And boy, was she over the moon about him or what?
Sometimes she did wonder where, exactly, they were going together: a rich bachelor and a hardworking ranch widow with a baby to care for. Seriously. Where could it go between them?
And then she would chide herself for worrying about nothing. Yes, they had their separate lives. But when they were together—and they were together often—it was magic. She needed to focus on the magic and stop wondering how it would all work out in the end.
At last, the big day came. She went to see Dr. Breitmann. He gave the okay. No more having to put the brakes on at the most intimate moments. Tonight, for the first time, she and Gabe could follow the mood wherever it took them.
She had been looking forward to this day for weeks.
And halfway back to the ranch, she realized she was terrified.
Chapter Twelve
Mary could hardly believe her own reaction.
She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. A grown woman who’d been married and had a child. Still, she felt like a virgin all over again. And not in a sexy, Madonna-like way. She almost missed the turn to the house, she was so busy obsessing over how it was really going to happen now. She would be naked in a bed with Gabe.
Would he find her too naïve? He’d been with so many gorgeous, sophisticated women. Mary just…wasn’t. Not gorgeous. And certainly not sophisticated.
They’d been waiting so long for the go-ahead, the anticipation building. Would the actual…event be a letdown?
And what about her body? It shouldn’t matter, she knew that. When you cared for someone, it should be about who they were, as a person. Not how they looked without their clothes. But the hard fact remained. She wasn’t as slim as she’d been before Ginny. Her tummy wasn’t exactly flat anymore.
Oh, dear Lord…
She was being completely silly. She had to snap out of it. Gabe had seen her give birth, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t think twice if he was sitting there next to her when she nursed Ginny.
But still. She couldn’t help it. She was scared. She worried that she would disappoint him, somehow. Worried that, after all the weeks of waiting, the reality couldn’t possibly stack up to the fantasy.
He called at five. When she answered, the first thing he said was, “Are you okay?” The question didn’t surprise her. She’d promised him yesterday that she would call him the minute she left Dr. Breitmann’s office.
And she should have. She would have. If only she hadn’t discovered she was scared spitless of the night to come. “I know I should have called….”
“Mary. Is something the matter?” He sounded worried.
And she felt defensive—and guilty for causing him pointless concern. “I’m fine. Honestly. Everything’s…good. In working order, if you know what I mean.”
He was silent. Then, cautiously, he asked, “Did I do something?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did I do something to make you mad?”
“Mad? I’m not mad.”
“Mary, come on. What the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing. Not a thing. I bought condoms because, well, the birth control pills take a month before you can count on them.”
“Mary.”
“What?”
“Are you scared?”
She almost laughed. It would have been a panicked, frantic sound. Somehow, she swallowed it down. And baldly lied. “Scared. Me? No, of course not.”
“You’re scared.”
She blew out a hard breath. “Well, all right. A little—or maybe, a lot.”
“Don’t be.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Another silence, then, “Why do I get the feeling that whatever I say next is going to be the wrong thing?”
“Sorry. Truly. I’m being an idiot and I know it—and yet I don’t seem to be able to stop. Which only makes it all even worse.”
Cautiously, he suggested, “Seven, then?”
“Seven.”
Mary fed the hands early. Then she took a long, hot bath. She shaved. Extensively. She got out of the tub and slathered on lotion and then just stood there for much too long, staring at herself in the steamy bathroom mirror, wishing she wasn’t so nervous, almost wanting to call Gabe back and tell him not to come over, after all. That they could do this some other time. Maybe next year.
But she didn’t call him. She put fresh sheets on the bed, folding them back, plumping the pillows. She even set the box of condoms on the nightstand within easy reach, and then stood there, arms wrapped around herself, staring at that box.
Could this really be happening?
She fed the dog. When Ginny started fussing, she fed her and changed her. Then she moved her bassinet out to the kitchen. It just seemed strange to think of being intimate with Gabe while the baby was in the room.
When she heard his car pull up, right on time, she was nothing short of a nervous wreck. She stood in the middle of the living room, wanting to run out and greet him on the front step, while at the same time longing to spin on her heel, race up the stairs and hide in the closet of the spare bedroom.
She heard his boots on the steps and forced herself to move forward, to cover the distance to the door, to pull it wide and push open the storm door.
Flowers. He had flowers. A big, gorgeous bouquet of pink lilies and blue irises. He said her name, “Mary.” And the look in his eyes said he wanted to kiss her. And more. A whole lot more. A slow shudder ran through her. It was partly nerves.
And partly a sudden, weak, lovely feeling of arousal. To have his hands on her, all over her. To not have to stop this time…
For a moment, she knew it would all be okay. Better than okay. And then her fear rose up again. She swallowed, convulsively.
He held out the flowers.
She took them. “Oh, Gabe…”
“Better put them in water.”
“Uh. Yes. Of course…” She stepped back and he came inside. She got the faintest whiff of that great aftershave he wore. And she wanted to reach for him, as she would have any other evening.
Reach for him and lift her mouth for his kiss.
