by Cait London
Pinned by his look, now shielded just a bit by his lashes, Maggie trembled, feeling as if his hands were already on her, big and slightly rough, but very certain of what he wanted, what he would demand.
What she would demand was more frightening—mind blowing, forget everything for that moment, and take. Her body was already warming, softening, moistening—and he hadn’t touched her.
There was no promise of tenderness in his grim expression, nor of a seduction. He intended to claim her, possess her. It would be no easy, forgettable passage, but filled with hunger and demands and very, very slow and thorough…
Nick would take his time, and there would be no quick release from that passion…He would taste and savor and take only what was given, returning it with an intensity that would brand her—
Maggie had never felt such a primitive sense of a man’s desire, not even in lovemaking.
Lovemaking? That wasn’t what Nick was offering. It was deeper, darker, more terrifying—because she wanted just the same, a surrender to honest passion.
When a middle-aged woman laughed and reached to hug Nick, his eyes didn’t leave Maggie’s. Instead, they flickered, and his slow, genuine smile down at the woman was warm as she eased the baby from him. And just that easily, Nick turned from Maggie as though he’d never seen her.
No longer riveted by Nick’s look, Maggie slowly realized that her hand was on her throat, and her other hand was gripping Beth’s.
“You’re killing my hand,” Beth muttered. “It’s supposed to be me who’s scared, remember?”
Dante moved toward the women, and Beth’s indrawn breath hissed by Maggie’s ear. “How do I look?”
“Sweet,” Maggie said, glancing at Beth’s loose cream sweater, denim skirt, and fringed, knee-high suede boots. With her naturally blond short hair and scrubbed face, she looked like a teenager.
“I should have worn all my makeup. I feel naked. You shouldn’t have made me take it off,” Beth grumbled.
“That’s just self-protection, your armor, like a knight going into battle. You don’t need it when you’re with us,” Celeste returned in a distant tone, as if her mind was somewhere else.
Dante’s slow look down Maggie’s green sweater and slacks—the only good outfit she’d managed to keep—was pure male appreciation. He held her away just a bit to look down at her high black strappy heels, a purchase from the local thrift shop. “Nice. Saucy. I love a woman in heels,” he said in a deep voice that held a hint of sensual attraction.
“You look nice, too,” Maggie said, returning the compliment.
With ease, Dante moved between Beth and Maggie, his arms around their waists. “Sorry, Celeste, no room for you,” he teased.
Celeste had turned pale and Maggie touched the other woman’s arm. Beneath the flowing mystical caftan of moon and stars, Celeste’s body was rigid and her eyes glazed, fixed on Maggie. “Celeste?”
The psychic shook her head as though trying to clear it. She smiled briefly, but her eyes were still searching Maggie’s face. “I was thinking about food and how much you’ll make me do to work it off.”
“Get your hands off me, Alessandro,” Beth was saying.
But Dante had turned his attention to Maggie, his finger lifting her chin until they stood close and intimate. “I’m glad you came. Don’t let the kid spoil your fun.”
“Hey, Alessandro. I was forced to come.”
“You’ll live through it,” Dante responded easily.
Someone called out for Nick to pour another tray of wine, and Dante looked as if he’d just been reminded of something. “Oh, yeah. Nick. Listen, Maggie, I’m the much better deal. Let me fix you a plate of spaghetti and I can tell you how wonderful I am.”
Beth snorted and crossed her arms, looking off into the party as if disinterested.
“Come on, Beth,” Maggie urged, sliding her arm through the girl’s. “Let’s get that free food.”
As Dante moved them through the crowd, Maggie turned to see Nick leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, grimly staring at her. Seemingly unaware of Nick, Dante pulled her closer to whisper in her ear. “When you’re ready, I’ll take you out on the lake. The relaxation would do you good.”
Maggie smiled and eased away slightly from his intimate pose. “Thanks. Not yet.”
He leaned closer and flicked the tiny round beads of her earring until they danced. “I like you. But I’m getting a little tired of seeing my big brother wonder about you. I’d like to kick up his action a little bit. He moves too slow.”
