Rage of Passion Page 11

  “It isn't sex, is it?” he whispered at her ear.

  “No,” she agreed in a voice high-pitched with building pleasure. “Oh, Gabe…it's…not!”

  His hips moved now in a slow, building rhythm, his skin gently abrasive against hers, his dampness clinging to hers, the sofa cushions shifting beneath them with the hard, sharp movements.

  “When it…happens,” he whispered urgently, “don't…cry out. Bite me, claw me, but don't…cry out, they'll hear us.”

  “Gabriel.” She was weeping, her voice thick with tears she didn't understand. Her body was like a puppet's, manipulated by his, possessed by his. She followed his movements with desperate abandon, blind with pleasure, her nails scoring him, her teeth against his hard shoulder, her tongue tasting his damp, salty flesh.

  It was sudden. Like a flash of lightning, like summer hail. All at once, blinding colors came rushing down on her in a hot, sweet flood, and she threw back her head, arched her body in a tension that had to be fatal as it curled up inside her like locked steel. She made a sound she couldn't hear, burying it against his skin, and her body began to echo the sudden feverish, rough motions of his.

  Crashing together, she thought in the back of her mind. Crashing together, we'll hurt each other!

  Somewhere in the middle of the thought, her body burst into sweet flames. She heard his deep voice, biting back a harsh groan, felt him over her, felt him convulsing. Her mind welcomed the sudden oblivion that washed over her, the sweet pulsing aftermath of something she didn't even understand.

  She was damp all over. It was hard to breathe. Her heartbeat was shaking her, like his, and she was so tired. So tired.

  Her arms curled around his neck, and she began to kiss him languorously. On his chest, his shoulders, his chin, everywhere she could reach. Brief, adoring kisses that tasted salt and cologne and pure man.

  “You made love to me,” she whispered. She sounded and felt awed.

  “Yes.” His hands drew her with him as he shifted onto his back with a heavy, shuddering sigh. “Never like that, Maggie. Never in my life.”

  “I thought we were going to hurt each other, at the last,” she murmured drowsily. “It was so…violent.”

  “Violence, out of such tenderness,” he mused, giving a shaky laugh. “Oh, God, I cherished you,” he breathed fervently, crushing her against him. “Cherished you with every part of me!”

  She trembled at the emotion in his hard voice, at the feel of him, the scent of him. She clung, nuzzling her face against his with tears staining her cheeks. “I don't mind anymore.”

  He frowned. “Mind what?”

  “If Dennis accuses us of being lovers,” she whispered at his ear. “I feel like shouting it to the world, telling everyone what a wonderful lover you are.”

  He nipped her ear. “My mother would be shocked. She didn't raise me to seduce women in her parlor.”

  She lifted her head and looked around, dazed. “Oh, my goodness,” she faltered, glancing down at him.

  “Shocking, isn't it?” he murmured with a smile, looking down at the scattered clothing. He looked back up at her. “Shocking. And good. Right. Like marriage is going to be.”

  “You don't have to marry me,” she began.

  “I want to be with you,” he said simply. “Night and day. What we've just done is going to color our lives from now on. Lovers are pretty transparent,” he added quietly. “I'd lay odds the whole household, except for Becky, will know the minute they see us what we've done together.”

  “Oh, no,” she moaned, hiding her face.

  “Don't be embarrassed,” he said, smoothing back her thick short hair with a gentle hand. “It isn't proper to be ashamed of something that beautiful. You're my woman now. My wife. I'm going to take care of you and Becky as long as I live. And you and I are going to build a good life together.”

  “It's asking a lot, for you to take on a ready-made family,” she said softly.

  “I like my ready-made family.” He laughed. “Becky's a spunky little thing. I'll enjoy being her father. Just as I'll enjoy being a father to our other children,” he added, tilting her face up to his. “Do you want that, to have children with me?”

  Her eyes widened. It seemed natural, now, to discuss such a thing. She found the thought not at all distasteful and wondered why. She didn't love him. She was attracted to him, she liked him. He didn't love her. He felt a sexual attraction and affection for her. But the way they'd loved…it had felt like loving.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “I want to have your child.”

