Chasing the Sunset(14)

He slid further down in his chair, and propped one boot clad leg on the cherry side table. A small noise had him turning his head to see Maggie come creeping in and replace a book upon the shelves. He must have made a noise of his own, for she gasped and whirled around, her unbound hair swirling in a fragrant cloud around her shoulders.

“Nick?” she said uncertainly, taking a step toward him.

“Stay back,” he said flatly, as he sat up and took another long pull from his friend, the whiskey bottle. “Better yet, go back to bed. Take ‘nother book with you, if you want. Just go.”

The lunar light spilled in from the window and outlined her shape in the thin cotton gown and robe that she was wearing. Outlined it in great detail, he thought woozily.

“Go quick, Maggie,” he said huskily. “Go on, get out of here!” He gestured toward the door with the hand that held the bottle.

“Why, you are drunk as a lord, Nick Revelle!” she said indignantly, putting her fisted hands on slim hips. “What on earth are you doing sitting here in the dark drinking god-knows-what?”

“Should have known it was too good to be true,” Nick said to himself as she advanced on him. “I could not have one moment of peace in m’ own house, now could I?” He managed to get one more swig from the whiskey bottle before she pulled it from his grasp and placed it out of his reach on the side table. The warm sweet scent of her rose up all around him, and he pulled a silky swatch of her hair to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“You always smell so good,” he said dreamily. Maggie straightened slowly, pulling gently as he continued to hold her hair. He let the slippery strands slide through his fingers, then reached out suddenly to pull her sideways down across his lap.

Maggie gasped, and quivered, un-nameable feelings rising in her as she felt the hardness of his thighs under her bottom. She braced her hands against his chest, for her feet were dangling against his shins, and she felt decidedly unsteady. Her eyes met his, and she caught her breath at the heat that blazed from his gaze.

“I told you to go,” he said lightly, holding her captive with his molten gaze. “Too late now. You took away my fun, and now you have to pay the price before I will let you leave, Maggie girl.”

The linen shirt he wore was thin and damp, and Maggie could feel every contour of his chest beneath her palms. Her heart began to beat out a fast rhythm, and she moved her outspread hands experimentally. She stifled a gasp as his hands snaked out to grasp her hips firmly.

“What is the price?” she asked shakily, that strange combination of fear and delight that she always felt in his presence making her hands tremble wildly.

“A kiss, sweet Maggie,” he breathed softly, leaning in so close that she could feel the warm, whiskey-scented exhalations against her cheek. “One little kiss, for me to take to my cold, lonely bed and cuddle up with for the rest of the night. Not too much to ask, is it?”

“N . . . no,” she said huskily, uncertainly. “I guess not, I mean . . . you could kiss me, and then I will . . . I will go to my room.”

“Ah, no,” he said gently, shifting her weight until she fell sideways against his chest with a

little squeak, one of his arms circling her waist, the other still grasping her hip. They were so close now that Maggie had to tilt her head back to see him, and her hands clung to his shoulders for support. His sensual mouth was just inches from hers. The pupils of his fine dark eyes were dilated with drink and lust. If she moved her head fractionally, they would touch, and that thought made panic rise suddenly in her. A knot had lodged in her throat, and she shivered in his arms despite the heat she felt rising off his body. She held his shoulders so tightly that her knuckles began to whiten. Her fear rose up from the depths of her stomach and threatened to choke her, and she knew that he could feel it beginning to take over her consciousness. She saw it in his eyes, saw his passion for begin to gentle, felt it in the way that his hold on her loosened.

“You have to kiss me, little Maggie.”

He placed a quick caress against the side of her mouth, so softly that if her eyes had been closed, she would have wondered if she had imagined it. His big hand rubbed soothingly against her back, and his grip loosened. He pressed his mouth against her temple, touching the pulse that beat so swiftly there. “That is not so bad, is it Maggie?”

