Without thinking, Gus draped a companionable arm over her shoulder, and then wished he hadn’t. “How can you be so sure?”
“It’s instinct. Women just know these things, that’ s all.” She grinned as she said it, and Gus felt a few more symptoms kick in. Touching her was a mistake. He cleared his throat and began to ease away, hoping she didn’t notice he was having trouble with his breathing again. If she did, maybe she’d put it down to his cough, even though he hadn’t coughed in a couple of days.
Mariah noticed. She noticed everything about him, much to her regret. The heat and weight of his arm. Those iron-hard muscles in his forearms where his sleeves were turned back. The thick dusting of dark curly hair that made her wonder if he was hairy all over.
Hairy men had never appealed to her until now. Until Gus. He was so shaggy, so sweet—so tough and yet so tender. She was sadly afraid her taste in men had undergone an irreversible change.
He cleared his throat, and she reminded herself that he’d recently been sick. Was it depraved to lust after a man who was still suffering from the aftermath of the flu?
“How’s the cough?” she asked. At least she could take care of his health, even if she couldn’t take ca re of anything else.
Gus cleared his throat experimentally. “Better. Thanks.”
“Have you had any more coughing spells?”
“A few. Not many. None lately.”
He stepped back, casually disengaging his arm, and Mariah resisted a powerful urge to grab him and hang on. “This year’s flu seems to hang on a lot longer than usual. I know of one woman who went back to work too soon and ended up having a relapse and having to be hospitalized.”
“Hmm,” Gus murmured. He was in danger, all right, but it wasn’t from any flu bug. How the hell could a woman look so fine and smell so sweet in a pair of baggy sweats she’d been wearing all day?
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the essence of baby powder, steak and lilacs, a perfume that could make a fortune for anyone smart enough to bottle and market it.
“She’s sound asleep already, bless her little heart,” Mariah whispered. “Come on back to the kitchen while I make a pot of fresh coffee.”
One for the road, to keep him alert, that was only being smart, right? One cup and he’d get out of here while he still could. Tomorrow, as soon as the stores opened, he would call around and have a car seatde livered. Maybe a big new teddy bear. Maybe even a dozen or so roses, because a woman like Mariah deserved roses. Or maybe orchids—although he wasn’t sure there was a florist within delivering distance from Muddy Whatsis that could handle a big order of orchids.
Still, the idea appealed to him. He didn’t know what the devil she’d been doing down in Florida, but any lady who had grown up in a dump like this deserved a big bunch of orchids at least once in her life.
The coffeemaker burbled cheerfully while Mariah got out the mugs, the creamer, and refilled the sugar bowl. Gus watched her, liking the unselfconscious way she moved. Liking everything about her.
Liking it a little too much.
When the coffee was ready she poured with her good hand, handed him his, and he added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar, wondering what she would think when she opened the door to see a jungle-size arrangement of orchids. It would almost be worth hanging around long enough to watch.
No, it wouldn’t. “Mariah, you might want to have someone check out those front steps before too long. You’ve got an accident waiting to happen there. Next thing you know, you’ll have a lawsuit on your hands.”
“The middle step. I meant to have it fixed before I left last summer, but there’s only one odd-jobs man around these parts, and his arthritis was bothering him.”
They were seated across the table from each other, talking about mundane things like rotten boards, sipping coffee and nibbling the dry, store-bought cake Gus had provided. Neither of them was thinking about broken steps, or even coffee and cake.
Mariah was thinking, How can I make him stay? It’s no good unless he wants to stay, and why should he want to do that?
She might as well have thrown away her contacts and her fancy, custom-blended makeup. The closer she’d got to home, the more that shy, gawky, beanpole self-image she’d carried around for so long had crept back, until it completely overshadowed her brief life as the glamorous, desirable, enigmatic Mariah.
