Maggie (Tales Behind the Veils)

by Violet Howe

  “Alberto?” he asked, turning with one eyebrow raised.

  “Yeah. He’s a life-long best friend. Like my brother, basically. He lives in Rome. For now.”

  “Rome. Again, can’t go wrong with Italian. What does he do there?”

  I poured the pasta into a strainer and leaned back to keep the steam from frizzing my hair. “He’s the artistic director of the ballet. He’s been there going on four years, so his contract will be up soon, and I hope he moves back closer. He was in town to stage a show with the Orlando Ballet.”

  “You need any help with anything? I’m standing here watching. I could be more useful.”

  “No, I’m all set. I figured we’d eat outside, if that’s all right. It’s so nice out. Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want some wine? I don’t know where my manners are.”

  “Actually, I’d love some ice water, but I can get it if you’ll direct me to the glasses.”

  I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and handed it to him. “There’s ice in the door of the fridge, and there’s filtered water in that spout on the island sink.”

  He filled his glass and promptly drained it before filling it again.

  “You must have been thirsty,” I said.

  “Yep. It’s been a long day. I’m ready to relax and slow the pace down for the evening. You have a beautiful home, by the way.”

  “It’s a little bit bigger than the camper.” I grinned over my shoulder at him as I pulled the bread from the oven.

  “Yes, it is. The pool house might even be bigger than the camper. Do you mind if I use your restroom? I’d like to wash up before we eat.”

  “Sure, it’s the first door on the right in the hallway.”

  When he returned, I was placing the food on the outside table.

  The window gave me a clear view of him as he walked into the kitchen, and I watched him through the glass like a voyeur. His broad shoulders filled out the navy blue shirt that he wore, with the curve of his biceps just visible beneath the shirt’s short sleeves. I leaned over to get a better view of his hips in the faded blue jeans. The movement caught his eye, and I waved to him to come out, embarrassed to have been caught checking out his backside.

  As I watched him cross the threshold and walk toward me, part of me wished he’d just throw caution to the wind and take me in his arms, picking up where we’d left off after Fallon tossed me in the dirt. The look in his eyes as he grinned seemed to mirror my own thoughts, and a slight tremor ran through me as I remembered the feel of his mouth on mine.

  “Doesn’t get any better than this,” he said as he pulled out my chair. “Beautiful weather. Beautiful setting. Beautiful lady. And a dinner that smells and looks damned delicious.”

  I caught a whiff of his familiar spearmint-lavender-sage scent as he pushed my chair in and took his seat next to me, and I resisted the urge to sniff him and fill my lungs with the intoxicating aroma.

  “Bronwyn seems real impressed with your daughter-in-law,” he said as I filled his plate. “Says she certainly knows what she’s doing.”

  I smiled and passed the bread to him. “She’s hot stuff, that one. I love Tyler to pieces. She makes my son happy, so that makes me happy, of course.”

  “A mama’s dream, right? To see her children happy?”

  I searched his face to see if his question held any bitterness toward his parents for the disapproval he’d mentioned before, but he seemed relaxed.

  Our dinner passed with small talk as he answered my questions about the equipment that had brought him to Orlando, and he listened to a rundown of my upcoming events at the Performing Arts Center.

  “Man,” he said with a huge smile when his plate was empty. “You outdid yourself. We’re done with finding restaurants. I can just eat this whenever you want to make it.”

  I smiled, pleased that he had enjoyed my efforts.

  “So now, that huge painting at the end of your hallway,” he said as he sat back in his chair. “The ballet dancer. That’s you?”

  I nodded and took a sip of my wine.

  “It was. A lifetime ago.”

  “It’s stunning, Maggie. So is the subject, obviously,” he said, sweeping his hand toward me. “But that painting. It’s almost like she’s going to step out of the canvas and dance.”

  “My parents had that commissioned when I first joined Miami City Ballet. I should probably get rid of it, but it’s so massive, and I know they spent a fortune on it.”

