by Meg Tilly
She heard the rip of a foil pack, and then Luke was over her, his weight on his elbows, his hard, hot erection nudging the pulsing entrance of her body. His gaze locked on hers, fierce desire and something else. “More than friends.”
He said it like a statement, but she could see the question in his eyes.
“More than friends,” she answered, her hands rising to cup his beautiful face.
He surged forward, watching her with a burning intensity as he buried himself to the hilt, filling Maggie completely, stretching her past what she had known she could accommodate.
“Oh my,” she whispered. “Oh my . . . I never knew.”
Emotions flooding her, sensations building, the two of them spiraled upward together, gazing deep into each other’s eyes. Each stroke, each slide, each rasp of breath felt like a sacred promise, a vow. Momentum built as they soared higher and higher, and then an orgasm tore through her, more powerful and intense than the one before.
Luke lifted her hips, thrusting hard, and then he followed her off the cliff, his exultant, satisfied roar filling all the empty spaces in her heart.
* * *
• • •
EVERY MILLIMETER OF Luke’s body was satiated and utterly content. Maggie was tucked up beside him, warm and cozy. His arm was around her, her fingers gently ruffling and then smoothing the hair on his chest. It was a nice, peaceful feeling.
“Well,” Maggie said, her voice drowsy, like she was about to drift away to sleep. “I’m glad you”—she yawned—“cleared that up.”
“What’s that?” Luke asked.
“Well, two things, really. First, Brett was wrong, and . . .” She nuzzled into him like a warm puppy.
Luke waited for the rest of the sentence, but it didn’t come. He gave her a little nudge. “And what?”
“Oh,” she said, sleepy satisfaction in her voice. “The magazines . . . they were telling the truth.”
He felt her body give in to sleep, her breath slowing: silent on the inhale, faint puffs of air on the exhale. Deeper and deeper she sank into sleep.
Luke dropped a light kiss on the top of her head, her hair silky against his lips. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured. As if it were a normal night between a man and a woman. As if his entire being and the world as he knew it hadn’t been shaken awake and into millions of dancing pieces.
Thirty-four
MAGGIE WAS WEARING a white tank top and a flowing wraparound skirt. Her hair was still damp from their morning shower and pulled back in a ponytail. The color had gradually returned to her cheeks. That was good. Hopefully the aftereffects of shock and trauma were receding.
What a shower it had been.
Luke had planned on giving her a break. They’d made love three times during what was left of the night, but instead of scratching the itch, each encounter had only seemed to heighten his hunger for her. However, he needed to be sensible. Enough was enough.
It had been torture lying on the bed, watching her shower through the partially open door, but he had managed to stay put. Until she lifted her arms to wash her hair, causing her back to arch. Her pert pink-tipped breasts, which he had licked and suckled less than an hour before, caused his gentlemanly intentions to fly out the window. He had descended on her like a ravenous beast.
Not that she had complained, Luke thought with a smile, watching her pad barefoot around his kitchen.
It felt so good. So right.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, looking over at him. The trust and warmth emanating from her hit him like a blow to the solar plexus.
“You have cute feet,” he replied.
“Weirdo.” Maggie grinned at him.
“And you’re only discovering this now?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. He was standing before his beloved stainless-steel espresso machine, capturing the last drips of an Americano in a mug.
Maggie laughed, flipping open the egg carton. “Do you think Gunner and Colt will be wanting some breakfast?”
“Oh, yeah,” Luke said. “I’m sure they would love some, but they can fend for themselves. You are in no way obligated.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Maggie said, cracking some eggs into a mixing bowl. “I like feeding people.” She swung open the fridge, got out some cream and poured a couple of glugs into the bowl. “So we got a little sidetracked last night.”
“Sidetracked, or on track, depending how you look at it,” Luke said, stepping in behind her, nuzzling her neck as he removed the cream from her hand and added a drizzle to her coffee.
“You know what I mean,” Maggie said, a becoming blush streaking her cheeks. Seeing the effect his nearness had on her was a powerful aphrodisiac. His cock started to swell, rebelling against the constraints of his jeans.
“Physically impossible,” Luke murmured, leaning into her, the swollen evidence of his desire rubbing between the cheeks of her buttocks. “And yet there it is. I want you again.”
“Again,” she squeaked, growing even redder.
He reached around her. So what if his hand, on the way to the sugar bowl, brushed against the side of her sweet, upturned breast. Her sharp intake of breath threw gasoline on the fire. His cock surged to an almost painfully rock-hard state.
“I need you,” he said, his hands traveling up her legs, her silk skirt gathering at his wrists. Up over her thighs, over her sweetly curved ass. “Jesus, Maggie, no underwear? You’re killing me.”
He groaned as she leaned forward, laying her elbows and chest flat on the marble countertop and grinding her bare ass against his erection. He could feel her wet heat through his jeans.
“Take me, then,” she ordered, her smoky whiskey-and-honey voice even huskier than usual. “But do it fast,” she said, tossing him a siren smile over her shoulder; her eyes, almost slumberous in their arousal, watched him through dark, sooty lashes; a brief peek of her tongue moistened her kiss-swollen lips. “People will be waking soon and I have a breakfast to make.”
