With her ear against Ian's chest, Maggie could hear his heartbeat. She could feel when the urgent strength of his hold on her relaxed. Her eyes drifted closed.
Ian drew in a long breath, his chest pushing against her as he inhaled. As he let his breath out again, his arms moved over her back. Murmuring something she couldn't quite hear, he rubbed his jaw against the side of her head.
All of the sweet emotion that had so pleasantly slipped away from Maggie whirled back to full strength again and focused in one super-intense spot two inches above her ear—where Ian's lips touched her.
A new emotion burst from that spot: excitement.
Ian moved and his lips touched another spot.
Excitement happened there, too, a shimmering, fizzy excitement that sparkled in her belly and shimmied all the way out to her fingers and toes.
Oh, boy.
Maggie didn't move, she didn't pull away. She stood there as he pressed his lips here, then there, down the side of her forehead. She felt him grasp her shoulders, holding her steady as he smoothed his strong, warm lips down the side of her face, to the curve of bone around her eye, to the top of her cheek.
It was all very quiet, unhurried. Maggie lifted her face like a cat as delight bloomed inside her. Somewhere deep down, she supposed she ought to stop this. It was impulsive, unconsidered. Not the way she ever began a physical relationship. But that was deep down, where she couldn't feel this glorious wonder.
"Maggie," Ian whispered.
She tilted her face up even further and his lips touched hers. Oh, if it had been wonderful before, it was euphoric now. The sensation of his lips on hers was like the injection of some mind-altering, super-powerful drug.
Maggie moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Ian made a similar noise and pulled her closer.
Wonderful! She wanted closer. With the drug coursing through her system, she wanted him as close as he could be.
His mouth moved on hers, his kiss going from careful to hungry.
That was all right with Maggie, too. She felt ravenous. She parted her lips and invited him in.
Ian didn't need to be asked twice. He kissed Maggie with a command and mastery that took her breath away.
Goodness. The macho bit had never done a thing for Maggie—until right now. Right now she was lapping it up like a cat in cream. Her tongue wrapped around Ian's, feeling his strength, tasting his flavor. A fresh wave of the drug pulsed through her.
It occurred to Maggie, very dimly, that she must be experiencing true passion for the very first time. Whaddaya know? Her hands plucked at Ian's shirt. She seemed to want, to need...Yes.
Her palms got under his shirt. They made contact with the muscled skin of his chest. As her tongue tangled with Ian's, Maggie ran her hands up through the hair of his chest. She could feel him tense in response. His reaction drove her own need higher.
She pressed even more intimately against him.
Ian muttered words Maggie couldn't understand, then cupped a hand around her breast.
Maggie gasped. That was— Oh! Her breasts had never caused so much— She pulled back from his kiss in order to give him better access. When he rubbed his palm over her sensitized nipples, Maggie nearly convulsed.
Hot in her ear, he murmured something earthy and explicit.
Her knees went weak. "Ian," she moaned.
Breathing heavily, Ian began unbuttoning her shirt.
The loosening of the cloth covering her upper half made Maggie feel even weaker...and needy. She could feel Ian's erection heavy and insistent against her belly. She lowered her fingers to dip them beneath his waistband. She wanted at that thing.
A loud ringing noise intruded on the soft breathing and gasps that had been the only sounds in the room. Neither of them reacted to the noise. But when the ringing blasted again, they both stopped. Maggie had her hands halfway down Ian's pants. He had his palms around the flimsy barrier of her bra.
"The phone," Ian grunted.
"Let's ignore it."
"It might be Andy." Ian lowered his hands from her breasts. "I left him in charge while I ran this little 'errand.'"
"God." Maggie rested her forehead against his chest. She was starting to come back to reality. And reality was that her hands were in Ian's pants. In his pants!
The phone rang again.
"Maybe you'd better get that." With obvious reluctance, Ian set her away.
"Yeah." Maggie felt like she was waking from a deep sleep. She put one hand to her forehead and turned toward the kitchen and the phone. Her limbs were having trouble obeying her, as if she were drugged.
