Hitched! Page 18

  She, who never blushed about anything, even the first time she posed in barely there lingerie—

  This situation was becoming dangerous. As soon as they finished eating, she tried to shoo him from the room so she could call Helen for a shot of reassurance. Instead he shooed her.

  “You cooked,” he said, guiding her toward the door with hands on her shoulders. “It’s only fair that I clean up.”

  “Are you sure you know how?”

  “Now you’ve gone and insulted me,” he said sadly. “You’ll eat those words, lady.”

  And probably a lot of others, she thought, hurrying to the parlor. Once there, she eyed the telephone on the desk. Pulling a business card from her pocket, she took a deep breath, lifted the receiver and quickly dialed the jail.

  The line was busy. She paced for a couple of minutes, then dialed again. Same result.

  Maybe she could call R. Renwood Keever. A moment’s thought to remember his phone number and she dialed once more. His machine picked up: “…with a client or out of the office…”

  Disgusted, she hung up. She didn’t trust Keever anyway. She’d just have to try to reach Helen later.

  Okay, she’d been putting it off, but she really should call her agent. Taking a deep breath again, she reached for the handset but then pulled back. He’d just yell at her and she really didn’t need that right now.

  Out of sorts, she paced to an ornate table set next to a rocking chair beneath a long lace-curtained window. The last rays of a setting sun streamed through, illuminating a leather-bound volume that took up nearly the entire tabletop.

  She laid a hand upon the book, drumming her fingers on the embossed leather cover. She was having trouble keeping her animosity toward Rand in full flower. He certainly didn’t seem to be the despicable person Helen had described. Could she be wrong?

  Maxi’s heart leaped with hope, however unreasonable. Maybe—

  Her drumming fingers came down on the metal clasp of the book and the clasp fell away. Startled, she turned to pick up the book, hoping she hadn’t harmed it. When she laid it on her lap, it fell open to a center page and she looked down at an old photograph of a woman.

  A young woman with a solemn face and dark eyes that, more than a century later, still sparkled with intelligence. She wore a simple dress adorned by a magnificent cameo brooch. Elegant though faded handwriting beneath the photo said that this was Rose Taggart.

  Rand’s footsteps in the hallway brought Maxi’s head swinging around. He came into the room talking.

  “I not only cleaned the kitchen, I found us some dessert in the freezer. How do you like—” He stopped short. “What is it?”

  “This picture—” She touched it with her fingertips. “I hope you don’t mind that I opened this old photo album.”

  “Of course not.” He crossed to her side, looked down and began to smile.

  “Well?” she urged. “Who was Rose Taggart?”

  “My great-great-great-aunt. She’s the Taggart who really started things around here.”

  “What things?”

  “Ever hear of Showdown Days?”

  “I don’t think—” And then she remembered. “That’s where a whole town re-creates some kind of legend about a gunfighter and a lady, right? I saw something about it on television a couple of years ago.”

  His grin widened. “That’s the one, and that’s the lady. Rose started it all. She was engaged to the sheriff, but she ended up running away with a gunfighter named Boone Smith. Trey comes in on that branch of the Smith family, although it took Thom T. to figure out the connection. Our branch comes through Rose’s brother, James.”

  Maxi stared at him, enchanted. “This is so incredible,” she said.

  “What is?”

  “That anyone would know so much about his family.”

  “Poor Max.” He draped an arm around her shoulder and knelt beside her, his face was very close to hers.

  She wanted to pull away but couldn’t. “I told you how I feel about pity,” she said stiffly.

  “And I told you it’s not pity, it’s sympathy.” He kissed her temple. “And a whole lot more.”

  She clutched at the book as if it offered some protection from her emotions. “Meaning what?”

  “Oh, Max,” he sighed. “You know what it means as well as I do.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay, play dumb.” A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I want you, Maxine Taggart. I want you in my bed but not lying there buttoned up to the chin and stiff as a poker—been there and done that.” He bracketed her chin with his fingers and tilted her face toward him. “I want to spend tonight, and every night we’re together, making love to you, honey.”