But if she did that, anything might happen. She whirled and headed for the kitchen as he bent to greet Brownie. “I’ll just…a vase. I’ll get a vase.”
Once he’d petted the dog, he followed behind her. She could feel him there, feel his eyes on her. She’d worn snug jeans and a plain white shirt. Kind of keeping it simple, trying not to make a big deal of it.
Which was totally ridiculous. She was making a big deal of it. She was making a huge, impossible deal.
The crystal vase that had belonged to her mom was up on the top shelf of a cabinet. She got the footstool.
Gabe said, “Here, I’ll get it.”
“No. It’s fine. I can do it.”
They were whispering, in order not to wake Ginny, who slept in her bassinet on the far side of the table. Mary got up there and got down the vase, almost dropping it in her numb-fingered nervousness. But in the end, she got it down safely and filled it with water and put the flowers in it, taking a moment to arrange them a little at the counter, to make a nice display.
When she turned and set the vase on the table, she found Gabe watching her. Heat rose within her again. She felt a flush flooding upward, over her throat to her cheeks, and had to resist the urge to put her hands against her face to cool it.
Unable to hold his gaze, she slid her eyes away and stepped back from the table.
“They look nice,” she whispered.
“Beautiful,” he whispered back.
She knew he wasn’t talking about the flowers. “Um. Have you eaten? I can—”
“Mary.” Just that. Just her name in a whisper.
She met his eyes again. She couldn’t speak. She looked away, anywhere but at him—at the door to the patio, at the bassinet with her sleeping baby in it, down at her Keds…
And then he moved. He came to her. He was
beside her, touching her shoulder, urging her with just a brush of his hand to turn toward him. He put a finger under her chin, the light, warm touch making her shiver with mingled fear and a sudden, bone-melting surge of anticipation. He guided her face up.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
And then, light as a breath, his lips touched hers—just that, a touch, no more. He lifted his mouth away from hers. And he waited, his eyes sapphire blue, soft with emotion. And male intent.
That strange, lazy feeling of arousal flowed through her again. She looked up at his beautiful mouth, at those eyes that promised a passion she’d never known before.
She couldn’t stand it. With a low moan, she surged up, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, pressing her mouth, hard, to his.
Chapter Thirteen
In the middle of that hungry, thrilling kiss, he swept her up into his arms, the move so smooth and sudden, she gasped.
He pulled his lips from hers enough to whisper, “You’re safe. I have you….”
And then he kissed her again. She gave in to that kiss, she let go of her fear and allowed desire to take her, sighing against his parted lips as he carried her around the table and to the bedroom, pausing just beyond the threshold to push the door shut with his boot.
He let her down beside the bed. “Mary…” He unbuttoned her shirt, his long, strong fingers quick and skilled. She tried not to wonder how many other women’s shirts he might have undone for them. She tried not to think at all.
It worked. More or less. She was excited. Her pulse turned to a throb, slow and thick and hungry. He took the sides of her shirt and peeled them open.
And he bent close, kissed her, at the tender groove in the base of her throat, and lower, in the cove between her breasts.
The shirt dropped away. Mary shut her eyes. It was easier not to look. To lose herself in the tender brush of his hands as they glided to her shoulders, hooking the straps of her bra, guiding them down her arms.
He reached behind her without her even really knowing he was doing that—until her bra fell loose from her rib cage. He whisked it away before she could grab it back and hug it tight against herself.
She was bare from the waist up.
“So pretty…” His hand cupped her right breast.
She gasped and caught his wrist. “Careful…” She didn’t know how to say it, to tell him that her milk might come.
But he seemed to understand. He made a low, gentle sound deep in his throat, a sound meant to soothe. And then he touched her throat, smoothed her hair back away from her shoulder, caught her earlobe between thumb and forefinger and worried it gently.
Heat shot through her as he rubbed her earlobe, like little jolts of lightning from where he touched her, down her neck, through the center of her to her core. Crazy, that such a small thing could excite her so completely.
She swayed against him. And he took her mouth again, kissing her deeply, as he worked the button at the top of her jeans and then slipped her zipper down with a soft hiss of sound.
He eased her jeans off, her panties with them. Everything pooled at her ankles. Her shoes were in the way.
Gabe took her bare waist and guided her down. She sat on the bed, her eyes still tightly shut, as she lost herself in the hot caress of his lips on hers.
He knelt before her. She felt him there, touching her calf, lifting her legs up—one and then the other—taking her Keds away, too. The jeans and panties followed. She heard a rustle of fabric and the soft thud of her shoes as he dropped them on the floor, out of the way.
“Mary…” His palms curved around the backs of her ankles, sliding up, sending hot shivers all through her. He cupped the tender grooves behind her knees. And he bent closer.
She sucked in a sharp breath and let it out on a slow sigh as he kissed her knees, first the left and then the right, pressing his lips against the round, hard shape of her knee bones, then sticking out his tongue and licking the places he had kissed.
Mary moaned. And she shuddered. He guided her knees apart.
She lifted a hand, touched his silky hair, threading her fingers through the strands, whispering things, wordless, breathless things, as he kissed the insides of her knees.
