“Don’t get too comfortable here,” she told Harvey.
“Too late,” Nick said, rubbing a hand over his face and lifting himself up onto one elbow.
“I meant Harvey.” She smiled.
“Ah. Good.”
He ran his fingers through his short hair, causing it to stick up in places. Suddenly Maggie had an incredible urge to smooth it down for him, to run her own fingers through his hair and along that strong, square jawline.
“How are you holding up?” Even in the blue light, she could see the concern in his eyes.
“I honestly don’t know, Nick. Maybe not so good.” She leaned against the wall and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to remember the dead clerk’s eyes. She didn’t want to see the shriveled-up fetus still clinging to the wall of its mother’s uterus.
“Hey,” Nick said quietly, “why don’t you join Harvey and me.” He pulled back the top of the sleeping bag, inviting her inside. In doing so, he also revealed tight jockey shorts and muscular thighs.
Again, the stirrings of arousal surprised her. Her face felt hot, and she was a bit embarrassed by her reaction, because she knew Nick didn’t mean the invitation as anything more than to curl up next to him. But now, however, he seemed to be reading her thoughts.
“I promise I’ll let you have as much control as you want.” His eyes were serious, and she knew he had managed to zoom in on her feelings. Was she that transparent?
All she wanted was to feel something other than the frayed nerves, the exhaustion, the emotions that had rubbed her mentally raw. She could no longer remember what it felt like to feel warm and safe. Earlier, in her kitchen, Nick’s presence had reminded her just how few times in the past several years she had felt any stirrings of passion and desire. Ironically, the only times she could remember were when she and Nick had been together back in Nebraska.
Without a word, she slipped off her shoes and started undoing her jeans. She met his eyes and saw a bit of surprise mixed with anticipation. He looked as though he wasn’t sure what to expect. She had no idea herself.
She left on her chambray shirt. Her underpants were already damp before she climbed in next to him. Harvey stood up, turned around three times and flopped down with his back up against Nick. They both laughed, and Maggie was grateful for the release of tension.
They lay facing each other, each braced up on an elbow. His eyes held her, but he kept his hands away. She realized he was serious about letting her have control. He looked anxious to see what she might do with him. She touched his face with her fingertips, stroking his cheek, his bristled jaw and lingering at his lips. He kissed the tips of her fingers, his mouth warm and wet and inviting.
She moved down to the scar, the slight pucker of white on his chin. Then, to his throat, watching him swallow hard as though trying to contain his emotions. Her eyes stayed with his as her fingers caressed the muscles of his chest and traced a path over his hard, flat stomach. His breathing was already uneven by the time her fingers made it to the bulge in his jockey shorts. As soon as she touched him, he sucked in air like a man no longer able to stifle himself.
“Jesus, Maggie,” he managed breathlessly. “If I’d known this was what it would be like to give you control —”
She didn’t let him finish. She kissed him lightly on the lips while her hand slipped into his waistband. His entire body quivered. Then his mouth urged her on. Each of her nerve endings seemed to come alive, though he still touched her nowhere except her lips. She knew she had him close to the edge, but he was holding back. She brought the length of her body against his. The kisses had become deep and urgent, but she left his mouth and moved her lips to his ear. She let her tongue run along his outer ear and then slip inside, rewarded immediately by a groan. She whispered, “Don’t hold back, Nick.”
It didn’t take long and his breathing came in gasps through clenched teeth. Moments later, her hand was wet and sticky. Nick collapsed onto his back, his eyes closed, waiting to gain control over his body again. Maggie’s own body was still a live wire, tingling without any stimulation other than in reaction to Nick. How was it possible for this man to make her feel so alive, so whole and full of electricity without even touching her? As she watched him, she realized she had never before felt so sensual or so completely satisfied.
He put his hands behind his neck. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His breathing had almost returned to normal. He was looking up at her now, as if trying to read her thoughts, maybe even wondering what was next. He glanced over at Harvey who had moved to the sunroom.
“Is he giving us some privacy, or is he tired of us waking him up?”
She smiled but didn’t answer. She braced herself up on her elbow again, lying on her side and watching him. Why was she suddenly not exhausted anymore?
Nick reached up and touched her hair, pushing back a strand and letting his fingers caress her cheek. She closed her eyes and absorbed the lovely sensation being sent through her body. When she opened her eyes again, he was on his side, leaning so close she could feel his breath. Yet he kept their bodies from touching while his hand gently made its way down her neck and into the collar of her shirt. He unbuttoned her shirt, hesitating at each button to give her time to protest. Instead, she lay back, inviting his touch. He was going slowly, cautiously, as if that would give her control. As if that would reduce the intensity. It only made her ache.
He sensed her urgency and let his mouth replace his fingers, gently kissing her. He tugged open the rest of her shirt and his mouth wandered, taking his time moving down her body. Suddenly he stopped. She was breathing too hard to notice at first. Then she felt his fingertips on her stomach, lightly tracing the scar that ran across her abdomen. The hideous scar that Albert Stucky had left. How could she have forgotten it?
She sat up abruptly and disentangled herself from the sleeping bag, escaping before Nick could react. In her rush, she almost tripped over poor Harvey. Now, she stood looking out over the backyard, the front of her shirt gathered into a fist. She heard him come up behind her. She realized she was shivering though she wasn’t cold. Nick wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into his warm body, resting her head back against his chest.
“You gotta know by now, Maggie,” he whispered into her hair, “there isn’t anything you can say or show me that’s gonna scare me away.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“It’s just that he’s with me all the time, Nick.” Her voice was hushed, and there was an annoying catch in it. “I can’t seem to get away from him. I should have known that there would be some way for him to ruin even this.”
He tightened his hug and nuzzled her neck. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to persuade her that she was wrong. He didn’t try to contradict her just to make her feel better. Instead, he just held her.
CHAPTER 60
Maggie got up before dawn. She left Nick a scrawled note, apologizing for last night and giving him brief instructions for setting the alarm. He had said that he needed to get back to Boston to prepare for a trial, but she knew as he was telling her that he was trying to figure a way out of it. She told him she didn’t want him to jeopardize his new job. What she left out was that she didn’t want him close by for Albert Stucky to hurt.
She called Agent Tully from the road, but when he answered his door he didn’t look as if he expected her. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt and was barefoot. He hadn’t shaved yet, and his short hair stuck up. He let her in without much of a greeting and gathered up a scattered edition of the
“I’m brewing coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“No, thanks.” She wanted to tell him there was no time for coffee. Why did he not feel the same urgency she was feeling?
He disappeared into what she thought must be the kitchen. Instead of following, she sat down on a stiff sofa that looked and smelled brand-new. The house was small with very little furniture, and most of it looked like hand-me-downs. It reminded her of the apartment she and Greg had right out of college—with milk crates for a TV stand, and concrete blocks and stained two-by-sixes for bookshelves. The only thing missing was a lime green beanbag chair. The sofa and a black halogen floor lamp were the only two new pieces.
