Wishmakers (12 page)

“Maggie…sweetheart…we shouldn't have started this.” His crossed arms moved down, and his hands cupped her buttocks, hard.

Caught in a spinning whirlwind of sensuous desire, Margaret was nonetheless aware that his pulse was racing as wildly as hers. She was causing this! His virile, vitally strong body was reacting to hers!

“Why not?” she whispered recklessly.

He stood very still for several seconds as if absorbing her words. Then his lips moved hotly down her cheek in search of hers, found them, and molded them to his in a devastating kiss. Her senses responded with a deep, churning hunger for his touch, and she rose on tiptoe, arching to meet his height, her fingers clinging to his shoulders. Stirred by her incredible arousal, she met his passion with intimate sensuousness and parted her lips to glide the tip of her tongue across the edge of his teeth.

“God! Sweetheart…help me stop this while I still can!”

Finding what her body had craved for so long, Margaret ignored the danger signals flashing in her brain and allowed the warmth of his tenderness to wash over her. The world could be ending the next minute and her only concern would be to stay with him, relieve them both of the trembling hunger bedeviling them.

“Don't stop.” She moved her hips against him in instinctive invitation.

“Don't tease me!” he whispered harshly. “I'm not a man to be teased!” His lips raked her face from cheek to chin.

“I'm not teasing!” she moaned desperately, afraid that he was going to move away from her.

“I'll not be satisfied with just playing. It's everything or nothing!” he whispered raggedly.

She burrowed her face against the warmth of his neck. “I know,” she whispered back. “Love me, Chip.”

Her hushed request seemed to act as a potent aphrodisiac, and his body responded with violent trembling. He pulled her roughly against his hard arousal, as if to leave her no doubt that he was desperate for relief. “You're sure?”

“Please!”

“Oh, sweetheart…”

It was only a couple of steps to the couch. Chip's arms left her to lift the seat, take a blanket from the storage space, and flip the back of the couch down to make a small bed. Margaret stood with her back to him, worried by her lack of sexual experience and racked with the violence of her own need for him to make love to her. Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing, when she heard the click of the lamp switch and realized the room was now lighted only by the fire.

Arms encircled her from behind, and warm lips and a soft mustache nuzzled the sensitive spot below her ear. His hands moved to cup her breasts, squeezing them gently.

“You're the most utterly feminine woman I've ever met.” She closed her eyes and let the soft purr of his voice and the feel of his hands consume her. “I think you've bewitched me. I seem to have lost control where you're concerned. My head says stay away from you, but my hands want to know every soft curve of your body. Maggie…Maggie…come quench this thirst I have for you.” One hand moved down to pull her tightly back against him.

His persuasive whisper, the touch of his hands, called out to something deeply feminine in her, and the explosion of sensation choked off her voice. His fingers worked at the waistband of her full skirt, then the zipper, and he moved back so that the fabric could fall to the floor. He lifted the loose blouse up and over her head and turned her in his arms. Lace bra, briefs, and pantyhose were all that covered her. She kept her eyes closed, reveling in the glory of his touch.

“You're beautiful, sweet Maggie. Small, perfect, and beautiful.” He blew gently into her ear, kissed her temple, and stroked her back with hard palms. “I get the feeling you haven't done this before…and yet you couldn't have reached the age of twenty-five and not have,” he murmured hoarsely.

“No,” she breathed. “I couldn't have.”

“Who was it? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know!”

She lifted her face, and their eyes locked for a long moment before he reached out and unfastened her bra. He swept the straps from her shoulders and moved a fraction away from her. The lacy cups remained curved about her upthrust breasts. Slowly he peeled them away and looked at the white skin tipped with dusky rose. In the flickering firelight he shaped his hands to cup her breasts, and she looked down to see sun-browned fingers moving seductively over her sensitive nipples. A tremor pulsated across her nerve endings, and she pressed her breasts into his hands. Her breath came in small gasps, and her eyes sought his.

He stepped back for a moment, and her body felt bereft without his touch. It seemed to take an eternity for him to strip to his shorts, and crazily she found herself wondering if they were the same ones she had folded so carefully from the dryer. His hands reached for her again and pulled her to him.

