by Susan Crosby
“Good night,” she said softly, unapologetically happy. She wanted him to sleep so that she could stay awake all night and savor being in his arms.
“Sweet dreams.”
A long time later, when his arm lay heavily across her waist as he slept, she turned slowly to face him. He had the dearest face. So fierce at times, so full of humor at others. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a lifetime mate—protective, kind and intelligent, with a small dose of arrogance and cynicism tossed in for interest. As a lover, he was generous and overwhelming. As a friend, he was loyal and committed, a much better giver than receiver. She’d have to teach him that it was all right to accept the gifts he was offered.
With the lightest of touches, she brushed a fallen lock of hair from his forehead, hesitating when he stirred. He rolled onto his back, pulling her along and tightening his hold.
“Can’t you sleep?” he mumbled, stroking her back absently.
“I just needed to change position,” she said. But he’d gone back to sleep already. She snuggled closer, sliding her leg between his, loving the feel of his skin beneath her cheek, loving the scent of him and the heat and the strength. Although she continued to fight it, the need to sleep overpowered the need to memorize this whole night in his arms, an occurrence that wouldn’t happen again anytime soon, not if he had anything to say about it.
Her eyes drifted shut. She blinked them open. They closed again.
“Sleep now, novia.” His voice, husky and mesmerizing, lulled her along with him into slumber. “Be at peace.”
She didn’t fight any longer.
Eight
“Are you planning on spending the whole day in bed, lazybones?”
The words took a left turn inside Maggie’s head and pushed at her eyes, forcing them open. Diego came into focus as he sat beside her on the bed. The enticing fragrance of really good coffee had her sniffing the air. Her gaze settled on the steaming mug he tipped to his mouth.
“There wouldn’t be another of those nearby, would there?”
He leaned across her and lifted a matching mug from the nightstand. “Sweet and light,” he said, passing it her way as soon as she pulled herself up.
“You’re in serious danger of spoiling me rotten. There’ll be no one to blame but you,” she said, smiling at him before she closed her eyes and breathed the rising vapors, then took an appreciative swallow. “Ahhh. French roasted heaven.”
After leaning into the pillows he stacked behind her, she decided it was patently unfair that he looked so fresh and appealing in his hunter green cable-knit sweater and black slacks while she sported a wrinkled, oversize shirt and sleep-mussed hair. Except that he also looked irritated or something and was trying not to show it.
“What’s wrong?”
His glance slid away. He sipped again. “Nothing.”
Maggie frowned. “How long have you been awake?”
Why, Magnolia, I’ve been awake all night, thanks to you. Either her sweet, tempting butt had been pressed against him, or her leg was thrown over the top of him, her knee holding him hostage, or, as was the case an hour ago, her hand was plopped into his lap, blanketing the hard length of him as he pulsed and yearned for her.
Only knowing she was sound asleep and not in the least aware of what she was doing had saved him from waking her up, shoving the fabric barrier out of the way and letting her return the favor, as she’d called it.
He didn’t know how long they’d lain like that. He’d been pulled from sleep by a dream so erotic, so graphic, he’d been choking for air, the tentacles of lust slithering over and around his body to tighten and tease. And when consciousness fired the dream out of a cannon to end it, he’d discovered her twined with him, his hips rising instinctively to enjoy the unconsciously arousing gnp of her hand. After a long time he’d loosened her hold, and headed for the shower.
“Diego?”
He stood and moved away, keeping his back to her as he set his mug on the hearth and poked at the fire. “What?”
“I asked how long you’ve been awake.”
“Half an hour or so.”
“Oh, good. I thought you’d been waiting on me. What time is it?”
“Two.”
“In the afternoon? Are you serious?”
“No. I’m just playing with your mind.”
She sighed. “Well, don’t do that. At least not until I’m fully awake.”
He turned toward her and grinned. “It’s actually two-fifteen.”
“Well, that’s better.” Maggie yawned. Holding the cup still, she stretched languorously, one arm reaching for the ceiling. “I have never slept so well in all my life. How about you?”
“I slept...hard.”
“Me, too. I dreamed a lot. I just can’t remember any of them.” She watched his eyes blaze a trail along her body as she pushed the bedcovers aside and swung her legs around to set her feet on the floor. After setting her coffee on the table, she shoved her fingers through her hair, loosening the tangles.
“I called the hospital,” he said, meeting her gaze as she grabbed the edge of the mattress with both hands and leaned forward. “Jasmine and Patrick are taking the baby home later on. She said if we came by today, they wouldn’t answer the door, but that tomorrow we would be welcome. She’s still irritated that we would accept only one night here instead of a week, but she figures since we actually did resist sleeping together before the wedding, we won’t want to leave our bedroom until at least tomorrow.”
“There’s a lovely fantasy.” She pushed herself off the bed to approach him. “I liked sleeping with you. And I’m pleased to tell you that you don’t snore.”
He watched her mosey his way. Magnolia in his shirt was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. “Neither do you,” he said as she stopped before him, her lips curving upward.
“I’d been worried about that.”
“I figured.”