The enigmatic part had been Vic’s idea. “Dollface, if we’re going to build you into this fabulous creature, you’re going to have to keep your mouth shut until you learn to fake a decent accent. No designer in his right mind would dream of showing off his creations on some rube from Hicksville.” Tact had never been Vic’s strong suit.
Absently, Gus watched as she licked sugary frosting off her thumb, then wiped her hands on her yellow sweatshirt. Pity she didn’t qualify for the swimsuit edition of that sports magazine.
32-A, he mused. 34-A, at the most. He wondered if she was self-conscious about bei ng so small and hoped not. Angel used to stuff cotton in herbra until he told her once that if she couldn’t balance the load any better, there was no point in wasting all that cotton. His kid sister was short, broad in the beam, and flat as a pancake—not that he’d heard any complaints from her husband, who happened to be Gus’s best friend.
Mariah, on the other hand, was perfectly proportioned. Gus had an eye for such things, having once studied architecture. If he’d had the designing of her body himself, there wasn’t one single part he would change.
Which, in itself, was pretty damn scary. “Look, this is nice, but I really need to get going. If I leave right now, I can make Savannah in time to get a few hours of sleep.”
The refrigerator cut on. A funny-looking clock ticked noisily. The old house creaked as it settled a little deeper in the primordial mud of east Georgia. As a trysting place, it was about as unromantic asit could get. Laughable, in fact.
So how come he was thinking about orchids and roses and bosoms? How come was he so turned on he was embarrassed to get up from the table?
Gus felt his face grow warm about the same time that he felt the tickle in his throat. He tried to suppress the cough and nearly strangled, and Mariah jumped up and started whacking him on the back.
Talk about romantic. “I’m okay,” he gasped when he could speak again. “Piece of cake went down the wrong way.”
“Gus, you’re not leaving here in this condition.”
He glared at her, not trusting himself to speak.
“Look, I didn’t ask you to follow me home,” she said earnestly. “That was your choice. But you’re pale and exhausted, certainly not fit to be out on the highway, and I refuse to have your death on my conscience.”
Helpless to argue at the moment, Gus watched an increasingly familiar look of determination settle over her features. “Oh, yeah?” he manage d.
She planted her hands on her hips, drawing the soft fabric taut across her flat abdomen until the faint shadow of a belly button appeared. Which didn’t do much to improve his condition. “Gus, you know good and well you don’t really want to drive any farther tonight, now, do you?”
He knew what he wanted to do, all right, and it had nothing to do with driving. But he didn’t figure she was ready to hear what it was he really wanted. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” he rasped.
“Fine. Then see that you don’t. If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll tell you where the linen closet is and point you in the direction of a bed, and you can take it from there.”
Gus knew when he was outmatched. When it came to stubborn, the lady could give lessons to a mule. How else had she been able to drive herself home and take care of a baby with a hand that must still be giving her a lot of grief?
“Thanks, Aunt Ri,” he said with a reluctant grin. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to lay over one night. I can make up for lost time tomorrow.”
“You’re so gracious,” she snapped. She marched out of the kitchen and returned a moment later, plopping a w
indup alarm clock on the table in front of him. “Set it as early as you like. Help yourself to breakfast, shut the door on your way out, and bon voyage!”
Oboy. Now he’d made her mad. “Look, Mariah, speaking of doors—”
“And try not to wake Jessie when you leave.”
“Dammit, woman—”
“I’ll thank you not to swear in my house. It sets a bad example for the baby.”
“She’s not even here!” he all but shouted, and she shushed him fiercely.
“Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”
He clumped along behind her, the soles of his boots gritting on the worn hardwood floors. Miss High and Mighty! Her Royal Highness, Queen Mariah of Muddy La nding! He’d like to show her where everything was—and what to do with it!
Gus was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. The pillow that, along with all the bedding, had a damp and slightly musty smell, as if they’d been shut up in a closed house for a long time. But the bed was comfortable, and he was more tired than he wanted to admit. Chasing an elusive sun could downright frazzle a man to pieces.
