by Ginna Gray
“Difficult as this may be for you to understand, becoming rich is not a priority for me. I happen to like my apartment. And my truck runs like a top. For heaven’s sake, man, if I wanted to lead the life of the idle rich I’d move back into my grandfather’s home. Believe me, nothing would tickle Asa more.
“Oh, and just so you’ll know, he’s not a’tall stingy. Asa has offered me the same allowance he gives Daphne and Tyson, but I refused it. I prefer to be on my own.”
Wyatt’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “You do realize, don’t you, that I could buy this warehouse and have you evicted?”
She laughed. “You could try, but I don’t think it would work, since I own it.”
“You? But you just said—”
“My grandmother Hightower left it to me.” Maggie shrugged. “I have no idea why. I barely knew her. However, ’tis mine, and between my writing and the income this place generates, I have everything I need.”
She cocked her head to one side. “I am curious, though. Do you truly believe that having me tossed out on the street will somehow endear you to me?”
He made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his hand. “Dammit, you know I didn’t mean that.”
Turning away, he paced to the other end of the loft. For several minutes he stood with his feet braced wide, his hands bracketing his hip bones, staring out the wall of windows. The stance held his suit coat thrust back and emphasized the tautness of his body. Frustration radiated from him.
Suddenly he swung around. “Dammit, Maggie. Why are you being so stubborn about this? What are you holding out for? If it’s a wedding ring, forget it. Surely you must realize that I can’t marry you. I’m not the marrying kind.”
Maggie laughed. “Thank the Dear Lord for that.”
Wyatt looked taken aback, then affronted. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I have no more desire to get married than you. Less, most likely. I like my freedom too much to tie myself to another person. And for life, yet.” She gave a little shudder at the thought, and Wyatt’s scowl deepened.
“You needn’t act as though you just escaped a foul fate worse than death, you know. For your information, there are plenty of women who’d kill for the chance to marry me.”
“Then aren’t you lucky you met me?”
If that made him happier, it wasn’t evident by his expression. She wasn’t positive, but she thought he was grinding his teeth.
“Dammit, Maggie, if it’s not marriage you want, then why won’t you consider my offer? I can’t be the first man who’s ever wanted to take you to bed.”
“That’s true. But I said no to all of them, too.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
Maggie’s eyes danced with laughter. “None of the others have been quite so bold as you, but I gave them all the same answer.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Every one of them?”
“Every last one.”
“Are you saying...? No, that’s impossible. You can’t be a...a...”
With an impish twinkle in her eyes she leaned forward and whispered, “I think the word you’re groping for is virgin.”
Chapter Six
Maggie burst out laughing at Wyatt’s stupefied look. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out.
“Go ahead. You can say it out loud,” she prodded with a devilish grin. “‘Tisn’t a naughty word, you know.”
“Dammit, you can’t be a virgin!” he finally bellowed.
“Oh? And just why not?”
“You’re twenty-six years old, for Pete’s sake.”
“So? Is there a legal age limit on virginity? If so, I’m not aware of it.”
“Of course not! But...but...” He raked a hand through his hair. “Dammit, women simply don’t reach your age without having at least one sexual experience. It’s just not normal. Hell, these days, you can hardly find a teenager who’s not sexually active.”
“True,” Maggie said without the least concern. “But then, I’ve never craved to follow the herd.” She slid off the sofa arm onto the cushions. Stretching out full-length, she propped her head on a pile of decorative pillows, her feet on the pile at the opposite end of the sofa.
“What the hell was wrong with the young men you met in college? Were they all dumb and blind? Or gay?”
“Hardly,” she said with a chuckle, recalling some of the seduction attempts made by those very same young men. “I simply never met anyone who interested me that much.” Nor did she feel comfortable about allowing anyone that close.
“I find that difficult to believe.”
“Believe it or not, ’tis true,” she said with a maddening unconcern that made Wyatt’s jaw clench.