She hadn’t fastened the top two buttons, and a third had pulled open during the night, giving him a glimpse now of sloping white flesh. She smelled of spices and arousal—as well she should. They’d kept each other in that state all night, even asleep.
“You’re a tempting package,” he said, eyeing her.
“Misty’s been giving me lessons.”
“Excuse me?”
She set her hands at his waist, grinning lazily. “She said since my mother wasn’t here to instruct me on the facts of life, she would”
His brows raised. “How generous. Did you learn anything?”
“It was my bachelorette party and everyone else had gone home. We were tipsy. I do remember giggling a lot. Some of her ideas were so exotic. And I do recall thinking I would be embarrassed to try a few of them.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, no. You’re not gonna get me to tell you the secrets of the ages. You’d accuse me of teasin’ you, honey.”
He slid two fingers under the open vee of her shirt and stroked the valley between her breasts, letting his fingers drift farther apart with each glide. Her flesh quivered.
“Just one little secret,” he said, distracting her by moving his hand across her breast until the hard tip rested against his palm.
“Not even under the threat of death,” she said seriously.
“Aw, come on. Be a sport.”
She shifted closer as he thumbed her nipple. “Misty said,” she whispered soberly, “that if I put my fingers like so—” she demonstrated as she talked “—on this part of your anatomy, you could last all night.”
He choked out her name.
“At least, I think that’s where she meant. We didn’t have a model or anything. And I was this close to being drunk.”
“Don’t pinch. Dios, Magnolia.”
“Now all I want to do is test the theory.” She stepped back. pleased with her new power.
One side of his mouth tipped up. He leaned close. “What makes you think I need any help to last all night?”
She swallowed.
“Breakfast will be delivered in about fifteen minutes,” he said, turning away. “I’ll pack while you shower. We have already stayed beyond checkout time.”
Maggie reached the bathroom door, then turned around. “I wonder if Judge Shaunnessey spent the night with Misty.”
“Looked like a possibility. Why?”
“He’s so much better suited to her than those young studs she has at her beck and call. She needs someone like him. I wonder what keeps them apart”
“She doesn’t think she’s good enough for him,” he said as he pulled a suitcase out of the closet.
“That’s dumb. You can overcome anything if you love each other.”
As she closed the door, she was still making noises about it. He unzipped the bag and flipped the lid open. He stared into the empty suitcase, thinking how his father could tell her a thing or two about romantic idealism and how it only results in pain.
They hiked the stairs to her apartment an hour later. He inserted the key and opened the door. No high-pitched warning greeted him. Alert, he set down the suitcase.
“Do you remember if you set the alarm?” he asked low and hushed. He felt her tense behind him.
“Of course I set the alarm.”
“Are you positive?”
“Well...no. I assume I did since I always—”
“Who else has access?”
“No one. I didn’t give the code to Jasmine because she wasn’t out and about, anyway.”
“Wait here.” He shut the door as she was still speaking and drew his weapon. Nothing seemed out of place in the living room. He crept into her bedroom, moved into the connecting bathroom and through to what would become his room, where the boxes of his personal belongings he’d brought over a couple of days ago awaited him. After replacing the gun in his ankle holster, he returned to her just as she shoved the door open.
“You must have forgotten to set it,” he said.
“No way. You’ve scared me enough that I’ve been really careful.”
“Come in and take a close look. You’d see things that I wouldn’t.” He reached past her for the suitcase, then stepped aside.
“Are you still worried about Brendan?” she asked. “I thought our marriage was supposed to end any threat from him.”
“When an alarm that should be set, isn’t, I worry. Period.”
Maggie didn’t budge.
“No one’s here,” he said, cocking his head at her, curious.
She picked imaginary lint off her sleeve. “Aren’t you afraid of evil spirits if you don’t carry me over the threshold here, too?”
He rested his arms against the doorjamb and grinned at her.
Feeling a rush of heat flood her face, Maggie scowled. “Forget it. Just forget it. You were the superstitious—”
He swept her into his arms as she started across the threshold. Their faces were inches apart. She looked at his mouth. He backed up a step to kick the door shut.
“Turn the dead bolt,” he said.
She reached behind him to do so, then slid both arms around his neck. After a minute, he set her down and turned away to pick up the suitcase. “Have you cleared space in your room for my stuff?”
Hope leapt from his words to her heart. “You mean you’ll be sleeping with me, after all?”
“I’ll be sleeping in the second bedroom. But our things need to commingle for appearances’ sake.”
She refused to let her disappointment show as she moved past him and headed for her bedroom, knowing he followed. Her gaze swept her bedroom once, twice. She opened the jewelry box on her dresser and peered in.
J.D. leaned against the doorjamb and watched her move around the room that was so much like her, delicate, feminine, traditional. Traditional. It continued to surprise him, the old-fashioned side of her, the nester, the homemaker. He glanced at the collection of antique perfume bottles, a shimmering rainbow of crystal reflected in the framed oval mirror on which they rested. Her bed was blanketed with a handmade quilt, her own creation undoubtedly.