The phone rang once again, but this time Maggie picked it up, cutting off the ring. Taking a breath, she did her best to sound normal. "Hello?"
"Hello, Maggie dear." It was her mother's voice. "I was afraid you weren't at home. Did I interrupt anything?"
In an instant, Maggie came fully awake again. Her eyes widened. "No. Oh, no. You didn't interrupt anything at all."
Standing on the other side of the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, Ian pushed his shirt back into his jeans and gave her a wry look.
Maggie turned her back on him. "So, Mother." She made sure to say the word loud enough for Ian to hear—and get the hint. "What's up?"
"Nothing much. It's just your father went out for his poker game and I thought it would be a good opportunity to catch up, you know."
Yes, Maggie knew. Her mother had to wait for her father to leave the house in order to make phone calls. Otherwise he would monopolize the conversation, even when she was talking to people he didn't know.
"So what's going on?" her mother asked.
Maggie realized immediately she should have made the claim her mother was interrupting something, after all. Cooking, feeding the cats—anything. She wasn't about to settle into a cozy chat with her mother when Ian, the man who'd just been fondling her breasts, was standing on the other side of the room. She glanced over.
Correction. He was coming toward her.
Maggie waved a hand at him, warning him off, but he kept coming. "Uh, nothing much is happening, Mom," she said into the phone.
"What about Ian?" her mother asked.
Maggie choked. "What?"
"Is he doing okay?" her mother wanted to know. "It's only been, what, a couple weeks since his heart attack?"
Maggie closed her eyes. Her mother was checking on Ian's health, not on what he'd just been doing in her living room a minute before.
Her mother went on. "I talked to him last week, but he wouldn't say much. You know him, everything is always okay, totally under control."
"Yes," Maggie agreed. "I know him." It was herself she was having trouble understanding just now.
She sidled away as Ian approached her in the kitchen. Did the man have no common sense? She was on the phone with her mother here, her mother! He couldn't— He shouldn't— God.
"Look," she told her mother. "Fact is, Ian is right here. Why don't I put him on the phone and you can ask him how he is yourself?" There, that ought to stop his marauding behavior.
"Ian is there—? But I just told you, dear, he doesn't tell me any—"
"Here." Maggie shoved the receiver at Ian. "You talk to my mother."
Shooting her an amused look, Ian put the phone to his ear. "Hi, Lilah. You're up late tonight."
Maggie could hear the tinny tones of her mother's voice saying something about a "nice surprise."
"Oh, didn't Maggie tell you?" Ian's words nearly gave Maggie her own heart attack, before he explained, "I've been around a lot, helping her with her business." He pulled a face at Maggie, letting her know he understood how little she'd been appreciating such favors. "Yeah, I'm learning all about the nursery business, got Maggie set up with a new computer system, too." This last was said with unmistakable pride.
Maggie couldn't hear anything her mother said next. All she knew was the sinful pleasure of watching Ian, of enjoying his presence so c
lose to her—and knowing the whole thing was wrong, wrong, wrong. A man shouldn't have this much power over her senses. He shouldn't be able to elate her with a glance, send her to heaven with his lips. It was too much.
If she'd needed any further evidence there was a problem here, her mother, providentially, had called to remind her: Ian was like her father. He liked to be in charge, call the shots. Look how he'd behaved at her nursery that morning. He could try to rein himself in, but his basic nature would always come out.
"Right," Ian said into the phone. His lips curved upward at whatever Maggie's mother was saying to him. "I'll do that. Do you want to talk to Maggie again?"
Maggie reached for the phone, but Ian was still talking to her mother.
"What?" He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, Arthur just walked in? All right, I'll tell Maggie goodbye for you. Right. Will do. Bye now."
"Wait!" Maggie didn't want her mother to jump off the phone just because her father had walked into the room. Jeez, couldn't the woman exhibit some backbone? But by the time Ian handed Maggie the phone, her mother had cut the connection. "Damn," Maggie said. "Why does she do that?"
