by Diana Palmer
“I know. But it will work out for the best. Really it will. I only wish my son could forgive me for the past,” she added wistfully. “Maybe it will happen someday.”
“Of course it will,” Maggie assured her. “Janet, am I doing the right thing?” she added, glancing worriedly up the stairs. “For Becky, of course it is. But I…don't love Gabe. And he doesn't love me.”
“Love comes after marriage sometimes,” Janet said. “Give it time, darling. Just give it time.”
Maggie nodded, but she was worried, and not just about the distant future. Gabriel was going to want a physical commitment from her. And despite the desire she felt for him, she wasn't at all sure she was going to be able to give in to him—marriage or no marriage.
She occupied her mind by taking a minute to call Trudie in London, with Gabe's permission, to tell her the news.
Her boss was delighted for her, even though she hated losing her only employee. She made Maggie promise to write her all about it, then launched into delightful details of her European trip. She added that it must be nice to marry a man who could allow his intended transatlantic phone calls.
Maggie agreed that it was, but all the while she was talking about how wonderful it would be for Becky, she worried about what she was walking into. Gabe had been so good to Becky, and to Maggie. He deserved more than gratitude. He deserved a wife who could love him and take care of him and be everything he needed in bed. Would she be able to live up to all that, ever? Or would he regret his impulsive decision to marry her?
Chapter Seven
Gabe had to go out with one of his men to see about a sick bull—a purebred one, apparently, from the worried look on his face—and he still wasn't back when Janet went up to bed, humming delightedly.
Maggie curled up on the sofa in the living room, tucking the full skirt of her candy-striped shirtwaist dress around her slender legs and bare feet. She was halfheartedly watching television when he returned, and her eyes were drawn immediately to the sight of him standing in the doorway.
He always looked different when he was in casual clothes. His denim jeans clung lovingly to the powerful muscles of his long legs. The chambray shirt outlined every hard contour of his chest and arms. The wide-brimmed hat he wore gave his face enticing shadows, and the boots made him even taller than he actually was. Maggie could never get enough of just looking at him. He was so virile, such a—a man.
“I hoped you'd still be up,” he said, closing the door behind him. As an afterthought, he locked it, then, with a wicked smile, stood watching Maggie's disturbed expression as he shucked off the thick leather gloves he was wearing and tossed them aside, along with his hat. “Nervous of me, Margaret?” he taunted gently.
She felt her breath lodge in her throat as he came closer. “A little,” she said. Why try to deny it? Those pale, narrowed eyes saw altogether too much.
“Why? Because I locked the door?”
“Everyone's gone upstairs…to bed,” she faltered.
He stopped just in front of her and searched her green eyes quietly. “I don't want to be interrupted while we're talking.”
“What are we going to talk about?” she asked hesitantly.
He pursed his lips and reached for a cigarette. “Why you're afraid of me, for one thing.”
“I'm just nervous,” she corrected. “Not afraid.”
“They're usually one and the same.” He went to the television and switched it off, then came back and dropped down beside her, pulling an ashtray forward on the chrome and glass coffee table before he leaned back.
He smoked his cigarette in silence for a minute, and she began to relax when he didn't seem intent on pouncing. She hadn't realized just how strung-up she was until then.
“That's better,” he said, glancing at her. “Now, suppose you tell me what's got you so upset.”
She clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at them. “Dennis has accused me of being an unfit mother. He's stating in his custody suit that I'm having an affair with you.”
“Well, honey, we knew he was going to, didn't we?” he asked reasonably.
“Yes, but he's done it! It will make headlines, don't you see?” she asked, her eyes wide with apprehension. “Janet will be hurt!”
His face hardened. “You overestimate my mother's capacity for pain.”
“And you underestimate it,” she countered. “She's a sensitive woman, and her health doesn't seem all that good, Gabe. I don't want to do this to her. Becky's so young, she won't even understand it, but other people will.”