  The words sounded so profound coming from her lips that he trembled. The involuntary movement of his body shocked him, and he frowned. This was getting out of hand. He'd wanted her; he'd had her. But he still wanted her. And that question about children had been an impulse, not something he'd consciously thought about. But it was exciting to consider making her pregnant. Deliberately…making her pregnant. His heart began to shake him.

  She saw the look and didn't understand it. Her eyes searched his curiously.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked softly.

  “I was thinking about making you pregnant,” he said, his face growing taut. “It…arouses me.”

  She smiled delightedly. That must be a good sign. “I'm still on the pill.”

  “And I didn't mean I wanted to start a new family tonight,” he said, recovering his senses. He chuckled as he sat up, drawing her next to him. “We need to get married and get used to each other before we take that step. Becky will adjust better if she has us to herself for a while.”

  Amazing, how perceptive he was. She touched his face gently. “You were like her, as a child, weren't you?” she asked. “Shy and alone and a little sad.”

  His jaw tensed. “Yes.”

  “I didn't mean to pry.”

  He sighed, drawing her palm to his mouth. “I'm not used to sharing things,” he said. “Especially not emotions. Give me time. I've been a pretty private person up until now.”

  “So have I,” she confessed. Like caressing fingers, her eyes moved over him with sudden possession. “I never liked looking at him,” she said absently, and then flushed when he chuckled.

  “I like that scarlet blush,” he murmured, drawing her against him. “I'll miss it.”

  “You sound as if you're planning a cure for it,” she teased.

  “Oh, when I get through with you, Mrs. Coleman-to-be, you'll be shockproof.” He bent his mouth to her ear to whisper something, and she gasped. He took the sound into his mouth, twisting it sensuously, and she gripped his arms with helpless pleasure.

  He drew his mouth away, the expression on his face both explicit and reluctant.

  “I want to have you again,” he said quietly. “But I don't think it's a good idea.”

  She stared at him, waiting for him to tell her why, the question in her eyes.

  He touched her mouth gently with a lean forefinger. “I didn't plan this. I was going to make a little light love to you, but it got out of hand. I wanted everything to be perfect when we married, complete with a wedding night. I've robbed you of that.”

  “Men aren't supposed to feel guilty about seducing women,” she reminded him.

  “I feel as if I've seduced a virgin,” he whispered, searching her shocked eyes. “And one lapse is all there's going to be, Margaret. I won't take you again until you're wearing my ring. And I think, deep down, you like that.”

  Deep down, she did. She stared at his hard, craggy face with new eyes. He saw so much that was buried beneath the surface. He seemed to read her thoughts.

  “I like very much what you did to me,” she whispered. “And I…I'll like it if you…if you do it every night after we marry.”

  He bent to her mouth, kissing it with soft reverence. “No more fears?”

  She shook her head. “How could I ever be afraid, after…that?”

  “Because I won't always be that tender,” he said matter-of-factly, his eyes quiet and narrow. “Ev
entually, I'll want you to match my own passion. I'll want something a little wilder and hotter than tonight. This time was expressly for you. I loved it—don't get me wrong. But it isn't what I like.”

  She colored. “What do you like?”

  He searched her eyes. “After we're married, I'll show you.”

  She felt a little apprehensive then. Would he be demanding? Cruel? Would he want to hurt her?

  “Damn it,” he snapped, glaring. “Not like…that! For God's sake, I'm talking about lovemaking, not Oriental torture!”

  She bit her lip. “I'm sorry. I know very little about it.”

  “Yes, I know. I'm sorry, too. I'm so damned hungry!” He turned her, ignoring the twinge of pain in his arm, and jerked her over him so that she was facing him in his lap, her hips pressed blatantly against his. “Feel me,” he said in a rough whisper.

  Her lips parted. “I don't mind—”

  “Well, I do.” He lifted her away and got to his feet, bristling with masculine frustration as he jerked up his clothing.

