Chasing the Sunset(15)

”I know,” he said. His hand slid down her body slowly, and Maggie’s stomach convulsed under his touch. “You hurt . . . here.” Nick’s hand came to a rest between her thighs, and Maggie gripped it tightly between clenched legs with a cry.

“Ssshhh, ssshhh . . . “he whispered, and went to his knees beside her. “I will make it all better for you, I promise.” He bent to kiss her again with drugging slowness, his mouth dragging hard against hers and lingering. “Say you will let me, sweet Maggie . . . let me make you feel good.” He shared his breath with her, moved his head to lick the delicate whorl of her ear, and then whisper into it. “Let me, please, Maggie.”

She nodded, incapable of speech, and he kissed her again while his hand pulled up her nightrail and stroked the satiny smoothness of her inner thigh. Nick laid his head on her stomach, and traced a finger into the warm, wet recess between her legs. He stroked her, round and round gently, then more firmly. Maggie’s back arched up sharply as he inserted first one finger,

then the other, never ceasing his relentless fondling.

“Nick!” she cried. “Oh, that feels . . . “Then conversation was lost to her as her world shattered into a million pieces, and she could only let out an inarticulate scream of pleasure. She clamped her thighs around his hand, and still he stroked, never ceasing until her whole universe shattered again and again, and her only thought was the pleasure she felt in the damp folds between her thighs.

After what seemed an eternity, she fell back limply against the couch, hair soaking wet with sweat, still breathing harshly. She opened heavy-lidded eyes when she felt Nick’s head lie upon her breast, pressing random kisses against her sensitive nipple. Her hand slid through his hair to the wet skin at the back of his neck and she felt him shiver and stiffen at her touch. His hand came out to grasp hers and pull it firmly to his chest as he rocked back on his knees to smile crookedly at her.

"I vow, Maggie . . . “His eyes smiled into hers. “You take my breath away.”

“I was going to say that,” Maggie whispered, and felt the heat of a blush rise through her whole body. She was suddenly conscious of her disordered clothing, and she pulled down her nightrail to cover her legs. When she tried to pull her other hand away from Nick’ grip, he would not let her.

“Do not,” he said huskily. “Do not be embarrassed, or shamed. You did not do anything wrong. I tricked you into this, but I am not really sorry. I am glad you let me please you. I would not trade that for anything, Maggie.” He pulled her hand up to place a kiss in her work-worn palm, and Maggie shivered and felt another unexpected twinge between her thighs.

“What . . . “She cleared her throat. “What about you? You . . . you did not . . . even I know . . . “ Maggie gave up trying to explain what she meant, blushed even harder, and indicated his obviously still-powerfully-aroused body with a wave of her hand.

“I do not have to,” he told her, and helped her to a sitting position. “I wanted to make you feel good. I wanted you to know that it could be good between a man and a woman. Oh, hell, Maggie, I drank too much whiskey tonight,” he said, and rubbed a rueful hand through his hair. “But not enough that I wanted to leave you with child, or make you hate me. I do not want you to leave. I do not want you to stop being my friend.”

“I will not leave,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “But I could still . . . “Her hands reached out to stroke him, and Nick groaned and thrust his hips helplessly against her hands, then held himself away.

“No,” he said with a crooked smile. “I cannot believe I am telling you this, but no. Don’t press your luck, Maggie. I have only got so much control. Go to bed, and sleep, Maggie. Just forget this . . . just forget about this ever happening. ”

He helped her to her feet and shooed her out the door of the library, returning to sit on the couch which still held the scent of her; the smell of arousal lingered in the air and all around him. He wondered cynically if he could take his own advice. He doubted it. He doubted very seriously if he would ever forget the events of this night.

