Chasing the Sunset

chapter THREE



Maggie stood beside the water and watched the sun go down. She was done with her work for the day, and she was spending a few minutes in the now-familiar bower. She tried to slip away every day to come here, and in the two months since her life-changing encounter with Nick in this very place, she had missed only a few days.

Rays of gold shot out from behind a fluffy cloud and limned the blue with gold. It dappled the water with sparkling flecks of ochre. The color and spectacle of the dying sun was a study in azure and amber, so beautiful it made her ache.This picture that nature had drawn in the sky deserved a series of paintings all its own, and she studied the vision with the fervent joy of a condemned man. She always had the nagging feeling lately that she did not deserve to be this happy, that it all would be taken away from her, and so she threw herself headlong into each new experience, fearing to miss a sunrise, a sunset, the new puppies that Sadie the three-legged hound had in the stables. Maggie had gaped when she had first come across the homely, skinny dog in the stables, for she had never seen such a sight. Nick had told her that when Sadie was a puppy, she had been run over by a carriage. He had been so attached to the ugly little thing that he had taken her to Doctor Fell, who had amputated her crushed leg above the knee and fixed her other hurts. He was glad, he said, that he had done it, for Sadie was the best hunting dog that he had ever had, even with three legs, and a more loyal, loving hound could not be found in all of Missouri. She was renowned in this area, and folks came from miles around just for the chance to get one of her puppies.

The evening breeze kissed her face and ruffled her skirt around her ankles, and Maggie closed her eyes and raised her face, loving the way everything felt when she could not see. When she closed her eyes, all her other senses exploded in delight, making scents and touch ever so very much more potent. The air smelled of warm grass and pine, and she drew the scent deeply into her lungs. She opened her mouth, trying to taste the wind, wondering what flavor it would leave on her tongue. Would it be sweet or sour, salty or bitter? A tart crispness burst on her tongue, reminding her of the sips of wine her mother used to give her at special occasions. She laughed softly, knowing that no wine had ever tasted this good. Maggie hugged her arms around herself and did a little dance of sheer delight. Life was so precious, and she wanted to drink it all up, dance it all up, live it all up. One day she might wake from this beautiful dream, and she wanted plenty of memories to comfort her when that happened. Life was turning into a great big series of wonderful surprises, and she could not wait to stick her hand down into it and drag something else out to play with. She did not want to follow rules that seemed wrong anymore, do things that were contrary to what she believed. She was not safe, no-one ever was despite what they might think, and she would rather be filled with joy and uncertainty for one minute than spend eternity in a fog of gray.

She scuffed her bare feet in the warm grass on her way back to the house, boots dangling from the tips of her finger. A smile just barely turned up the corners of her mouth; her gait was languid and slow, her hips rolling in a way that set Nick’s blood to pumping as he watched her from the end of the path.

His brows drew together in a scowl as he watched her; with her hair mussed and her clothes in disarray, she looked entirely too good to him, as if she had just come from her lover’s bed, and it made him angry that he could not control the sudden upsurge of desire he felt whenever he was in her presence. He was a grown man, for pity’s sake, and he felt seventeen again, always hiding his arousal behind something and praying that no-one would notice. He was as grumpy as a bear with a sore paw, snapping and snarling at anyone who dared to come near, and he was tired as hell of that, too. He knew that he was being a stupid bastard, and he could not seem to stop that, either. He hated this, hated this feeling of not being in command of his own body and thoughts.

Ned had practically told him to go to hell this morning, and Kathleen, that fount of cheerfulness, who never had a harsh word to say to anyone except in jest, had told him to clean up his own damned office if he was going to be so rude. Then she had stomped out, her spine straight as a poker and her sturdy legs pumping so purposefully that they had sent her skirts swinging wildly around her. He grinned to himself, tickled all of a sudden by the memory. Somewhere along the way in her growing up, she had learned restraint. The last time Kathleen had got that angry with him, she had thrown half the contents of the library at him. ‘Course, she had only been eight at the time and he ten, and he had put a bug down her dress, so he had deserved it. He had got a terrible whipping from his mother, along with a lecture on the proper treatment of women, and Kathleen had been sent home early. Come to think of it, he was lucky that she had not thrown the whole library at him this time, because he had the sneaking suspicion that he deserved it.

