Maggie's Man (24 page)

She reached for her silk blouse, drawing the
damp fabric over her shivering shoulders with thick, trembling fingers. She
didn't bother with tears and she didn't bother with regret.

She simply began buttoning the blouse and
whispered, "Maggie, be strong."

Mike Jeffries was a big man. The I'm a Harley Hog Man print on his T-shirt was
stretched to the point of near illegibility, and the navy tattoo on his upper
forearm bulged to previously unknown dimensions. He sported a blond, handlebar
mustache and sideburns Cain thought had gone out of fashion sometime in the
seventies. All in all, he looked as if he could give Cain problems if he so
chose.

Cain had pumped some iron in his time, sure. He
was smart as well. But this truck driver appeared to consume a whole steer in a
single sitting.

On the other hand, prison had been educational:
It had taught Cain not to look at a man's biceps so much as look into a man's
eyes. Mike Jeffries had clear eyes, smiling, benevolent eyes as he opened the
passenger door and called out, "Looks like you could use some help,
mister."

Cain eased his hand away from the gun nestled
in the small of his back. "Yes, sir. Our car went off the road."

"Our?"

Cain looked at the man once more. Life didn't
play fair. It routinely gave a man five seconds to size up friend or foe and
make crucial decisions. And indecision was the worst choice of all.

"My wife," Cain supplied steadily.

Mike Jeffries simply nodded, no calculating
look appearing on his face, no sudden flush of lust darkening his eyes. Of
course, the giant hadn't seen Maggie yet. That long red hair of hers had
probably broken more than a few hearts.

Or maybe it was simply the way she moved, the
way she spoke. Every act earnest. She did nothing halfheartedly. She tried and
she persevered, more than any person he'd ever known.

As if she were reading his mind, the back door
of the car popped open and she stepped out. Both Cain and Jeffries turned
toward her.

She stood straight in the pouring rain, the
slashing drops instantly molding her deep red hair to her pale, oval face and
slender shoulders. She was small and delicate, yet remote and ethereal in the
dark storming night. It was as if the entire rage of nature didn't affect her,
didn't touch her, because she willed it that way.

Cain had thought she might look hurt after his
abrupt departure. He thought she might sulk. He'd forgotten just how resilient
she was.

Instead, in a small endearing motion that
impacted him far more than any tantrum would have, she carefully checked both
ways of the empty road, and then crossed right toward him, her footsteps
direct, even and without hesitation.

He found himself holding out his hand. He found
himself wishing the semi had never arrived and he could have stayed with her in
the back seat of the car, tasting her skin, listening to her soft cries,
feeling her body contract around him.

And afterward, he would have liked to hold her
a long time, listening to her soft voice proudly tell stories of her family
while he stroked her long, red hair.

He forced himself to turn back to Jeffries and
the matters at hand. The bigger man's eyes were still clear. That was a good
thing, because maybe Cain was capable of murder after all.

"I'm heading to Burns," the driver
said. "Then I gotta pull over and get some rest."

"How far is that?"

"Oh, 'bout another forty miles. Or I can
drop you in Riley ten miles from here if you'd like."

"No, Burns would be great if it's not a
problem."

"Nah, hop right in and get outta this
rain. I got some towels in the back and a thermos of hot coffee if you'd like.
Shoot, I've never seen two people so wet."

"Ugly night," Cain commented softly.

"Sure is. Sure as hel…heck—my apologies,
ma'am—is."

Cain decided he liked Mike Jeffries then.
Still, he positioned himself between the driver and Maggie on the seat, handing
her the towel first as the semi lumbered to life and slowly eased forward into
the rain.

"Could you tell me the time?" Cain
asked, turning his torso to shield Maggie from the other man's gaze as she went
to work drying her hair and her clinging blouse.

"Nearly 4:00 a.m. You in a hurry?"

"A little."

"No problem." Jeffries grinned.
"No one can make up time like a trucker."

True to his word, Jeffries dropped them in
Burns in just over half an hour, making good time on a straight, flat road that
was being consumed by the storm. Ever helpful, the trucker pulled over at a
bank in the middle of town so Maggie could use the ATM machine—she'd thankfully
found the bank card in the pocket of her skirt, having tucked it there after
the last withdrawal. Armed with cash, they requested that the driver leave them
at a small, innocuous strip motel just outside the city limits. From there,
they would be fine, Cain assured Jeffries.

They tried to offer him money for his
assistance, but Jeffries wouldn't take anything. He shook their hands, blushing
a little as Maggie thanked him in her sweet, soft voice, and wished them the
best. Then he headed for the truck stop and Cain and Maggie stood under the
porch trying to figure out what to do next.

Four-thirty in the morning. They'd now covered
three hundred miles since leaving Portland and put one hundred miles between
themselves and Bend. Their clothes were drenched and covered in mud.

Cain figured there was only one thing to do. He
rang the buzzer in the motel lobby, waking the proprietor, and then with all
the exhausted charm he could muster pleaded for a room.

The woman's gaze went from bedraggled Maggie to
Cain to Maggie, her expression showing she was disgruntled at having been
dragged out of bed. Then she reached beneath the counter, and just as Cain was
beginning to hear alarms ring in his head, the woman whipped out a hair dryer,
two boxed toothbrushes, a tiny tube of toothpaste and a room key.

"Thirty bucks for the night. Danish and
coffee available in here at seven."

Maggie handed over the money. The woman fairly
snatched it off the counter, then tightened the belt of her green velour robe
and waddled away.

After exchanging startled glances, Maggie and
Cain breathed easier.

"There are nice people in the world,"
Maggie said softly, picking up the generously offered toiletries and looking at
Cain pointedly.