  “I’m sure it holds sentimental values, too. Memories.”

  “You could say that.”

  “So, you were actually a dancer, then? I mean, you didn’t just take ballet lessons. You were the real deal?”

  I took a deep breath and looked up at the darkening blue of the sky as evening fell. “Yes, I guess you could say I was the real deal. The youngest dancer to ever make principal in the history of Miami City Ballet.”

  “Well, all right! That’s impressive. How long did you dance?”

  “Not long enough,” I said, draining my wine and standing to clear the dishes. “I’m gonna get another drink. Are you sure I can’t pour you a glass?”

  “No, thank you.” He stood and helped me stack the dishes, following me into the kitchen to place them in the sink.

  “There might be some beer in the pool house fridge, if you’d rather have that.”

  “No, I’ll stick with water. I was up before dawn this morning, and I think if I drank anything, I’d be too sleepy to drive home.”

  “There’s a bed in the pool house, too. I mean, if you need it.”

  He chuckled as he handed me the remaining dishes to put in the dishwasher. “Is that a proposition?”

  I met his gaze and grinned at the mischief I saw there. “No. Just an offer for a place to sleep. If I ever give you a proposition, you won’t have any doubt what’s being offered, and it won’t be for the foldout sofa bed in the pool house.”

  He tossed his head back and laughed, and I bent to get soap from beneath the sink for the dishwasher.

  “You know what? I’d love to dance with you some day,” he said.

  I looked up in surprise, expecting him to be joking, but his eyes seemed serious despite his impish grin.

  “Do you dance?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not with any formal training like you’ve had. But I enjoy a dance floor. Take this song, for instance.”

  I tilted my head and listened to the beginning strains of Ed Sheeran.

  Dax was leaning against the island in my kitchen, his arms crossed and one ankle slung casually over the other. He looked so damned irresistible that I wanted to close the distance between us and unleash the fire that had been smoldering since the first time I’d laid eyes on the man.

  How bad could it be to simply let go? Would it be terrible to say to hell with it and let passion take its course?

  As though he could read my mind, he pushed off the counter and slowly walked toward me, his eyes locked on mine as he spoke.

  “If we were someplace that had a dance floor, and I saw you across the crowded room, and this song came on, I’d make my way over to you and ask you to dance.”

  A rush of warmth flooded through me, sending the most delightful vibrations to regions of my body that had been neglected far too long.

  “I’d say yes,” I whispered.

  He took another step toward me and a slight tremor ran across my skin.

  “There’s an open area out on the patio,” I said, nodding my head in that direction.

  He extended his hand, palm up, and I placed mine in it, drawing a sharp intake of breath at the tiny shock waves the contact caused.

  He led me outside, bringing my fingers to his lips and then turning to place his hand on my lower back, pulling me close as he raised our joined hands to his shoulder.

  In my short-lived career, I danced with several professional partners, my body held against theirs, hot and sweaty, while I was turned and flipped and touched from head to toe.

  In e
ach of those instances, my mind was focused on the dance. The next step. The next turn. The execution. The rhythm.

  Thank God my dance with Dax wasn’t a choreographed event, because I couldn’t focus on anything other than the proximity of his body to mine. The burning presence of his hand on my back. The obvious desire in his eyes. The heat building between us as we moved together.

  It was one of the most sensual experiences of my life, and by far, the sexiest dance I’d ever participated in.

  He had rhythm; there was no doubt about that. For a man his size, he moved with more grace and ease than I would have predicted.

  And though I had expected a traditional schoolboy shuffle, he surprised me with his finesse and his skills.

  The music carried us as he led me in twists and turns. My short black skirt twirled out around me every time he sent me spinning away from him, and I held my breath each time in anticipation of coming back together.

