by Debra Dixon
Stopping at the door to a closed room, Beau felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He’d trusted his instincts for too many years to question them now, so he braced himself and twisted the doorknob. The door swung quietly open, adding some light to the drape-darkened room. Beau was reminded of the first time he’d seen Maggie.
Same turquoise scrubs, same sense of loneliness that he wanted to erase. She was sitting cross-legged against the headboard, bent over slightly and hugging a pillow to her chest like a rag doll. When the door bumped the wall, she started and looked toward the noise. Beau flipped on the ceiling light, and then wished he hadn’t. He wasn’t prepared for the wealth of emotion Maggie could convey with her eyes. Or maybe he wasn’t prepared for his reaction to the woman.
If the eyes were the windows of the soul, then he didn’t like the view. Maggie looked as if she’d been to hell and back. Her eyes were swollen and red. Tear tracks were obvious. Despair was there, too, dulling her eyes and haunting her soul. But the most devastating to Beau was the way her expression changed as she recognized him.
The public mask didn’t go up. Instead, relief and longing softened the despair with a flicker of hope. Slowly Beau realized that Maggie wanted him here. For whatever reason, she’d let him inside the walls. And that put him on dangerous ground. He wanted Maggie’s trust. He wanted a part of her the rest of the world would never have.
Selfishly he wanted all of Maggie. Her loyalty, her reckless passion, and the softness that she hoarded. Something about her filled a void within that he hadn’t even recognized in his life. His job made him think, but she made him feel, dragged him off the sidelines and back into the game. Back onto dangerous ground.
Beau knew he’d screwed up. He’d allowed himself to want someone complicated, and now it was too late to walk away. He holstered his gun and waited. When she spoke, her words were so soft, he almost missed them, and they were so honest, they sealed his fate.
“You’re really here.” Maggie still had a death grip on the pillow. “I thought … I thought I’d conjured you up in my mind.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to be alone.” The truth slipped out before Maggie could stop it.
She realized she’d just stripped herself bare emotionally, and she couldn’t manage to care. That “somebody” she’d wanted all her life suddenly had a name and face and voice. And he kept walking into her life when she needed him. Although he lingered in the doorway, there wasn’t anything uncertain about him. There never was. His confidence was as much a part of him as his gun and the badge.
He could read her better than she read herself. He had a sixth sense about her, which meant he probably knew too much. More than she wanted anyone to know.
Where’s your pride, Maggie? she asked herself as Beau stared at her. Trying to recover some of her backbone, she pulled herself together. With a shaky voice she quipped, “As usual, your timing’s impeccable, Chief Grayson. You must have taken a home study course.”
“Don’t.” The command was harsh and angry, startling her.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend you aren’t afraid of something. Not with me. You have to deal with it, Maggie. Whatever it is. Or it’s only going to get worse.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Denying her problem had become such a habit, the lie was easy. “Haven’t you ever heard of PMS? It was just a little crying jag. Nothing serious.”
“Like hell.” He breached the threshold, arrowing straight for her.
In one fluid action, he ripped the pillow from her hands and flung it as he pulled her to her knees, dragging her off the bed and onto her feet. “You’re holed up in a dark room like a fox gone to ground. Baby, you’re not dealing with the problem and you’re going to have to or it’ll destroy you.”
“Careful, Beau, you said that like you cared. I might get the wrong idea and think you had a heart.”
“Do you want me to care, Maggie? When you were conjuring, were you conjuring me? Or would any warm body have done?”
When she didn’t answer he pushed her away, but changed his mind and hauled her back. Closer this time. Maggie steeled herself against the rush of awareness that lit up her senses when his hard body pressed the length of hers. Not that it did any good. She felt like a pinball machine, and Beau knew exactly how and when to tap the flippers to score the most points.
Dropping her gaze to his holster, she concentrated on the gun’s grip. Funny how a weapon seemed less dangerous than Beau at the moment. She couldn’t think when he aimed all that intensity at her.
