When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(52)

“I’m glad”—she stroked her palm down his chest, exploring him—“because I want more of you, too.”

“Good. Perfect.”

The edge of his tongue dampened the peak of her breast, and his hand eased down her body, over the curve of her hip, and into the wet heat between her thighs.

She took a sharp, startled breath when he began to stroke her. Again he stilled. He raised his head and looked down at her. His eyes burned in the shadows.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No.” She moved against his hand. “I just wasn’t expecting you to touch me there.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

“There.” She grabbed his hand and held it in place. “Right there.”

His laugh was hoarse and quickly changed into a groan. The pressure of his hand became more insistent, more demanding. She could feel an exciting tension deep inside. Anticipation gave way to desperation.

“More,” she said.

“Come for me first.” His voice was a soft rasp that set all her senses on fire. “I want you to come harder than you’ve ever come before. Then I’m going to find out what it feels like to be inside you.”

In the end she did not know whether it was the thrilling pressure of his hand or the sensual demand in his voice that sent her over the edge. The orgasm was upon her before she realized what was happening, at once surprising and satisfying.

“Yes,” he said against her throat. “Just like that.”

She was still savoring the unfamiliar but delightful sensation when he moved on top of her and thrust heavily into her soaking-wet, highly sensitized body. She flinched, but the shock of his entry was unexpectedly satisfying, too. It felt right.

When his own climax pounded through him a short time later, she held him close. He collapsed on top of her, his face in the pillow. She lay quietly for a moment, marveling at the strange and astonishingly intimate energy that whispered in the atmosphere. It was as if the act of sex had opened up a new connection between them. It was probably her imagination; nevertheless, she needed to get the feeling down while it was still fresh.

Words. She needed words. Her notebook was in the other room.

She started to edge out from under Sam’s weight.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said.





Chapter 27




Sam reluctantly rolled away from Maggie’s warm, damp body and retreated briefly into the bathroom. When he returned he collapsed onto the bed and gathered her close against his side. She felt good. Soft, warm, damp with perspiration and the heat of sex. Everything about her felt right. But the mysteries of Maggie Lodge remained. He needed answers.

“What the hell made you think you were frigid?” he asked.

She levered herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. “It was one of two theories that the doctors and therapists came up with to explain my reluctance to get married. I preferred frigidity to the other one.”

“Which was?”

“Female hysteria. They don’t put you in an asylum because you’re frigid. That’s just a sexual problem. But hysteria can get you locked up.”

“I see. Well, given what you’ve been through recently—two suspicious deaths, an encounter with the obsessed doctor who once tried to poison you, and a midnight meeting with a nightclub owner who probably has mob connections—I think it’s safe to say you are not suffering from hysteria.”

She smiled. “That is, of course, a great relief, especially coming from a professional such as yourself.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen people of every gender get hysterical. You’re not the type. Also, I’m not a doctor, but I could have told you before we did what we just did that you aren’t frigid, either.”

“You knew that all along?”

“From the moment you walked into my office.”

She folded her arms on top of his chest and rested her chin on her hands. “That’s very interesting. What made you so sure?”

He smiled a little. “Intuition.”

“To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t so sure that I didn’t have a problem in that department. I’ve never had conclusive proof that I wasn’t frigid, you see. Not until tonight, that is.”

It took him a beat to realize what she was saying.

“You’ve never had a climax?” he asked.

“Nope. Not until a few minutes ago.”

He thought about that. “You said you came dangerously close to getting married.”

“I did. And when I called off the wedding, my ex-fiancé informed everyone it was because I was both frigid and inclined toward hysteria.”

“Damn. No wonder you aren’t interested in marriage.”

Maggie smiled a slow, seductive smile. “Luckily it turns out I’m good at the sinning thing.”

He wanted to ask more questions, but something told him this was not the time. He wrapped a palm around the back of her head.

“Yes, you are. You are very, very good at it,” he said. “I’m starting to think I might have a talent for it, too.”

“More than a talent. I do believe you’ve got a psychic gift for this kind of sinning.”