Maggie hugged her pillow to herself in her bed and smiled sleepily, the warmth that she felt having little to do with the temperature outside. Forget tonight? She never would . . . and neither would Nick. She had found out tonight that he desired her just as much as she desired him, and she could make him forget his principles and love her the way she was meant to be loved. She had been married once, had gone the respectable route, and it had been a nightmare. She was never going to do that again. She wanted Nick in her bed without benefit of clergy, and she would have him there if it took her all the rest of her days. She no longer cared about other people’s perceptions of events, only her own, and she would be his mistress. She’d had enough of marriage and all the cruelties it entailed; a wife was her husband’s property, like a cow or a dog. Ownership of everything was transferred to him when they were married, and he could do anything he wanted with it and with her. What did women need with money? A husband could provide anything that she needed.

A small, enigmatic smile curved her lips. No, no more husbands for her, not ever. But a lover, now that was another thing entirely.





FOUR



Maggie rolled over and punched her pillow viciously, her mood a far cry from her smugly complacent one three weeks ago, after her interlude with Nick in the library. She cursed fiercely under her breath, using words that her poor sainted mother had probably never even heard. Why, she would have died of apoplexy on the spot if she had ever heard Maggie talk this way, and she’d had no idea that Maggie had often hung around the docks when she was supposed to be safe and snug in Colette’s home two doors down.

Maggie smiled, temporarily appeased, as she thought of the fine chase that she and Colette had led their mothers upon. They had often told their mothers they would be playing in the other’s house, when in reality they were headed straight for the docks and adventure. That was where Maggie had picked up her colorful language, and she wondered if Colette still used all those fine, descriptive words when she was angry, or if life ... or her husband ... had beaten all that lovely defiance right out of her. Colette had gotten married right before she had left St. Louis, to the oldest son of a highly respected merchant. Jeffrey, his name was, and he had adored Colette since he was in short pants. Maggie had been invited to the wedding, but she had not been allowed to go, of course. In fact, she had been beaten just for asking. She closed her mind to those old memories. They had no power to hurt her here.

Maggie flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, her skin so hot that she felt as if her chemise might burst into flames at any second. She suddenly sat up and stripped it off defiantly, throwing the poor abused chemise onto the floor before she sprawled in a wanton display of naked limbs on her disordered bed. Who would know that she was sleeping naked? Not Nick, that was for sure, she thought sourly. She had been so positive she could entice him to her bed, so confident, but it was hard to seduce someone who was never around, and when he was around he was never alone with her. He had stopped his practice of eating in the kitchen to sit at the massive oak table of the dining room, and he had brought home everyone in the county to have dinner with him. He had brought home horse traders, neighbors, even Uncle Ned who normally ate in the kitchen with her had to have a meal with Nick. Why, she wagered he locked his door at night and wedged a chair under the shiny doorknob that she scrubbed so diligently once a week, just for safe measure!

Arrogant, aggravating man! Just when you thought you had him figured out, he went and turned out to be some noble . . . idiot! Maggie’s pulse thundered hotly in her neck, feeling as if something were struggling to get out, as if she were nothing but some great big cocoon with the real her hidden inside . . . and it was time to come out. The thump-thump of her pulse could be nothing but her new wings beating madly inside, trying to find an exit.

She smiled faintly at her fantasy, and felt the tiniest bit cooler. Why, oh why, could nothing go her way? Had she not suffered enough? Was she not to be allowed any happiness at all in her life? Nick wanted her, she knew it, and he was deciding what was best for her. She just would not have it. It was shameful, the way he just went ahead and did what he thought was right for her, and she was going to bring it to his attention . . . just as soon as she could catch him alone. Her mouth twisted wryly. The way her luck was running right now, that was going to be around the beginning of the next century.

She grinned to herself, then giggled out loud at the picture her imagination conjured up.

Her bent and wizened, walking slowly but persistently after a gray-bearded Nick, who wobbled alarmingly on his cane as he struggled to get away.

Maggie flung herself out of the bed to stand naked in her window, hoping to find a breeze. She felt a sneaking thrill at her own scandalous behavior. If she was going to go her own way and be naughty, she might as well start doing what she liked in other ways, too, she thought defiantly. It was hot and clothes were just a . . . a damned nuisance when it was so sweltering! Maggie grinned. Her mother was probably spinning in her grave. They were both probably up in heaven, right now, Ma in a fine snit, with Da patting her hand the way that he always did when she was upset.