  Maggie watched him as she slipped into her own things, admiring the fluid grace of his body as he dressed with deft, sure motions.

  “You're very good to look at,” she said absently.

  “I'm in a temper,” he grumbled. “Don't push your luck.”

  “Why? What will you do?” she teased softly, smiling.

  He glared at her. “Do you really want to know?” He leaned down, his shirt unbuttoned, and put his hands on either side of her. With his hair tumbling over his forehead, his mouth swollen, his eyes narrowed, he was so sensuous that she wanted to reach up and kiss that hard mouth senseless.

  “Yes,” she challenged.

  “I'll throw you on the carpet,” he whispered with mock fury, “where I'll strip you and ravish you until you scream for help.”

  “Ravish me how?” she whispered back, her lips parted. “Show me.”

  His breath caught in his throat. She had potential. There was passion in her. It had been crushed out, but he could revive it. He could make her burn for him. He knew he could.

  He bent and rubbed his open mouth against hers in a rough, inciting caress. “Like that,” he murmured. “And this.” His tongue teased around her lips, probing in quick thrusts until she lifted toward him with a tiny moan.

  But he drew back, smiling rakishly. “Next time,” he said, watching her, “We'll have to have a radio beside us, to drown you out. You're noisy.”

  “If I am, it's your fault,” she shot back, and laughed. Her hair was in a tangle, her makeup gone, but she was still a dish. “You did all those shocking things to me.”

  “Were they shocking?” he asked curiously.

  She lowered her eyes to his broad, sexy chest. “I felt pleasure. That was shocking,” she corrected. “I loved it. Every second of it. I didn't think women were supposed to really enjoy it.”

  “My God, he was a basket case, wasn't he?” he asked curtly.

  “Emotionally, I guess he was. And is. I feel halfway sorry for his wife.” She looked up. “He'll hate the idea of Becky being here. He'll fight it with every dirty trick he can find. He was always jealous of you, even though there had never been anything between us. My parents adored you. They were always talking about you.”

  He smiled. “I liked them, too. Let me worry about your animal of an ex-husband.” He pulled her to her feet and held her close to his lean, relaxed body. “You just worry about me.”

  She slid her arms around his neck. “I want to make love to you,” she said with unexpected passion, searching his eyes. “I want to give you as much pleasure as you gave me.”

  “You did,” he said, stunned. “Didn't you know?”

  She colored a little. “You were…very quiet.”

  “I always am,” he replied softly. “But I felt it all the same. You felt it just before I did,” he added with a gentle smile. “I don't imagine you had the presence of mind to notice what was happening to me. I felt your body shuddering….”

  “Don't,” she whispered, pressing close.

  “It shouldn't embarrass you to talk about it,” he said at her ear, smoothing the dress against her back.

  “I'll get used to it,” she promised. “But it's all so new.”

  “Yes.” Everything seemed to be, with her. He closed his eyes as he rested his cheek against her hair. It smelled of flowers. So did she. Her body was soft and warm, and his began reacting to it all over again.

  And this time, when she felt it, she laughed delightedly.

  “You witch!” he cried, shocked into laughing himself. “I thought you were too shy to talk about it.”

  “I'm only shy, not numb,” she teased, and moved even closer. “Gabe, I love it when…this happens. I love being a woman.”

  His chest expanded until he thought it was going to burst. “We'd better say good night before I lose my head again.” He lifted his face and searched her eyes. “I'm sorry if I forced this on you. I want to marry you. But I didn't mean to back you into a corner.”

  She touched his shirt. “Actually it wasn't a corner you backed me into, it was a sofa you laid me down on….”

  “Stop that,” he murmured darkly, and pinched her.

  “You stop it,” she returned with pert defiance. “I'm a big girl now, I could have said no if I'd wanted to.”

  “Bullfeathers,” he snorted. “You were half out of your mind. I'm the one who should have—”

  “Bullfeathers?” Her eyebrows arched.

  He glowered down at her. “Well, there's Becky,” he said, glancing away. “I can't very well use my regular words around her, can I?”

