He mouthed the lobe of her ear to reward her bravery. Or perhaps only to drive her crazy with wanting. Desire pooled deep within her, overriding her sense of self-protection, persuading her that the only thing that mattered was what she was feeling now—his lips, his hands, the seductive, wet tip of his tongue as he trailed a kiss along the curve of her jaw, nearly to the corner of her mouth, then slowly retraced the path to her ear. “That’s good,” he said, pulling aside the strands of her hair and wrapping its weight around his hand. “Because I’m scared to death of you.”
“That’s…nice.” She didn’t know if he meant it, didn’t care. It was nice…no, more than that, it was wonderful beyond her imaginings to have him touch her again, to feel his kisses on her skin, to drift into a world of pleasurable sensations she had only found once before. “So nice.”
He tugged on her hair, persuading her to tilt her head back and expose her throat to the stroking caress of his fingers. “You’re so beautiful, Abbie. I want to touch you everywhere, feel you all around me, make love to you from now until dawn, but…”
He was going to reject her, punish her for her perceived betrayal. He had brought her to surrender and now he would stop the kissing and caressing because he didn’t want her at all, and she would die of wanting him. “Please, Mac,” she said. “Make love to me. All night long.” Like a flower to the sun, she turned her face to him and offered her lips as a sacrifice. Then she was kissing him and he was kissing her and their breaths mingled with a prescient knowing. His arms folded in around her, pulling her tightly, fiercely, against his hard, male body. Desire flared, turned to flame and licked through her veins at the speed of quicksilver. He swung her into his arms and carried her out of the candlelight’s flickering circle and into the dusky darkness beyond it.
She didn’t know where he was taking her, and didn’t care. His mouth over hers, his arms under her, his scent surrounding her, his chest supporting her. That was all she needed. That and more. Anything he would give her, she would accept and be glad for. She’d thought she would never know this fever pitch of passion again, had thought fate had allotted her only one night out of a lifetime. Whatever this second night might eventually cost her, she would pay the price and not complain. Ever. For as long as she lived, she’d hold the memory close and know that having sex was not, never could be, the same as making love.
They must have reached a bedroom, because when he laid her down, she felt the cushion of a mattress beneath her. The room was darker than the other one, lacking the row of windows and the pearly glow of night, but she could make out the shadow of him and her hands reached to pull him down with her. He closed his hands around hers, pressing them between his own, denying her request as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
“Abbie?” Her name, soft and compelling, floated to her through the dusk.
“Here.”
She sensed his smile even before she heard it in his voice. “That part I know. What I don’t know is, can you do this?”
“Yes,” she said. “I can.”
Still holding her hands between his palms, he leaned in to kiss her lips, lightly, sweetly. “Abbie,” he murmured, then again, “Abbie.”
“Mac,” she murmured back, thinking that might be the right answer, the one that would bring him, naked and hard, into her bed, into her body.
One hand came up to brush across her forehead, linger against her cheek. “In five months, I’ve never been able to figure out why I didn’t insist on knowing your name. Abbie. Your name is one of the most intimate things another person can know about you, and yet, I didn’t ask and you didn’t tell me. We were intimate in every other way, except perhaps, one of the most important. I regret that, Abbie. Not just because I had no idea how to find you after, but because I wanted to caress you then with the sound of it, whisper it to you as I entered you, say your name over and over in the throes of ecstasy, and murmur it sweetly into the sated aftermath of our passion. Abbie…Abbie…Abbie.”
She shivered with the husky sounds, wanting so much more than she feared she could have. “Mac…?” She made his name a whispered question and moved to sit up and meet his kiss somewhere in between. But his hands urged her back to the pillow, held her without force. “Please, Mac?”
He touched a fingertip to her lips, released her hands and placed his palm lightly against the hard round curvature of her pregnancy. “I want to make love to you, Abbie. But you’re pregnant and I don’t know if you…”
Hope, that optimistic flower, blossomed and multiplied a thousand times over. “Yes,” she told him simply. “I can. I really can.”
Again his smile came to her mind. “Yes, but are you sure it’s safe?”