  She’d been melting beneath his persuasive tone and touch right up until he’d said every night we’re together. How long would that be? Until his birthday a week from today, most likely.

  “No,” she told him, but she didn’t pull away; he didn’t think she could. “Th-that’s a bad idea. We agreed—no sex.”

  “Adults are allowed to change their minds.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. Plunging his tongue into her mouth, he gave free rein to the passion he’d longed to unleash for what seemed like a lifetime. She fought her response; he sensed it in the way she accepted without giving. Undaunted, he took his time, positioning her face exactly where he wanted it and pulling her deeper and deeper into his embrace.

  The book hit the floor with a solid thud and she gasped. The next thing he knew, she was slipping down on her knees to face him, her arms wrapping around his neck to draw him closer. The sweet suction on his tongue announced her late arrival at this party.

  They kissed until they were both gasping for breath. Only then did he slide his lips away from hers and nuzzle his way down her throat. Fingers threaded through her hair, he held her away while he found her breast, then he took a straining nipple in his mouth, shirt, bra and all.

  Her soft panting breaths urged him on and he lowered one hand to fumble at the buttons of her shirt. Her flesh was exactly as he’d expected it to be: firm and toned but also resilient and warm. Once he’d dragged her plain cotton bra aside, he took the rose-hued nipple in his mouth.

  She groaned and for an instant arched her back to press her breast more fully against his seeking mouth. But then she withdrew again, her nipple popping free with a forlorn little sound as the suction of his mouth was broken.

  He covered her bare breast with his hand, unable to deprive himself of the feel of her. “What is it?” he managed to ask.

  “I don’t want to do this,” she stated, tugging the edges of her shirt together.

  “I think you do.”

  “I don’t care what you think, Rand.” She rose and staggered a few steps away, holding the edge of the table for support. “You don’t want me, plain Maxine Rafferty—”

  “Taggart.”

  “Whatever. This is proximity at work, nothing else.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Don’t I?”

  He shook his head. “What if I told you I—” He stopped; he wasn’t ready to go any further.

  “That’s what I thought.” She licked her lips. “I’ll pass on that dessert. See you tomorrow, Rand.”

  “Maybe not.” He spoke softly. “I’ve grown accustomed to sharing a bedroom with you, Max, and I like it. If you change your mind…”

  “I know where you are,” she finished for him, her tone dull. “Don’t hold your breath, okay?”

  HE DIDN’T HOLD his breath, but he didn’t think of anything else, either. By ten o’clock he was pacing his bedroom like a caged tiger; at eleven he stared at the door as if it were the enemy. By eleven-fifteen he couldn’t stand it any longer and charged out into the hall without any plan at all.

  The first thing he saw was Max, sitting on the top step of the stairs with the photo album on her lap. Their glances met and locked. Slowly, without ever looking away, she put the book on the floor
.

  When she stood, he saw that she was wearing that awful white Mexican nightgown. She licked her lips. “I’ve decided…” A shiver went through her. “I’ve decided you m-may be right. I know this is the wrong thing to do, Rand, but…” She appeared almost desperate. “Why me, if it isn’t simply proximity?”

  “Why you?” He searched his heart and answered as honestly as he could. “Because you’re sexy and gorgeous. I didn’t see it at first, but I do now. Because you’re smart and funny and gutsy. Because I…” He couldn’t go on.

  She wouldn’t let him off the hook. “Because you what?”

  He drew a deep breath. “I like the hell out of you, Maxine. Maybe it’s even more than that, or will be. I don’t know for sure. I do know that I care more about you than any woman I’ve ever met.” He forced himself to add, because he wouldn’t take advantage of her, “Is that enough?”

  She considered, and after a moment, a smile flickered around her lips. “No,” she said, “it isn’t enough. But I’m weak…” She took a step toward him.