Maggie looked up and saw him, and a beautiful smile burst into life on her face. Nick felt a pang in his heart at the open welcome apparent on her features. She was absolutely incapable of subterfuge; everything she thought, everything she said, and everything she did was refreshingly honest. There was not a false bone in her whole beautiful body, and she was breaking Nick’s heart. He did not want to believe in her, did not want to believe that any woman could be so genuine and guileless, but Maggie flew through the days like a happy child, running everywhere, excited at every new experience.

Once she had bared her emotions to him on that morning, they had come spilling out in a torrent, and now they just kept coming. She was full of laughter, and love, and delight in the world, and he was afraid for her. She obviously adored him, her new best friend, and he did not want to disappoint her, did not want to make that light in her pretty green eyes go away. She came running to him in the stables ten times a day, eager to show him something, or tell him something, or just to hug Tommy, who soaked up all the attention like a little sponge.

Nick tried to tamp down his desires, tried to put out the fires that burned inside of him, and it was not working. He stared at her so often and so hungrily that every person who saw him look at her knew his innermost thoughts. The only person who did not seem to know what was eating him up was Maggie, and he did not want her to know. He knew that she had been through horrors that he could not even imagine, with that sick, perverted husband of hers, and he did not want to ever again see her look like she did when she had first arrived, all skinny and about to jump out of her skin. He knew that she could not handle what ran through his mind every time he looked at her, with what she had been through, and he was not about to scare her. But her very presence seemed to set his skin on fire and suck all the air from his lungs; he could barely breathe when she was near. Even if it killed him, he would not lay a hand on the girl, he thought grimly. And it just might be the death of him, he thought as she ran toward him now. It just might.

Maggie could not stop the un-ladylike grin that spread across her features when she saw Nick any more than she could stop her steps from quickening as she hastened toward him. She was happy to see him, and what was wrong with that? And being that she was happy to see him, what was wrong with showing it? She laughed out loud with the sheer joy of being alive, of being in the company of this handsome man who was her friend.

“Nick!” she cried. “I vow, the sunset this evening was the most gorgeous I have ever seen. You should have been here.” A smile lit up his austere features, lightening the lines of strain that pulled them tight.

Truly, he is the most handsome man I have ever seen, Maggie thought. Those brown eyes look at me and make me want to melt into a puddle at his feet, like ice on a hot day. Her eyes flicked over him, noting the droplets of sweat that stained his shirt and beaded on his neck. I would like to lick those off, she thought dreamily. I wonder what he would taste like? She blushed to the roots of her hair with the thought, wondering where it came from. Her husband had cured her permanently of any sexual curiosity, she had thought, and she wondered now why the thought of that with Nick did not lately raise in her the disgust she usually associated with the act. In fact, the idea of it sent a hot flush through her, made parts of her ache in a way that she had never felt before. Her pulse thumped, she felt weak, and she had the strangest sort of feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had the oddest urge to lean up against Nick, to rub on him like a cat, to feel his skin touch hers. It would soothe her, somehow, to have him touching her.

Nick could read the dawning interest in her eyes, and he cursed silently.Her thoughts were as clearly visible to him as if someone had written them all over her forehead. Transparent as glass, she was, and innocent as a newborn babe to boot, once married or not. That old deviate had taught her nothing about physical desire, that was for sure, and she was a young, healthy girl, was his Maggie . . . Christ, I cannot take this, he thought. It is hard enough to not touch her as it is, and now this! She was beginning to get inquisitive about the things that went on between men and women, and she was looking to the one person available to her to explain it.

I will not do it, he thought savagely. This is where I draw the line. She can experiment on someone else. That thought sent a twinge of discomfort through him. He did not want her to experiment on someone else. He wanted to see her looking this way at him while she was flat on her back in his bed, those magnificent breasts in his hands. He cursed silently again.This line of thought was getting him nowhere. It certainly was not easing his frustration one whit.