“I don’t understand how this could happen. It doesn’t make any sense. I know you’re not frigid. Just the opposite. One kiss and you go up like a gasoline fire. There had to be at least one male in all those years who turned you on. Or at the very least aroused that insatiable curiosity of yours.”
The remark brought a blush to Maggie’s face, but she brazened it out. Pretending her cheeks weren’t blazing, she looked Wyatt right in the eye and said, “Maybe I’m a late bloomer. What difference does it make? The decision was mine, I made it, and ’tis no one else’s business.”
He stared at her. “Good Lord. A virgin,” he repeated in a stunned voice. “You really are a virgin.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
He dropped down on the overstuffed chair opposite the sofa as though someone had suddenly cut his legs out from under him. Perching on the edge of the seat, elbows propped on his spread knees, forearms and hands dangling limp between, he sighed. “The only twenty-six-year-old virgin on the North American continent and I have to get an itch for her. Hell.”
“Oh, dear. Does my chaste condition put a kink in your seduction plans?”
Wyatt tipped his head up slightly and gave her a long look from beneath his eyebrows. A touch of unease whispered through her and her amusement dissolved like cotton candy in the rain. “So you find this whole thing funny, do you? As a matter of fact, I didn’t have seduction plans. I didn’t think they’d be necessary. But now...perhaps...”
He let the words trail away and looked her over, from her toes up to the halo of red curls that had pulled free of her braid and framed her face. He smiled.
That look instantly wiped away her smug expression. She had been certain that her inexperience would protect her from his advances. Had he been a proper gentleman it would have, she thought indignantly. The heat in those silver eyes, however, told her she had grossly misjudged his character; Wyatt Sommersby was no gentleman.
Maggie sat up and shot him an annoyed look. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
For several taut moments he did not reply. He merely continued to watch her with that faint smile on his lips and an unholy gleam in his eyes. Finally he shot back his cuff and glanced at his watch. “You’re right, I do.”
Sighing, he stood up and crossed the rug. Before she realized his intent, he bent, took hold of her hands and jerked her to her feet.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Wyatt murmured, slipping his arms around her. He pulled her close and settled her snugly against him. His gaze roamed her upturned face. The gentle massage of his hands on her bare back felt warm and relaxing, almost mesmerizing. “Especially not with things still unsettled between us.”
“Wyatt—” Maggie pushed at his chest, but it was a token protest at best. She knew she should resist his embrace, but being held in his arms was oddly pleasurable. It shouldn’t have been, she thought ruefully, but it was. Despite the disparity in their sizes, their bodies seemed to fit together. It felt...right, somehow.
She frowned at that.
“Quit fighting it, Maggie,” Wyatt admonished. “I have. God knows I didn’t want to get involved with you. Common sense tells me you’re trouble. I tried my damnedest to stay away,
but it’s no use. An attraction this strong doesn’t just happen. Whether we like it or not, some things are meant to be. You and I are one of them. You’ve got to know that.”
Maggie wanted to deny the statement, but she couldn’t. For the first time in her life, she’d met a man she couldn’t ignore or dismiss. Lord knew, she’d tried to do both.
Never had she experienced anything like the sensations that he aroused in her—the dreamy fascination that overtook her at odd moments, the strange, lighter-than-air feeling, the tightness in her chest, the antsy anticipation at the thought of seeing him again, the burst of foolish elation when she did. It was disconcerting, but even when she was absorbed in her work, thoughts of him intruded. She found it was annoying...and wonderful. And it scared the bejesus out of her.
To admit as much to herself was one thing, however, and to do so to Wyatt, quite another. Jaw clenched, she stared straight ahead at the third button on his shirt, her hands curled into fists against his chest.
He nudged the small of her back and ducked his head, forcing her to look at him. “Well? Don’t you?”
She sighed. She should have know he wouldn’t let her off that easy. “All right. I’ll admit there’s...I don’t know...something there,” she said with elaborate unconcern.