  He reached her in a few long strides, swept her into his arms and against his trembling chest. Then he turned and carried her into the bedroom.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IF RAND HADN’T COME out of his room and seen Maxi sitting on the stairs, she might actually have given in to all the things she was feeling and knocked on his door. Those “things” had in fact driven her from her bedroom—his bedroom when he was small. Knowing that had finally made it impossible for her to stay there.

  For a long time, she’d sat on the stairs, listening to Rand pace behind a closed door. Then the door had opened, as she’d known it would. He’d walked out, picked her up in his arms and carried her away.

  The interior of the room was dark, illuminated only by moonlight streaking across the dark carpet. Rand halted in that silvery glow to look down at her.

  “Max,” he said in a husky voice, “you’re beautiful.”

  She wasn’t, not like this: no makeup, hair slicked back, glasses perched on her nose. But he sounded as if he believed it to be true and a shiver of gratitude shook her.

  “You’re beautiful, too.” She said it shyly, because she felt so vulnerable. All her life she’d strived to make herself attractive and to show off her assets—until now. She’d thought her plain appearance would protect her from Rand, yet here was a world-class-gorgeous man looking at her, speaking to her plain self as if she really were the most beautiful woman in the world.

  His laughter sounded giddy. “I guess that’s a compliment.” He hoisted her higher in his arms. “Max, I knew we’d get to this point, but I sure was getting tired waiting. We’re good together and we’re gonna be even better.”

  He carried her out of the moonbeam and to the bed, where he deposited her in the shadows. Without self-consciousness, he began to undress.

  She heard a smile in his voice when he said, “We’ve got almost a whole week. I don’t want to waste any more of it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He joined her on the bed and reached for her. She went to him willingly, happily. His skin felt smooth beneath her reaching fingertips, his body all silky muscle. What a strange sensation, to be swathed in fabric while he was naked.

  But not vulnerable. He took charge with a hungry kiss that left her weak and wanting. When he reached for the hem of her voluminous nightgown, she maneuvered around to make it easier for him to lift it over her head.

  Then they both were naked and straining together, exchanging heated kisses and caresses. Their breaths mingled, and after a few moments, she couldn’t have said what she felt and what she felt in him. As her blood heated, her equilibrium retreated.

  The thought of pulling back never entered her mind. She’d known what she wanted when she’d come out into the hall; she just hadn’t had the nerve to walk straight to this room and tell him so. Instead she’d waited, and this was her reward….

  This drugging rapture, invading her veins like liquid fire. He trailed his hand down her hip, his touch light and teasing. Everything he did, every touch, seemed perfect to her, designed to lift her to a fever pitch—and succeeding. Eager to possess and be possessed, she resented the few seconds lost while he retrieved a condom from the bedside table.

  “Hurry up!” She tugged on his shoulder.

  “Hey, I’m doing this for you. Left to my own devices—” He tumbled over and grabbed her. “I wouldn’t want anything between us, Max, Maxi, Maxine, baby, darlin’.”

  “You’re being sensible.” She curled her leg over his hip, tightened her muscles and pulled him closer. “I’m glad one of us is.” His hardness touched her softness and she gasped. “Randy!”

  “Ah…yes.” He was over her with a quick motion, his knees sliding between her thighs. Braced on his arms, he entered her with slow deliberation. Once firmly and deeply joined, he leaned down to draw a puckered nipple into his mouth.

  Exquisite pleasure bubbled through her. She’d never been so completely engaged in the act of love, never felt so willing to relinquish control. There was nothing he could do that she wouldn’t welcome, as she welcomed the acceleration of his deep thrusts.

  She clutched his shoulders, meeting his strokes fiercely. This man had ducked beneath her defenses and connected with something she hadn’t even realized was there inside her.

  That something was love, she acknowledged with a flash of insight that made this climax the sweetest she’d ever known.

  THROUGHOUT A LONG NIGHT, they made love, slept in each other’s arms and made love again. At dawn’s first light, Rand stifled his groan against her tousled hair.