Maggie laid a slender hand on his arm and he flinched slightly, easing away from the tantalizing brush of her hand as unobtrusively as possible. She smiled at him, gently, her eyes lingering with such favor on his features that it almost felt like a stroke on his overheated skin.

“Do you want to go and dabble your feet in the water?” she asked. “It is awfully hot, and you are all . . . sweaty.”

So saying, she took her index finger and ran it slowly through the perspiration on his neck, smiling an enigmatic smile. Nick stared at her finger as if mesmerized.

“I have got to go somewhere,” he said in a dazed manner, his gaze never leaving the hand that had touched him, followed it as she put that same finger, the one that she had run through his sweat, onto her full lower lip, her tongue darting out to meet it, followed it as she brushed it through the soft curls that surrounded her pixie face, followed it as she touched the front of her dress. “I have got to go . . . somewhere.”

He stared at her wildly, she thought. He seemed mesmerized by the way she had licked her finger, so she decided to try it again. Her emerald eyes held his, and she flicked her tongue out again to lick slowly along the length of her finger. She watched a flush of color spread slowly up from his collar, and his mouth twitched.

“Do not play with me, Maggie,” he said in a harsh, low voice. “You do not know what you are doing. I am a grown man, not a little boy. Cut your teeth on someone else.”

”What if I do not want somebody else?” she asked in a husky voice. “What if I want . . . only you?”

His face hardened and became a mask that Maggie could not read. Only his eyes were alive; they licked over her and set her on fire everywhere they touched.

“You cannot have me, little girl,” he said cruelly. “I want a woman, and I only want her in my bed. I have got no other use for them, and you would just go mixing up love and lust.” His eyes met hers. “That is all it is, Maggie. Lust.”

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. Maggie felt her bravery disappear, and she felt her shoulders slump. What did she think that she was doing, anyway? She was not a woman that anyone would want. She imagined that she saw desire on his face. It was only wishful thinking, a mirror of her own thoughts.

“Let’s go back,” Maggie said quietly, when she could no longer meet Nick’s gaze.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go back.”

He set off at a swift pace that soon had them at the house and left Maggie standing on the doorstep all alone, while he went . . . somewhere.

**********************************

“I am sorry, Sally,” Nick said ruefully, his arm crossed over his eyes as he lay naked in her bed. “I do not know what is the matter with me.”

Sally laughed shortly, and reached over him with a plump white arm to the bedside table. She picked up a cheroot from a decorative box.

“Oh, sugar, you do too,” she said in her sweet-as-honey drawl as she lit the little cigar, making acrid smoke swirl around the bed. “Everybody knows about that pretty little thing you have got livin’ at your house. At least show me the courtesy of not lyin’ to me. I thought we were better friends than that.”

Nick lowered his arm to stare at her, at the blonde hair that flowed around sweetly rounded shoulders, at the face that had comforted him many, many nights since the disaster of his wedding.

“We are friends,” he told her. “As good friends as I can ever be with a woman. I did not realize you were dissatisfied with our arrangement, “he said stiffly.

”You thought I would make everything all better again, just like I have done forever,” she said sharply. “Well, I cannot nurse you through every woman in your life, and I will not. Do not cheapen what we have had by using me as your back up woman, Nick. I am worth more than that.”

She held the sheet firmly to herself with one hand, eyeing him defiantly, and he felt a burst of shame. Sally Henderson was a fine woman, and she deserved better than to be used to distance himself from his problems. She was the widow of an old friend of his, and they had naturally turned to each other for consolation when they had needed it. The affair had been mutually beneficial, he had thought, but evidently it was time to move on. He could not sleep with her every time he needed to take the edge off because of Maggie.

Hell, he thought tiredly, he could not sleep with her at all if tonight was anything to go by. He swung his long legs off the edge of the bed. He had been as close to Sally as he could allow himself to be. He brought her presents, he slept with her, and he had maintained their relationship within strict borders. She was his mistress; he was her lover. They did not share secrets; they provided release for each other, and that was all.

