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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
What was this? Fear? Lust? She needed oh, she needed, too, needed to chase
these demons. His or hers, it didn't matter.
His fingers dug into her hips, hard. Her arms went tight around him.
He tore his mouth away from hers and took it across her face, down her neck.
His hands kneaded her bottom, and his leg came up between hers. A bolt of heat
rocketed through her, shocking in its strength. She rocked against him. And
whimpered.
"Maggie." His voice, hoarse, in her ear. "Maggie."
Just her name. That was all he said, but it was everything. "I'm here," she told
him, just as he'd said to her last night. "I'm right here."
He gathered her tightly to him then lifted her off her feet. In his arms. And he
kissed her again, caught her mouth and held it while he moved with her three
quick steps, another, then they came down together on the couch. Leather, cool
and slick beneath her back. His body, hard and hot atop hers, moving. His hands
seeking, his mouth eating at hers. One hand cupped her low, between her legs.
She gasped.
He raised his head. His eyes were dark, wild. "I can't make it good for you this
time." He grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and jerked it up, and willy-nilly, she
had to move to let him drag it over her head. "I can't go slow. I can't. I'm sorry."
She wasn't. Chilly air rushed over her exposed skin. She reached for him,
needing the warmth and feel of him, but he held himself away, fumbling with her
bra. The clasp defeated him, so he shoved it up.
His mouth caught the tip of one breast and sent her halfway mad. He sucked
hard, almost too hard, and she made a little sound of protest. Already, though,
he'd stopped. He was tugging at her leggings now, catching her panties with them.
"Maggie, dammit, these things are a bitch to get off."
"When I put them on, I wasn't planning " Laughter rose, free and wild.
He had one of her legs free, and seemed satisfied with that because he stopped
pulling at her pants, coming down fully atop her again, stopping her laughter with
his mouth.
The denim of his jeans was rough against her most tender flesh. Deliciously
rough. He pressed himself against her slowly, then more rhythmically. She yanked
his shirt out of the waist of his jeans and sent her hands travelling over his back,
crazy to feel him. Wanting his skin, his bare, entire body. Wanting him inside her,
and wanting to somehow climb inside him, too.
She pulled her mouth away long enough to gasp his name. "Your jeans," she
added.
He cursed, low and heartfelt, and shifted to reach in his pocket. He pulled out
his wallet, took something from it, and tossed the wallet on the floor. Then he was
kissing her again, kissing her as if he couldn't stand to stop.
"Maggie," he said, and ran his tongue around her ear.
"I can't wait. Do you understand?" He touched her face, and his hand shook.
Then he lifted himself slightly, and his movements told her he was putting on a
condom.
Of course Luke would use protection, she thought. Sadness dimmed the reckless
urgings of her body. Always, no matter how urgent his need, he would take the
time to slide that thin layer of latex between himself and heartbreak because
that's how he would see the chance of starting a child. She remembered the tears
on his cheeks nine years ago, and felt her own heart break a little. Her hands
turned tender. She stroked him gently, and when he used his knee to urge her
legs apart, she opened to him.
Then he thrust inside, and she forgot everything in sheer wonder at how they
fit, how hot and big and perfect he felt inside her.
He thrust hard once. Again. Then something seemed to catch him up and throw
him straight into a gallop, and he moved in her fast and hard. She groaned and
caught his rhythm and they were together, bodies bucking, her hands going crazy
as if she could grab every part of him at once.
Like a slap, her climax hit her, buckled her, sending her voice into a high, thin
cry and her mind flying. He ground himself into her and groaned out her name.
His body jerked and arched. And he collapsed on top of her.
His head was on her shoulder, and she heard his breath and felt it, too. He was
still inside her. Little aftershocks skittered through her body. Her bra was up
under her armpits and her mind felt dreamy and white, as if all the colors had
merged. How strange, she thought, fingering the damp hair at his nape, that she
could float when she was anchored, firmly and physically, to the earth. To him.
He moved slightly, groaned, then propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes
were soft. He touched her cheek. "I was going to apologize," he said. "Until you
exploded."
She felt a silly smile stretch her face. "I did, didn't I?"
"I'm not going to be able to let you alone now, you know." He sounded as if he
was trying to speak lightly, but it didn't come out that way. "If you won't come to
my bed, I'll move into yours."
Her heartbeat, which had just settled down, quickened again. She wanted,
badly, to tell him she loved him. But he'd run fast and hard in the other direction
if she did. "Good idea. I might need more practice with, um, explosions."
He studied her face for a moment, then, slowly, his face relaxed into a grin.
"Speaking as your trainer," he said, running a hand along her side, "I'd say you're
ready for the next lesson. And so am I."
Twelve
« ^ »
December light. There was a clarity to it, Luke thought, but little color and less
warmth.
The big bay mare he was brushing snorted and shifted her weight. Muscles
moved beneath Luke's hands, and he smiled. There was warmth here, in the
smooth flank, the steamy, impatient breath of the beast.
His gaze drifted deeper into the stable, where Maggie stood, tethered by the
phone cord, yet still in motion pacing, twining the cord around her fingers,
running a hand through her short, messy hair. She was dressed for riding in
boots, stretch pants and an old red sweater with a small hole in one shoulder.
Emotions chased themselves across her face as naturally as dogs chase rabbits
laughter, doubt, affection. She paused, head cocked as if listening, then shrugged.
There, too, was warmth.
He watched the quick motions of her hands while his own went about their
business automatically, smoothing Foxfire's winter coat with long strokes.
Maggie's cast was due to come off in two weeks, on Christmas Eve. The swelling
was gone, and she used that hand almost normally now.
She still wore his ring on the wrong hand.
His gaze fell on his own hand as he smoothed the brush across the mare's
withers. Gold gleamed on the third finger on his left hand, and pain twisted in his
chest. He'd fooled himself royally, hadn't he? Telling himself he was rushing
Maggie to the altar so he could help her, make up to her for what he hadn't
remembered doing that night in Phoenix.
Oh, yeah. That had to have been one of the best lies he'd ever told. He'd
married her because he wanted to have her. To keep her. And that was a folly so
huge he couldn't much blame himself for hiding the truth behind a tangle of
rationalizations.
Inevitably, his attention drifted back to Maggie. She stood with her back mostly
to him now. The sweet curve of her cheek fascinated him as much as the curves [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