Everything was tidy...and frilly enough to make him feel like a boxer at a tea party. Even the telephone on the lace-covered nightstand was feminine, all white and gold and—
He zeroed in on it. Bugged? Had someone managed to get in and bug the apartment? Dios. What had they talked about? Had they said anything—Yes. Too much. He had to get her out of here and get Callahan in to sweep for the electronic surveillance that could not only undo his patient efforts of the past year and a half, but put both himself and Magnolia at risk.
“We should go to the grocery store before we get too involved here,” he said. He’d have to use his cellular phone, even though he hated to. Cellulars were so vulnerable. “I’ll meet you outside in a minute.” He had a one-minute head start on her, he figured. Little enough tune to make a call before she caught up to him.
“I stocked up. There’s plenty...” Maggie’s words drifted off as she heard him hurrying down the steps like an Olympic runner going for the gold. What in the world had gotten into him? Was he afraid to be alone with her in her bedroom?
She ran a brush through her hair, then followed him, happy to be sharing her life with him, even if he was a puzzle. She punched the four-digit code into the alarm panel and thought about him some more. Maybe because he was a puzzle, she amended mentally.
J.D. stretched an arm along the back of the couch as he swigged an ice-cold beer. They’d worked hard all evening, rearranging her room and his. She’d left her sewing machine and dress form in his room, but the computer now took up a corner of the living room so that he could open the sleeper-sofa without shoving furniture around each night. They’d talked about her magazine articles that she wanted to sell as a book, the designing she’d started to do for Misty’s lingerie company, what her last semester course schedule would entail starting next week, how much kidding they’d both be in for tomorrow night when they went back to work. They made plans to see the baby tomorrow morning. He liked being included automatically, not asked if he wanted to go. They were a couple now, a team, a partnership.
He’d asked her to continue wearing the pager she’d been given supposedly by Patrick and Jasmine, so that he could track her down, if necessary. Because she hadn’t seem offended by the request, he planned to get her a cellular phone, as well.
Lulled by the sound of water running as she showered, he leaned his head back to rest on the top of the sofa, content. Callahan had found no bugs. She’d just forgotten to turn on the alarm, that was all.
The water stopped. He imagined her drying off, rubbing lotion or dusting powder or whatever over her velvety skin.
“Bathroom’s free,” she called from behind her bedroom door.
He pushed himself up and meandered through his room and on into the bathroom, still steamy and fragrant. He wondered if she’d be in bed by the time he got out.
After a few minutes, he heard the bathroom door open.
“Just passing through,” she said. “I’m going to make up your bed.”
The shower curtain blew toward him and clung to his thigh as she hurried past. He ducked his head under the stream to rinse out the shampoo and cover his laugh. She was so damn obvious. What was he going to do with her?
Maggie contemplated her reflection in her cheval glass. She didn’t want to be too obvious, but Misty had confiscated her flannel nightgown and cozy robe, leaving few options for bed wear. A handful of seriously sexy pieces of lingerie filled a dresser drawer, but she couldn’t be so blatant.
So, what should she wear for the after-shower, before-bed hour or so?
From a hanger she plucked one of his shirts, a mostly white one with blue pinstripes, button-down collar and long sleeves with cuffs that she rolled four times. A pair of fleecy white slouchy socks served as slippers. She spritzed a little perfume between her breasts and buttoned the shirt to that spot, then fastened one more so he couldn’t accuse her of being a tease.
The shower stopped just as she fluf
fed two pillows and propped them on his bed. She scurried into the living room, shutting his door behind her and flying onto the couch. She tried to assume a casual pose. She changed positions a few times, then picked up a magazine and settled. Her heart thundered, which made focusing on any typewritten words impossible. She flipped pages without seeing anything.
He moved on silent feet into the living room, but she knew he was there. Casually, she shifted her gaze to wander up him, past the sweatpants and T-shirt, to catch the intense look in his eyes.
“That shirt looks a hell of a lot better on you than on me, Magnolia.”
“You don’t mind? I didn’t ask—”
“What’s mine is yours, novia.” J.D. sat beside her. He eyed a package sitting on the coffee table. “You still haven’t opened it.”
“You can. It’s for both of us.”
“But it’s from your mother.”
“Who didn’t see any value in attending either Jasmine’s or my wedding. Patrick offered to fly her here for both occasions. Even a free trip didn’t interest her.” She pushed herself up and headed for the kitchen.
“When did you last see her?”
“I went to New Orleans on vacation three years ago. I had this absurd hope that it would somehow be different between us. Can I get you anything?”
He lifted the package into his lap. The address was penned in a strong, neat hand. “What are you having?”
“Tea.”
Setting the package down, he joined her in the kitchen. “I’ll make myself some coffee.”
“I can do that.”
“You don’t have to wait on me, Magnolia.”
She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “But I like to.”
“If it makes you happy, you can cut me another slice of apple pie.”
“Do you want it heated?”
He watched his shirt hike a couple of inches up her thighs as she leaned into the refrigerator to pull out the homemade pie she’d taken out of the freezer and baked earlier. Who needs heat? he wondered. “Heated’s fine.”