Driven to Distraction (Silhouette Desire S.)
Page 13
“Maggie? You’re frowning.”
He appeared behind her in the mirror, his wide shoulders framing her narrower ones like a hawk hovering over a scared rabbit. “No’m not,” she said, and forced a smile to prove it.
His hands closed over her shoulders. “Maggie, Maggie,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Look, if you don’t want to stay here we don’t have to. We can wait in the truck for the rain to slack and head back. I know I promised you dinner, but it might have to wait.”
“I’m fine. I mean this is only sensible. I mean, what if one of us had to go to the…” Chagrined, she closed her eyes. “Shut up, Maggie, just shut up.”
Ben chuckled. “Take off your damp clothes. I can turn on the fan and they’ll dry in no time.”
They wouldn’t, and they both knew it. Maggie might tell a white lie or two to spare someone’s feelings, but she tried never to lie to herself. She had wanted this man almost from the first moment she’d seen him. Wanted him even before he’d kissed her. Out in the woods on a patch of moss beside a tiny waterfall, she had welcomed him into her arms, into her body. What had followed was a pleasure so profound she knew it would be with her ’til her dying day.
A realist, Maggie told herself that whatever happened now, it was an inevitable extension of what had happened earlier. It really didn’t change anything.
“So,” she said, her voice half an octave higher than usual. “Shall we…sit down? If we had a deck of cards…”
There wasn’t a damned thing to do in here but go to bed. There wasn’t even an old newspaper she could pretend to read. Nothing but the bed looming behind them.
Ben watched her in the mirror, trying to figure out what was going on under that shaggy mop of damp hair. He couldn’t quite get a handle on Maggie Riley—possibly because she didn’t play any of the games he’d come to expect from the women he took to bed.
She was nervous, which told him that despite what had happened earlier she didn’t take this sort of thing for granted. As it couldn’t be for lack of opportunity he could only conclude that few men had managed to break through her prickly defenses.
Still facing the mirror, he slipped his arms around her waist from behind. Under the clinging fabric of her dress, her small breasts were clearly visible, her nipples dark and alert. She closed her eyes as he began unfastening the row of pearl buttons. “Maggie?” he whispered, and she nodded.
He deliberately lingered over the task of undressing her, savoring each small step. Allowing the tension to build until it was all but irresistible. Her body might be slight, but there was no mistaking its maturity. Judging from the way she was pressing herself against his arousal, she was as eager as he was.
This woman won’t be so easy to forget. Ignoring the soft, insistent whisper, he led her toward the bed. It was a double, not even a queen size. His inconvenient conscience urged him to issue the standard disclaimer to the effect that, despite what had happened earlier and what was about to happen now, there was nothing binding on either side.
But hell, she knew that. He didn’t have to put it into words.
Turning her in his arms, he lowered his lips to hers. The fleeting thought crossed his mind as he deepened the kiss, savoring what was to come, that he could easily become addicted to this woman.
When she began tugging at his belt, he reached for the bottom of the silky undershirt thing she was wearing and eased it up under her arms. There was no way of getting it over her head without ending the kiss. Reluctantly, he lifted his head. Then, in an impromptu dance, she kicked off her sandals and wriggled the rest of the way out of her damp top.
Ben took a moment to appreciate the perfection of her, from her small, rounded thighs to her small rounded hips—to the waist he could practically span with his hands and the small, proud swell of her breasts.
Dropping his jeans around his knees, he attempted to step out of them and nearly tripped. He cursed under his breath, but managed to keep it brief and relatively clean.
“You might want to take off your boots first.” Maggie’s dry observation brought forth a snort of laughter that did nothing at all to reduce the tension.
“Yes, ma’am. Uh—how about closing the front door.” He’d forgotten they’d left it partly open to air out the room.
Naked but for a scrap of yellow silk that just missed being a thong, she lunged for the door, slammed it and fastened the chain. “Oh, for gosh sakes, anyone passing by could’ve looked in!” She switched off the overhead light but left on a forty-watt lamp on the dresser.