“I’m not interested in action, but you definitely don’t move slow,” she said, teasing him.
He smirked a little, charming her. “Can I help it if I’m every woman’s dream?”
“Try that on someone else, okay? But thanks for the interest. A girl needs that once in a while.” Dante was a friend in a good mood, and Maggie intended to enjoy the night. For the first time in years, she felt feminine and light and certain of herself. She’d enjoyed dressing for the evening, and being with Celeste and Beth. They were almost family, surrounding her with warmth, teasing, and understanding without questions.
Jerry moved close to her, taking his time to admire her clothes. “I’m still available, beautiful. Anytime.”
“Thanks. You’re looking good, Jerry. Did you notice that girl in the corner checking you out?”
Jerry looked at the girl, and it seemed as if his whole body had locked onto her. “Debra Morales. She just moved into town and came with my cousin Mary. I’ve been trying to date her. Better go. Sorry. See you.”
After Jerry left, Maggie ran her fingers through her hair, enjoying the sensual brush against her skin, and suddenly the room seemed to quiet as her eyes locked with Nick’s dark intensity.
Then a child laughed and ran by her and Anthony was giving her a big hug, lifting her off her feet, and she gave herself to enjoying the night.
Dante’s attentions continued through dinner and introductions to an extensive family, including Tony’s children. Sissy, Tony’s petite wife, took Maggie’s arm. “If you only knew how good it is to see Dante and Nick on their toes. Usually women are running after them. I hear you are wonderful at Ole’s. I’d love for you to drop in at nap time and give me some pointers on exercises—I’ll pay, of course. Maybe we could set up regular sessions.”
“I’d love to.” It was Maggie’s first real offer as a private trainer, and she was thrilled.
Still smiling and happy, she turned to see Nick and Dante, standing side by side against the wall, considering her. The double jolt of prime masculinity—all dark waving hair and expressive eyes, the height and strength—startled her.
“Aren’t they gorgeous?” Sissy whispered. “If you only knew how many women are jealous of you, including Lorna.”
“You know, Lorna could have another reason for wanting Nick to be interested in her. It’s an old game. Maybe there’s someone she wants to make jealous.”
Sissy shook her head. “No one that I know.”
Nick raised his wineglass to Maggie in a toast, and her fingers trembled. From across the room, the sensuality between them stirred into life. He wasn’t flirting as Dante had, he was merely giving her notice that the hot, simmering tension between them waited to be fed.
Maggie enjoyed the next hour, the simple talk, Dante’s open flirtation. Beth relaxed slightly. Celeste, while pleasant, seemed too quiet, almost alone in the crowd, as if she were trying to fit pieces of a puzzle together.
When the crowd waited for the Alessandros to speak before cutting their cake, Nick eased beside Maggie.
“Having a good time?” he asked against her temple.
Dante’s games—to make Nick react—didn’t matter, because when Nick first saw Maggie’s reddish hair loose on her shoulders, that clinging green sweater and slacks, he’d wanted the woman beneath the clothing, beneath the mystery.
He amended the thought: He wanted her dressed in nothing but those sexy high heels.
Because he was a methodical man, he couldn’t rest until he knew what ran behind those changeable green-brown eyes, beneath the recognition by a woman of the man desiring her.
The impact of her body softening and quivering had hit him from across the crowded room. Without touching Maggie, he knew how she would feel beneath him, how hot and tight—he could almost feel her against him, moving as smoothly as the lake’s waves, or in hunger, a tempest, strong and hungry…
But he wanted more, a lot more. He wanted to know why nightmares plagued her, why she was so alone, and more than that, he wanted her trust and her friendship. He didn’t like the lick of dark anger within him, the questions that were left unanswered, even when she had responded to him.
“You look nice.”
“Thank you. So do you.”
Small talk, Nick thought, keep it rolling. Maggie looked easier tonight, as if she’d temporarily packed away her shadows. “How’s business?”
