by Susan Crosby
She followed him into the living room, wondering about him. He’d just told her he wanted the old Maggie back, but she didn’t know who this man was, either, this ultracheerful, talkative, clearly nervous man who usually seemed to move in slow motion. Maybe she should tell him that she wanted the old Diego back, too.
While waiting for the tub to fill, they stood at the window identifying landmarks as the clouds blew away. He talked constantly, and she kept eyeing him, curious. After a while he left her and she heard the water stop, then the sound of the whirlpool bubbling. She picked up her bouquet and carried it with her into the bathroom, where she set it next to the candle so that she could enjoy the fragrance in the steamy room.
“Thank you for the beautiful note you sent with the flowers.” She dipped her hand in the water to test the temperature. “I’m sorry I got mad at you last night.”
“Why did you?”
“Because I didn’t have a gift for you.” The lie came easily. “I could still give you a gift. The most personal gift I know how to give.”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. But until this assignment was over and everyone, including himself, was safe, he couldn’t take advantage of her willingness or his desire to make the marriage any more real. He couldn’t think about the tong-term. only the here and now. He had to put his job first—the job he’d almost lost, even after all he’d invested in it. He was doubly obligated to succeed now.
“You’d know I was lying if I told you I wasn’t tempted,” he told her, stepping back. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. I can’t hide that from you. But the reasons for our marriage haven’t changed. It’s just less dangerous now.”
“Tell me why you think so, Diego. I’m trying to understand. It’s getting harder for me to understand when I’m starting to feel really married.”
“Don’t. There’s much more to Hastings than I can tell you. I asked you to trust me on that. I know it’s asking a lot, but I need that from you.”
“But what does it have to do with you? What does he have to do with your life? And mine?”
“You know I can’t—”
“Are you in trouble, Diego?”
He read the suspicion in her eyes. Should he tell her? Could she keep her face schooled around Hastings? Could he take the chance?
“Why won’t you answer me?” she asked. “I’m your wife now. What affects you, affects me.”
“When I can, I will. You won’t have too long to wait.”
She frowned. “Does that mean our marriage will be over soon?”
“If I could have given you a time frame, we could have just pretended to be engaged.” He turned abruptly. “Your water is cooling.”
J.D. shut the door behind him. Toying with the unfamiliar ring on his finger, he glanced at the bed. He allowed his fantasies free rein for a minute before he folded back the bedding. He killed more time by phoning the hospital to check on Jasmine and the baby, feeling like a real member of a family having the right to call and check.
Deciding there was no reason he couldn’t wear the pajamas and robe Misty had left for him, he changed into them, then settled in a chair in the bedroom. As he sipped his champagne, he thought about how much his life had changed in the past month. Contentment drifted over him. He’d accomplished his primary goal of keeping Magnolia safe from Hastings. Even unwilling, she could have been well established in Hastings’s penthouse by now, a slave to his crude pleasures until he tired of her.
J.D. shoved thoughts of Hastings aside, and recaptured his earlier contentment. It had been a good day, even if it hadn’t gone exactly according to plan.
He turned his head when the bathroom door opened. Knowing she hadn’t spotted him in the dimly lit bedroom, he watched as she hung up her skirt and sweater and put away her lingerie. Then she headed toward the living room.
“I’m here,” he said, rising and walking toward her. His shirt covered her to mid-thigh. The sleeves were rolled to just below her elbows. Lucky shirt.
“Spyin’, honey?”
Ah, good, his Magnolia was back. “I’d almost fallen asleep.”
“Really? I’m wide-awake. How about a game of cards or something?”
“Cards.”
She hooked a finger under his robe sash. “Sure. How about strip poker? Could be a really fast game. I’m wearing one item and you’ve only got on two. You look nice in red, by the way.”
“I cheat.”
“Fine with me. I’d planned on losin’, anyway.”
He heard the tension in her voice. The bath hadn’t relaxed her at all. She was riding a roller coaster of emotion that only sleep and time would bring to a stop. Although...maybe there was something else he could do for her, after all.
“How much sleep did you get last night?” he asked.
“A couple of hours, I guess. Why?”
“Why don’t you get in bed and I’ll give you a back rub. It’ll help you relax.”
“I’d rather play strip poker.” Maggie grumbled all the way to the bed. “You’re going to have to learn how to have fun. You take life far too seriously.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.”
“I suppose I have to leave the shirt on, too. Wouldn’t want to tempt you too much, now, would we?” Without waiting for an answer, she stretched out facedown in the middle of the bed, giving him room to sit beside her. Loving him was not going to be easy. Loving him and not being able to show it was going to be impossible, especially on the terms he’d established. And if they had only a little time...
She couldn’t stop a groan from escaping when he kneaded her shoulders.
“Dios. Your muscles have no give whatsoever. Relax.”
“I’m trying,” she said, her jaw clenched.
After a few minutes, she heard him mutter a few words in Spanish. “Maybe you should take off the shirt, after all,” he said, rolling off the bed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She understood that he expected her to strip and cover up by the time he returned, so she cooperated. She pulled off the shirt, not bothering to unbutton it and slid facedown again, pulling the sheet up respectably to her waist, trying not to anticipate too much.
