His hands were magic. "You gonna fight back?"
"What do you think?" She slid her hands under his shirt, enjoying the smooth, warm skin beneath her palms. His muscles tightened as her hands began a leisurely exploration that he seemed to find as gratifying as she did.
They murmured and kissed and touched, taking it as sweet and slow this time as it had been hurried the last. Her senses began to swim, though at first Abigail fought it. One part of her dissolved with pleasure at the tender, sensual stroke of Nate's hands, the pressure of his aroused body, and the increasingly urgent kisses that demanded her wholehearted cooperation. Yet another part of her was determined to stay aloof, was scared of such utter vulnerability. Had it not been for the last time, she would have been afraid she'd lost the ability to give herself the way she wanted, the way Nate deserved. But that day in the old house, the conflagration had taken her so by surprise, she didn't have the chance to freeze, to think about James or the way he had delighted in controlling her responses.
And now.... Now even the part of her that wanted to stand back couldn't resist the temptation offered by a man with a wicked smile, gray eyes that were no longer cool, and a graceful, powerful body that matched every woman's fantasy—especially since his gaze had turned to fire for her alone.
That stubborn little voice in the back of her mind faded, and Abigail let this moment happen free from shadows of the past. All the passion of their first lovemaking was here now, too, but Nate held it leashed by tenderness more powerful than desperate desire could ever be.
"Ah, that's it," he murmured. "Beautiful. Did anybody ever tell you how beautiful you are? The first time I saw you I thought you were too good to be true. Your eyes made me think of a forest with sunlight filtering through. Green and gold and brown." His lips feathered kisses as soft as a breeze over her eyelids. "I thought you'd been sent to reproach me. Here was what I wanted most in the world, and I'd lost all chance to have you."
"Surely..." she whispered, "you didn't feel...so soon...."
He nipped gently at her neck, his breath hot on her skin. "Not until you looked at me in your office that day...." He'd lifted his head to meet her languorous gaze. "Like that," he said raggedly. "Just like that."
Abigail gasped when he lifted her in his arms and laid her back across the narrow, hard bunk. He followed her down and claimed her mouth with shattering thoroughness, devastating her small defenses. They touched and stroked and played with intoxicating pleasure, even laughing once when a wave from some boat passing the entrance to their cove rocked them against each other. When she didn't think she could bear it another moment, Nate entered her at last, though with aching slowness, tightly reining himself. This dance of passion was erotic, deliberate, fiery, sweeping both before it.
Afterward, sprawled atop Nate's sweat-slick body, Abigail murmured against his neck, "And you thought you couldn't have me."
His hands stilled on her back. "Do I have you?" he asked in an odd tone. "All of you?"
Abigail lifted her head sharply only to find him smiling, making light of the unnerving question he didn't give her a chance to answer.
"You definitely seem to be here," he said, moving his hands with unmistakable, sensual intent. "So I might as well seize the opportunity, so to speak. Don't you agree?"
She did, while she still had a chance. After that Nate made it easy to forget a question that wasn't quite a question and a tone of voice that might have been her imagination.
CHAPTER 8
Nate came to the great philosophical conclusion that having had something once made it harder to do without than if he'd never had it at all. Home was damned lonely without Abigail, he discovered. He walked in the door expecting the familiar comfort of the Irving House to wrap itself about him. Instead he felt the silence, the emptiness of room upon room. If there were ghosts, they were holding their tongues, too.
The thump of a cat leaping from the back of a sofa and padding softly to greet him was a relief. He swung the small gray tabby up and stroked her back.
"Miss me?"
She purred, but without any special anxiety. No, he concluded, she was pleased enough to have human fingernails obliging her, but she'd done very nicely without him, thank you. He didn't even see her black-and-white counterpart, a male he'd named Eclipse.
Still stroking the cat, Nate thumbed through the small pile of mail he'd picked up at his box by the road. Bills, the local newspaper, a few advertisements. Nobody urgently seeking him.