  “I don’t understand what you’ve done to me,” he whispered, “but I wouldn’t want you to think I’m up to this performance level on an every-night basis.”

  “No?” She cuddled closer. “And here I was thinking that by Saturday we could make love…my math’s not so hot, but I was thinking maybe seventeen more times?”

  “In six days? I’d be dead!” But he didn’t pull away in horror, just cupped her breast and ducked to take the tip into his mouth.

  The glorious taste of her filled him, made him stiff all over again. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever encountered, the wildest in bed and the most deeply satisfying. An unexpected contentment warmed him.

  He could get used to this—maybe on a permanent basis. They were already married, after all. What if they decided to…explore the possibilities?

  RAND NEXT awakened at full light. For a long time he lay there next to a softly sleeping Max, wondering why he felt so damn good.

  In the city, he ordinarily slept late, but as a kid visiting Grandpa, he’d been expected to pile out of bed at dawn. Like all the Taggarts, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint the old man so he’d hauled himself up grumbling at dawn’s early light.

  Rand couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a sense of anticipation as he did this morning. He hadn’t been here in years. Maybe he’d forgotten the power the Rocking T held over him.

  Or maybe the power was Maxine’s—Max, wonderful Max, sleeping with her head on his shoulder and one slender hand curled on his chest. He picked up that hand and pressed it to his lips. Her mouth curved into a smile, but she slept on.

  How special she was. When he’d first embarked on this crazy scheme, he’d been grasping at straws, with no real idea how perfect she was to play the part of his wife. But they weren’t playing any longer. She was his wife in every way.

  Maybe he’d keep her…or try. Of course, if he decided to do that, he’d have a whole lot of explaining to do to her.

  Slowly and carefully, he slid his shoulder and arm free. She sighed and her lashes flickered—amazingly long lashes. Then she turned over, snuggled in the tangle of sheets and slept on.

  Moving quietly, Rand grabbed fresh clothing from the bureau drawer and crept out of the room. He’d shower down the hall so as not to disturb her. She needed her rest as much as he did.

  And she didn’t have
memories of a crusty old grandpa to bedevil her awake before her time.

  WHEN MAX OPENED her eyes, he was gone. She sat up abruptly in the bed, trying to get her bearings.

  He was definitely gone.

  Taking a deep breath, she leaned back on a pillow, a satisfied smile curving her mouth. She didn’t think he’d gone far. After last night…

  For several moments she lay there luxuriating in recent memories. Rand was so—

  Crooked. Rand was a crook. For her sister’s sake, she must never forget that. He was also a con man, so why was it so hard to admit that he was simply stringing her along? Last night had nothing to do with love or even affection—on his part, and also on hers if she had any sense at all. It was simply sex.

  That thought brought her lurching out of bed.

  If he’d said a word about his financial problems, perhaps she would feel different about him. But he’d never opened his mouth on that subject, and now she was supposed to believe that one night of great sex changed anything?

  Beneath the stinging spray of the shower, she reminded herself that she must be more on guard than ever. He seemed to instinctively find her weaknesses and exploit them, but he hadn’t turned aside her determination to clear her sister. One good tumble couldn’t make her forget a lifetime of obligation.

  Could it?

  She was still rolling up the sleeves of her plaid shirt when she entered the parlor and stopped short. Rand sat on a velvet sofa, turning a VCR tape over and over in his hands. He looked up, his expression tense.

  She felt a stab of alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong.”

  “Nothing.” He put the tape aside as if glad to be rid of it. His smile dissipated all the clouds. “How are you, honey?”

  The endearment brought a flush of pleasure. “I’m fine,” she said. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  He nodded. “You sit down. I’ll get it.”

  She did, wondering why it felt so good to be waited on by this gorgeous man. He treated her like a queen, while she—

  “Here you go.” He set the mug on the table beside her. “One spoonful of sugar, just the way you like it.”