“Something worth exploring.”
Her auburn eyebrows jerked together again. “You know, Your Nibs, you really are a stubborn pain in the posterior.”
“When I have to be. Now, quit trying to distract me and answer the question. I haven’t got much time.”
“Oh, all right. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to see each other now and then. Nothing regular or permanent, mind you,” she added in a rush. “I can’t abide to be tied down. Just an occasional casual date when we both have time.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes and studied her mulish expression. He looked ready to argue, but after a moment he nodded. “All right. I guess I can live with that. For now.”
“What does that mean? Now look, if you th—”
“Hush and kiss me goodbye.”
He didn’t give her a choice. She started to argue but he pulled her against him, bent his head and caught her open mouth in a hot, thoroughly carnal kiss that instantly short-circuited Maggie’s brain and sent fire racing through her.
She melted against him with a little moan. Lacing her fingers together at his nape, she gave herself up to the voluptuous pleasure, her protest forgotten. At that instant there wasn’t one thing in the universe about which Maggie would have complained.
Time ceased to exist. There was nothing but pleasure—exciting, hot, delicious pleasure. The passionate embrace went on and on. Lost in sweet delirium, Maggie had no concept of time or place, only the pounding of her heart and the tactile delight of their bodies straining together and his tongue mating with hers, his big hands roaming over her back, clutching her bottom.
Their lips clung as he slowly ended the kiss. Instinctively, she moaned and pressed closer, but Wyatt exerted gentle pressure on her waist to ease her away. Dazed, she remained as she was, her arms looped loosely around his neck, head arched back, eyes closed, lips parted and wet and kiss swollen. At that moment she could not have moved had they come under nuclear attack.
She felt the soft brush of Wyatt’s lips on hers again, and slowly, as though weighted down with lead, her eyes lifted partway. Wyatt studied her dreamy expression with blatant masculine satisfaction and possessiveness.
“You look besotted. I like that.”
Maggie blinked. It took a few seconds for her brain to decipher his statement and that look. When she did she stiffened momentarily, but she quickly made herself relax and forced a scornful chuckle. “Besotted? Me?” she drawled, giving him an amused look. “Sorry to disappoint you, Your Nibs, but I was merely enjoying a physical sensation.” She shrugged and tried to casually pull from his embrace. He grinned and planted another kiss on the tip of her nose, then released her so suddenly she stumbled backward.
His mouth twitched, and he lightly cuffed her chin. “I’ll be back in four days. I’ll see you then.”
He headed for the door, leaving her standing there staring after him, her mouth working like a beached fish.
For a few seconds she sputtered and fumed, but Maggie had the unique ability to see the humorous side of almost any situation, and her sense of humor was never far from the surface. Barely had the string of Gaelic curses begun to roll from her tongue than they turned to laughter.
The arrogant, overbearing devil. The nerve of the man, giving her orders like she was one of his lackeys. Or one of his doxies. Was he so spoiled from getting whatever he wanted he thought he could snap his fingers and she would fall in line with his wishes?
Of course he was, silly, she thought, answering her own question, which produced another round of chuckles.
Och, the poor man. He had no idea with whom he was dealing...or what he was letting himself in for, she added with a wicked smirk. “I’ll be back in four days. I’ll see you then,” she mimicked in a singsong. “Huh. We’ll just see about that.”
Not that she had any illusions about avoiding him completely. It was apparent she no longer had that option, given their response to one another.
Besides, he had piqued her curiosity. She wanted to explore these new sensations he aroused. If those steamy kisses were anything to go by, the experiment promised to be pleasurable, and she fully intended to enjoy it to the fullest, as she did most new experiences. However, she would do so in her own time and on her own terms, she decided, wandering over to her drawing board.
Plopping down on the stool, she picked up a pen, dipped it into the ink bottle and began to sketch. If Wyatt didn’t like it, he could whistle in the wind. Maggie Muldoon was a free woman. She followed her own drummer and answered to no one, least of all an arrogant, take-charge, possessive, avaricious man the likes of Wyatt Sommersby.
