Chasing the Sunset(37)

“I do know what is wrong,” he said eventually, his voice not quite steady. “I want you to want only me.” When Maggie made some movement, some protest, he slid his hand over her mouth. “Please let me finish. I know I told you over and over that I did not want you, but I was wrong. I told you to go away, but I lied. I know it is my fault that I drove you away, but Maggie, I wish you would give me another chance. It will be different this time, I promise.”

He tilted back her chin and pressed his lips tenderly to hers, stroking and caressing, and Maggie felt a heat rise up in her that had nothing to do with the fire in front of them. She made an inarticulate noise of pleasure and felt him smile against her mouth before he pulled away.

“That was an apology for that last kiss,” he said.

“Oh, Nick,” Maggie breathed, putting both her hands around his face. “I do want you. Duncan and I . . . “

”You do not have to explain,” Nick said swiftly. “I forgive you, and I want you to be with only me. He is a good-looking, intelligent man, and I can understand you being tempted by him.”

Maggie went very still. “You forgive me?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her quizzically, picking up some nuance in her voice. “For being with Duncan, yes. I know that I drove you away from me. I thought that it was what I wanted. I told you again and again to find someone else”

Maggie pulled herself off his lap and stood up, drawing the blanket back tightly around her. She paced to the window and peered out. The rain showed no signs of letting up, and she bit her lip in vexation. If she had to stay in this room very much longer with him, she was going to beat him in his thick head with the wood from the fire.

“What is wrong?” Nick asked.

Maggie whirled around, fire in her eyes. “What is wrong? What is wrong?” She paced the length of the room, uncaring that her blanket flared open with each step and showed the long length of leg not covered by her chemise. She leaned forward to stab the startled Nick in the chest with a forefinger and took a deep breath.

“Not once, not one time, did you ask me about what happened that night. You never asked me for my version of events, never spoke another word about it. You just pretended that it never happened, froze me with your oh-so-polite conversation, and now, now, you so magnanimously forgive me. What a good man you are, Nick,” she finished derisively, flinging one last scornful look at him from over her shoulder as she went to stand at the window and look out at the driving rain. She kept her back to him to hide her look of pain from him; she did not want the man to see her cry ever again. She had already cried a river in front of him.

“So what happened that night, Maggie?” he asked softly from behind her.

“You are so smart,” she flung at him acidly, not moving from her position by the window,

clenching her trembling hands on the blanket. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I am asking you, Maggie,” he said from a spot so close behind her that she could feel his breath on her neck. Maggie shuddered as craving for him lurched through her body.

“Maybe it is a few days too late, but I am asking, Maggie.” His voice was even. There were questions about that night he wanted answered. The distance of days had taken some of the blinding anger out of the way of his reasoning powers, and he wondered why Tommy had not been in his room when he had gone to check on him, afraid that the youngster might have been frightened by all of the noise. And he remembered, now that the flush of fury and hurt had passed and he could think about it a little more clearly, that he could swear that three of his horses had been missing from their stalls.

She whirled on him, lifting her chin pugnaciously. His eyes held a plea, and she hardened her heart against him. If she did not stand her ground on this, nothing would ever change between them. She would not settle for second-best, not this time. She had come much too far to let that happen ever again.

“And I am asking you to trust me,” she said levelly. “To trust me, Nick, when I say that I cannot give you any explanations, but it was not what you thought.”

“That is asking a lot from me, Maggie,” he said slowly, his brown velvet eyes never breaking away from hers.

“Yes,” Maggie said. “It is. But that is what trust is all about, Nick. Not evidence. Faith in each other.” She did not back down, would not be the first one to look away. “I believe you when you say Martha Fawcett is not your lover. I do not ask you for proof, because I trust you. I have faith in you. Please do me the same courtesy, Nick." Her eyes pleaded with him, and looking at her, he was lost in their shimmering depths. "Trust me.”