After a hesitation, Maggie said, “I’m hoping it will pick up.”
Nick nodded, pacing his questions while his parents spoke of the happy, fun years between them.
“It’s crowded in here. Care to step outside?”
Maggie’s dark green eyes turned to him. “Exactly what business did you have with Beth? She’s only a girl, Nick. Very young and vulnerable despite her years.”
The direct hit surprised him, as though Maggie’s anger had been brewing in the last few minutes. “I like Beth.”
“How?” The word was another hit that nettled.
Nick took Maggie’s arm and maneuvered her through the crowd to the family kitchen, which was full of children seated at a table, their dinners monitored by hovering adults.
When Nick released her on the back porch, Maggie turned to him, and there was nothing cold about her anger. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her. “Don’t…ever…man-handle me again.”
Women certainly had their moods, he thought, contrasting the sensual sparks earlier against Maggie’s temper now. “What’s this about Beth?”
“She said she’d let you down. Exactly how did she let you down, Nick?”
No woman had ever made him account for his actions. But then no other woman was Maggie, all wound up tight and passionate about protecting her friend. “Take it easy, Maggie. She’s a good kid. I tried to help her, that’s all. Dante has too—he’s actually paid her to come down to the boatyard, trying to get her to learn bookkeeping.”
A car slid by, hard rock blaring in the night, then dying. Maggie looked off into the night, holding her bitter suspicions away from him. “Did you have sex with her? Did you pay her?”
That she should question his motives and his honor raised Nick’s temper just that notch. He was passionate about his wines and his family and little else, except this woman. “What’s it to you?”
That locket was in her fist and shadows swept across her face. She turned to watch moths circling the back porch light, drawn irresistibly to the glass fixture’s enclosure, which would be their death. “I’ve seen it all before. Man takes a young girl, tries to mold her into something she isn’t. Painful for the girl, destructive. Sometimes he moves on. Sometimes the girl doesn’t know who she really is when it’s over.”
Nick’s head went back as if he’d been slapped. “What gives with you? What do you think I am?”
She sighed tiredly, as if she had just run through scenes that disgusted her. “I think you miss your wife. Don’t ask Beth to replace her.”
“What are you asking Beth to replace for you?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question nettling him, but there it was, stark and cutting in the air between them. “Who is it that you’re missing, that you see in Beth?”
Maggie paled, and her hand gripped that locket.
“And whatever you feel, it’s tied up with that locket. I said I’d listen and I will, but don’t start throwing accusations at me that aren’t true.”
Nick had reached his limits. He tugged Maggie into his arms and held her, despite her struggles. “Give it up, will you, Maggie? I’m not whoever you’re fighting, whatever he’s done to you.”
“You haven’t answered me,” she said breathlessly as she blew a strand of hair from her cheek.
Maggie wasn’t giving up until she had her answers, defining what ran between Nick and Beth, and he sensed that she would fight more fiercely for her friend than for herself.
“I never touched Beth, not in that way. I tried to help her. Yes, I gave her money. Beth was thinking of leaving Blanchefleur, of taking work on the docks in the city. She deserved better, but it didn’t work out. She disappeared for a few days when she tried to find her mother. She came back looking like she’d been to hell. Her mother never wanted to see her again. But Beth did what she had to do. I get the feeling she’s a lot like you in that. End of money. End of story.”
He’d given Beth a full mortgage payment, saved from money he’d earned moonlighting for another winery, and then he’d asked the bank for an extension, working until he dropped to make double payments. Because Beth was worth it. Because evidently Maggie thought so, too—enough to leave her safe, quiet, lonesome harbor and come out swinging for her friend.
Maggie was studying him again, this time intently, searching his face as her hands spread on his chest. “I never touched her, Maggie,” he repeated more softly. “Not in that way. I haven’t wanted a woman for a long time. And I’m sorry someone hurt you.”
Her expression changed, softened, and her smile was slow and shy. “Nice party.”