His shoulders were wide and powerful, his chest smooth except for a sprinkling of dark hairs in the center. It felt pleasantly rough against her breasts. His waist was narrow, and there was not an ounce of extra flesh on his flat stomach. Free of shame and embarrassment, she ran her palms over his body, from the hollow beneath his armpits to the elastic at the top of his shorts, around and over his back. He stood still, his head tilted down toward hers. She pulled away and smiled up at him, her lips parted with the pleasure of touching him. She saw his nostrils flare with a quick intake of breath when her fingertips moved lightly down to his navel. Her eyes followed her fingers, and instead of being frightened by the obvious arousal they encountered, she exulted in her power to excite this man of her hidden dreams. She raised her eyes to his and saw the smoldering desire he was holding tightly in check.

“I want to know all of you,” she whispered.

He hooked his two index fingers into the top of her pantyhose and began to work them down over her hips.

Forgotten was the coldness of the room as the smoky look in his eyes and the intimate touch of his fingers heated her blood. She watched his face, her chin tilted almost fearlessly, as joyous thoughts whirled and flitted through her mind. This is the most precious moment of my life…I'll have this much of him to remember forever…for this small space in time I'm all he wants…me, Margaret Anthony. Oh, God, help me to make him want me with him always!

She felt a lightness, a sweetness, and a rightness when he lowered her to the couch and pulled the blanket up over them. She gave a shiver of pure pleasure.

“Are you cold?” he asked solicitously. His arm moved beneath her head and he gathered her to him, holding her naked length against his.

“No. But…” She clutched him tightly, her hands biting into the warm, solid flesh of his back.

“But what? You can't have doubts now,” he moaned hoarsely against her cheek. “It would kill me to stop.” He pulled her even closer to him.

“Not that, darling!” Her hand moved to his face, and she pressed her palm to his cheek. “It's just that…this has been amazingly easy for you, hasn't it?”

A low protest came from his throat. “Don't think of that! I want, you want…I've never wanted a woman as much as I want you!” His broad hand moved down her spine, found her taut buttocks, and pressed hard. The evidence of his need was captured against her.

The feel of his body, the stroking of his hands, the warm moistness of his breath, the love filling and spilling from her heart, erased the last shred of her inhibitions, and with a soft cry she gave herself up to the sweet abandonment he was urging upon her, telling herself that no matter what happened in the morning, she would have this night to remember always.

Their mouths met and were no longer gentle. They kissed deeply, hungrily. His hand found her breast, cupped and lifted it. And then his lips were on her nipple, setting off small explosions deep within her. Each stroke of his tongue and brush of his mustache caused her to melt with mindless pleasure. Her own fingers curled feverishly into the solid muscle of his back, and her lips made forays against his neck.

His hand moved down over her stomach, and his fingers toyed with the soft curls. She welcomed the gentle fingers with parted thighs and an urgency that incited him to lift his mouth to hers in a kiss that stripped away everything but the need to assuage the ache building to unbearable heights within her.

“Now? Darling…now?” He slid smoothly over her body, seeking entrance while she waited in rapt and aching anguish. Everything he did felt so good and right that she was caught up in overpowering desire and the need for physical release. She pressed herself to him, her arms winding tightly around his neck.

His hips made a sudden jerking motion, paused, and then lifted from her. His trembling body lay heavily upon hers, and he gulped air frantically.

“Lord! Maggie, why didn't you tell me?” His chest heaved as he attempted to control his breathing. “This is your first time!” he said accusingly.

“I can't help that! Don't stop!” she pleaded, her need for him overcoming all the other emotions that ran the gamut from embarrassment to pride.

“I thought…I thought…”

“I chose you! I want it to be you!” Her hands feverishly clung to him, holding him tightly while she rained fervent kisses on his cheek and throat.

Chip raised his head, his eyes searching her passionclouded ones, and then with a muttered whisper he closed his arms about her in fierce demand.

There was no room for fear or regret as he entered her, reverently guiding her to accept the gently rhythmic sliding. The pain-pleasure of their joining would be forever imprinted in her memory. She was part of this man. He was the universe, vibrating with all the love in the world, and he was lifting her to undreamed of sensual heights. She no longer wanted him to be gentle as her need rose to meet his. They reached the top of the mountain together in cataclysm of pleasure that left her trembling in his arms as they exchanged soft, moaning kisses and their bodies melted together in the aftermath of heated sensation.