Ben shucked off his boots and socks, then peeled off his jeans and briefs in one swift motion. Glancing up, he said, “Watch that rug.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You know me too well.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, realizing it was no less than the truth.
With one knee on the edge of the mattress, she hesitated. “Um—do you—that is—”
“I do,” he said, and held up a foil packet.
“Good, because I don’t, and we didn’t earlier this afternoon.” She said it in a half-joking way, trying to sound as if she did this sort of thing all the time.
Ben knew better. He really did know Maggie Riley, no matter if they had met only a few days ago. “Come here,” he said, his voice a rough caress.
There was none of the awkwardness that sometimes occurred between new lovers. Even the first time, there had been no real awkwardness, only eagerness—only a sense of inevitability.
Now, starting with another hungry kiss, they picked up where they had left off and quickly moved beyond. All senses alive, Ben felt the satiny heat of her skin—he breathed in the intoxicating scent of fruity shampoo and warm, aroused woman and heard the tiny whimpering sounds, the soft gasps she made as he explored her slender perfection. Her nipples were ripe cherries begging to be plucked. He plucked them, first with his fingertips, then with his lips and teeth.
Gasping, she ran her hands over his chest, raking his flat nipples until they stood up like small cartridges.
“Honey, maybe we’d better slow down,” he said even as his hands made forays under the sheet that brought forth another shuddering gasp. Slow down? Man, are you crazy?
No guarantees on that front.
Her fingers twisted the flat curls that crossed his chest before spearing down to his groin. At this rate he’d better suit up fast, or it would be too late. Amazing, the degree of pressure that could build up when a man went too long without sex, he told himself, unwilling to admit that it was the woman herself and not the long, dry spell that had ended only hours earlier.
“I don’t want to slow down. Make love to me, Ben.”
With her small hands probing dangerously close to ground zero, he whispered roughly, “Neither do I.” Using his teeth and his free hand, he ripped the corner off the foil packet he’d had the forethought to put within reach.
“Sweet—creamery—butter,” he whispered roughly as he first gloved himself in protection and then in her warm, welcoming body. “Maggie, I don’t want to rush you, but—”
“You’re not.” She was moving restlessly, each shuddering breath clearly audible. Her hands fluttered over whatever parts of him they could reach, igniting small brushfires along the way.
He pulled back, looming over her, his face tense with urgency. When she protested, he rolled over onto his back, carrying her with him so that she bracketed his hips with her thighs. He probably outweighed her by a good seventy-five pounds. He should have thought of that out by the waterfall, but he hadn’t been thinking at all—at least not with his brain.
“Go, girl,” he directed, his voice so strained as to be unrecognizable.
She needed no prompting. Lifting her hips, she centered herself and settled down again with such exquisite slowness he died several deaths before he could even remember to breathe. Steeling himself against snatching control and racing for the finish line, he let her move at her own pace, every muscle in his body quivering with tension.
“Oh, oh, oh!” The soft sound of discovery cascaded over him like a benediction.
He held her tightly in place as a million volts of pure energy shot through him, echoing repeatedly throughout every cell of his body.
Eventually she collapsed, damp and panting. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Yeah,” he said as blood began to filter back to his brain. “My thoughts precisely.”
The sky had mostly cleared by the time they ventured outside. Tufts of pink-edged clouds drifting overhead as traffic appeared to be running normally again, tires singing on wet pavement. The small parking area outside their cottage was littered with puddles and leaves from newly green trees.
“I’m hungry,” Maggie said, a note of surprise in her voice. “Do we still have time to get something to eat?” There was none of the awkwardness she might have expected.
“You operating on a deadline?” Ben opened the passenger side door and helped her up. Her legs were short, the 4x4 was high, the running board little more than a narrow chrome bar. It occurred to him that he really didn’t need four-wheel drive any longer.