"Why does she do what?" Ian asked, oblivious. "Never mind. Now, where were we?" He began to pull his shirt out of his pants again. With his free hand, he reached for Maggie. His smile was smug.
Maggie put up her hands.
"Maggie," Ian murmured and clasped her hands in order to draw her closer.
She turned her face away before he could make contact with her lips.
Undeterred, he kissed her cheek instead.
"Don't," Maggie said.
"Don't what?" Ian nuzzled toward her mouth.
"We have to stop this." Maggie jerked away when he tried to suckle the edge of her jaw.
Ian grinned down at her. "Are you crazy?"
"Are you crazy," Maggie hissed back. "We can't...do this."
Ian tilted his head. "Do what?"
"This." Maggie tried, unsuccessfully, to free herself from his hold. "We can't...fool around."
Finally, he started to get it. His smile faded. "We were doing just fine a minute ago."
"Right. And then I—" came to my senses. Maggie bit back the words before she could admit how crazy he could make her. "And then I remembered," she told him, and in fact really did remember, which made her feel slightly sick. "You aren't allowed to be doing this." His health was at risk here. How could she have forgotten?
But to her amazement, a big smile grew over Ian's face. "Ah, sweet of you to look out for me, but unnecessary. You see, that restriction has been lifted. As of this morning—" He lowered his head toward her. "—I am allowed."
"What?" Maggie managed to pull back enough to evade his impending kiss. "You—you are?"
"Uh huh."
This information shot an unfortunate image through Maggie's head, one that included naked flesh and certain nearly-forgotten athletic activities. Breathing hard, she shook the image away. She had to think here, think, use her brain instead of other, stupider parts of her body.
"Wait," she said. "Wait, wait, wait."
Paused an inch from her mouth, Ian waited. His lips curved in amusement.
Really, there was no end to the man's confidence. Except about some things, Maggie remembered. Some big things.
She put a hand over Ian's lips. "You came over tonight thoroughly depressed."
"I'm not depressed now," Ian mumbled through her fingers.
"Exactly. But does that mean you're totally cool now about going back to work tomorrow? No more worries?"
Ian's eyes looked into hers. His smile began to fade.
Maggie took a deep breath. "I make a good distraction, don't I?" She hadn't considered the notion until that moment, driven by desperation. Now she wondered if it weren't true. Maybe Ian's interest in her was simply fueled by a need to take his mind off his problems.
"You're not a distraction," Ian claimed. He could speak clearly now, for Maggie had lowered her hand.
Maggie simply raised her eyebrows. Inside, she felt a strange bleakness. It wasn't as if she'd actually wanted Ian interested in her.
Ian frowned. "All right, maybe you do help me...think about other things, but you are much more than a distraction, Maggie." His eyes narrowed. "I want you, on a lot of levels."
She met his eyes. He meant it. She wasn't just a distraction.
But neither was she about to jump into bed with him. She knew how dangerous this man could be. Her normal defense systems didn't work against him. She forgot herself, let him take over.
And when he started kissing her, her brain went completely dead.
But Maggie didn't have to come up with any more reasons. Ian, on his own, let her go. With his expression deeply thoughtful, he took a step back. "But you're not ready for this. That's okay. There's no rush." He paused. "I'm willing to wait, Maggie, for this to be completely right." His brows flinched downward. "This isn't some adolescent impulse on my part. I'm serious, here. Very serious."
Yes, Maggie could see that, and it scared the living daylights out of her. He was gazing at her with undisguised possessiveness. He wanted to own her.
Perhaps the most frightening part was a crazy impulse she felt to let him own her.
"I'm serious, too," she told him. "This could never work." She could never allow a man to own her.
"We'll see." One corner of his mouth curved as he took another step back. "I'm leaving...for now. But I'm not giving up, Maggie. You're too important to me for that."
She didn't reply. She couldn't. She'd never encountered a man with Ian's force and power. She'd never come across one she wasn't sure she could handle.
Or ignore.