She almost laughed aloud, giddy with anticipation. “Well, I’m already pregnant, so we’re safe on that score at least.”
“You know what I meant.”
Thankfully, gratefully, she did. “Sex is perfectly safe as long as you don’t expect me to hang from the chandelier.”
His chuckle was low, throaty and wonderful to hear. “Well, I was hoping.” He let the teasing fade and asked more seriously, “You’re sure there’s no reason to avoid the intimacy?”
“Positive. The doctor told me…and no, I didn’t ask. She just thought I should be aware that sex is okay, encouraged even, as long as it’s comfortable.”
“And you’re not hanging from the chandelier.”
She reached for him, feeling the muscles of his arms flex beneath her fingers. “We don’t need a chandelier,” she told him. “We’re using candles.”
There was the sound of a boot hitting the floor and it was, without a doubt, the sweetest sound Abbie had ever heard.
“No candles, either,” he said as he slid down to lie with her on the bed. “I’m not anxious to set this place on fire.”
She sighed happily into his kiss. “You couldn’t prove that by me.”
Something inside Mac changed when she said that. Not the desire. No, that was like a fever in his veins. But until that moment he’d held back, operated on impulse, sure that he could stop before things went too far. He’d touched her first to keep her from crying. He’d kept touching her because it seemed to distract her. The plan had worked like a charm, too. Except that he was the one charmed, the one who lost himself in the role of protector, the one who needed her touch more than she ever could need his.
So here they were, about to turn one mistake into two, complicate an already complicated situation. But something had happened with Abbie’s soft admission of a desire so hot it burned him just thinking about it. He wanted Abbie again, wanted her wanting him. It was more than that, though. It was possibilities, opening like opportunity in his mind. Maybe Cade was right. Abbie wasn’t Gillian. She wasn’t here to trick him, only to love him, to be desirable and fascinatingly seductive in his arms. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t entirely sure of her motives. Maybe he wasn’t ready to jump in and be a father to her baby. Maybe he never would be, but somehow, his heart had decided they deserved a second chance. “Abbie,” he whispered, just to feel the shape and texture and taste of her name on his tongue.
“Here.” Her arms slid around his neck and pulled him to her and it was the only place he ever wanted to be.
THE EXTENSION PHONE JANGLED like an alarm clock on the bedside chest. Mac rolled over, blinked at the glint of daylight peeking through the closed shutters. He was in the guest house with Abbie, and the sensual memories of the night before rippled through him with sweet remembrance. The phone rang again and he reached for the receiver, quickly, quietly, afraid the noise or the movement would wake her. But she slept on, unaware of his gaze caressing her, unaware that she held him mesmerized with just the bare curve of her shoulder and the tangled loops of honey-brown hair curling haphazardly across it. He felt a sudden, sharp longing to touch her, protect her and forever keep her safe from harm, and an equally strong impulse to jump out of the bed and run as far and as fast as he could.
“What?” He’d pi
tched his voice low and turned his head to direct the sound away from Abbie, but sleep still cloaked his throat and he had to clear it softly and repeat, “What?”
“Mac?” Jessie’s whisper rushed across the line to him. “Is that you, Mac?”
“Yes.”
“Thank heavens, you’re there. Well, on second thought, you probably ought not to be there just now. Is Abbie with you?”
Jessie was overly excited, he thought. Now that she’d figured out where he and Abbie had disappeared to last night, she was probably imagining all kinds of romantic scenarios. He smiled, thinking that at least on some level, she’d be right. “What do you want, Jess?” he asked.
“I called to warn you,” she answered, sounding hurried and harried. “You’re about to have company.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Brothers.”
Great. Cade was going to pop in to ride him about the wager and the way that short straw had been the ticket to a love match once before. He’d have Alex in tow to double the teasing allotment. “You don’t have to whisper, Jessie.” He did, though. Abbie was beginning to stir beside him. “I’ll head those two hayseeds off at the pass. Thanks for the warning.” He hung up and turned to see Abbie’s blue eyes blinking open. “Hi,” he said softly.