Jesus, Mary, mother of God . . . The last vestiges of blood in his brain surged downward. His fingers shook with need, unable to rip the buttons of his jeans open fast enough.
“What are you waiting for?” she growled.
He grabbed a condom from his pocket, ripped it open with his teeth, reached inside to free his stiff cock, and sheathed it.
“I’m wet,” she panted. “I’m ready. I want you n—”
He slammed his cock into her wet, welcoming warmth.
“More.” She moaned. “More.”
And he gave her more, again and again. His hands gripped her hips. Harder and faster, intensity built, slamming into her over and over. Maggie spread out on the counter, like a perp waiting to be cuffed.
Then she slid her hand off the cool, marble surface to the slippery, wet heat between her legs. She caressed her sweet, swollen clit, now him, his balls, encircling his shaft with her finger and thumb, feeling its thickness, its girth, its slick, throbbing length as it entered and retreated from her body. “Mmm . . .” she moaned, and then was back to her clit.
She was close, so close. He could feel her body tightening around him, drawing him up, in. His teeth clenched, trying, trying to hold off, to give her time.
“Faster,” she growled. “Harder.”
He reached up, wrapped her ponytail around his fist and slammed his cock into her, all the way to the hilt. A muffled guttural groan was wrenched from her throat as her body convulsed around him, wrenching his orgasm out of him; fireworks exploded, and his knees weakened while the tremors of her body sucked every last drop out of his pulsating cock.
* * *
• • •
MAGGIE TURNED THE oven dial to convection and the temperature to four hundred degrees. Her knees were feeling a little wobbly, probably because of all the nocturnal and early-morning activities. Or maybe the shakiness is a residual after
shock from the violent events of the last two days?
Suddenly it wasn’t just her knees that felt insubstantial.
Don’t even go there, she told herself sternly. She kept her hand flat against the oven for balance as she sucked in some air to try to combat the light-headed feeling that had engulfed her. You are safe and secure now. There’s a guard dog, security up the wazoo, and three professionally trained bodyguards on the premises. Obsessing about why someone wants you dead and whether they’re going to make another move is a waste of time. It’s giving them power over your present and future and allows them to continue to terrorize you. Not okay. Focus on the now.
“So—” She pushed away from the oven, straightened her shoulders, and turned to face Luke. “What did you do after you left the military?”
“Started my own business,” Luke said, handing her a coffee.
“Must have been scary,” Maggie said, allowing the warmth from the mug to comfort and soothe her. She took a sip. “Mmm . . . perfect.” She shut her eyes to savor the taste more fully. It worked. Delicate buds of contentment forced their way through the ice that had momentarily encased her. “A bit of cream and one sugar. How did you know?”
“You were here for dinner.”
“But I dressed my own cup.” She opened her eyes, grateful to be fully in her body again, grateful for his solid presence.
Luke shrugged. “I must have noticed, clocked it subconsciously.” He moved back to the coffee machine, slid his mug under the dispensing spout, and pressed a button.
“Well, thank you,” Maggie said, raising her voice slightly so he could hear it over the grinding of the coffee beans. She laid strips of local, hormone-free bacon on a baking sheet.
“So, yeah, looking back on it, starting my own business was a pretty scary thing to do,” Luke said. “I plowed every penny I had into it, and even then I had to negotiate an enormous loan from the bank. Canned tuna, peanut butter, and beans were my daily diet that first year.” He shook his head. “Still can’t eat them.”
“Note to self,” Maggie said, placing the bacon in the oven. “No peanut butter cookies for Luke.”
Luke laughed. “Yeah, but you can make that killer chocolate cake anytime.” He leaned against the counter and took a sip of coffee.
Maggie paused to enjoy the view of his long, lanky body.
Luke smiled warmly at her, relaxed. “Don’t look at me like that, Maggie, my girl, or you’ll find yourself bent over the counter again.”
Maggie smiled back at him. “Oh no, you don’t,” she said. “No more of your distraction techniques. I want to know what happened next.”
“Party pooper,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee, his eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug.
Maggie opened the spice drawer, removed paprika, onion powder, salt, and ground pepper, added them to the bowl, and then started beating the eggs.
“It was touch and go at the start,” Luke said. “First year and a half was really hard. Small jobs. Low and sometimes no pay. I thought I might go belly-up, but then I landed a big contract when an old buddy who knew my work recommended me to his uncle. I had two weeks to go from a two-man operation to needing ten fully trained men in the field.”
“Wow.”
“Tell me about it,” Luke said, shaking his head. “It was a scramble. I knew a lot of good operators, but if you want good people, you have to pay well, and I didn’t have the money. My buddies came through in a big way. They took a chance on me and showed up, knowing that they might or might not get paid. That it all depended on the client settling his account in a timely manner. If the client had bailed on the bill, I would have been bankrupt. As it was, I had to take out a second loan to pay the expenses for the team during the job.”
“Sounds stressful.”
“It was. I was popping Prilosec like it was penny candy. It was tough, but my guys—they did an amazing job. I owe them a lot.” Luke tipped his head toward the oven. “Want me to flip the bacon?”
