by Cait London
Maggie’s hand smoothed his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to hurt you today. I just didn’t know what to say.”
“You said plenty.” Her silence hadn’t been encouraging.
She slid close to him and nestled her head on his shoulder. The soft, feminine gesture surprised him. Maggie’s reserve was always there, her past with another man separating them. “This is like a date, a little, don’t you think?”
He snorted at that and despite himself, leaned his cheek against her hair, inhaling the fragrance. “No.”
“Thank you for being so sweet when Celeste—”
“No need to thank me, Maggie. I loved her, too.”
“You’re a good guy, Nick.”
“What I said today, I meant,” he stated grimly. “I’m not asking for a lie in return, something you don’t feel.”
“I know. And I do have feelings for you. I couldn’t make love with you if I didn’t…. Are you going to put your arm around me or not?”
“No, I’m not. You’d have to shift and I’m not going through that anymore.”
She looked at him blankly. “Going through what?”
He refused to answer, holding the last bit of his shredded pride intact. “Are you staying at the camper tonight?”
If she wanted to be alone tonight, either at the camper or at Celeste’s, he understood, but that didn’t dim his need for her.
“I’d like to sleep with you tonight, Nick. I need to be close to you. I missed you.”
It wasn’t a statement of love, but Nick would take it. Maggie needed him, and that was all that mattered.
Inside his house, Nick’s promise to be tender and slow shattered the moment she moved into his arms.
That fierce need to possess her drove him to gather her against him. In this way, she was his, completely, fully, hungrily.
Maggie’s soft mouth opened to his, the fine edge of her teeth sharp against his tongue. He dived into the scent, the softness, and the woman. She belonged to him, was a part of him.
In his mind, they were already making love, Maggie undulating against him, opening for him, tightening.
“Nick?” she whispered as his hands ran down her body, reassuring himself that she was in his arms.
“I’m not taking it back—what I said,” he said roughly against her throat and then pushed himself away.
“Fine. Don’t.” Her voice was husky, uneven.
What had he expected? Maggie to say she loved him?
Nick rubbed his chest, where the ache for Maggie had grown tight and painful. In the shadows past midnight, Maggie’s eyes were huge, her face pale, her hair tangled from his fingers. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come after you like that. I’ve missed you. You’ve been through a lot this last week and I—”
“Shh. We’re both tired.” Maggie slowly lifted her shirt away, tossing it to the washer. She kicked off her shoes and opened her cutoffs, letting them slide away with her briefs. She came to him softly, easing away his shirt, kissing his chest as her hands smoothed the tension in his body, sliding over his back. Maggie’s lips traveled over his skin, heating, and gently closed on his nipple, taking away his breath.
Her hands framed his face, fingers smoothing the hair at his temples as she looked up at him. “I feel so much, Nick. I’m just not certain about myself yet.”
“No one is ever certain, Maggie. Most of us just have to work our way through the good times and the bad and do what we can.”
She leaned her forehead against his chest, her hair silky and sweet beneath his chin. “I feel as if I’ve come so far. I’m working through so much. And I’m so tired. All I want to do now is to make love with you. I need you, Nick.”
Maggie eased away, turned slowly toward the bathroom, and looked at him over her shoulder. “Coming?”
“I’ll wait.” When he’d tried to shower with her previously, she’d been terrified; he couldn’t bear to see her fear now.
“I trust you, Nick. That isn’t something I give lightly.”
In the steamy shower, he was careful to give her as much room as possible. She moved into the streams of water like a lover, and the erotic, feminine sounds that he had heard before drew his body into a hard, tight knot.
Maggie turned slowly to him, her hair sleek against her head and shoulders, rivulets of water streaming down her body. She spoke as if discovering a precious, wonderful part of herself. “I can manage this. I can, Nick. I’m not afraid with you.”
“That’s good, Maggie—” But the words dried in Nick’s throat as she looked down at his aroused body.