She smiled in answer, slid a hand up the length of his arm, across his shoulder and chin until her fingertip touched his lips in a lover’s greeting.
He couldn’t help himself, he shifted his weight, slipped down in the sheets and bent over her, pressing a good-morning kiss to her eyelids, her nose, her chin, her lips. “Mmm,” she murmured against his mouth. “Mmm.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” he said, trailing kisses down the slope of her neck all the way to the valley between her breasts. “But that was Jessie on the phone. Cade and Alex are on their way over.”
Abbie sighed her disappointment. “What do they want?”
“Who knows. Occasionally they lose all sense of decorum.”
“Mmm,” she said as his fingers teased her nipple. “Sounds like my brothers.”
The words hung there for a moment, gathering like omens as her eyes suddenly widened and stared into his. Thud, thud, thud. The heavy knock was the only tip-off they got before the front door of the house slammed open and they heard the sound of boots on the floor and voices…deep, booming basses every one of them. “Abbie?” One of them called.
“Are you in here, Abigail?”
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” said another in singsong fashion.
Mac looked up to see his Levi’s draped over a slat of the ceiling fan, Abbie’s draped over another, both pair making lazy circles overhead. His underwear and socks adorned the brass bedpost on his side of the bed. Abbie’s unmentionables were scattered, like signal flags, wherever he’d tossed them last night. It had been fun at the time to fling clothes left and right. They’d laughed and made jokes about hanging from the chandelier. It had been the kind of intimate teasing that would be funny to them, but Mac knew it probably wouldn’t be very amusing to a quartet of humorless brothers.
“Oh, no,” Abbie said under her breath, obviously reaching the same conclusion as Mac. Staying in bed, with a sheet for cover, seemed better than greeting callers in the buff.
There was a tap at the bedroom door. “Abbie? You decent?”
She gave a tiny groan and called out, “Brad? What are you doing here?”
“Abbie, it’s about time we found you.”
The doorknob was turning, the door already opening, before Abbie’s voice croaked out frantically “Stop! Don’t come in…”
But it was too late. Brad—if the Herculean man in the doorway was that particular Jones brother—had already glimpsed the scene.
“…here,” Abbie concluded dismally as one…two…three more brothers stacked up behind the first. They were all similar in size—big—and shape—Mr. Universe contenders. The front guy had hair as black as the Desert Rose stallions, but the back three had hair the color of Abbie’s, only shorter. Much shorter. If the bodies had been a little less muscled, the hair a little bit longer, the skin a couple of shades tanner, any one of these guys could have fit right into an episode of Baywatch. All four of them had eyes as blue as Abbie’s, only theirs were decidedly not as pretty. They did seem to have clear vision, though, and had already put the worst possible interpretation on the situation. Mac couldn’t really blame them. It looked bad, he knew.
What was he thinking? It was bad.
“Morning, gentlemen,” he said, hoping they were. “You can find some coffee in the kitchen. Abbie and I need a few minutes together before we do any entertaining.”
“Appears you’ve already had a good many minutes together,” one of the middle brothers said.
“And it looks like they were pretty entertaining for somebody.” The guy in back leaned into the room, his focus on the circulating denims. Mac wished he’d thought to lock the guest house door last night. But normally, on the Desert Rose, a door being left unlocked wouldn’t have been a problem.
Brad’s frown deepened to a glower and he cut straight to the chase. “Are you okay, Abbie?”
“I was until you four showed up,” she said irritably. “I don’t know why you thought you needed to come after me like a dadgum posse.”
“If we were a posse, we’d lose our badges for getting here after the horse is already out of the barn.”
Lovely analogy, Mac thought, but Abbie seemed too agitated to care. “Well, you can just turn around and go back home.”
The lighter-haired brothers shifted positions and Brad stepped on into the room, followed by two more, leaving one to fill the doorway all by his lonesome. “Introduce us to your…him,” he said.
Abbie looked at Mac, an apology burning clearly in her eyes. “Mac Coleman,” she complied. “These are my brothers. Brad…” She indicated each with a nod. “Tyler, Jaz, and that’s Quinn by the door.” Her gaze turned back to the Jones men. “Now you can go. I’ll see you at home in a few days.”
