before. That spice of danger. She’d always been impulsive, enthused about taking the unknown road, exploring something different. With special children, she tried anything she could possibly think up, no matter how unconventional, to reach them. But that was about life in general.
It wasn’t about men.
Yet when she felt the gruff whiskers on Maguire’s cheek and neck. Felt the pulse in his throat throb under her touch. Felt the satin-smooth texture of his mouth. Smelled him. His soap, the wood smoke he carried from their fire outside, nothing that yelled of a specific scent…except that he was male. Five-hundred-percent male.
She didn’t know any other five-hundred-percent males. Maybe there weren’t any. Maybe this was the only male in her particular universe who pushed certain triggers that had never been pushed before, who aroused a cacophony of sensations that she hadn’t realized existed before. She didn’t think those things. She just sort of felt…awash. In him. His presence, his textures, his scent.
He broke free from the kiss connection, reared up his head, looked at her with a frown-a frown darker than a thundercloud. He started to speak, then seemed to remember she couldn’t hear, and started to shake his head to communicate that way.
She went back for another kiss.
He’d been the kidnapper, but he didn’t have all the power. She hadn’t had any power in a long, long time. She’d been overwhelmed by everyone and everything. She was sick of it.
Being overwhelmed by sensation, now, was a different thing. That she could have power over him was enticing. Beyond enticing. She’d never remotely experienced feeling wicked before. She discovered that she liked it.
Possibly his back was breaking from the contorted posture he’d been trying to maintain, because when she surged up to try another kiss, to steal another taste, he suddenly lost all that perfect control of his. One second, she was sweetly claiming his mouth…the next second, he’d taken a dive into the bed, on her, with her. In a swirl and twist of covers, she was suddenly tangled with him, length to length, his arms swooped around her this time, his mouth taking hers.
One of her arms got trapped between the tussle of blankets and bodies. It wasn’t fair; he had both his arms free, one slivering through her hair, then stroking down her back, kneading and rubbing, spine to hip and back up again.
He kissed differently than she had. His kisses involved tongues and teeth. Pressure. Invitation. Demand. The I-Want was bold, not subtle, out there like an open plane door, a chance of skydiving with no parachute, all risk, all…
All wonder.
All thrilling wonder.
“Hey.” He broke away suddenly, breathing like a racing engine. “We can’t…you can’t…I can’t-hey.” His face was flushed, his eyes on fire. For her. At her. His face looked as fierce as a warrior’s-but definitely not a happy warrior as he pushed up and away from her. He yanked the sheets up to her neck, and then hurled out of bed as if a fire were chasing him.
For a few seconds he stormed around the room, then whirled back, pointing the royal finger at her. The gesture for no was certainly crystal clear. Then he went out the door and slammed it.
Apparently this hearing thing was going to come and go indiscriminately, because she definitely heard the door slam. She could probably have heard it in Siberia.
Carolina wasn’t sure what was going on-what she was doing, what she was risking or not risking. But she was positive about one thing. Her kidnapper was a fine man.
She’d heard his story, about how he’d been estranged from his father and family for a long time. Except for Tommy. And Maguire knew her story, at least the part about her helping Tommy, and the how and why his father had left her with such an extraordinary hefty inheritance.
So Maguire certainly wasn’t a kidnapper in the usual sense. He had more money of his own than he could ever need. And he obviously didn’t begrudge her the chunk from his dad, since he’d been treating her like a pampered princess.
She pushed up from the pillow, thinking that she’d learned a lot of information… yet seemed to have even more questions than she had before.
She kept having the strangest feeling…that Maguire was the one who needed her, instead of the other way around. Of course, that didn’t make sense. Her head still wasn’t right. Her heart, her head, her whole body seemed to be nonstop exhausted, in some fuzzy state where she couldn’t think clearly no matter what.
Like now. With her mouth still feeling bruised from his kisses, her skin feeling electrified where he’d touched, that sense of impending fall-off-a-cliff still skimming through her blood…she closed her eyes and inhaled an amazing sense of contentment. She felt hungry for the first time in weeks. Within her, a smile was starting from the inside out, for the first time since she could remember.
Clearly she was still weak and crazy, and Maguire was the voice of sanity.
But just for that instant…it didn’t feel that way.
Two days later, Carolina found herself on a plane. Not the same fancy private jet they’d flown on before. This one was bigger, had a pilot and copilot up front, and a third man who’d been functioning as a butler, bringing platter after platter from the jet’s galley.
Wilbur, the butler, had elegant white hair, the impeccable posture of a British lord, a face carved in strict expressionless lines and a fabulous wink. He’d started serving their dinner ten minutes ago. It was still coming. The table set up between her and Maguire was heaped with dishes. Lush bowls of hot butter. A tray of tools. Massive bowls of king crab. And initially, of course, bibs bigger than nightgowns.
Maguire was eating with her. But he wasn’t talking. He’d barely said a word to her since those unexpectedly wild kisses two mornings ago. He’d been running around nonstop, scowling half the time, acting ultrabusy. He’d used the netbook to inform her they were flying east, a good trip, not to worry.
She wasn’t worried and hadn’t asked. She’d wanted to think about that unexpected sexual encounter herself before tackling Maguire again. But once they started stuffing themselves with the rich, juicy, succulent crab-one of her favorite meals in the universe-she started talking.
“My hearing’s coming back again,” she announced.
He looked up. “Good.”
He added nothing else, but that was fine with Carolina. She wanted to be the one to direct the conversation this time.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind telling me some more about how Tommy’s doing.”
He hesitated, but not for long. “Since last summer, I think you’d find his progress has been amazing. He’ll never be normal-”
“Normal’s a meaningless word, as far as I’m concerned. He was always happy by nature.”
“He still is. But he’s talking now. Not perfectly, but he’s able to communicate. He stopped having the seizures, the fierce headaches. Something is seriously weird about his brain wiring. Nobody seems to be able to completely identify or fix it. But he’s amazingly better, thanks to you, with a much happier picture for a future.”
“I wasn’t looking for thanks, Maguire. I just remember him. I care what’s been happening with him.”
Maguire was far more skilled at handling the crab than she was.
She had to work twice as hard to scoop out half as much of the sweet white meat-but damn. It was fun.
“My father always claimed to love Tommy, but his method of caring was to throw treatments and programs at him. Nothing was too expensive. But typical of my dad, that meant that Tommy was primarily seen and raised by various professional people. Strangers. Not people who were really listening to him, looking at him, day by day. You listened.”
“Quit it, Maguire. I wasn’t looking for praise or thanks. I wanted to hear more about the progress he’s made since the surgery. What programs he’s part of now.”
He nodded. “Hopefully, sometime over the next couple weeks you’ll get a chance to see him.”
“Really? I’d love that.” For a few seconds she was diverted from eating the butter-dripping crab. “I’m not sure if he’ll still remember me, but-”
“Trust me. He remembers you.”
Wilbur had brought bowls, warm water with squeezed lemons, for them to wash their hands. She didn’t want to give up eating, but she didn’t expect to have Maguire trapped like this forever. So she rinsed, wiped, removed the