Maggie lived for the moment. She took life as it came and rarely fretted over what “might” happen, and she didn’t do so now. She would deal with Wyatt when they met again. In the meantime, she had work to do.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she sketched in a throbbing knot on the top of Mergatroid’s noggin and crinkled his beak like an accordion. She drew his eyes unfocused and filled with stars and his knocked-kneed legs wobbling. Standing next to the crane, a smashed vase lying beside his webbed feet, Arbuckle wrung his wing tips and tried to focus his crossed eyes on his tall friend.
When Maggie zeroed in on something, whether work or play, her focus was absolute. All her concentration centered on whatever held her attention at the time, to the exclusion of all else. Within moments of Wyatt’s departure she was immersed in the illustration.
She worked straight through dinner without letup. At three in the morning the last brush stroke went onto the final illustration. Yawning, Maggie rinsed out her brushes, trudged up the stairs and fell, fully dressed, across her bed.
She awoke at nine, refreshed and full of restless energy. She went through her apartment like a whirlwind, straightening and cleaning. A few hours later the place was sparkling and in apple-pie order, but the fidgety feeling still hung on. She paid her bills, did her laundry, cleaned out dresser drawers and changed the oil in her truck, amid hoots and hollers from the workmen in the warehouse. Afterward she showered and washed her hair, then paced the loft.
She turned on the stereo, and as the mellow tones of Harry Connick filled the open space she made another circuit of the apartment, returned and snapped the music off again.
She felt confined. Maggie recognized the antsy feeling. It was one she knew well; the call of the open road, the siren song of freedom whispering in her ear, tugging at her, beckoning her to follow. There was only one cure.
She stopped pacing. She hadn’t intended to take another trip just yet, not with Asa’s birthday coming up in a couple of weeks. On the other hand...
A grin spread over her face as she made her decision. Letting out a whoop, she took of
f at a gallop up the stairs to her bedroom and began to gather what she would need.
* * *
Wyatt rang the doorbell until his forefinger was numb.
“She ain’t there.”
He spun around. The wino he’d seen Maggie talking to before stood on the third step from the top on the stairs watching him, his rheumy eyes filled with suspicion. Wyatt had been so preoccupied with his efforts to rouse Maggie he had not heard the old bum shuffle up the iron steps.
“Are you by chance speaking to me?” he asked in his most cutting voice. Holy hell. He could smell the man from where he stood.
“Yeah.” The derelict jerked his head toward Maggie’s door. “I said, Miss Muldoon ain’t there.”
“I gathered as much,” Wyatt said dryly, looking the filthy creature up and down. “The question is, what’re you doing skulking around in here?”
“I ain’t skulkin’. Miss Muldoon asked me to look after the place.”
Wyatt’s jaw tightened. He agreed that someone needed to watch out for her, but this bum couldn’t protect a fly. Knowing Maggie, she had probably assigned him the chore just so she’d have an excuse to give him money.
“Agnes feeds her fish for her,” the old man added.
“Agnes?”
“She lives around here, same as me.”
“Ah, yes, Agnes. The person I saw digging in the Dumpster the other day.” Wyatt frowned. “Wait a minute. Why would Maggie need anyone to feed her fish?”
“‘Cause they’d die if she didn’t. Miss Muldoon, she headed out three days ago.”
“Headed out?”
“Yeah. In that motor home of hers.”
“You mean she left?” At the bum’s nod Wyatt planted his balled fists on his hips, tipped his head back and spewed a string of curses at the ceiling. She had left the day after they’d had their talk.
A look of horror spread over his face. Good Lord. To feed the fish while Maggie was gone, that disreputable old woman had to have a key to the apartment. Holy— Just wait until he got his hands on Maggie. The crazy little fool.
Eyeing Wyatt, the derelict began to ease down the stairs.