The thought was followed by a shaft of unease. Just because a man had sex with a woman a few times, that was no cause to start changing his lifestyle. Maggie sure as hell wasn’t making an issue of it. Some women wanted to talk afterward. All he’d ever wanted to do was sleep, preferably alone.
Not that he’d have minded talking to Maggie, but she’d clammed up tighter than a tick on a shorthaired dog and headed for the shower. Then, while she’d dressed, he had showered. There hadn’t been a whole lot of opportunity for conversation.
“Barbecue all right with you?” he asked casually as they turned off highway 52 toward Pilot Mountain. There was a sign ahead that promised Lexington-style barbecue, which meant lean pork in a light, tomato-based sauce. It took some getting used to after the heavy-bodied beef ’que he was used to, but it wasn’t bad. Not half-bad, in fact.
“Love it,” she said brightly. A little too brightly, he suspected, but then he wasn’t quite as relaxed as he was making out to be, either.
She sighed and continued to watch the scenery go by while he drove and tried not to think of either the immediate past or the future.
Neither of them did justice to the barbecue. Maggie nibbled on a sweet, greasy hushpuppy while Ben looked around for some hot sauce and used it liberally on his mild, eastern style sandwich. He said, “You put slaw on yours?”
She said, “You’re supposed to.”
“Not where I come from.”
“So?”
And that settled that. East was east and west was west, and all the rest of it.
Outside a small independent grocery store a few minutes later, Maggie glanced over the list. Ben insisted on giving her a fifty-dollar bill and offered to help shop.
“Since I’m not used to help it would be more of a hindrance, but thanks.”
He was waiting outside the truck when she emerged with a grocery cart. Together they crammed the bags onto the back seat. Neither of them spoke more than a few words on the drive back to Peddler’s Knob as for once, Maggie found herself incapable of filling in an awkward silence with mindless chatter.
Only when they pulled into the parking lot did she speak. Unclipping her seat belt, she peered up at the house. “It looks like every light in the house is on. I wonder why.”
“Because it’s dark outside? Come on, I’ll get Charlie to help bring in the supplies.”
When they reached the steps, slick from the recent rain, he took her hand. Rather than make an issue of it, Maggie let him guide her up onto the porch. Was there a tactful way of letting him know she didn’t expect anything from him? In case one of her readers ever asked her about the protocol for afternoon sex by a waterfall or evening sex in a rented room, she would have to refer them to Dr. Ruth or Dr. Laura. Miss Maggie hadn’t a clue.
She slanted a sidelong glance at the man beside her and saw that he was frowning. She wanted to say, “Look, so we went to bed together a couple of times. We’re consenting adults, a good time was had by all, and that’s the end of that, period.”
Only it wasn’t. Not for her, at least. So she didn’t say it.
Charlie met them at the door. “Where the hell have you two been? Are you both feeling all right?”
Maggie darted another look at Ben, wondering if it showed. Had she buttoned her dress wrong?
Ben said, “We got caught in a cloudburst, that’s all. What’s going on?”
“You didn’t eat supper?”
Ben nodded and Maggie said, “We had barbecue. We could have brought some back if we’d thought of it. The supplies are—”
Charlie said, “Heck with that, long’s you didn’t eat here. They’re dropping like flies. Janie and Georgia and I did the cooking tonight, but it wasn’t that, I swear.”
Eleven
Thank goodness she’d showered at the motel before they’d left, Maggie told herself, because the ladies’ bathroom was not a particularly pleasant place. Three people so far had come down with symptoms of food poisoning. Two more were looking iffy.
Janie said, “I called a doctor. He said bring ’em in, but I don’t know…”
“Pity they don’t make house calls anymore,” said a brisk, white-haired woman named Bea who was cooking rice. Seeing Maggie staring at the pot on the stove, she said, “It’ll help some. Cola’s for them that can keep it down. With all this rain, the saltines are limp as raw bacon.”