Slowly the hand that had very competently shifted the truck reached for him, gloved him briefly. Her thumb slid over the delicate tip of him, caressing, and Nick fought the rough shudder of his body, the demand to fill her running hot and rich inside him. “I think,” he managed unevenly, “that I am getting out of here now. I need a shave.”
“Can’t it wait?” Maggie asked softly as she moved against him.
When she lay tangled against him later, Nick smoothed her still damp hair. It was enough for now, he told himself, and knew he would want more.
“I know you’re here, Celeste. I can feel you.”
Dressed only in Nick’s shirt and still warm from his body, Maggie moved into the cool fog, making her way down the sand to the lake.
She needed this first private time to reckon with her friend’s death. The lake was peaceful and black beneath the clouds, white foam from the waves seemed like lace upon the dark cold sand.
“I’m going to remember you as I saw you last, with a smile for everyone, not as you were when they found you. Beth is walking into her future even now, and she’ll never forget what you gave her—the strength to become herself. Why were you there that night? What made you dress in your favorite caftan and wear that scarf? How could you have known?” Maggie asked the night, and a slight breeze came to play in her hair, swirling the ends and lifting it away from her face. Maggie closed her eyes, remembering how Celeste would touch her hair, sweeping it back to look clear and straight into her eyes—perhaps into her soul, searching for what Maggie would share with no one.
Maggie thought she caught a sweeter scent than those of earth and water, that of lavender. “He’s going to want more. Maybe I’ve given everything I can to a marriage. Maybe I’m never going to be fully free of what happened to me. I don’t think it’s fair to burden Nick. And he’s still tied to Alyssa—every time he sees a motorcycle, he’s remembering.”
The moon slid round and full between the clouds, and a perfect silver trail cut across the black water to Maggie. “Celeste, please ask Alyssa to let him go. If there is some way, please help my sister and Monique. I feel Monique stirring out on the lake, waiting. I feel Glenda’s darkness now more than ever. Give her ease, Celeste, and stay with me. I need you. I’m not ready to let you go.”
From a clump of grass, a drop hovered and slowly fell, chilling Maggie’s hand. The fog at her feet churned as though licked by a breeze that said, “Beware.”
Maggie inhaled and pulled the sensations into her, just as Celeste had said she had done. “You’re telling me that something is hungry for me, waiting. But what?”
The moon vanished as quickly as it appeared, and Maggie realized that she was standing in the froth and water, the sand sucking at her feet. “I love you, Celeste. Stay with me.”
A sound behind her turned Maggie. Nick stood at the top of the sandy knoll, watching her, waiting.
More than desire ran between them, and it was the more Maggie feared as she slowly made her way upward.
“I was talking to Celeste. I asked her to stay with me and to help Glenda, Alyssa, and Monique rest. Celeste has a way of helping troubled hearts—”
“So do you, honey. You give more than you know,” Nick said as he eased her into his arms.
The warmth of his body seeped into hers as she settled against him. “This is good.”
“Very good.” Nick nuzzled her hair, his hear
t safe and true beneath her cheek. “Alyssa said that Monique called to her. She felt that if she ever died before her natural time that she would have a friend waiting for her on the other side. Celeste has given you something, Maggie, maybe something to help ease you about Glenda.”
She decided not to tell Nick about Celeste’s concern about a stranger from her past. When Nick’s lips brushed hers, she forgot everything but the sweet tenderness, the gentleness that was Nick.
FOURTEEN
“Stop pushing, Nick.”
The big open hand at the small of Maggie’s back didn’t hurt, but applied enough pressure to still her. She looked over her shoulder to the man pressing her stomach down on the bed. Nick’s features were primitive and harsh in the morning light, the set of his mouth grim.
His other hand traveled lightly over her shoulders and back. His hands switched places and then the examination continued down to her ankles.
“I said, I want to know where you got those bruises.”
“That’s a demand, not a question.”