  At one point, it seemed he was leaning down to kiss me, and my lips parted for him, but then he spun me around to put his chest against my back, his warm breath in my hair as he tilted my head, trailing his mouth down the side of my neck while his arms encircled my waist. My knees went weak as his fingers lightly caressed the outside of my thigh, his thumb teasing its way beneath the hem of my skirt. I leaned back against him, reaching up behind me to run my hand along the back of his neck, pulling him toward me as I pushed my chest forward in a plea for his touch.

  He denied the request, turning me to face him instead, his eyes staring into mine as the burning need inside me raged out of control.

  I was lightheaded, dizzy with desire, and I clung to his arms, sliding my hands underneath his shirt sleeves to grab hold of his rounded biceps and marvel at their unflinching strength. I wanted to tear the shirt from him. I wanted to explore the sculpted abdominal terrain I’d seen that day at the lake. I wanted to be beneath him—covered by his strength with his skin pressed against mine, wet with sweat and exertion.

  As the song came to a close, he dipped me, leaning over me with one hand beneath my back and the other on my throat, until I was nearly begging for him to take me then and there.

  He brought me slowly back up, and I clutched at his arms again, fearing that if he let go, my legs would buckle beneath me and I’d hit the ground.

  I gazed up at him, and there was no doubt that the fire threatening to consume me had overtaken us both.

  His mouth crushed mine, and I couldn’t get my hands on his shirt buttons fast enough, eager to touch him unhindered by even one layer.

  Our lips didn’t part as he shrugged out of the shirt, and the moan in his throat as I ran my hands over his bare chest spurred me on. I spread my palms across his ribs and around to his back, raking my fingernails across the flesh as goose bumps rippled over his skin.

  He slid his hands deeper down my back to press me tight against his hips, and I stretched onto my toes to reach him better as our tongues tangled and twisted in a battle for dominance.

  The shift in his weight as he leaned forward took me off my toes and dropped my height back down beneath him, despite the heels I wore. He smoothed his hands over the back of my skirt with a slight squeeze, and then he ventured underneath. His touch on the backs of my thighs was so light at first that it almost tickled, but then his grip tightened as he cupped my cheeks in his hands and lifted me, setting me on the counter of the outdoor kitchen and bringing us eye to eye.

  I could feel his heartbeat beneath my hand on his chest, pounding in rhythm with my own as he tore his mouth from mine and pulled back to look at me.

  “What are you waiting for?” I asked, breathless.

  “I was told I would get a proposition,” he said with a sexy grin.

  “Hey Goose, you big stud,” I whispered, intertwining my fingers behind his head to pull his lips back to mine. “Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

  A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

  “Show me the way home, honey,” he growled against my lips. He lifted me again, and I wrapped my legs around his hips as he carried me to the patio doors.

  30 IMPORTED SILK

  He navigated the door with ease, carrying me wrapped around him like I weighed nothing at all. We made it halfway down the hall before he paused, pulling back from our kiss long enough to ask “Where am I going?”

  “Last door on the left,” I answered, and his mouth took mine again.

  He walked us to my bed and laid me on it, bending over me to bury his head in my stomach, my breasts, and my neck as his hands gripped my hips.

  I pushed against his chest and tried to sit up.

  “Oh, wait, I need to pull the duvet off and put it on the chair in the corner.”

  He raised up and looked down at me with a grin. “Are you serious right now?”

  I propped my elbows under me and smiled back at him. “Yes. This is imported silk.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips, grinning at me like a shirtless vision of magnificence carved in stone.

  “You proposition me with a line from Top Gun, and then shut me down for a silk bedspread?”

  “It’s not a bedspread,” I said, pulling off the throw pillows and placing them in the trunk at the foot of the bed. “It’s a duvet cover.”

  He laughed. “Well, excuse me. The camper didn’t come with one of those.”

  When I had the duvet stripped from the bed and folded on the chair, I turned to face Dax, who was still standing on the other side of the bed.