Sometime during the night he came awake, shrouded by silence and darkness. It took several moments to get his bearings, and once he did, he lay there for several minutes wondering what had awakened him—adjusting himself to the subtle noises of an unfamiliar house.
The toilet. The damned commode was running! He didn’t know if she had a well or municipal water-probably a well, because he hadn’t seen anything faintly resembling a municipality.
Besides, unless he was very much mistaken, that was the hum of a well pump he was hearing in the background.
With a soft, sleepy oath, he swung his legs out of bed, raked a hand through his hair and stood up. Cool night air struck his naked body, bringing him sharply awake. He might as well shut the thing off before it sucked her well dry and burned up her pump.
Getting dressed first never occurred to him. There was no light showing, no sign that anyone else in the house was awake. He’d just shut off the valve and maybe take a look under the lid before he headed north in the morning. It was the least he could do in exchange for his night’s lodging.
Having left his flashlight in the truck, Gus felt his way along the hall. He had almost reached the bathroom door when his hand collided with something soft and warm where nothing soft and warm should be.
“Jeez!” He jerked back his hand.
“Who? Gus?”
“Mariah? What are you doing, wandering around in the dark?”
“The commode’s running. It sticks sometimes if you don’t jiggle the handle just right. Go back to bed, I’ll fix it.”
“I might as well take a look, as long as I’m up.”
He could feel the heat of her body reaching out to him, smell the scent of lilac and warm, clean woman. It was a lethal combination.
“Let me get the light,” she said, just as he remembered his state of undress.
“Wait! Don’t switch it on!”
“Why on earth not? Gus, go back to bed.”
“Just don’t turn on a light, that’s all.” He sensed her movement and reached out to stop her from embarrassing them both. His hand encountered a towel, and he snatched it down and tied it around his waist.
The sound of a handle being jiggled was clearly identified. Next he heard the sound of running water change pitch as the tank began to fill. “I’ll check it out in the morning,” he said, feeling at a distinct disadvantage.
“Don’t bother, I wouldn’t want to hold you up. Moe Chitty can take a look at it when he gets time.”
“You want to pay a plumber, I guess that’s your business.”
“Moe’s not a plumber. He’s an auto mechanic, but he can fix anything and he doesn’t charge much.”
Already Gus didn’t like the sound of Moe Chitty. Probably some smooth-talking type who’d resort to anything to get into her knickers. He started to say so when they both heard the baby whimper. They froze. It didn’t occur to either of them that there was something slightly ludicrous about standing in a pitch-dark bathroom in the middle of the night, arguing about plumbing.
“Shh,” said Mariah. “I don’t think she’s actually awake, but Basil said if she hears voices, she’ll want to play all night.”
“Sounds pretty good to me.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“Yeah…I’m just joking.” They were still whispering, standing closer now so that they could talk without rousing the ba by. Gus had never been more serious in his life, only it was Mariah he wanted to play with, not her niece. He’d fallen hard for the little charmer, but it was the big charmer he was more interested in at the moment. Standing here beside her in the darkness, all he could think about was what it would be like to lay her down and make sweet, slow love to her all night long.
And then wake up and do it again and again, until neither one of them had the strength to crawl out of bed.
“Mariah…” he whispered hoarsely, reaching out just as she did.
What happened next was inevitable. Just before the last glimmer of reason disappeared and animal instinct took over, Gus told himself they’d been building up to this ever since she’d barged through the door of that dinky little convenience store down in Florida and practically tumbled right into his arms.
“Oh, Gus, I don’t think this is very smart.”
“Hush. we’ll worry about it later if you want to.”
It was a good thing he’d grabbed that towel, Gus told himself, because he didn’t know her well enough yet to be kissing her while one of them was jaybird naked. He might not have a college degree, but Gus had his own sense of fairness, and unilateral nudity wasn’t fair unless both parties knew about it.