“Yes, thanks,” Maggie said. “I forgot it was in there.” She tossed a pat of butter into the frying pan; the aroma rose to her nose. Ah . . . nothing better in the world than the smell of melted butter. “So, what happened next?” she asked, swirling the butter around so it covered the bottom of the pan; then she turned down the heat and poured in the egg mixture.
“Well, that was the turning point,” Luke said, slipping his hand into an oven mitt and removing the sizzling bacon from the oven. “The client paid. He was so pleased with the job we’d done that he kept us on and recommended our services to other Fortune 500 companies. The thing snowballed. I kept the guys on, hired more, and so forth.”
The kitchen door opened and Colt and Gunner entered, bringing the crisp morning air with them.
“Smells good,” Colt said.
“We’re making plenty,” Maggie said. “I was hoping you’d join us.”
Maggie had been too weary yesterday to notice, but Luke’s friends were almost as impressive to look at as Luke. Both of them were tall, rugged men. Hard, lean bodies, handsome as hell, with chiseled cheekbones and tousled hair. They had soulful eyes with long lashes and a slightly bruised quality, as if they had seen too much.
She sometimes saw those shadows in Luke’s eyes.
Maggie turned and studied Luke’s face. “So then what happened?” she asked. “Did someone not pay? Did your business go under? Is that why you—”
“Go under?” Gunner whistled low between his teeth. “Whoo-hoo.” He leaned back, hip against the table. “This is gonna be good.”
Luke shot him a look.
“Would you mind letting my sister know that breakfast is ready?” Maggie said, stepping into the gap. “She’s painting on the bluff out front.”
“You do it, Colt,” Gunner said, grinning. “I’m gonna stay and watch Luke squirm.”
“There will be no squirming. You’re both going,” Luke growled. “Unless you prefer foraging in the woods for your food.”
“Tyrant,” Gunner tossed over his shoulder, and the two men exited the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind them.
“So?” Maggie said, turning back to face him.
Luke’s posture didn’t change. He appeared to be relaxed and comfortable—his face, too—but she could sense the coiled tension within him, feel the waves of wariness spreading outward from his body.
“Tell me,” she said, moving the pan of eggs off the burner on her way to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Whatever it is,” she said, holding him tight, “we’ll deal with it.”
* * *
• • •
LUKE STOOD, ENCIRCLED by her arms, a beautiful ache in his chest. He felt humbled by her faith, her strength, and her courage.
He tipped her chin up, smoothed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Maggie,” he said. “Don’t look so worried. Everything’s okay.”
“Why was Gunner acting funny? There is still something you’re hiding, isn’t there?”
She was so frigging cute. Luke couldn’t stop a chuckle from escaping—which did not help matters.
“Why are you laughing?” she said. “This might be funny to you, but it’s not to me. I care for you. If you’re in trouble, I need to know.”
“I’m not in trouble,” Luke said. “Gunner was teasing me because . . .” Luke paused, unsure how to continue. He didn’t want things to change, for her to regard him differently. Having money was a double-edged sword. He had strived so hard to earn and save and to make the business grow, but after a certain point it was just more money. There was a weight that came with it. A responsibility. And people’s reactions to it? Luke shook his head. Money could destroy relationships, wreck lives.
“Luke?” Maggie said, placing her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
Luke nodded. “Yeah.” He puffed out a breath and dived in. “Lo
ok, the truth of it is, I’m obscenely wealthy.”
“Wealthy?”
“Yeah, and Gunner finds it amusing that I choose to live here, like this,” he said, shrugging, feeling a little embarrassed, a little defiant, too. “Baking bread.”
“Oh.” Maggie nodded. She looked a little dazed.
“I know it seems crazy. People think ‘rich’ and they imagine owning huge mansions all over the world, a large staff, lots of bling, Bentleys, yachts . . .” His voice trailed off.
“No.” She shook her head. Thought about it for a moment. “I think if I were obscenely wealthy, I would do the same. Craft a peaceful life, do what I want in a beautiful environment. Take long walks, cook yummy food. Share good times with family and friends. I wouldn’t want a big old mansion or staff. Although,” she said, laughing, “your house is pretty damned nice.”
Relief washed over Luke, and something that felt suspiciously like joy.
“So you made all this money . . . how?” Maggie asked, her head tilting slightly to the side, eyes trusting.
“My business was security.”
“Security. Yes, you mentioned it at the cottage, but I thought perhaps you’d snagged a job as a security guard in a mall or something. Didn’t know you owned and ran a security company.”
Luke nodded.
“What does that mean, ‘security’? Did you install alarm systems and monitoring, things like that?”
“That does fall under the ‘security’ umbrella. However, the types of security my company offered were advanced, comprehensive security solutions and highly trained operatives to assist organizations and allied governments worldwide manage security risks, sometimes in hostile and complex environments.”
Although Luke rarely spoke of what he had done, he was, in a quiet way, rather proud of what he had accomplished.
However, Maggie didn’t seem impressed. On the contrary, she looked aghast. “Jesus. That sounds extremely dangerous.”