  Suddenly, the foggy haze of arousal cleared enough for the reality of what we were about to do to sink in. I hugged my arms across my body, fighting to keep the fears at bay.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  I nodded and lifted my chin in defiance against my own mind. “I’m fine. You?”

  He smiled. “We don’t have to do this, you know. We can just hold each other.”

  My hands trembled as I reached to loosen the top button of my white silk blouse. His gaze followed my fingers as I unfastened each button, and I could hear him exhale when I let the shirt fall to the floor.

  It had been quite some time since I’d undressed in front of someone, and even longer since I’d given myself to one whose opinion mattered so much.

  I had hoped the muted light streaming through the window blinds from the patio would cover any imperfections of age, and judging by the look of approval on Dax’s face, he was pleased with what he saw.

  I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my skirt, sliding it over my hips and letting it drop.

  I’d left my heels on purposely, knowing that if I still had a figure asset that the years hadn’t touched, it was my legs. And they showcased better in heels.

  I took a step past the discarded clothes and placed my hands on my hips, my head held high as I tried to ignore the tremors of excitement that were causing my limbs to shake.

  “Your turn,” I said with a smile.

  Dax let out a low whistle and came around the bed to stand in front of me, reaching for my hips.

  I stepped back and shook my head, wagging my finger at him. “Your turn,” I said again.

  He grinned and pulled his boots off, then unfastened his jeans, his eyes never leaving mine as he tugged them down.

  His thighs and calves were just as ripped as the rest of him, and I couldn’t believe how well the denim had camouflaged his bulk.

  “I’m guessing you lift weights. A lot,” I said.

  “Not as much as you’d think. A lot of it is hay bales, lugging equipment around, day-to-day stuff. But yeah. I’ve been known to throw around some free weights and do some presses.”

  “Nice.”

  “Glad you think so.” He arched an eyebrow and gave me a crooked grin that intensified the throbbing in my nether regions. “Your turn.”

  I looked down at my body and held my hands out. “What? I’m already undressed.”

  “Well, if we’re taking turns,” he said, stepping closer to me, “technically I’m we
aring one piece of clothing. By my count, you’re wearing two.”

  He lifted his fingers to trace the lace pattern of my white bra, lingering over the nipple as it hardened and strained against the thin fabric. I bit down on my lip as he bent his head forward and closed his mouth over the raised mound, his tongue darting against the material.

  He slid his hand to my back and released the fastener with a quick flick of his thumb. I inhaled sharply as he pulled the garment away, exposing me to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

  He cupped both breasts in his hands, bending to take each one in his mouth. I twisted my fingers into his hair, moaning as he gently tugged my nipple between his teeth.

  His progress continued with a touch as light as a feather, running his fingers and his tongue over my ribs and around my bellybutton before dipping his thumb into the front of my panties.

  His name fell from my lips, and he looked up at me, watching me as I watched him, his hands firmly gripping my hips as he knelt and teased his tongue across my abdomen just inside the lacy waistband.

  I grabbed hold of his shoulders to brace my weight as he eased the lace down over my thighs and carefully lifted each foot up and out.

  He slid his hands up my legs, curving his palms over the back of my calves as his mouth burned kisses onto my skin like a brand.

  By the time his fingers reached my inner thighs, my legs were trembling, and he guided me to the edge of the bed, laying me back as he knelt between my legs and lifted my knees over his shoulders.

  In my state of heightened sensitivity, every touch sent shock waves through me, and the multitude of sensations was so overwhelming that it was hard to pinpoint where the pleasure was originating as he explored the most intimate parts of me with his fingers and with his tongue.

  I pulled at his hair and dug my nails into his shoulders as he drove me to the brink of madness, but then everything in me exploded in euphoria, and I collapsed back against the bed, my limbs heavy and momentarily paralyzed in a state of bliss.

  I felt his weight on the bed as he joined me, and I reached for him, pulling him to me as he buried his face in my hair and his body in mine.