She did not see the storm coming until it struck. She possessed a vivid imagination and she knew how to dream, but nothing could have prepared her for the dizzying rush of sensation that swept through her. When she found herself caged, her back to the wall, Sam’s hands flattened on either side of her head, she knew she wasn’t the only one who had been caught off guard.
She gripped his shoulders and hung on for dear life as she tried to identify and label the fiery rush of sensations. She needed to remember every aspect of the kiss—she needed the words—but it was impossible to keep the emotional distance required to step back and observe. The kiss was fierce, hot, demanding. They were fighting each other for the embrace. When you found yourself in intimate hand-to-hand combat there was no choice but to be fully engaged.
Sam wrenched his mouth off hers and kissed the side of her throat.
“So soft,” he groaned.
He pried his hands away from the wall, gripped her waist, and pulled her tightly against him. After a moment he lifted her off her feet and out of her slippers.
She clenched his shoulders to steady herself. The laughter bubbled out of her.
“I’m not frigid,” she announced.
He stilled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Long story. Some other time.”
“Right. Some other time.”
His mouth came down on hers again. He carried her into the other room—his room—stood her on her feet beside the bed, and undid the sash of her robe. He eased the garment off her shoulders as if he were unveiling a priceless work of art.
She struggled with the front of his shirt. When she finally succeeded in getting it undone, she flattened her hands against his hard chest and threaded her fingers through the crisp hair she found there. His scent was a heady mix of shaving soap, sweat, and the raw essence of Sam Sage. It acted like a tonic on her senses.
He undid the small buttons that closed the front of her nightgown and pushed the silky fabric down over her hips. It pooled on the floor around her bare feet.
He paused long enough to yank the covers down to the foot of the bed, and then he picked her up and settled her on the sheets.
“Don’t go away,” he said.
He turned off the bedside lamp and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard him open a case of some kind—his shaving kit, she decided. When he returned he was nude except for his briefs. She watched him step out of those and sheathe his rigid erection in a prophylactic.
In the next moment he was on the bed beside her, gathering her into his arms. He slid one leg between hers and closed his hand gently over her breast.
“You smell so good,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I can’t get enough of you.”
“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.”
Chapter 28
I found some interesting background information about the legend of the Traveler,” Pru said. “Got paper and a pencil?”
There was the usual crackling on the line and Pru’s voice sounded somewhat tinny and far away, but otherwise the long-distance connection was good.
“Yes, I’m ready.” Maggie pushed the stack of coins to one side of the small shelf beneath the pay phone and made room for her notebook. “Talk fast. I’m calling from a gas station.”