hand drifted down and over her silk-covered breast, teasing the aching peak that jutted out against the material. Maggie groaned hungrily, her hands searching and finding his chest, moving, exploring, down, under the sheet where she came in contact with the heated evidence of his desire.
He pulled up her slip, baring her to his hungry gaze. ‘God, Maggie…I’ve missed you…You’re like a fever in my blood.’
An answering cry deep within her had her pull her slip up and off completely and they kissed hungrily, passionately, bodies straining together. With uncustomary clumsiness, Caleb found and rolled on protection. And then, finally, he was home…entering her satin flesh. And she was reaching up to meet him. All tiredness and fatigue gone. A distant memory.
That control that he valued so much was slipping again. His aching hardness sheathed in her warmth made him suck in a rasping breath. He opened his eyes and looked down and sank into green depths. As deep as the ocean. Her cheeks were flushed with arousal; he could feel her body start to tense around him.
He tried to hold on…tried to regain some sense of control and couldn’t. Her body tautened and arched against his, her arms wrapped around his back. He could feel her hard nipples pushing against his chest and, giving in to the wild surge building through him, he felt himself being pushed to the brink on the wave of her orgasm and for a moment was poised…about to fall down, into the abyss. But, just before he did, before he crashed, he had the most overwhelming desire to experience this, skin to skin. Without protection. He’d never before felt the lack of that contact with anyone and yet here, now…with her, the protective barrier felt…somehow wrong.
As the carnal pleasure rippled through him and he felt himself explode, he wanted with a fierce primal desire to be spilling deep into her…to brand her, mark her. Seconds later, when the world had righted itself again, when the realisation hit…of what had just gone through his mind, what it meant, his whole body tensed and stilled over hers. Dear God. He wanted to make her pregnant?
That devastating thought drove him to pull free abruptly from her body and he heard her whimper. Their bodies were still painfully sensitive, his own protesting when he moved away—every cell, every inch of him wanting to pull her close and meld her to him again. His body was still hard but now he had to get away…from her…from himself. Was he just going mad with exhaustion? That was all it was. Feeling sudden wry humour at his crazy ramblings, he pushed himself up from the bed and, without looking back at Maggie, went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower.
Behind him, bereft on the bed, tears stung the back of Maggie’s eyes but she would not let them fall. She knew how it was possible to make love and want to cry with a broken heart at the same time. Because she couldn’t deny it any longer, couldn’t deny the certain knowledge that he had her heart, for ever. Every beat was for him. And it would kill her in the end.
‘MORNING.’
‘Morning…’ Maggie was sleepily shy. Last night came rushing back. The desolation she’d felt when he’d practically run from the bed after making love. She woke up fast. Erected the barriers.
Caleb was propped on one arm, watching her. He took in all the expressions flitting across her face like clouds passing over a sunny day; he felt something dark pass between them. It was the first time she’d woken in the bed to find him there, watching her like this. Even on weekends, he would invariably go into the office for a few hours in the morning, or else he was out jogging, or just…up.
It made her heart speed up. Despite her best efforts to be cool.
‘Don’t you have to go to work?’
He quirked a brow. ‘Trying to get rid of me?’
She shook her head and her glance jumped down to his bare chest. She could feel the heat starting to invade her blood, could feel her pulse jump. She looked back up and Caleb was smiling. She scowled. Damn him and his arrogance. Damn him and his insufferable coolness.
‘As it happens, I do have to go…much as I’m enjoying watching you wake…’
He pressed a kiss to her startled mouth and swung out of bed. She watched him walk away into the bathroom and sighed deeply, pulling the covers up. She’d never get tired of looking at his body. When he emerged a short while later Maggie pretended to be asleep. She felt him come close to the bed and willed him away. In the cold light of morning, if he took her, she’d never be able to hide her feelings.
‘Maggie, I know you’re awake. I’ll be home at seven. We’re going out tonight.’
And she felt, rather than heard, him leave the room. She opened her eyes and looked out on a cityscape. They were back to normal. Back to the routine. Functions…balls…and this apartment which was becoming a prison.
Only two more weeks…
The words jumped into her head and she sat up, stunned. Only two more weeks, then…freedom. She couldn’t believe it. Where had the time gone? She counted back the weeks and yes, sure enough, Caleb only had another ten to fourteen days here, then he’d be due back in London. He’d even mentioned going back. Had she just shut it out of her head? She sank back down. Her mind couldn’t contemplate it right now or what it meant.
That evening, she had just showered and was dressed in a towelling robe when Caleb walked into the bedroom. Her heart lurched crazily. She noticed lines and shadows under his eyes and longed to go over and smooth them, tell him they didn’t need to go out. But she couldn’t because she didn’t have that jurisdiction in his life.
His gaze raked her up and down hungrily; she stood in front of him, a clean scent perfuming the air, her skin still pink from the shower. God, he’d missed her today; his body had ached for her in a way that made him very, very nervous. Yet he couldn’t think about that now. It was only the fact that he was running late that had him walk past, shedding clothes.
‘We need to be ready to leave in fifteen minutes…’
‘I’ll be ready,’ she answered tightly, stung by his lack of greeting, his brusque voice.
He came out into the hall a short while later, arranging the cuffs of his tuxedo. Maggie stood with her back to him, looking out the window.
She’d arranged her hair so it fell in a coiled rope down her back. The dark grey dress was some kind of jersey material and clung to every curve. It was tantalisingly see-through, giving heady glimpses of a pale curve here, a dark hollow there. She sensed him, tensed and turned around. It dipped in a dark V at the front, between her cleavage. Yet…it lacked…something. Why wouldn’t she wear the jewels he gave her?
Despite that first impression she’d given him when she’d cockily asked if she could keep them…he had to make her wear them. She never chose to wear them—it was just another facet to her act, no doubt. But, a little voice crowed, yet another anomaly…Usually women were begging him for more and more. Bigger, glitzier, gaudier. He ignored the voice.
He strolled forward with indolent grace, making Maggie’s breath catch in her throat. She’d seen him in a tux many times by now but somehow, tonight, he was more devastating than ever. Was it because she knew his body intimately? Was it because of the way his gaze drifted up and down her body, stopping, lingering…