No business cards had been left by Realtors on the small inlaid table here in the entry hall, either, thank God. He put the cat down and wandered into the kitchen, spotlessly clean and just as empty. He was getting hungry but couldn't work up any enthusiasm to cook. Wasn't there a Sunday-night double-header on the tube? Maybe he would call John and they could put their feet up together, order a pizza, have a couple of beers. A little surprised by his lack of enthusiasm for the idea, Nate called anyway. All he got was his partner’s answering machine. When he checked, he found a message on his own: John had gone camping.
Of course, he had other friends, but.... Oh, hell, he just wasn't in the mood.
He wasn't in the mood to do anything else, either. Nate imagined Abigail walking in her front door. Good smells would greet her, since Kate and her grandmother had promised to be there with dinner ready. A small, dark-haired dynamo would fling herself into Abigail's arms, while Grandma would follow more sedately. The rental house would be filled with cheerful voices and love.
He wished passionately that he were there.
He finally settled for heating a can of Campbell's soup, with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the side. Quite a comedown from last night's late meal of crab salad and a juicy hamburger eaten belatedly, side by side with Abigail on that narrow bunk. Her curls had tickled his bare shoulder, her elbow had dug a hole in his side every time he got too obnoxious, and glimpses of slender thigh below her oversize T-shirt had kept his interest level high.
No wonder the decision that should have been gut-wrenching had been so unexpectedly easy. The house, once everything to him, was cold comfort without Abigail.
Of course, there wasn't any reason he couldn't still have both. She would love the house. He'd already picked out a bedroom for Kate, who could have the small one in the turret beside his own—the bedroom Abigail would share with him. What little girl wouldn't want to live in a room shaped like an octagon, with its own miniature balcony? This beautiful old house, full of nooks and secrets, would hold the same enchantment for her that it had for him, when he was a child outside looking in.
Restless, he left his dirty dishes in the sink. Damn it, when could he see Abigail again? Even tomorrow was too far away. He found himself beside the telephone without even thinking it through. He knew her number by heart.
He was grateful when she answered herself. "I miss you," he said, without preamble.
"I...miss you, too," Abigail said softly, before her voice became muffled. "No, Katie Rose, it's Nate. Just give me a second, okay?"
“I won't keep you," Nate said, suddenly resenting fiercely the knowledge that he was on borrowed time, that Kate waited impatiently for him to quit bothering her mommy.
"That's okay," Abigail said. "I'm glad to hear your voice."
"It's been so long since you have."
"Um." He could hear her smile. "A whole hour."
"Too long." Nate meant it. He'd never known love meant such hunger for even small signs of reciprocity. This morning he'd had her legs wrapped around his waist, and here he was already desperate for even her voice.
"My mother's putting dinner on the table," Abigail said. "I had better go."
"Okay." He hesitated. "Lunch Monday or Tuesday?"
"Sure. No, wait. Tomorrow is really booked, and Tuesday I have a young couple taking their lunch hour to look at houses. Can we make it Wednesday?"
"Sure," he said easily. "I'll call you."
Nate waited until he'd hung up the phone to sw
ear. Three days. He wanted her now, not three days from now for a too brief and casual lunch date.
He turned on the baseball game and made a pretense of watching for a couple of innings. When a Mariner hit a double and stretched it into a triple with a spectacular slide, and Nate didn't give a damn, he snapped the TV off with the remote control.
Work. It had been his refuge and his passion these last years, never failing to intensely absorb him, and it wouldn't fail him tonight. He was down to the detail work on a small office building here in Pilchuck. The cement would be poured this week and it would rise fast after that. He'd kept the cost per square foot low on this project, in part by half burying it in earth bunkers. He had compensated for lost natural light with a couple of strategically placed skylights and an open design that took advantage of what light there was. The heating bills would be rock bottom, which pleased the group of investors, and the design sloped naturally into a hillside, appearing both modern and intrinsically Northwest. Now that they were at the construction phase, he could foresee a couple of snags, which he would do his damnedest to head off.
