with your shirt off, Maggie?” he asked at her ear. “And feel my chest against your bare breasts?”

  She trembled. He made it sound sinfully delicious. Yes, of course she wanted it; but why did she have to admit it?

  He laughed, as if he could read her mind. “Unbutton it,” he whispered, moving his hands down to her waist. “It's more exciting if you let me watch you take if off.”

  It was. She trembled at the impact of his eyes when she let the silky fabric fall from her shoulders. She wasn't wearing anything under it, and he had a delicious view of firm, pink-tipped breasts that were just slightly swollen with passion.

  “Like…this?” she whispered, needing reassurance. She felt inadequate; she always had since Dennis's cruel needling. But Gabe wasn't laughing. He reached up, lightly touching one perfect breast, and found it cool and soft and wonderfully responsive.

  “I don't know why,” he said absently, watching her with a rapt expression that was totally male, “but I've always liked women who were small, like you. Not that you're all that small. But my God, how perfect!”

  She felt herself swelling, as much w
ith pride as desire. Her back arched just a little, a helpless response to his voice, his touch.

  “I'm going to lift you against me,” he said, taking her waist with both hands. “Feel you. Absorb you.”

  He brushed her against him, watching where they touched, his eyes on the pink flesh that buried itself in the thick dark hairs of his muscular chest.

  “How does it feel?” he whispered.

  “Exquisite,” she whispered back. She arched her spine, letting her head fall back so that she pushed against him.

  His hands contracted. “Is this what you want?” he whispered, and bent his head to her shoulders.

  “Yes,” she sighed, holding his head. “Only…lower.”

  “Where?” he teased softly. “Tell me.”

  “You know.”

  “Tell me, or I won't do it.”

  “Yes, you will.” She laughed, feeling him laugh, too; feeling his mouth go warm and moist down her bare arm, over to her ribs, her waist, and then back up to tease around the very edges of her breasts.

  Her breath came in tiny gasps. She was burning up, on fire for him. She moaned.

  “Lie down so that I can do it properly,” he breathed, easing her onto her back. He knelt beside her, one hand lifting her back, the other cradling her head. And his mouth worked on her, explorative, deliciously thorough. He did things to her with his lips that she'd read about and heard about but had never really experienced. He made her shiver and burn, his mouth fierce and demanding on her warm body, his breath coming as fast as hers.

  “Maggie,” he whispered. He moved, rising, holding her eyes as his body lowered slowly over hers.

  She shivered a little as he approached, because he was fully aroused. “Are we…going to?” she asked helplessly, because if he said so, she would. She couldn't help herself; she already wanted him.

  “No,” he said softly. “Not until we're married. I just want to feel you.”

  “You want me,” she whispered recklessly. “I know.”

  “It would be hard to miss,” he agreed with pained humor. His mouth explored her nose, her chin. “Open your mouth…”

  She did, meeting the probing kiss with headlong delight. She reached up and held him, twisting her mouth under his with blind pleasure. He was all man. He was hers. He was the whole world, and everything in it.

  “This,” he whispered at her mouth, “is stupid.”

  “Yes.”

  “Stop agreeing with me.”

  She moved under him. “I want to make love with you.”

  “I want it, too. That's why I've kept my distance,” he groaned. “You little fool, it wasn't lack of desire keeping me away, it was just the opposite. I haven't slept all week. I've worked myself half to death to keep my body from aching all the time.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said unsteadily, looking into his narrowed blue eyes. “I never realized…Well, Dennis never wanted me, you see. Not really. He had to force it, and because of that, he was cruel.”

  “I can't imagine a man not wanting you, Margaret,” he said gently, looking down at the soft breast cupped in his palm. His thumb caressed it, and she jumped. He glanced up again. “Pleasure?” he whispered.

  “Delicious…” She laughed, shivering.

  “Tomorrow night,” he said, moving his hips deliberately against hers while he looked at her, “I'll do everything you want me to. We won't sleep at all, and when we do, it will be in each other's arms with nothing between us.”

  She caught her breath at the passion in his eyes. “Oh, Gabriel,” she whispered softly. “I can hardly wait….”

  He groaned, getting reluctantly to his feet, and looked down at her with a shudder. “Get your blouse on,” he said, turning away from the beauty of her. “You're going to be the death of me, Maggie.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” she murmured as she sat up and fastened her blouse, warm all over and delighted with herself. “You can't die before our wedding night.”

  He groaned again and shouldered into his shirt, fastening it before he tucked it back into his jeans. She was standing by the door when he finished.

  “Will you please go to bed now?” he asked, joining her. “If you want a husband, that is….”

  “I want you,” she replied with an impish grin. “You hunk, you,” she added, batting her eyelashes.

  “For God's sake, Maggie—!” he burst out, exasperated.

  “I know, stop it and go to bed. I'm going, I'm going. Turn me out into the cold, a poor little frigid woman….” She was joking about it! It was the first time.