He studied the tip of his cigarette. “It bothers you, what other people think?”
“I know you don't care what they say about you,” she muttered. “But I'm not a man.”
“Thank God,” he drawled. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and took another draw, stretching lazily. “I'm tired,” he said unexpectedly. “I hadn't realized how lazy I've gotten since I've been hanging around the house this past week.”
“You, lazy?” She laughed. “That'll be the day.”
He draped a long arm across the back of the sofa and stared down at her. The shirt pulled taut across his chest, revealing a patch of dark skin and thick hair at the wide opening. Maggie averted her eyes.
“I like that,” he said under his breath. “I like the way you react to me. You can't even hide it. I can see your heart beating from here.”
She swallowed a surge of panic. “You're a very attractive man,” she said evasively.
“No, not really,” he replied. “Just to you, I expect. But as long as that interest is exclusively for me, I won't complain.” He finished the cigarette and stretched back toward the arm of the sofa, his powerful body covering almost all of its length except for where Maggie was sitting.
“Did you mean it, what you told Becky?” she asked, turning her head to look at him.
“Of course I meant it,” he replied. “She needs a stable environment, a family, a place to grow up without pressure. She can have that here. I can give her damn near anything she wants.”
“She loves you,” Maggie said gently.
“I know. It's a pretty big responsibility, being loved,” he replied, leaning forward to crush out his cigarette. “That's why I was honest with her. There will be bad times as there are in any relationship. She had to choose for herself.”
“She's so different around you,” Maggie told him, standing up and staring down at him. “She's always been frightened of men. But she's opened up with you. She laughs and plays—she's not the same shy little girl I brought here. And all this has happened in just over a week.”
“She wasn't happy,” Gabe replied. “She told me. She was afraid her father would take her away from you. Now she's not.” He grinned at her. “I told her what I'd do to him if he tried.”
She relaxed even more, her weary eyes seeking his. “You told everybody we were getting married.”
“Yes, I did, didn't I?” He stretched, easing his back against the arm of the sofa. His pale eyes narrowed, searching her slender body in the colorful dress. “Come here.”
She hesitated. He looked…very sexy like that. Dangerously male.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “I'll let you play with my chest.”
She colored feverishly and glared at him. “Of all the masculine arrogance I've ever seen…”
“You haven't seen anything, yet,” he laughed softly. He reached up unexpectedly with his good arm and jerked, landing her squarely on top of him with such delicious force that it winded her. He held her there with both hands on her waist, immobilizing her with devastating ease.
“Let go of me,” she muttered, panting as she tried to free herself.
“Stop wiggling, Maggie,” he whispered at her ear, “or I'm going to have to do something drastic.”
All at once, as her hips came into contact with his, she began to feel what he was talking about. Stiffening, she tried to move away, but he held her there with one large, lean hand at the base of her spin
e. After a moment her eyes came up to meet his, finding there a wry acknowledgment, and a kind of quiet pride.
“I'm more of a man with you than I've ever been with a woman,” he murmured, holding her shocked gaze. “You can arouse me by walking through a room, for God's sake. I don't even have to touch you.”
“Isn't that…the normal thing with men?” she asked bitterly.
“Not with me, it isn't,” he replied. “I'm thirty-eight. I've reached the age when I have to work up to arousal, as a rule.”
She hadn't realized what an intimate turn the conversation had taken until he said that, and she bit her lower lip. It was vaguely flattering to have him admit such a thing, but it added to the subtle doubts she already had about being able to satisfy him. Love play was one thing; it was delicious with him, and she enjoyed it. But love play wasn't sex.
His lean fingers brushed lightly under her ear, making sweet shivers where they touched. “Relax,” he whispered. “You're all tensed up. There's no need to be defensive with me. I won't take you like this.”
She colored, feeling sixteen again with this devastatingly masculine man. Her fingers pressed lightly against his shoulders as she tried to keep her balance.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “Just relax. It won't hurt to let your body go soft against me, will it?”