And just like that, he did. He realized that he would believe whatever Maggie told him, no matter what evidence his eyes might have collected, because he did have faith in her. The revelation perplexed him. And because he could not think of anything else to do and because he so wanted to, he reached out and drew a sensuous line along the swell of breast revealed by the damp chemise and coarse blanket.

“You are the most honest woman I have ever met. It is hard going against what my experience has taught me, Maggie, but I have discovered that you are like no woman I ever met, and I cannot categorize you. You change like quicksilver in my hands,” he said hoarsely. “I feel like a green boy when you are around. With you, I feel as if this were all new to me, as if no woman ever came before you.” He cradled her soft cheek in his rough hand. “I do trust you, Maggie.”

Maggie felt a spurt of shame at his words. Her conscience smote her; she was entreating him to trust her when she did not trust all of her own secrets to him. He did not deserve that from her. She bit her lip. She would tell him, right now, she would tell him what had really happened with her husband and they would work it out together.

“Nick, I . . .”

His hand went to her mouth. “Ssshhh. No more words. No more explanations. Just you and me, together here and now.” His eyes were full of promise, of the words he could not bring himself to say.

He reached out for her, and the words that Maggie wanted to give him died in her throat. She could not think when he stroked her like this. He pulled her close, his arms clasping her gently. His hands slid down and cupped her buttocks in his hands, lifting her up, and she drew in her breath, her eyes flying to his, when she realized that he was already aroused and ready for her. He smiled wryly at her.

“Oh, yes, Maggie, I have been like that the whole time. Since I put you on the horse in front of me. I burn for you. Feel how I burn for you,” he whispered into her throat. Maggie moaned and threw her head back, forgetting all about the confession that she wanted to make to him. Nick took full advantage of the position that exposed the long lines of her neck. He buried his face in the sensitive hollow there, biting and caressing as Maggie quivered in his arms.

“Lie down with me,” he beseeched her. “Let me love you.”

Maggie nodded, incapable of speech. She, too, was on fire for him, burned for him, ached for him to be inside her. She thought that she would die soon if she did not have him, thought that her soul would wither and perish in the fiery heat of her passion if she did not find an outlet for it. Her eyes clung to him, loving him, caressing him avidly when he spread out blankets in front of the fire to make a bed for them to lie upon.

When he pulled off his shirt to expose his muscular chest, her mouth fairly watered to touch him. The hair on his chest grew in a V and disappeared into his trousers, and her fingers itched to explore him. She went to him without protest when he held out his hand, and she did not demur when he pulled her chemise over her head and divested her of her drawers, leaving her naked to his view.

Nick trembled. He could not believe that she was here like this with him. He was afraid that he would wake up in his lonely bed and this would just be another dream, and he would be once again unfulfilled. He put out his hand and touched the warm silk of her skin. He felt almost reverential at this moment, and he wondered if she realized just how gorgeous that her body was. She was a tall, long-legged beauty, with curving hips and a tiny waist. She had the sleekest, smoothest skin that he had ever touched, and her breasts, ah, her breasts . . . he sucked in his breath as he looked at the coral tips of her beautiful bosom.

“You are so beautiful, Maggie,” he breathed, and cupped her breasts in his hands. “I have wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed. “Since I first met you. You have the most beautiful breasts that I have ever seen.”

Maggie’s hands went shyly to the opening of his pants. “You, too,” she said. “It is not fair that I am naked and you are not.”

He laughed softly. “You do it,” he said, and lay down on the blankets, his eyes glinting at her wickedly.

Maggie pulled his boots off and threw them carelessly away, her impatient fingers going straight back to the fastening of his pants, nearly ripping them off in her haste to free him from them. Her hands trembled, and she panted as she finally got them off of his long legs. Full of wonder, she put out a hand and stroked the lustrous skin of his stomach, then let her hand wander slowly downward. Nick groaned with pleasure, so she did it again, slowly, liking the way his skin felt to her touch.