He flipped her over easily and bent to hold her wrists beside her head. “Maybe, just maybe, I’ve got the right to know.”
“Let me go.” Maggie trusted Nick to be gentle and safe, but this man, his wide shoulders taut and gleaming as he leaned over her, eyes flashing, cutting at her, was ready for revenge. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’ll ‘handle it.’ Why didn’t you tell me last night that you were bruised? When I think of how I held you, how you must have hurt—”
He pushed away from her slightly and drew the sheet up to cover her nude body. She saw his self-torment, the pain in his expression. Nick was lashing out more at himself than at her.
“It’s nothing,” she said and knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied.
He stood abruptly, naked and tall and powerful, his anger ricocheting in the room. “Yes, it is. It means you still don’t trust me, no matter what runs between us.”
“I trust you—”
“On one level. The other is questionable. You’re holding part of yourself away from me.”
“I can handle this, Nick. I didn’t want you bothered.”
“Dammit. Tell me. Did Ed send someone else—?”
Maggie sat up and drew her knees to her chin. “It’s Lorna. We…have a problem.”
“‘A problem!’ That bruise on your shoulder is three inches across, and there’s another one on your butt that’s no sweetheart, either. What did she do?”
Maggie didn’t trust the tone of his voice, the anger in it. “If you promise to calm down, I’ll tell you.”
Nick’s hands went to his hips. “I don’t feel like bargaining, Maggie—”
“You’re going to have to. If you do anything to Lorna—”
He leaned forward. “You’ll what? Threats, Maggie, dear? You’ll tell me now.”
She patted the bed. “You’ll have to lie down beside me and be a good boy.”
Nick sat abruptly, his weight shaking the bed. His flat “What” wasn’t a question.
“Lie down beside me.”
“Great. You’ve been hurt and you’re protecting Lorna. This isn’t about some dumb promise, is it? Because I’m not promising anything.” Nick eased down beside her, his arms behind his head. “Talk.”
Turning onto her stomach, Maggie smoothed the wide expanse of his chest, toying with the triangle of hair there, and finger-walked down the line to his navel. When Nick captured her hand, she said, “I said that Lorna and I have a problem. It’s you.”
“So what else is new? She’s made it clear to me that she wants you out of Blanchefleur.”
Maggie tugged the hair on his chest. “And you kept that to yourself, didn’t you? See? I’m not angry. Two women, one man. It equates to a little bit of trouble.”
He stared at the ceiling and then slowly one of his hands came down to smooth her back. “Those bruises say it’s not a little bit.”
“I can’t decide if the look on your face is a smirk or a snit.” Maggie took her time easing over him. She traced his eyebrow with her fingertip and then his lips. Her hips nestled against his, found what she’d been seeking and allowed just that first blunt bit of enticing intrusion.
Nick nipped gently at her finger, his eyes closing for a moment as their intimacy grew and her body accepted more. “You’ve got my attention.”
“That’s what Lorna doesn’t like. Celeste loved her, and that gives me reason to try to understand Lorna. I think I do. She survived a terrible childhood by being aggressive and fighting for whatever goal would please her father. It wasn’t so much the goal, but the need to battle for attention. Her good points weren’t reinforced as a child, and that’s important. I had that—she didn’t. I’d say that has a lot to do with whomever she’s seeing now, with why it is such a secret. Or maybe it’s got a lot to do with him, and how he feels. But she does have a good heart as Celeste said—I know it. Things just get twisted. You’re just a prize, Nick. Not someone that she really wants in the long run.”
“Now that hurts.” The uneven rise and fall of his chest, the caress of his hand on her breasts and back, said that she had his full attention.
Maggie rose slowly, keeping him within her, her knees bent to lift and lower her body. Her hands smoothed his chest. “This is nice, don’t you think?”
His hands roamed over her, cupping her bottom, skimming the backs of her thighs. “Just how did you get those bruises?”