“Who were you conjuring, Maggie?” Beau asked again, refusing to let it drop. He wanted an answer. He wanted the words.
He moved his hands to her neck and used his thumbs to guide her chin up. Her skin was so soft. The tip of her nose was still pink, her lashes spiky from the tears. He felt her pulse jump beneath his fingers as he forced her to meet his gaze. Every moment since he’d met her had been leading to this one. Right or wrong, he wanted to be inside Maggie.
“Truth time, Maggie May. Are you ready for this? Do you understand what I’m asking? Was it me?”
Suddenly Maggie was back on the edge of that crumbling cliff, pitching forward into space. The decision was made without her ever having considered the options. Her mind had no choice but to follow where her body led. “I knew exactly who I wanted to come through that door. And he did.”
“Careful what you wish for because then you have to deal with me, with what I want.” He gave her one last chance to change her mind, one last chance to stop what was going to happen. “We’re going to end up in that bed, Maggie.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
Beau showed her by taking her mouth with his. There was no finesse, no softness, only need. Without breaking the kiss he curled his fingers in the straps of his holster and peeled it off. Something on the bedside table fell as he shoved the gun onto it. Beau didn’t care, couldn’t care about anything but the feel of Maggie’s body as she rose to meet his kiss and the heat of her mouth.
As he threaded his fingers in her hair, Beau let his tongue slide in, let himself imagine slipping into her, making love to her in long, slow strokes that gradually shifted to a hard, deep rhythm. His hands dropped to her hips, rolling her gently against him, letting her feel how much he wanted her. When he pulled his mouth away, she moaned in disappointment.
Beau shushed her, promising her satisfaction without words as his tongue brushed against her bottom lip. He dropped a kiss on her chin and tasted the skin of her neck, the hollow of her throat. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt as his mouth reclaimed hers.
One good tug and his shirttail slid out of his jeans. His T-shirt would have followed, but Beau grabbed her hands and flattened them on his chest, moving them away from temptation. Not yet. Desire pulsed, and he felt so heavy, so hard. A small tremor of pleasure raced through him as he stroked against her.
Maggie felt him tense against her palms, against her belly. When she realized he was holding himself still, waiting for the pleasure to pass, a surge of power rushed through her. Beau was as affected by her as she was by him. This wasn’t seduction by the numbers; this was raw and real and uncontrollable.
The past was gone; all that remained was the moment, the muscle beneath her fingertips, and the ache that had settled between her legs. Need began to swirl low in her abdomen. She wanted more, and she wanted it now.
“Don’t,” he ordered softly, a second before she moved against him. He rested his forehead against hers and bracketed her hips, holding her motionless.
Then one of his hands strayed to the waist ties of her scrubs. His knuckles brushed against her skin, forcing her to suck in a sharp breath. Maggie held it, waiting, wanting him to get it over with. But he teased her until the suspense was almost unbearable. Then with one tug he pulled anticipation through her and the held breath escaped her as a ragged sigh.
Closing her eyes, Maggie tried
to center herself, tried not to want him so much it hurt. But centering didn’t help. Blood still pounded through her veins, creating an unrelenting pulse at the apex of her thighs. When his hand dipped lower, she was lost.
Beau felt her tremble, felt her hands move to his shoulders, and her legs shift to give him access. But he took his time, exploring slowly. He liked her tiny, impatient moans and the way her fingers alternately tensed and relaxed each time he moved lower. So when his fingertips brushed against springy curls, he stopped. Let her rise to meet his touch. And then he slid a finger over the sensitive nub and into the hot, moist folds, into Maggie.
“You’re already wet.” He breathed the words as part of a groan.
“So do some—ah—thing about it.” Her voice broke in the middle as he took her advice and did something. He gave her another intimate preview of what was to come.