  He knew it, too. Tenderly, he bent and kissed her. “You aren't frigid,” he whispered. “Tomorrow night, I'll prove it to you beyond a shadow of a doubt. Now, good night!”

  He walked past her with a grin, and she floated on up to bed. Things were definitely looking up.

  The next morning, Janet and Becky were up at the crack of dawn, helping Maggie get her things together.

  She was wearing a silky oyster-white dress with a full skirt, a spray of lily of the valley in her hair and several sprigs woven into a bouquet. It was only going to be a simple affair, but she was excited all the same.

  “What are you going to wear?” she asked Gabe in the hall as he went up to start getting his things together.

  “Oh, jeans and a sweat shirt…” he began, his eyes laughing at her.

  “Gabriel!”

  “My gray suit, I guess,” he replied. “Will that do?”

  “You look very nice in gray,” she said, smiling up at him. “You look nice in jeans, too.”

  He winked at her. His eyes darkened a little as they searched hers. “No second thoughts? No cold feet?”

  She shook her head. “None at all. And you?”

  “Same here.” He lifted her hand and slowly removed the dainty diamond ring from her finger, his expression unreadable.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What I should have done when I gave it to you,” he replied, disturbed by his guilt. It had bothered him, not making a production about giving her the ring. Now he was going to remedy it.

  He slid the ring gently onto her finger and lifted it to his lips. He brushed it softly and looked into her shocked eyes. “That's the way I should have done it, Maggie,” he whispered. “That's the way I meant to do it. I made it feel like a merger, didn't I?”

  “I—I didn't mind,” she faltered.

  “Sure you did. And so did I. It may not be the world's greatest love match, but it's no business arrangement, either.” He bent again, probing her lips lightly with his. “Now, go and get dressed, little one. We're going to be invaded by people any minute. Tonight, we'll start where we let off in my study last night.”

  She smiled against his mouth. “Until tonight!”

  He laughed and went upstairs with a quick wink. Maggie stared after him, sighing. It wasn't at all like her first marriage. She wasn't afraid of him. Becky loved him, and he was going to be the ideal husband and father. Only one thing was missing.

  If only he could love her…

  Chapter Nine

  Maggie didn't have time to get cold feet before the wedding. The Durangos showed up early that morning with their toddlers in tow, and she became so involved with company and wedding preparations that it was impossible to brood.

  John Durango was huge—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mustache and thick black hair. His eyes were slate gray, and Madeline was his exact opposite. She was slender and had reddish-gold hair, which she wore long, and pale green dancing eyes. The boys took after their father but they had Madeline's green eyes, and their parents obviously doted on them.

  “This is Edward Donald,” Madeline told Maggie, nodding toward a plump little boy in a sailor suit, “and this is Cameron Miles,” she added, indicating another son in shorts and a striped shirt. “I guess technically you could say they're twins, but they aren't identical, thank God.”

  “When do you find time to write?” Maggie asked.

  Ma
deline grinned. “At one in the morning, usually. John and Josito try to spare me by looking after them in the evenings when I'm on deadline, and we have a nanny who comes in when we need her. It works out. I still manage to spend enough time with them. I've cut back on the number of books I write, and that's helped, too.”

  “Writing must be fascinating work,” Maggie mused.

  “Motherhood is even more fascinating.” She glanced out into the hall, where Gabe was introducing Becky to a charmed John Durango.

  “We were shocked and delighted to find out that Gabe was getting married,” Madeline remarked, watching the tableau. “John was just his age when we married,” she added. “He's forty-three now, and I'm thirty-one. Time does fly, doesn't it?”

  “All too fast,” Maggie agreed. “Becky loves him.”

  “Yes. It shows.” She turned, searching the younger woman's eyes. “So do you.”

  Maggie blushed, dropping her eyes. “He doesn't know,” she said softly. “He thinks it's for Becky.”

  Madeline frowned. “Shouldn't you tell him? He might feel the same way.”

  Maggie shook her head. “He's already said that love isn't something he wants. We're friends. That suits him.”

  “I thought it suited John and me, too,” came the dry reply. “Until one night in a storm I lost my head and said yes instead of no. And just look what happened.” She sighed delightfully at her sons. “What a simply beautiful reminder they are.” She glanced up. “Sort of like human love tokens, don't you think?”

  Maggie laughed. “Yes.”

  The older woman watched her curiously. “Gabe doesn't say a lot about you, but I gather that you're having a bad time with your ex-husband.”

  “Really bad,” Maggie replied. “He wants my daughter—only because she has a trust.”

  “Rat,” she muttered. “Well, don't you worry. Gabe will take care of him!”

  Probably he would, Maggie thought later as she stood beside Gabe in the small church, repeating her wedding vows. She tried not to betray herself by crying, but it was hard. Becky was the flower girl and John Durango, towering over everyone, was best man. Janet served as matron of honor. And a few local people had turned up for the brief ceremony.