He found her mouth in the darkness. It was incredibly sweet, oddly familiar—right. Everything about her was right—the taste of her, the way her lips trembled for a split second before they conformed to his own. The way she fit in his arms, her pelvic bone pushing against his groin, her breasts mashed against his chest. She couldn’t have fit him more perfectly, he thought, as if she’d been created to his specifications. It was like coming home. Closing his eyes in the darkness, he heard the sound of a muffled groan and wondered fleetingly whose throat it had come from—hers or his.
Restlessly, Mariah wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting desperately to touch him everywhere at once. He was so hard, so hot. His body felt positively feverish! She ran her hands down his back, startled to discover that he wasn’t wearing a pajama top.
The tip of his tongue pushed against hers—just the tip. He used it skillfully, like a saber, not a battering ram. Carefully he traced the line between her lips, nibbled little kisses, grazing her with his teeth and then soothing her with his tongue, his beard adding an unbearable degree of excitement to it all.
When she felt his palm cover her breast, she sagged against him, her breath catching in her throat as lightning streaked through her, leaving glowing, throbbing coals wherever it touched.
Alive in every cell of her body, she felt his muscles flex as he shifted position, felt him thrust powerfully against her belly. She was wearing a thin cotton nightshirt, but it might as well have been nothing at all.
His mouth lifted, and she could have wept, but then she felt his teeth graze her throat, felt his tongue on the small hollow at the base of her throat. How could she have lived this long without realizing what an exquisitely sensitive spot that was?
Her legs trembled with the urge to spread. As if sensing her surrender, Gus pushed his thigh between hers, and she felt his burning heat reach out to her in waves, felt the incredibly exciting roughness of his hairy thigh against her smooth one.
She slid her hands down his back to his waist, then moved them lower, cupping his taut masculine buttocks. A bit of coarse fabric slithered to the floor. His skin was like cool silk.
“Gus?” she murmured, startled.
“Shh, don’t wake the baby.” The movement of his
lips caused his beard to brush against her neck, even as his thumbs toyed with her achingly sensitive nipples.
“Gus, what were you wearing?”
His voice sounded as if it were strained through burlap. “Not muc h,” he gasped as her exploring hands neared the danger zone. “You just dislodged my toga. Honey, if you don’t want to get into serious trouble,” he whispered roughly, “maybe you’d better shift those hands of yours back north of the equator.”
“What if I do want to get into serious trouble?”
She heard the sharp edge of his indrawn breath. Trembling, she felt his hands leave her breasts and trace a slow, lingering downward path until they encountered the edge of her short nightshirt. Slipping underneath, they circled around to cup her buttocks and pull her tightly against him.
There was no mistaking his intentions. The word was carnal. If he hadn’t been holding her tightly, she wouldn’t have been able to stand. Her knees were shaking. Her breath was coming so fast she was in danger of hyperventilating. “Please—” she gasped, knowing only that she wanted him more intensely than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life.
He began to edge away. Thinking he was leaving her, Mariah reached out to hold him and her hand accidentally brushed against his arousal. She gasped.
Gus groaned. Unable to help himself, he reached down and caught her fingers, closing them over the part of him that ached with hard need.
When she cried out, he swore softly and released her hand. “That was your right hand, wasn’t it? Mariah, honey, I’m sorry.”
She could have cried, and not from pain. “It’s all right,” she whispered, but the spell was broken. In another moment they would have been in bed together, swept along on a tide of passion more powerful than anything she had ever experienced.
Now it was gone. Come morning, Gus would be gone, too.
“I guess it’s too much to hope we could go back to the beginning and start all over again?” Gus suggested, half hopefully, half teasing.
They both knew that was impossible. Being swept along on the floodtide of desire was o ne thing. Making the conscious decision to sleep together was something else. Not that he was a complete stranger to spontaneous combustion, but it had been a while. Back in his hell-raising college days, life had been a whole lot simpler.
The Beauty, the Beast and the Baby (Man of the Month) Page 8