Chip's damp skin tasted salty against her tongue, and the woodsy odor of him tantalized her nostrils as her fingers clutched the blanket to bring it up and over his shoulders. She cradled him in her arms, and with the soothing motions of her hands up and down the length of his spine she tried to communicate the happiness she'd felt making love with him. She wanted him to know that it had been more than just a sexual experience.

Chip rolled over on his side, taking her with him. They lay face to face on the pillow, noses an inch apart, legs still intimately entwined, hands and arms clinging. The fire had burned low, the light dim, but they stared into each other's eyes. As their breaths mingled, he moved his face a fraction and placed a light kiss on her lips.

“Why? How?” His voice was a mere whisper against her lips.

“Why? Because I wanted my first time to be with you.” He was looking into her eyes and there was something in his face she had dreamed of but never hoped to see. Was it a little like…loving? No, she was simply seeing what she wanted to see. “What was the other question?” Her words melted away on her lips as he kissed them lightly again.

“How did you manage to stay so innocent?”

“It just happened. There wasn't much of an opportunity. Not that I would have been promiscuous,” she added hastily. He smiled. “I wasn't allowed to go on unchaperoned dates when I was younger. Later…well, later there was Justin.”

“And?” he prompted.

She hesitated, then began honestly, “I was fond of him, and he told me he loved me. I don't think I ever knew there could be…so much more…until tonight,” she stammered. “Oh, I'd dreamed of it, but…I don't want to talk about this!” she blurted with a breathless catch in her voice.

“Then don't.” Chip possessively gripped her thigh.

A chill slid down Margaret's spine at the thought of lying naked in another man's arms. And she had almost married another. Her hand moved convulsively over Chip's back and pulled him tightly against her.

Tenderly he caressed her and kissed her lips time and again. “I'm glad,” he finally whispered. “I'm glad there was no other man before me. I'm glad no other man has ever held you naked in his arms like this!”

She could feel a stirring between them, and she smiled against his throat. Her hand found his hard, flat belly, slid upward over his ribs and chest caressingly, and lay palm down over his thudding heart.

“Was it…did I do…all right?”

He rolled her onto her back and raised his head so he could look at her. “Why the hell do you think I've got this silly grin on my face?” He deposited quick, darting kisses on her parted lips. “I feel like a kid on Christmas morning.”

“Did Santa bring you everything you wanted?”

“You bet! And more.” He kissed her forehead gently. “Were you disappointed with your first experience? I wanted it to be good for you.” His voice was deep and husky, his expression one of great tenderness.

Her arms tightened about him. “It was wonderful. Thank you, Chip,” she whispered, her voice full of joyous tears.

“Sweetheart…”

CHAPTER EIGHT

M
ARGARET TURNED HER
face and let her lips drift along the smooth skin of Chip's collarbone, finding the hollow of his throat, where she planted a tender kiss. They lay pressed close together in Chip's bed. He had fallen into a deep sleep after their tumultuous lovemaking, and she had lain satiated, cozy, and content in his arms. She had responded vigorously to his instruction in the elementary pleasures of loving, and now she cherished the knowledge that he was her first and only lover.

She had been embarrassed when he urged her to the bathroom after their first lovemaking; embarrassed, too, that it was he who insisted they use something to protect her against pregnancy during the rest of the long, delicious night spent in his bedroom. Now, warm and nude, cozily stretched against his very male body, she felt a sickening thud in the pit of her stomach when she thought of how readily he'd produced the precautionary device. But he was a man in his mid-thirties, she told herself. No one could doubt his fundamental virility—it radiated from every pore in his aggressively masculine body. Frantically she pushed the thought of his being with someone else out of her mind. What she really wanted to do was bury her face in his shoulder and whisper to him that he was hers now. She would give him all the loving he'd ever need. But of course she couldn't say that. He'd simply taken what she had freely given. He cared no more for her than he had earlier in the evening when he'd called her “old Ed's spoiled darling.” Tears of regret slid from her eyes. He would never see her as a woman capable of living beside him as his life's companion. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving this place, leaving him. She shut her eyes tightly to hold back the tears. Don't spoil it, she cautioned. Hold him. You have the rest of the night to hold him in your arms. This may be all you'll ever have of him.