The bed shifted under her as he returned. She held her breath. His hands were cool and slick with lotion that he spread across her shoulders and down her back, kneading her muscles, drawing little sounds of pleasure-pain from her.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice as soothing as the massage.
After a while, she felt his hands glide down her arms. His fingers massaged hers. one by one, then his thumbs pressed her palms. Her arms turned rubbery. For a few minutes he massaged her back again, straying a little lower each time, until she felt the sheet drift down and his hands, his large, talented hands, knead her bottom.
She was afraid even to breathe, that to disrupt the moment by the tiniest indication of what she was feeling would end the pleasure. Maybe he thought she was asleep.
She felt his hands stroke her thighs, then a gentle tug to move her legs apart. The bed jostled as he knelt between her legs and pulled one foot up to massage for a while, then the other. He slid his hands back up her legs, pushing, pressing, stroking. His fingers feathered the inside of her thighs.
“Easy,” he said softly as he touched her intimately and she jumped.
Gentle fingertips stroked her, drawing her essence, teasing her until she squirmed. The core of her pounded with a thundering cadence.
He leaned over her, his hands bracketing her shoulders, his mouth close to her ear, making her shiver. “Roll over.”
Because he still knelt between her legs, she had to maneuver hers around him as she turned. He pushed them wider apart, leaving her vulnerable...and wanting him. He wasn’t even touching her. Anticipation alone drummed her flesh rhythmically. His gaze never strayed from her face. She didn’t know what he saw in her expression because she’d never felt anything like this before.
“Kiss me, Diego. Please, I think I
’m going to die if you don’t.”
He threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her still as he settled his mouth against hers, a lingering pressure that deepened and built and thrilled. She hadn’t imagined the passion earlier. She hadn’t fantasized that it was better than reality. His lips were as soft, but more demanding. He tasted dark and hot and mysterious. And he knew exactly when to retreat, when to press, when to tease, when to satisfy. How did that song go? A kiss is just a kiss? That songwriter had never been kissed by James Diego Duran.
They moaned together, their mouths opening, tongues seeking, in a kiss that lasted longer than earthly time could measure, then he raised up and started a slow massage of her thighs, every so often letting his thumbs meet at the juncture to tease and stroke and glide slickly up and down until she writhed and begged. The pad of his thumb sought the hard center that ached, swirling lightly until her whole body tensed.
Leaving her hovering at the precipice, he leaned over her, sliding his hands behind her waist and lifting her until her back arched and her head dropped back. He traced a path around each nipple with his tongue, laved the plump flesh of each breast before finally settling on a hard peak that begged for him to suckle and cherish. A thunderbolt flashed to her womb, bringing with it an explosion beyond anything of her experience. Then just as it started to fade and she was finding air to breathe again, he cupped her intimately with his hand, pressing with the heel, letting his fingers dance. She arched shamelessly higher, pleaded with him to hurry, succeeding only in his defiantly slowing his pace. Again and again he let her almost reach the peak before pulling back, until one touch was all that was necessary. And what followed was indescribably beautiful and glorious, and everything that any poet had ever tried to describe. A sustained, fiery explosion like a star burning itself out after a millennium of brilliance.
In a haze of semiconsciousness, she was vaguely aware of him pulling the sheet over her as he rolled off the bed. She turned her head in time to see him slip back into the robe he’d discarded a while ago.
“Where are you going?” she asked as he walked away.
“Go to sleep, Magnolia.”
Her mouth dropped open. Go to sleep, Magnolia? Furious, the tension back in full force, she scrambled out of bed, yanked his shirt over her head and followed him.
“What was all that about?” she demanded to know, wedging herself between him and the bar before he could pour what appeared to be Scotch into a glass.
His jaw hardened. He moved her aside. “You’re supposed to be relaxed now. Go back to bed before you tense up again.”
She sputtered as he splashed the amber liquid into a glass. “I don’t get to return the favor?”
J.D. eyed her as he downed the fiery drink, then plunked the empty glass onto the bar top. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I don’t need anything.”
The hurt in her eyes sliced him like a dull knife.
“Damn you, Diego. Damn you.” She turned from him and walked unsteadily to stand at the window. Silence hung between them a long while. “It figures,” she said finally, sounding resigned. “Now that it’s after midnight and our wedding day is officially over, the clouds are gone. Everything’s status quo again, right? Everything. I knew it wasn’t going to be real. I just thought...well, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
He curled his fingers into fists as she rested her cheek against the cold plate glass. He burned for her—physically, mentally, emotionally. Whoever had taken her virginity hadn’t destroyed her innocence as he just had.
“Magnolia—”
“You’re always giving to me.” Turning toward him she propped her shoulders and the back of her head against the window as she crossed her arms. “You never let me give you anything in return. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
She walked a slow path his way. He could see her trying to make a mask of her face, but she was as readable as she’d always been.