She could hear his voice rumble in his chest, hear the pleading tone in his low utterance, could feel the affection in his grip, and knew suddenly that if she tried to get up, he would let her. If she pushed his chest, and slapped his face, he would let her go back to her room, and she would never face any consequences save his shame in the morning. The knot in her throat began to dissolve, and her clamp on his shoulders eased. An unfamiliar lightheadedness made her catch her breath, her fingers fair tingling to burrow through the hair she saw peeking from his unbuttoned shirt.

“No, I can do that,” she said shyly. She turned to face him fully, and leaned forward to quickly put a haphazard, crooked kiss onto his lips. His lips were firm, and dry beneath her own, and Maggie lowered her eyes chastely as she hurriedly pulled her head away.

“There,” she said shakily. “Now I am off to bed, and you need to do the same, for I am sure that you will have the aching head tomorrow, what with . . . “

He chuckled and Maggie felt him shake under her hands. Her eyes flew to him, startled. Her mouth still tingled from the contact with his, and she was not feeling the least bit amused.

“Oh, Maggie, love,” he said, and cupped his hand around her cheek. “I have had better kisses from my dear departed granny.” He laughed again, and held her tightly as Maggie huffed and tried to jump off his lap. “Do not be mad at me, darlin’. Let me show you how it is done.”

Nick lifted his hands away from her and held them in the air, as if to emphasize their innocence.

“I will not even touch you, and you can stop whenever you want. I promise.”

Maggie wavered between common sense and desire, and desire won out. “All right,” she said. “But if I say stop, you stop, all . . . all right?”

He smiled at her, his molasses colored eyes glittering dangerously. “I will put my hands behind my back,” he said. “You just pull away whenever you want to quit, and I will quit.”

Maggie nodded nervously and swallowed hard. Nick angled his head forward to meet hers, and she felt him still smiling as he kissed her sweetly, his lips molding to hers. He tasted of smoke and whiskey, and the combination was not unpleasant. Maggie licked her lips when he drew away, and his eyes followed the move intently.

“All right?” he murmured, and Maggie nodded her assent to continue the kiss. His tongue came out and licked a warm, wet path down the seam of her mouth, and she gasped with the sensation. Nick was quick to follow up his advantage, opening his mouth, pressing more firmly against her. His tongue swept inside her mouth to wrestle with hers, and suddenly Maggie was on fire and she could not get close enough to his body. She pushed her every curve against his warm torso, her breasts against his chest, her arms twining around his neck, and still it was not enough.

Nick kissed his heart out, kissed out his frustration of weeks, his anger at himself, his helplessness at the situation. Maggie twisted and squirmed on his lap, and still she was not close enough. She grasped his shirt in her two hands and squirmed harder.

“More?” he murmured, breathing heavily, his hands going up to still hers.

“Yes,” she said, and leaned back into him. He cradled her face in his hands, controlling the direction of her head, changing the angle so as to get the best feel. She pressed against him more tightly with a moan, her arm pulling him down closer, fingers raking through the thickness of his hair. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts through her lips, and the hoarse sound of her panting set him on fire. He bent her backward and followed her down, buried his face in her throat, nuzzling the soft creases, and Maggie cried out, her body arching up to his, drawing attention to those sweet orbs that haunted his every waking moment, and not a few of his sleeping ones. He cupped a palm around her firm breast, feeling her hardened nipple against his palm, watching her face as he did so. She moaned again, and Nick bent his head to suckle her breast right through the thin cotton of her nightrail, then pulled back to blow on the wet material. Her hands grasped the back of his head frantically, pulling his hair in her frenzied attempt to urge him back down. Nick laughed softly in triumph, put his mouth back to her nipple, and was rewarded with another cry of ecstasy. He stood suddenly, and Maggie’s eyes flew open.

“Please,” she whimpered, but he was only moving to lie her down on the couch that graced one corner of the library. He knelt beside her and buried his head between her breasts, alternating his affection between the two of them, and Maggie tugged on his hair again, wanting, wanting . . . something else. She wanted something to ease this feeling almost of pain she had between her white thighs.

“Please, please,” she begged him. She opened dazed green eyes to stare into his brown ones. “Nick, I . . . “