"Good night," Ian told her. Just before he turned for the door, he grinned. "And thanks."
Maggie stood there for a long while after he'd walked out. Ian had just shown himself to be more dangerous than she'd ever dreamed—but all she could wonder was when she might see him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
On Tuesday morning Andy sat behind his cereal box and watched his father fiddle with the coffee machine. The guy was dressed for bear, in a blindingly white shirt, bold print tie, and a pair of gray trousers with a crease sharp enough to cut butter.
Yeah, Andy thought. His dad was dressed and getting ready to go to work as if nothing had happened at all. As if he hadn't been skulking around, scared to death, for two-and-a-half weeks.
Andy lifted a spoonful of cereal to hide his sarcastic smile. His dad was doing his goldarned best to pretend that everything was 'normal.'
Ian shoved the coffee filter into the machine and turned his wrist to look at his watch. "Where's Kathy? Usually she's the first one down."
Andy shrugged. "Beats me." Actually, he'd seen Kathy messing with some kind of hair iron in the bathroom. She'd probably come down with half her head singed. Andy's lips curved, imagining that. It would be nice to see the little Queen of Denial come up against at least one hard reality.
Ian noticed Andy's smile and, misunderstanding, smiled back. "You get any of your homework done last night?"
Andy looked straight into his father's eyes. "Uh huh." Hey, if his father wasn't going to tell the truth, then Andy didn't have to, either.
"Good." Ian looked pleased. He glanced at his watch again. "I'd really like to be on time this morning."
"Mm." Andy's smile faded and he lowered his focus to his cereal bowl. It looked like his father was willing to kill himself in his quest to pretend everything was normal. For a minute Andy's stomach quaked. He didn't want his father to die. If only he could do something.
But there was nothing he could do. Andy was worth zip to his dad and therefore had no effect on him whatsoever. His dad didn't care about him—or about Kathy—at all.
Well, Andy returned the favor. He didn't care about his father, either. He pushed his cereal bowl away. His dad could go kill himself for all the difference it would make to Andy.
"Hi, everybody, good morning!" Kathy called from th
e kitchen doorway, all cheery.
Andy turned to look at her.
Her hair looked like straw.
"Kathy," Ian exclaimed.
Andy bit the inside of his cheek while Ian asked, "What did you do to your—?" But then his father stopped himself. His frown eased to a grin. "Never mind. Good morning to you, too, hon. What do you want for breakfast?"
Andy's mouth twisted. Yup, everything was sure back to normal.
~~~
Andy was acting pissy. But hey, Ian had wanted everything back to normal, hadn't he? What could be more normal than Andy acting pissy?
Ian maneuvered his Cherokee through downtown Palmwood traffic until he reached the driveway leading under Brockton's office building. He found his access card in the glove compartment, slid it into the scanner, and drove through.
Uh huh, it was back to the good old times. If Ian could convince Andy he was all right, to the point Andy was acting like a jerk again, then it should be a cinch to convince the people at the office he was okay.
After parking the car and locking the doors, Ian took a moment to fasten the button on his jacket and straighten his tie. Then he strolled over to the elevator and punched the number for Howard's floor.
Beneath his Armani suit, he was sweating like a pig.
But he exited the elevator and strode down the carpeted hallway of the top floor of Brockton Construction as if everything were just hunky dory. What else was he going to do? Announce how badly he didn't want to be there? Go on the intercom to describe how scared to death he was?
"Hey, Ian, how ya doin'?" This came from Richard Enright, one of the project engineers. He hailed Ian from a position bent over the shoulder of Ginger, his secretary.
"Doing great." Ian gave them both a big smile and a wave. Up ahead he saw Donald Regis approaching, another project manager.
"Ian." Donald broke into an extra-wide smile and put out a hand. "Jeez. You look great. Hard to believe—" Donald broke off and shook his head.
"Yeah," Ian agreed, as if it were all so very much in the past. He grasped Donald's outstretched hand and gave it a vigorous shake. "Hard to believe."
That'll Be the Day Page 19