He could have held her like that forever, enjoying the night and the softness against him. Her scent was that of spring, when the blooms filled the vines, the promises of sweetness and depth and tomorrows—
He could have held Maggie closer, kissed her to find the hunger he knew she controlled, freeing it.
Instead, Nick savored this soft trusting from her, that rare, shy smile of the woman inside. He released her, then slowly smoothed her hair, enjoying the silky feeling against his skin, the way it ran through his fingers. “Been working Celeste hard, have you? She was grumbling through her second helping of spaghetti, wondering how much you’d torture her.”
Maggie’s smile changed from shy to impish. “She likes to groan and whine.”
“She does a lot of walking—at odd hours in the night—a slow, thoughtful sort of walk. We’re used to it, but she’s doing it more often since you’ve come to town.”
“She doesn’t like it when I push her, trying to get her heart rate up. She prefers those slow, easy walks, stopping when she wants. They’re not exactly a cardiovascular workout. Maybe she’s just reclaiming herself from me.”
“Now why would anyone want to do that?” Nick asked softly.
She didn’t answer, but that little uneven breath said Maggie understood the sensual undertones of the question. He noted that Maggie’s fingers stayed open on his chest, the easy softness of her body against him.
Against his promises, he leaned down to kiss her, just that brush of flavor that he had to have, the smooth, soft aftertaste to remain with him—
Maggie sighed and moved closer, her lips parting slightly to allow him to taste her. Because Nick couldn’t trust his control, he drew back when he felt the gentle suckle of her mouth, the slight restless movement of her hips. “Let’s go back in, shall we?”
In the shoddy room above a bar, Brent didn’t look at the prostitute as she hurried out the door, her footsteps racing for safety.
Women, he thought, disgusted by their weakness. Automatically, he straightened the room, such as it was, placing his polished shoes neatly next to the door, smoothing the crease in his slacks as they hung over the back of a chair. And always, the pictures in the room had to be straightened.
He lifted the bottle and let the cheap whiskey burn his throat, the hatred of Maggie Chantel burn his mind.
He lined up the glasses provided by the hotel. Three matched and one didn’t. He automatically tossed the unmatched glass into t
he trash.
Disappear from him, would she?
“Well, Maggie, dear, you left an unpaid bill,” he crooned, licking the bottle he had thoroughly washed, as he planned to taste her skin.
In the cracked mirror, he studied his broken nose, a gift from a strong-arm collector. Of course, he couldn’t repay the loan—because Maggie’s persistent harassment had made him lose everything: money, business, friends who could send fortunes his way.
Friends. The word turned sour on his tongue. They were all gone now, fearing to associate with him, fearing to loan him money, disdainful of his poor fortune.
He hurled the whiskey bottle against the wall, scorning the cheap brew when once he’d had the best.
That’s what he was, the best. And Maggie had ruined him, running from his wrath.
Tacked to the cheap stained wallpaper were pictures of her, because he never wanted to forget. He wanted to fuel his hatred. “Selfish witch. You didn’t even come back to see your nephews. When I find you—”
He paused to draw the hunting knife’s sharp tip down Maggie’s face, glossy and smiling on a brochure. “You won’t be smiling then, will you, honey?” he crooned. “Where are you, baby? Come to Daddy…”
Then, because reality beckoned to him, Brent picked up the telephone and dialed his sister’s number. “Cheryl Ann, I need more money…I am being careful…Don’t make me tell your husband your little secrets, just send the money as usual. And I want to know if you hear anything about Maggie Chantel—What? Hurt her? No, I just want to repay her for something.”
His sister would cooperate, financing his full-time hunt for Maggie. Because Cheryl Ann knew what he was capable of doing.
The hanging line of colorful plastic lanterns someone had strung across the room swayed and Celeste felt the room turning. It was supposed to be a festive night and she tried to push away the slithering, tightening, shadowy coils that came for her. She wanted to resist them, to give herself to the music and life and joy, but the whispers that came as lightly as her cats’ paws wouldn’t release her.
As she leaned against the restaurant’s wall, the flowing purple paisley caftan slid cold as a shroud against her skin.