But she wasn’t the only one unsettled as he stroked her. Beau wanted more. He wanted her heat to sheath him. As he pulled his hand away he kissed her again, breaking it once to yank his T-shirt over his head and once to get rid of her scrub top. The pants hung provocatively, showing the curve of her waist and the gentle flare of one hip.
Through the gossamer of her bra he saw the peaks of her nipples and then felt them as twin points of heat against him. When he kissed her this time, his hands found the hooks of her bra, and it soon joined the pile of clothing at their feet. He was aroused and amazed at how easily she melted into him. As if she were made to fit his body.
Her hands moved between them. The badge and his belt followed her bra. He didn’t give her a chance to work on the jeans. He slid his mouth down the column of her neck, across the curve of her breast, toward the peak that nestled against the palm of his hand. Maggie arched into him, silently offering herself.
He’d been right that first day in his office. Her nipples were the color of ripening peaches. His hand lifted her as he traced her aureole and pulled the nipple into his mouth. He could feel her reaction, the tightening of her body, the short, sharp breaths. And his body responded, feeding off of her anticipation. Need throbbed low in his gut. With one last flick of his tongue against the peak, Beau tugged the waistband of her pants, and straightened.
Maggie’s eyes snapped open as the scrubs fell to the floor, leaving her all but naked in front of him. Her eyes locked with Beau’s, and the hunger in them almost scared her. Slowly, deliberately his hand moved to his jeans, drawing her attention. As she watched, he unbuttoned the waistband, a clear erotic signal of his intent. He wasn’t even touching her, and yet she felt the heat building between her legs again, felt herself dampened even more.
“Get on the bed, Maggie.” It wasn’t an order; it was a warning. No turning back.
She eased back onto the bed. When Beau pulled a foil packet out of his wallet, she wasn’t surprised. He was a man who took care of the hard, necessary details of life.
Reading her mind in that eerie way of his, he said, “Since I kissed you.”
Maggie had known then too. That kiss had wrapped itself around their souls. When he shed the rest of his clothes and joined her on the bed, she lost the ability to think beyond the feel of his hard, naked body against hers. All that separated them was a pair of white silk panties.
The pelt of hair across his chest fascinated her. It tapered to a thin line down his stomach. She followed the line, forcing her hand between them until she could grasp him, sliding her hand over his shaft. Sheathing him. Learning the feel of him. Imagining.
Beau gritted his teeth and stripped her panties from her. He rolled her onto her back, settling himself between her legs, the top of his shaft barely pushing into her. He wanted to sink himself so deep that he could never separate himself from her. But that would end it all before it began. The trip wire inside him was stretched so taut that he wasn’t certain he could control the explosion that threatened.
When Maggie arched, taking him another inch inside her heat, Beau groaned. Fast or slow didn’t matter. Right now he had to be as deep as he could get. Right now she was his. Pleasure spiked and receded as he slid home, burying himself in the tight, hot glove.
Maggie gasped as Beau filled her completely, stretching her, forcing a moan of relief from her. “Yes.”
Slowly he stoked, leaning down to kiss her, to capture a nipple. And then the rhythm changed. Maggie met each thrust, showing him what she wanted. What she needed. Beau surrendered. He drove hard and fast, bringing them both to the edge. Maggie’s head tossed as she tried to hold back, but each stroke sent another shower of light over her body until she ignited.
This time her moan was a no, ripped from her as satisfaction burst through her. Her climax wrested Beau’s from his iron control. He thrust deep and let the pleasure take him.
He spent himself in Maggie, claiming her without words. For the first time in his life making a choice without regard to logic or reason.
TWELVE
Maggie drifted back to her body in stages. First, she became aware of Beau’s weight pressing her into the soft mattress, the sound of their breathing, and finally the hum of the fan as it circulated the sultry Louisiana air. Physical reality was the easiest to accept.
The emotional reality rocked her. When she’d asked him how terrible making love with him could be, she’d never imagined this. Never imagined he could destroy her defenses so completely, or that the longing he created in her body would spill over into her heart.