“You're…” She hesitated, trying to find the words.
“I'm…?” he teased. He nibbled softly at her earlobe. “I'm aroused? And it embarrasses you to feel it?”
“Yes,” she burst out, burying her face in his throat.
His lean hands spread against her back, smoothing her against him with easy, stroking motions. “Give in, honey,” he whispered, his voice deep, silky. “Just relax. Lie against me and let me feel your heart beating.”
“Gabriel…” Was that her voice, sounding so weak and helpless?
“That's it,” he murmured. He could feel the tenseness going out of her, feel her breasts softly cushioned on his hard chest, feel her legs like silk over his. He reached down to the very base of her spine and moved her softly against his hips, loving the surge of pleasure it gave him.
“Oh, you…mustn't!” she cried. Her body felt hot. Blazing hot.
His face nuzzled against hers until he found her mouth. In the raging silence of the room, the only sounds were her frantic breathing and the slide of cloth on cloth as he brought her even closer and thrust his tongue hungrily into her mouth.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't fight. She gave in all at once, her mind in limbo, her body one long throb of exquisite sensation as his lean hands explored it with a delicious lack of restraint. He touched her in ways he never had before, learning all the soft contours of her body, brushing at her breasts, easing up her dress so he could caress the long, graceful line of her legs.
“Gabriel,” she gasped.
He bit her mouth, his teeth tender, his breath warm and smoky on her swollen lips. “I won't hurt you,” he whispered, turning her ever so slowly under him. His voice was husky with passion, his body vibrant with it. His mouth drew slowly, passionately, over her parted lips, letting her feel every texture of it.
Her body ached. It was a new sensation, different from the other times he'd kissed and touched her. She felt a kind of throbbing excitement all over, as if her skin were wide-awake and every nerve were being stimulated.
Her eyes opened as his lean hand began to work at buttons and fastenings, faintly accusing, faintly shy.
“You have a beautiful body,” he whispered tenderly, holding her eyes. “I want to look at it.”
Her lips parted. “I'm frightened.”
“Yes, I know.” He bent and kissed her with exquisite gentleness. “There's no reason to be. We're going to make a little love, that's all. Just the way we did once before.”
That relaxed her. Yes, she trusted him. He wouldn't hurt her. He wasn't Dennis.
She looked at his shirt, wishing it were out of her way so she could put her hands on his hair-roughened chest and explore its hardness. Her brows drew together in puzzlement. She'd never wanted to do that with anyone.
“What do you want?” he asked as he began the slow, sweet process of separating her from her dress and slip.
“I…want to touch you,” she said dazedly.
A corner of his mouth curved up. “Where?”
She lowered her eyes quickly. “There,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over his shirt.
“Take it off, then,” he murmured dryly.
She'd never done that before, either, but it wasn't so hard. Her slender fingers worked at buttons, struggling them out of buttonholes. Slowly his chest was revealed, all hard muscle and thick black hair and tanned skin. She almost caught her breath at the masculine perfection of it, right down to the firm muscles at his belt.
One of his long legs rested between hers. He shifted her a little, his hands moved, and suddenly she was bare to the hips. She stopped breathing and tried to grab the fabric, but his hands, warm and strong, caught her upper arms and eased her back down.
He shook his head slowly, “None of that,” he whispered softly. “You don't have a single reason to be afraid of me, and I'll never give you one. I only want to kiss your breasts, Maggie.”
Her face flamed. She never would have imagined that sultry look in his pale blue eyes, on that hard face. He smiled as he bent his head to her body; then his mouth opened over her whole breast and took it into the moist, warm darkness.
She trembled. Her hands clasped the back of his head, and as the magic worked on her she pulled him slowly closer. Her body began to move helplessly. She arched a little, her hands tugging.
He lifted his head, and she guided his mouth to the other breast, pulling him down with only a little shyness. The feel of his mouth on her was intoxicating. It made her breath come quickly, it made her body throb. She liked it.