“There is obviously something between you two, at least on your part,” Sally said at his back, not unkindly. “You are going to have to deal with it, and not in your usual way,” she said wryly. He could hear the smile in her voice. She was careful to keep it so; she wanted no hint of the chagrin she felt to show. “I am apparently not the solution this time.”

“I should have married you, Sally,” he said, turning and taking her hand. “Why didn’t I?”

“Because I would not have had you,” she told him haughtily, then ruined the effect by grinning broadly. “Anyway, I have been considering getting married again, and not to you. Get on out of here, you. Go talk to that girl.”

She pushed at his shoulder, and Nick leaned to kiss her mouth softly, then brought up both her hands to press a kiss on her white knuckles, one at a time.

“It has been grand, Sally,” he said, a crooked grin twisting the corners of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Sally tossed her hair, giving him a practiced smile that Nick thought bordered on shy. That was almost ridiculous considering the content of their former relationship. Her bright blue eyes met his, then her lashes swept down to cover whatever emotion it was he saw flash briefly in their cerulean depths.

“He is a lucky man, whoever he is.”

“Go on,” she said tartly. “Just go do it. Stop wastin’ time.”

Sally wanted him to leave so that she could indulge herself in a good cry. She thought Nick had been happy with her; they had been lovers for over a year, and she had thought that maybe, just maybe, he had started to need her. That was not the case, she saw now. She had tried every trick in the book, save one, and she refused to ruin her figure by getting pregnant, even for Nick. She had been just a convenience to him, nothing more. She could at least maintain the appearance of giving in gracefully. He would never know how she wanted to rant and scream at him, how she wanted to pound her fists on his chests.

Nick chuckled to himself as he put on his clothes. He was still chuckling as he mounted his horse and started the ride home. Who had have thought it? Sally shoving him out the door, and straight into someone else’s arms. Not that he was going to go into Maggie’s arms.

He whistled softly to himself on the trek home, all of a sudden in a surprisingly good mood. The moon was full, and Jet shied nervously at the shadows cast by the trees, and at the way the wind moaned and rustled through the grass and made it stir as if it were a living creature. The horse whickered softly, and Nick soothed him automatically, making a clucking noise with his tongue. It was a night made for lying naked in bed with your arms close around your lover and whispering secrets, he thought ruefully. Too bad he did not have a lover any longer, or that he did not care to reveal his secrets to anyone. He would have to make do with a whiskey and a book.

Once Jet was put to bed and Nick was slumped in a chair in the library, he rubbed his forehead, sipped his whiskey, and stared moodily at the empty grate of the fireplace. He had not bothered to light a lamp, and it was dark. He preferred it that way, just the moonlight and him. He was going to drink enough to put himself to sleep for once, and he was not going to think of that vulnerable, beautiful, sweet girl who lay sleeping upstairs . . . in a bed that belonged to him, with her perfect breasts unfettered, just waiting for him to . . .

Nick cursed himself savagely, drawing up his sprawled legs to sit up straight and try to ignore the rising evidence of his arousal. His permanent arousal, or so it seemed, except, of course, for when he had the chance to relieve that self-same arousal, he thought sourly. Then what happened? Why, it went away, with but one errant thought of the toffee-haired charmer that haunted his every waking moment. Nick tossed back the whiskey and reached for the bottle to pour another. If he was going to get drunk, he might as well do it right. He tossed that one down, too, and then brought the bottle to his mouth for a long, reckless swig. He gasped and rubbed his mouth on his sleeve. He started to feel warm, so he sprawled back out and loosened the buttons on his fine linen shirt, noticing that his coordination left something to be desired. Oh, well, he thought, and brought the bottle back to his mouth, being drunk has its disadvantages. A crooked grin twisted his mobile mouth, and Nick started to feel a sight better about his situation. He was relaxed for the first time in weeks.

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 . . . “

”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.