“You married me to protect me. You fixed my door and put in a security system for which you won’t let me repay you. You gave me your grandmother’s rings to wear. You paid for most of the wedding. You not only helped plan everything but you took over a lot of the details. Then when I was tired and stressed, you ran my bath for me, set a mood with a candle, gave me a back rub, made love to my body, if not my mind.”
He would have questioned that last phrase except that he didn’t want to encourage the conversation.
“You did all that for me, and now you won’t let me give you anything in return. Nothing. What am I, inconsequential? Just a prop? You’d do the same for any woman?”
“No.” He couldn’t stop the denial, any more than he could stop himself from taking hold of her shoulders and making her look him in the eye. “I care about you. I always have. You know that.”
“Not enough. If you cared enough you would trust me. You would tell me why. You would answer my questions. You would let me give to you as you give to me. I am nothing. No one.”
When she set her hands lightly at his waist, desire rekindled instantly deep inside him.
“Maybe because you know I’m not as experienced as you,” she said, “you think I couldn’t bring you the same level of pleasure. That may even be true. But I guarantee you I’d give all I have in me to give.”
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the base of his throat. He sucked in a quick, hard breath.
“If I let you, Magnolia,” he said, struggling to resist her, “the fact we haven’t consummated the marriage is merely a technicality.”
She stared at him as she untied the sash of his robe and slid her arms around hun. “I don’t know why the legalities are so important to you, but I do understand that they are. I’m willing to keep it all legal. For now. Will you let me? Will you come back to bed and let me make love to you in return? Will you allow me that pleasure?”
He’d made some hard decisions in his life. This one ranked higher than any other. “It would change too much between us,” he said quietly and watched her put more than physical distance between them.
“I’m trying hard to admire your integrity.” She trailed a hand along the back of the sofa, her tone of voice neutral. “And if I felt you considered me your friend and partner, perhaps I could forgive your masculine stubbornness. But you don’t seem to recognize that I also have integrity. And pride. And honor. I hate that you take all that from me in some irrational need to be the man, with a capital M.”
“I do not mean to do that, Magnolia.”
“Whether or not you mean to doesn’t negate the fact that you do. I’m telling you that we could sleep together—literally, steep—in that very large, very inviting bed in the next room. On my honor. But you don’t believe that, do you?”
It was as neat a debate as J.D. had ever heard, one that would make him seem petty and immature indeed if he didn’t accept the challenge. To hide a threatening smile, he looked at the floor for a few moments. When he resettled his gaze on her, he let himself recall the womanly body hidden by his shirt, the taste of her nipples, the gently curving line of her waist and hip and thighs, the firm flesh of her rear... her uninhibited response to his touch, to his need to bring her pleasure. She couldn’t question again whether she’d climaxed. Not even “sort of.”
The echo of his own arrogance resonated in his head. Did he sound like that to her? If so, she had a right to chastise him. Although, it was merely the truth—
“I’m going to bed,” she said, raw weariness coating her words. “I assume you’ll be out here.”
“I could use a good night’s sleep myself. I don’t think I’ll get it on the sofa.”
Maggie blinked away her shock. She watched him switch off the lamps and check the fire. He moved to the doorway.
“Coming?” he asked.
She dug deep to toss an impudent smile his way as she passed in front of him and headed to the bed. “I did. Twice.” She looked over her shoulder and fluttered her eyes at him. “Thank you.”
He laughed and the tension was broken. They climbed into bed from opposite sides. Maggie didn’t hover on the edge; neither did she stray too far toward the middle. They lay in silence a few minutes, each staring at the ceiling.
“If I started shivering,” she said into the quiet, “what would you do?”
He turned his head toward her. “The fire is blazing, Magnolia.”
“Hypothetically.”
“Ah. Hypothetically, it would be my responsibility to warm you. I believe it was one of the vows I took today. Yesterday.”
“Love, honor and provide heat?” she queried.
“Rings a bell. My memory of the ceremony is a little hazy.” He rolled onto his side. “Are you cold?”
“Hypothetically.”
“And this is your way of proving your integrity to me, right? By tempting me even further?”
“It would make for a truly memorable wedding night, don’t you think, Diego? The Night of Passionate Resistance.”
“The Endless Night of...” He sighed. “Well, come here, then. Let’s hypothetically warm you up.”
Spooned together, they faced the fire. Maggie wriggled until she found the perfect spot against him, the one that made him groan because he couldn’t hide his body’s response to her nearness.
“Sorry,” she whispered as he clamped a hand against her hip, stilling her.
“I’ve been in this condition so much for the past month, it feels like the norm,” he said, his warm breath dusting her ear, making her skin rise in bumps. “Do you realize how often you amend rules to suit you, Magnolia?”
“I call it being flexible.”
Humor sugared the lyrically foreign words that rolled off his tongue and she relaxed against him. She would get him to change his mind about letting her return the pleasure he’d given her. Sooner rather than later, she hoped. She’d find the right time to tell him she loved him, too, at a time when he would be receptive to hearing the words and not dismiss them out of hand. Until then, they could get to know each other better.