Quinn crossed his arms at his chest, as if he could stay in that doorway for decades. “We’re not leaving without you and we’re sure not leaving until we find out what condition you’re in.”
Abbie’s confidence took a nosedive. Mac could tell that in a glance. He slipped a hand beneath the covers, found hers, felt her fingers tremble and gave them a squeeze of encouragement. “I’m going to ask you gentlemen—” he stressed the word to make his point “—one more time to wait in the other room. You’re making Abbie very uncomfortable, besides which you’re beginning to get on my nerves.”
Quinn looked surprised but not particularly impressed. “First, we want to know what’s wrong with our sister.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Abbie said. “I’m pregnant, that’s all.”
Silence crashed into the room like a glass jar and shattered into a variety of shocked expressions. Under different circumstances, Mac might have laughed at the looks on their respective faces. But the circumstances were awkward, and he didn’t feel a bit like laughing.
“What did you say?” Jaz, the tallest of the crew, stared at Abbie.
“You’re having a baby?” Tyler, too, stared at his sister.
But Brad and Quinn turned identical glares on Mac. “You?” One of them voiced the question of paternity, but clearly it was a joint project.
“No,” Mac answered. “I’m not having a baby. She’s the only expectant mother in the room.”
Brad took a step forward, his fists clenched and ready. “All right, wise guy. The next words out of your mouth had better be the ones about how happy you are to be getting us as your brothers-in-law.”
“Brad!” Abbie said, outrage quivering in her voice. “Get out of here. Now. All of you.” Then she added an impassioned, “Please!”
“Not until we see the ring on your finger.”
“Out!” She shouted and still they didn’t move, just stood there eyeing Mac, oblivious to the pain and embarrassment they were cau
sing their sister.
“We’re not engaged, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Mac was ready to evict these overgrown adolescents himself, in the nude, if necessary, to get them out of this room and give Abbie time to pull herself together. “That’s a little old-fashioned, even for Texas.”
“We don’t live in Texas,” Jaz informed him.
Quinn straightened in the doorway and his gaze shifted to Abbie. “Is he the baby’s father, Abbie?”
Mac felt his chest tighten, knowing even before he glanced over at her bent head, her tucked chin, her lowered gaze, her defeated demeanor, exactly what she was going to say.
“Yes.” The word was soft as a vapor, but it slugged Mac square in the heart. Last night he’d allowed himself to believe in her, believe in the possibility of a future with her, believe in love at first…and second…sight. And it had all been a setup. Beautifully done. Artfully executed, right down to the outraged expectation on the faces of her brothers. They could be in on it. Or they could have been manipulated as neatly as he had been. The only detail she’d failed to provide was the loaded shotguns so this could be a true shotgun proposal.
Four pairs of determined blue eyes turned on him. Four sets of slugger-sized hands folded into resolute fists. Four men stood shoulder to shoulder in their joint decision that Mac would marry Abbie. He was outnumbered, outflanked and—at least at the moment—out of options. So with as much dignity as he could stomach, he turned to Abbie. “Will you marry me, Abigail Jones?” he asked without a modicum of emotion or enthusiasm.
She lifted her head, looked straight into his eyes and said, “No.”
Chapter Eight
It was always the same whenever her brothers were around. No one listened to Abbie. She could sneeze and instantly four handkerchiefs were hers for the duration. She could voice her appreciation for the rich tones of Andrea Bocelli and within days, she’d have the entire library of his CDs. She could casually mention that she was thinking about refinishing an old chest of drawers, and before she could give it another thought, her troupe of commando brothers had it ready for her to admire. She could wonder aloud the best way to avoid a construction zone and wind up with a detailed map on the quickest, most economical, safest and best way to get where she was going. But when she declared forcefully that she would not marry Mac Coleman, not a soul was listening. Anyone would think she’d blushed pink with pleasure and stammered out a delighted acceptance.
His Shotgun Proposal Page 13