  Maggie laughed delightedly. He made the sun come out, he made her whole and free and so happy. “Oh, Gabe,” she breathed, and embraced him suddenly, holding him, hugging him. “You're wonderful.”

  He knew instinctively that, like Becky, she avoided physical contact most of the time. The fact that she was relaxed enough with him to initiate it now was devastating. He held her, ignoring the anguish of his body.

  “Honey, I'm glad you think so,” he murmured against her hair. He smoothed it, admiring its silky texture. His arms contracted gently, and he smiled. “I never imagined it would feel like that,” he said absently, and nuzzled her cheek. “I used to dream about undressing you, touching you. Long after you left here, you'd invade my dreams. I should have realized then…”

  “Realized what?” she murmured dreamily.

  He stopped, shocking himself with what had popped into his mind. He ignored it, put it away quickly. No, that wasn't going to happen; he wouldn't let it.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking back.”

  She stared across his broad chest to the window beyond. “Gabe…was it like that with her?”

  He stiffened a little. “‘Her’?”

  “The woman you were so much in love with.”

  He drew a quick breath, hesitating. He didn't want to talk about it, to remember it.

  “I shouldn't have asked,” Maggie said when she realized how personal a question she'd asked him. She lifted her head. “I haven't the right to ask you such questions.”

  “Haven't you,” he replied quietly, “after the intimacy we've just shared?” He touched her face with oddly explorative fingers. “Maggie, it's never been like that with anyone,” he said at last. “Not even…with her.”

  She blossomed in front of his eyes, her face suddenly radiant, unexpectedly beautiful.

  He laughed nervously. Imagine, feeling nervous with Maggie. He bent and brushed her mouth with his. “Go to bed. We'll talk again in the morning, in broad daylight. You're very seductive at night, and we've already committed one big blunder, thanks to my sudden lapse.”

  “It was a very nice sudden lapse,” she whispered.

  “I thought so, too.” He let her go. “Get out of here, will you? This stoic front is going to shatter if you keep looking at me like that.”

  “One can hope, can't one?” She sighed theatricall
y, looking at him like a lovesick puppy.

  He glared, and she grinned. “Good night,” she said pertly, and left him, without even realizing the sudden, sweet difference in her manner. But Gabe noticed. And his eyes began to glow with a soft, budding light. He felt the first tingle of possession.

  And it wasn't at all unpleasant.

  Chapter Eight

  Becky was up at dawn, bouncing on her mother's bed with her dog in her arms. “Wake up, Mama!” she laughed. “Look, the sun's out!”

  “Well, tell it to go away,” Maggie mumbled, and put the pillow over her head.

  “You have to get up!” the little girl persisted.

  “Why?” her mother said from under the pillow.

  “Because we're going fishing,” came a deeply male voice from above her. The covers and pillow were suddenly torn away, leaving Maggie exposed and defenseless in her pale blue gown, staring up into Gabe's laughing face.

  “Fishing?” She gaped at him through sleepy eyes. He was already dressed in jeans and a print shirt, looking fresh and rested and vibrant. And she felt like an oversqueezed cloth.

  “Fishing,” he replied. “Honey, go downstairs and tell Jennie we all want a big breakfast, then tell your grandma that we'll be leaving before she gets up. Okay?”

  “Okay!” Becky jumped down with the puppy clutched tight against her pale blue shirt and ran off, ponytail flying.

  “But I'm so tired,” Maggie moaned. Then she came fully awake and realized that she wasn't only tired, she was sore, and knew why, and blushed.

  “My, my, no wonder you're tired,” he murmured with a devilish grin. He sat down on the bed beside her and leaned over her on his forearms. “Mmm, aren't you a pretty thing when you wake up?” he mused, studying her disheveled dark hair and flushed oval face.

  “You're pretty, too,” she said, her huge green eyes staring at him admiringly. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he teased, and bent to her warm, soft mouth.

  There was a new tenderness in him, one that radiated from him like spring sunshine. She sensed it and delighted in it, reaching up to bring his chest down against her breasts.