"There definitely are," he concurred and picked up the
key. "Now let's find the room and get some sleep."

They had to go back out into the rain, but at this point, they barely noticed.
The storm appeared to be lessening, which was a mixed blessing. Cain preferred
clear weather for faster driving time. On the other hand, the cops, Ham and
everyone else would also benefit from the break.

That was tomorrow's worry, though. He still had to get through the
night.

He opened the door of the room at the end of the strip motel, and
discovered the night wasn't going to get any easier. The tiny room offered one
bed—a queen-size mattress with just enough room for a cozy couple to sleep tangled
in each other's arms.

He swallowed thickly, feeling Maggie still beside him and knowing
she was thinking the same thing. His body was already hard, his hormones
insistent. His hostage was a beautiful, passionate woman, and he already
remembered the taste of her mouth, the texture of her skin.

God help him, he wanted her. He wanted to slam the door shut
behind them, lock it so the world was held at bay and strip off her clothes and
consume her. Maybe he should have been fast and furious in the car. Maybe he'd
had his opportunity and this unbelievable ache in his groin was his penance for
going so damn slow.

He hadn't wanted to rush, though. Even as a kid, he'd hated to
gorge. He and Ham had only gotten candy on the rare occasions Zech had gone
into town. Then, he'd bring them back pieces of hardtack or sticks of
butterscotch. Ham always devoured his in a single sitting. Cain hoarded his
candy, however, stashing the pieces away in secret places where he could pull
them out and simply stare at them, knowing they would taste sweet and delicious
and deriving as much pleasure from the anticipation as from the actual act.

He ate his candy slowly. One piece every few days, sucked and
never chewed as he walked the mountain trails of his home, inhaling the fresh air
and tasting the sugar melting on his tongue.

When he'd looked at Maggie, her pale skin, her delicate, supple
body, he'd felt the same way. He wanted to take it bit by bit, dragging out each
precious moment of delight, holding back until it hurt, because good things
were few and far between, and perfect moments passed so quickly, leaving you
with nothing afterward.

Now here was a hotel room with a single bath and a single bed. He
could climb into the shower with her, a hot, steaming shower where he could
strip off all her clothes with leisure and, starting at the widow's peak of her
magnificent hair, soap her entire body. Her skin would be as supple and smooth
as satin. Her nipples would be hard pebbles, grazing his palm, and her thighs
would be soft and slender.

He would like to hear her moan through the steam. He would like
her fingers digging into his shoulders once again, as she clung to him and
begged him for release.

A moment of passion, sweetness melting in his mouth. And the
aftermath?

He wasn't so big a fool that he thought a woman like Maggie could
separate her heart from her body. He saw the way she looked at him now. He had
recognized the shocked wonder of her first fulfillment. She didn't appear to be
that experienced nor to understand the full depth of her sensuality. But now
she was discovering it and the more Cain touched her, the more he bound her to
him.

It was grossly unfair of him. Blatantly unjust.
For the aftermath remained bitter. He was a wanted man with no good plan of
escape. His next moves on the chessboard were full of so many assumptions and
held such a huge margin of error he should be ashamed. He didn't have any
better ideas, though. Ham had checkmated him with brutally simple efficiency
the first time around, and Cain was still playing catch-up.

He took a deep breath and turned to Maggie. Her
blue eyes were huge, slightly wary but also luminescent. She looked from the
single bed to him to the bed. Her lips parted and he almost lost his resolve.

"Why don't you shower first?" he
said, his voice uncommonly thick. He cleared his throat. "We don't have
much time, Maggie. I want to be up again at seven."

Her eyes widened. "That's only two hours
from now."

"I'm a wanted man," he said
pointedly.

Her back stiffened. "It's not as if I've
forgotten," she fired back.

Her spirited retort made him smile, made him
ache. He brushed her cheek with his thumb without conscious intent.
"Good." He hesitated, then was unable to stop himself from whispering
softly, "Don't let me hurt you. Don't let me do that."

Her chin came up. "You think too much of
yourself," she said haughtily, using his own words against him. "I
take full responsibility for my actions, too, Cain."

"Then we understand each other."

Her nostrils flared sarcastically, a new look
for her. "Sure, Cain. For all the good that does us."

She squared her shoulders. "I believe I'll
shower first. Why don't you get some sleep? We only have two hours, you
know."

He accepted her pointed jabs. She fought, that
was good. Even women with generous hearts should know how to throw a few good
punches.

She sauntered away from him, her shoulders
straight, her head held high, her back graceful. She looked very different from
the meek, hunch-shouldered woman he remembered kidnapping twenty hours ago.

He thought she'd never looked so beautiful.

Maggie showered for a long time, letting the steam soak into her chilled,
shattered senses. Her nipples were tight, her breasts more sensitive than she
ever remembered. She felt restless and wound up and more aware of her body than
she'd ever been.

She shampooed her long hair and remembered
Cain's fingers performing the same, massaging circles. She soaped her throat
and remembered his soft lips nipping at her pulse. She soaped her breasts and
gritted her teeth against sharp sensations that were near pain. Her body didn't
seem hers anymore. Every place she touched reminded her of him.

And she knew from the tightly wound sensations
that she wanted him again. And again. And again.

Was passion always like this? So unquenchable?
So consuming?

There was so much more she wanted to know, so
much more she wished he would show her. If only that darn semi hadn't shown up…

He was back to being removed again. Back to
thinking too much, to trying to be honorable. The damn man thought way too
much.

She scowled, turning off the water and stepping
out of the shower at last. She dried off briskly, still feeling wound up,
restless and disgruntled. At the last minute, she took the towel and wiped the
steam from the mirror, staring at her naked reflection.