Maggie said, “Oven. Crisp ’em in the oven.” Good Lord, what was going on around here? She’d left an art workshop and come back to find a field hospital.
Janie stood in the middle of the kitchen and waved a cooking spoon. “Attention, everyone. I’ll coordinate for the duration, all right? Charlie, you see that there’s a bucket beside every bed. Round up the water containers from the studio. You, Maggie—and you, Ben—go up to the third floor and see where Perry’s hiding out. He hasn’t been downstairs since all this started.”
“Probably on the phone with his lawyer right this minute,” said Georgia.
Following Ben up to the second floor, Maggie couldn’t believe that little more than an hour ago she’d been lying in his arms, trying not to think about wedding bells—about riding off into the sunset on a white horse with the cowboy of her choice.
Actually, she was a lot smarter than that, only sometimes her imagination got in the way of her common sense. Despite his boots and his accent, Ben wasn’t John Wayne, she reminded herself. What he was, was an unemployed Texan who happened to be visiting a relative, who happened to live in North Carolina.
Moans, groans and more ominous sounds greeted them as they hurried along the second floor hall to the attic stairway. The door was always kept closed. For all she knew, it might even be locked.
It wasn’t. “Maybe you’d better let me go up alone,” Ben said.
“No way. You might need backup.”
“Maggie—” He shook his head, opened the door and set off up the narrow, steep steps, with Maggie two steps behind him. The only light showing was a dim glow coming from the far end of a long, slope-ceiling room. It was the light they’d seen from the parking lot.
Two steps from the top, he paused. To steady herself, Maggie looped her fingers under his belt and tried to peer around him through the clutter of boxes, stacks of empty frames and what looked like a small guillotine. As there was no blood, only a few scraps of matte board under the wicked blade, Maggie managed to control her alarm.
Ann was seated at a desk at the far end. She glanced up and her eyes widened. “What are you two doing up here?”
Ben had to bend to avoid bumping his head. “Watch it,” he warned
as Maggie followed close on his heels.
“One good thing about being height challenged,” she whispered. “I’m good with low clearances.” And then she said, “Why am I whispering? Ann, are you all right? You do know what’s going on downstairs, don’t you?”
Ann held a finger over her lips, casting her eyes toward a door that had been hidden until now. “Shh, Perry doesn’t feel good. He’s trying to get a nap before he heads back to town.”
Avoiding the eaves, Ben dodged the cartons and stacks. “If he’s got the same symptoms as everybody else, he’ll be better off on the second floor—that is, unless there’s a john up here.”
Ann’s frown was replaced by a look of concern. “Symptoms?”
“Food poisoning,” Maggie supplied.
Ann sat down again. “You’re kidding. I thought it was just his wrist. He takes all this herbal stuff and sometimes it makes him feel, you know—yukky.”
“Did either of you eat here tonight?” Ben asked.
Maggie was distracted by the label on several of the boxes. Good heavens, Hong Kong again? She was pretty sure Perry had said his three-hundred-pound watercolor paper was French, not Chinese.
“I haven’t had time to eat since breakfast. Perry’s been in his room since the late session. He stays over sometimes, but he’s got an apartment in town.”
“Did either of you go down for supper?”
Ann shook her head slowly. “I made a sandwich and brought it up with me while I was…” She glanced at the cluttered desk and looked away.
“Where is he, through here?” Ben was halfway to the inconspicuous door when Ann blocked his way.
“Let me,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he’s okay, but like I said, he takes all this herbal stuff. I doubt if any of it’s ever been FDA approved, but you know Perry—you can’t tell him anything.”
Maggie moved slowly around the angular room, eyeing the stack of prints—reproductions or whatever they were called. Still with her hand on the doorknob, Ann said, “He’s got that carpal tunnel thing now, but the truth is, he’s always had some excuse to keep from doing whatever he doesn’t want to do. He’s my cousin on my mama’s side, so I’ve tried to help—you know how it is with family—but honestly, there’s times lately when I feel like telling him…”