“Lorna and I had a little discussion. It got physical. When I reached down to help her up, I wasn’t expecting her to flip me. I should have known better. And she should have known better than to come after me. She’s really good. Good technique.”
Nick stared up at her blankly, then he cursed. “You admire her technique?”
“It takes a lot of hours and hard work to get as good as she is. We have a tiny bet and I’d appreciate you keeping your nose out of it. Will you?”
“No. I don’t want you hurt. What’s the bet?”
Maggie nuzzled Nick’s throat, settling closely upon him. “Oh, you, and a few other things.”
He lifted her slightly and began to smooth his open mouth across her breasts. “Like what?”
She closed her eyes as Nick’s lips closed over her nipple, and the trembling within her began too quickly. “You talk too much…”
Nick paused at the winery door and inhaled the fresh air, admiring the green lines of the vineyard. If the weather continued and the frost waited, the grapes would be full and rich and sweet, holding the summer’s sun and rain.
His mind swung to another harvest, the long, slow lovemaking of last night. At least Maggie had spent the night in his bed, and if Nick could manage, he’d check the inventory and return to their bed before she woke up.
Breakfast in bed should be a good way of making his point—she should move in with him.
Nick tucked his briefcase under his arm, smiling briefly at all the good contacts and orders it contained.
He unlocked the heavy winery door and pushed it open. Because of the wine festival, Eugene had yesterday off. This morning Nick wasn’t expecting to see the old man who had been trying to put the moves on Dee Dee. Apparently, Eugene mourned Celeste, but he figured she’d given him something, too. And he intended to use it.
The new orders from the wine festival needed attention before Nick returned to Maggie. He intended to get to the bottom of the bet she had with Lorna, one way or the other. Maggie had a way of distracting him…rather, Maggie could refocus him completely.
The too-strong smell of wine hit him. Nick flipped on the overhead lights and stopped. The entire showroom had been savaged, the display wines and cases toppled onto the floor, glass broken. “Eugene?” Nick asked cautiously.
The showroom was too still, and a sense of trouble slammed against Nick. He noted several bottles of wine missing, from the slots on the wall. “Eugene?” Nick called as he tossed his briefcase aside. Then he said softy, “Engene, I really hope you ar
e at Dee Dee’s.”
He righted a display table on his way to his office. Papers had been pulled and tossed from his desk, file cabinet drawers emptied, the contents strewn everywhere. Hurrying down the stairway, Nick checked Eugene’s apartment; the old man’s bed was neatly made, and his coffee pot hadn’t been perked this morning. His telephone messages—including Nick’s—hadn’t been retrieved, and Eugene was methodical about using “that silly machine,” fearing it would overflow and he’d miss Dee Dee’s call. Nick punched the button, and a nonstop flow of Celeste’s sexy “Big Boy, you are so hot” and “stud-muffin” phone talk purred into the room; apparently Eugene had deleted all messages but those.
Nick punched in Dee Dee’s number, taken from the pad beside the telephone, the sheet filled with heart-shaped doodles. Dee Dee answered briskly, and said that Eugene wasn’t there. To keep her from worrying, Nick fed her a white lie that he just saw Eugene outside the window.
Nick moved quickly to the cellar doorway and turned on the cellar lights. The yawning cool silence terrified him—and the stronger smell of wine. “Eugene?”
A faint rattling echoed from deep inside the cool interior. Nick picked up a two-by-four scrap board and held it as he slowly descended the stairs. The rattling noise didn’t stop as he noted the bung holes opened on the wine barrels. The tanks had been emptied, wine covering the floor. Nick moved down the battered cases of wine, soaked now with their contents. Bottles had been smashed everywhere, glass glittering in the ruined wine.
The noise became a rhythmic pounding that echoed from the back of the cellar, and Nick rounded the toppled cases of reserve wine to find Eugene sprawled on the damp floor. Nick crouched beside the old man, lifting his head gently.