Everything had changed, and nothing had changed. She was still the only one who believed she was innocent. He still had a badge pinned to his soul. And someone was still trying to destroy her life.
“You okay?” he asked, rising up on his forearms.
No, she wasn’t okay. She was shaky, but pretending was easier than the truth. So she swallowed and nodded. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”
His eyes narrowed, and she thought he might challenge her, but he left that fight for another time and rolled away. His jeans scraped against the old hardwood as he scooped them up and left the room. A few seconds later, the bathroom door clicked shut. As quickly as she could, Maggie gathered her own clothes and headed for her bedroom. She wasn’t about to face him in wrinkled scrubs or wrapped in a sheet.
She didn’t want to face him at all. He was too observant, and she didn’t want him to realize she’d done more than fall into bed.
Maggie was afraid she’d fallen in love with the worst possible man.
Beau filled his hands with cold water and splashed his face. Maybe the shock of the water would bring him to his senses. Nothing else seemed to be working. When he grabbed a towel from the rack, Maggie’s scent assailed him. By now the faint gardenia fragrance was as familiar to him as his own aftershave. He dried his face and dropped the towel on the vanity.
Leaning on his hands against the countertop, he stared into the mirror.
The man who stared back looked like a smart guy. Too bad looks were deceiving. That man had just risked his career and compromised his investigation because a woman had become more important to him than anything else.
The idiot had even left his weapon within reach of a suspect. Worse, the idiot had just left his heart within reach of a suspect. Not that Maggie would take it. Not Maggie. He couldn’t imagine that she’d ever asked for anything in her life. She didn’t like disappointment, which meant she’d keep her emotional expectations low. But even the most disciplined loner slipped now and then. Maggie had slipped today—right into his arms, silently asking him to erase the loneliness by wrapping her up in sensation until she couldn’t think about anything else.
Beau had no illusions; he knew he’d simply been in the wrong place at the right time. As far as Maggie was concerned, what happened between them was an accident—an indiscretion that had served its purpose. Now that the crisis was over, she’d start to backslide, convince herself that all they’d had was sex. Plain and simple sex. She’d lower her sights and protect her emotions. Control was too important to Maggie to risk losing her
heart. Now that the deed was done, she’d be running scared.
Fighting for others was different. She could do that and never break a sweat. She could tear a hospital up over nurses’ rights. She could take on a doctor if her patient was slighted, but Maggie wouldn’t ask for kindness for herself or admit that she needed anyone.
She might not know it yet, but she needed him. If not personally, then professionally. Maggie had no idea how much trouble she was in. Unfortunately, he did.
Beau opened the bathroom door, wearing only his jeans, and started toward the guest room. A whisper of noise from her bedroom stopped him cold. He leaned against the wall beside the closed door, rapping once. “Maggie?”
“Give me a few minutes!”
“Why? So you can finish that speech about how you hope we can still be friends? And I tell you I still have to do my job? I don’t think so. Ready or not, Maggie—”
The door swung wide.
“Don’t! I’m not—”
She sat on the edge of the bed, fully clothed in shorts and a sleeveless cotton top. Beau shook his head and shifted to Jean against the jamb. “Not what, Maggie? Not dressed?”
“I’m not ready.”
Her answer struck a nerve in Beau, reminded him that neither of them were in a place to pursue what they’d started. Maggie was still a suspect in a case. Until that situation was resolved, they couldn’t go forward. He couldn’t do a thing about how he felt or how he wanted her to feel.
All he could do would be drive himself crazy remembering how she felt beneath him and wondering how she’d feel on top of him.
“You’re not ready? Well, at least that’s honest. It’s not much but it’s a start,” he said. “So if it’ll make you happy we won’t talk about what just happened in that bedroom down the hall. God knows we have plenty to say without that, but let’s talk outside. I think better in sunshine. I always have.”