His hands swept slowly down the silky length of her body while his mouth moved to her shoulders and back up her throat to her mouth. Insistent now, he divested her smoothly of the rest of her clothing and began to stroke her in the most unexpected and shocking way.
She started to protest, but his mouth slowly overcame hers, his tongue probing deeply, his hands moving again and finding wildly responsive flesh. She moaned sharply, her nails biting into his shoulders. Then she gasped and opened her eyes.
He lifted his dark head to look down at her with eyes that were as possessive as they were observant of all the exposed cream-and-mauve flesh. “What sweet little noises you make, Maggie mine,” he whispered, smiling into her eyes as the movement of his hands produced some helpless writhing. “That's it, sweet, just lie back and let me show you. No, don't try to get away. I won't hurt you. I won't hurt you, little one. I know exactly what I'm doing.”
And he did. He did! Once, she almost bit through her lower lip as an explosive spasm of pleasure rocked her. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she looked up at him in mute wonder, her body suddenly trembling all over in a fever so hot she couldn't bear it.
He bent and kissed her with exquisite tenderness. “Softly,” he whispered. “So softly, Maggie.”
The kiss echoed his words, was a tasting of mouths that transcended sexual arousal. There was a reverence in it, an unexpected beauty.
He stood up, every movement slow and calculated, and looked down at her helpless trembling as he stripped off his shirt and removed his boots. He turned, letting her see him as he removed everything else as well.
Her eyes possessed him, devouring all that glorious masculinity in a kind of shocked delight. He was tanned all over, hair-roughened muscle rippling with every movement he made. He took a deep breath at the blatant pleasure in her fixed stare and felt himself bristling with pride.
She didn't protest when he lay down beside her. Her slender hands reached for his face, drawing it down until she could give him her mouth.
She trembled as his hands found her soft body and slowly teased it again into the fierce, throbbing subm
ission he'd won from her before. But this time he didn't draw back. He shifted over her, giving her his full weight for an instant before his forearms caught his weight. His sore arm felt the pressure, but he didn't flinch. His body was aching, throbbing, on fire to bury itself in hers. It was an anguish to hold back, to go slow. But he had to. He couldn't frighten her—not now.
His leg coaxed hers to move, to admit the hard shift of his hips against shocked softness. Her eyes opened, and she gasped as the reality of what was going to happen washed over her and brought back all the old fears.
But he sensed that. His hands framed her flushed cheeks, and he kissed her eyelids closed. “God made man and woman to join this way,” he whispered. “Not in animal lust, but in exquisite sharing. I want to give you pleasure. Let me have your body. Let me give you mine.”
She trembled at the tenderness in his deep voice, at the slow, exquisite probing. “Gabe, I'm…frightened!” she cried, her voice a keening mixture of apprehension and desire.
“I won't hurt you,” he breathed. He moved—tenderly—and held her eyes at the same time. “Watch me. That's it, watch me. Feel me, feel my body cherishing yours…”
It was the most incredibly intimate thing she'd ever felt. Never like this with Dennis, who had hurt her and forced her and never taken the slightest care of her body. But it was Gabe, now, Gabe's quiet, hard face above her, Gabe's body so warm and powerful over hers, his skin as hot as her own, his hips gently moving down, his body…penetrating!
Her mouth opened, her breath stopped, at the feel of him. Her eyes mirrored her frank astonishment. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all, it was…Her eyes closed on a moan. It was…tender and slow, and he was…filling her…his body, locking, interlocking, moving, stopping, rising, probing…
His hand moved down her side, his thumb working at the hard nipple on one breast, his mouth tender on her face, adoring it, cherishing it, while his body made a miracle of this unexpected intimacy.
He was breathing as roughly as she was, but every movement was tender, calculated, unselfish. He smoothed back her damp hair as she trembled under him, straining upward, her arms holding him, her voice shaking with tiny, pleasured noises.