Somehow his double bed never did seem very attractive that night. He had already begun to picture Abigail sharing it with him; now, after this weekend, he knew what she would feel like in his bed, too. Silky and leggy, passionate and gentle. He wanted her sigh and her chuckle, her touch and her trembling. He wanted her.
Of course, there was a solution. He just wasn't sure she was ready to hear it yet.
Wednesday lunch was too short. "I missed you," Nate said roughly. Again.
Abigail's gaze melted, lighting his fires.
He reached across the table to grasp her hand, probably too tightly. "Damn it, don't look at me like that in public."
Humor curled the corners of her mouth. "Why ever not?"
"Do you want to find out?" Nate let her hand go to grab the bill. "Let's get out of here."
She rose, too, setting her purse strap over her shoulder. The smile still trembled, but she said, "I have to get back anyway."
After tossing a few bills on the counter, Nate steered Abigail out of the Monte Cristo Cafe. He was tempted to let the hand splayed on the small of her back slide a little lower. He knew how the subtle curve of her bottom would feel under his fingertips. The fabric of her straight skirt was nubby but still silky, encouraging his hand to linger. But the pickup was parked right in front; Pilchuck was still slow-moving enough not to require duels to the death for a parking space.
In the truck he laid his right arm across the back of Abigail's seat and turned to face her. He jerked his head toward the sidewalk and the few passersby. "See anybody you know?"
Startled, she glanced out her window. "I don't think so. Why...?"
His mouth cut her question off. She tasted as sweet and tangy and tart as a good apple pie. Nate closed his eyes and savored the intimate contact with the woman he loved.
When he reluctantly lifted his head at last, Abigail's face stayed tipped up and her lashes didn't flutter open for several seconds. With one possessive hand he brushed dark hair back from her forehead and cupped her softy rounded chin.
He heard the gruffness in his own voice. "That's what you get for looking at me like that."
"I should do it more often," she said huskily.
"Anytime." Just as reluctantly he dropped his hand to the ignition key and turned it. The truck roared to life and he looked over his shoulder before pulling out of the parking space and shifting into second. The silence on the short drive to her office was comfortable, if thick with unfulfilled desire. In front of the old house Abigail and Meg had converted into their real-estate office, Nate parked and set the hand brake.
"I'm going to be out on a job site tomorrow and Friday," he said abruptly. "Let's have dinner Friday night."
Abigail felt a pang of real regret. "I'm afraid I can't, Nate. Kate's preschool is having a program. She gets to sing 'You Are My Sunshine,' her all-time favorite. I'd invite you..." she added lightly, "since I know that's just what you have in mind..."
"You know I'd like to go," he interrupted.
"...but," she continued, "I was only given two tickets, and Kate's grandmother is planning on going. The room isn't very big." Why was she apologizing? Abigail wondered.
A hint of a frown drew Nate's brows together. "Saturday night, then," he said.
"I have to work this weekend." She'd never felt less like it.
"I do, too, but the crew will pack up and go home at five on the nose. I could pick you up by six."
"I mean all weekend." She found herself watching him a little anxiously. Surely he would understand. "Usually Meg and I split Saturday and Sunday, but Meg's going to see her daughter in Yakima. I promised to take the whole weekend. That's going to make me pretty unavailable to Kate, anyway. I don't see how I can possibly go out, too."
The frown deepened into furrows between his eyebrows. "That's crazy," he said impatiently. "Surely you have somebody who could cover for you at work."
Abigail answered with careful reason. "Nate, you're in the business. You know what real estate is like. To strike out on our own, Meg and I have to pay the price of long hours. Right now we don't have enough traffic to justify taking in other agents. And we can't afford to put a closed sign out, either. People see an ad, drive by a house with one of our For Sale signs, they want information right away. If they don't get it from us, they'll go elsewhere."