He urged her knees wider. She knew she was totally revealed to him then. Her most secret place, wet now, and yearning. Wanting him. His touch. His caress. And more.
Everything.
All of him.
“Beautiful…” His voice drifted to her, low and rough with desire.
And his hands, fingers spread, glided along the tops of her thighs, a long, slow caress that had her holding her breath, waiting. Yearning. Burning for what would come next.
And then he touched her—there, where she wanted him. Where she needed him. His warm fingers parted her, one slipping inside.
And then two.
With his other hand, he found the heart of her pleasure. When he touched her there, she braced her hands behind her and let her head drop back. She cried out low and hungrily. And then he moved forward, shifting even closer. He put his mouth there….
Oh, never. Never, ever had she felt such wonder as that. She sighed and let go. She lay back across the bed with a shuddering moan as he kissed her there, endlessly, deeply, as if he would never stop. And as he tasted her in that most intimate way, his fingers stroked her.
Mary moaned and tossed her head against the sheet and wondered how she could have been afraid of this beauty, this glory, this lovely shimmering that started where he kissed her and spread out, racing along every eager, singing nerve.
He kept kissing her, kept touching her with those knowing fingers of his, kept stroking her, playing her body, making her sigh and moan and move her hips. She reached out to the side, her hands sliding on the cool sheets, gripping. Releasing. Gripping again.
It went on forever. She gloried in it. She never, ever wanted him to stop.
But something was building, growing, gathering tight.
And then opening wide as she moved against the wet press of his mouth.
Mary cried out as her climax shuddered through her, taking her up so high and spilling her over a waterfall of pleasure into a lazy pool of fulfillment.
She sighed and went lax, her fingers loosening their tight grip on the sheet, slowly letting go. He kept kissing her until she couldn’t bear it anymore. It was simply more stimulation than she could take right then. She moaned and pushed at his shoulders.
And he pulled away. As soon as she lost the touch of his mouth, she wanted him back again. She smiled to herself at her own contrariness—and sighed at the wonder of what had just happened. She felt the air of the room against her wetness, cool and soothing.
After a moment of pleasant drifting, she opened her eyes for the first time since he’d carried her in there and set her on the floor by the bed.
He sat back on his knees, his hands on her thighs, his mouth red and swollen from the oh-so-arousing things he had done to her.
His smile was slow and achingly sweet. “See? Not so scary, after all.”
“Oh, Gabe. It was…just wonderful. Amazing. Perfect.” She reached down her hands for him.
“What?” he asked, that smile of his telling her he already knew.
Huskily, she commanded, “Come here…”
And he did. He rocked back onto his heels and rose to join her on the bed, stretching out with his boots over the edge, wrapping her close in his arms. He was still fully dressed.
She, on the other hand, was stark naked.
An hour ago, she never would have believed she would be lying here now, held tight in his embrace, without so much as a sheet to cover her. Yet here she was, feeling absolutely terrific. Feeling free. Feeling totally satisfied.
She laughed low in her throat and cuddled closer to him. He stroked her hair. She felt his lips, warm and so good, as he pressed a kiss at the crown of her head.
And there was more. He pushed his hips against her and she felt
his heat, the ridge of his arousal, hard and ready, through his clothes. Satisfaction made her bold. She slid a hand down between their bodies and touched him, cupping her fingers around him, lengthwise. He groaned in response and moved against her palm.
“Oh, Gabe. I…” Love you. She almost said it. But something made her hold back, some sense that he wasn’t ready to hear it, that he might never be. And she wasn’t ready to know that about him.
He didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, the words she hadn’t said. He stroked her shoulder, ran warm, knowing fingers down the bumps of her spine, fingers that spread wide as he got lower, cupping her bottom, bringing her in even closer than before.
Her fears, by then, hardly more a distant memory, she edged her thumb under the fly of his pants and found the zipper tab. Slowly, she brought it down.
He went very still then. A breath-held kind of stillness.
With a secret smile of womanly power, she eased her hand inside. He groaned at that, and took her mouth in a penetrating kiss, his tongue sweeping in, seeking and claiming the wet surfaces beyond her lips.
Mary kissed him back, with all the heat and passion she possessed. She kissed him back, her fingers finding the second fly in the front of his boxers and sliding through.
She touched him and he moaned into her mouth, a sound that encouraged her, a sound that begged her not to stop. She didn’t stop. Oh, no. She wrapped her fingers tight around his hard, hot length.
He groaned then, a deeper sound than before, a sound of surrender. And she stroked him, slowly.
But his pants and his boxers were in the way. She wanted them gone. She eased her hand free—and he grabbed her wrist. He groaned his need into her mouth. He didn’t want her to let go.
But then she showed him that she only meant to undo the button at the top of his zipper, to spread his fly wide for better access. He stopped fighting her then.
He kissed her and she touched him under the silky cover of his boxers, taking him in her grip, stroking him, circling the silky head, grasping the shaft, moving smoothly down to the base and up again.
The Bravo Bachelor Page 14