"Damn it."
The tension in her stomach coiled tighter when he lifted both hands from the steering wheel and then slammed them back on in a gesture of frustration.
"Do I need to get in line?" he asked, the muscles in his jaw knotted.
She didn't look him in the face, but instead focused on his hands, which gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. Abigail had a frightening sense of deja vu. Her ex-husband's voice was a whisper of remembrance. I want to come first in your life. I want to know how badly you need me. I want to know that when I need you, you'll be there for me. Fool that she'd been, it had sounded romantic, passionate. And so she had dropped everything when he called, when he "needed" her.
But not again. Never again.
"I love my job," she said straight out. "I had a life before you appeared in it, Nate. The fact that I know you doesn't make my business any less important, or my daughter any less important. If you can't understand that...."
He growled something in the back of his throat and kissed her again, just hard enough to shock something inside her awake even while a core of anger formed. Abigail jerked her head aside and opened her mouth to let him have it. She was forestalled, even stunned, by Nate's expression. His eyes were clear and rueful, his mouth twisted.
"That was unforgivable." His voice was even rougher-edged than usual. "I don't know what the hell I was trying to do."
"Coerce me?"
He rubbed his neck, as though it were stiff. "Would you believe, seduce you?"
Without softening, she said, "I'd believe it."
He took her by surprise. "You were right. I guess for a minute there I didn't want the rest of your life to exist. Except Kate-who-rhymes. I'd never unwish her."
Abigail took a deep breath. "Real estate is hard on relationships," she admitted. "Some people take it up because it's flexible. They figure they can take days off when they want, put in hours that suit them. Those are the kind of people who don't make it. Did you know that something like ninety percent of the business is conducted by about ten percent of the agents? Nate..." This was hard to say, but she couldn't put it off. "I need to be a success like I've never needed anything else in my life. If you can't handle that…."
For an agonizing second he didn't answer, just held her gaze with curious intensity. Finally he nodded, though his mouth twisted again. "I can handle it. As long as you promise to make time for me."
Relief washed through her with such force that she almost sagged. "I can do that. Maybe we can both compromise."
"Compromise?"
His deliberately humorous tone eased the tension. "I don't know about that. It never was my strong suit."
Though her throat still felt tight, Abigail tried to match his effort. "Not even for me?"
Nate pretended to think. Then, "What the hell. For you, anything."
"That has possibilities," she murmured.
Nate's eyes narrowed, then lifted to glance in the rearview mirror. "You expecting someone?" he asked.
She took a look over her shoulder. "Afraid so."
"Hell. Well, I've got to get back to the site, anyway. I'll let you go."
She couldn't leave like that. "You know, I do have Monday and Tuesday off."
"I don't," he said. "But if we can make it dinner...."
Abigail hoped her smile didn't look as shaky as it felt. "You bet."
"Monday? Six o'clock?"
"I'll be waiting," she agreed. Conscious of the woman and teenage girl who'd climbed out of the car behind Nate's pickup, Abigail opened her door without giving Nate a chance to reach for her. Assuming he had intended—and still wanted—to. "See you," she said saucily.
Nate waited until she was safely down from the high seat and had slammed the pickup door, waving a casual goodbye, before he finished her sentence aloud.
"Yeah, I'll see you," he said. "But not soon enough."
*****
As it turned out, he saw Abigail far sooner than he had expected. Since Saturday was already a wash as far as he was concerned, Nate had agreed to a lunch date with an attorney who'd invested in the office building that had seen its messy start that week.
Charming the customers wasn't his favorite part of the business, and he left it as much as possible to John. This was one of the few times John had run out of patience.
He had slammed the phone down. "Can you believe it? Appleton wants reassurance! I have a bloody foul-up over in Everett, and this guy wants to know why the damned foundation here in Pilchuck doesn't look the way he expected!"
Nate looked up from his spiral notebook. "What's it supposed to look like?"
All Through The House Page 11
