Baby Love (34 page)

"Then it'll be like that for us—sheer magic. So beautiful and good and sweet that there won't be room in your head for any bad memories. They'll be crowded out by fantastic new ones, and all that will be left is that wonderful, magical feeling."

She hooked a heel over his leg to pull her body closer to his. Rafe accommodated her by tightening his embrace. He felt her hand make a fist on his shirt again. "Then let's
do
it," she whispered fiercely. "Do it
now."

It was the last thing he expected her to say. He lay there a moment, his body taut, his pulse pounding.

"Maggie," he finally said gruffly, "I don't think now is the best time."

Where her hand had closed over his shirt, he felt a tug on his chest hair.

"Sometimes," she whispered shakily, "after you go to sleep, I touch you when you don't know it and I—

wonder about it."

He knew the times she referred to, and he hadn't been asleep. She had traced his features, etched the shape of his mouth with a fingertip, and lightly run her hands over his arms.

"You wonder about making love, you mean?"

"Yes," she said thinly. "What it'll be like."

He curled a hand over her shoulder. "What do you think it'll be like?"

For the longest time, she didn't answer. "I'm hoping it'll be nice. I like it when you touch me. Like right now. It feels good."

He realized he was gently caressing her shoulder through the cotton weave of the baggy shirt and stopped. Then, reminding himself that she'd just admitted to liking it, he began again, deliberately this time. "Like that?"

"Mmmm." She dragged in a shaky breath. "It makes my skin tingle."

Knowing she liked it made his borrowed jeans feel another size too small. This was dangerous. She was
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CATHERINE
ANDERSON

encouraging him to do something he wasn't sure she was ready for yet. And he was a little
too
ready.

"Only as nice as I hope it'll be, I'm afraid, too," she admitted. "Not really of you anymore. Just afraid. That maybe it won't be nice. That maybe it'll even be—terrible. And I never woke you up because I was scared to find out."

"I swear to you, Maggie, it won't be terrible."

"What you said about the magic?" She suddenly pushed up on an elbow to gaze into his eyes. He felt as if he were drowning in wet silk. "If you—" She broke off and swallowed. "If you can make magic and chase this awful feeling in me away, I want you to."

Rafe studied her small face, which had been ravaged by weeping. Tear streaks lined her pale cheeks. Her eyelids were puffy and red. The end of her nose was pink. And her mouth. Oh, God. It was swollen and shiny and soft-looking—and begged to be kissed. He reached up to smooth a dark tendril of hair from her cheek, and somehow his hand ended up cupped over the back of her head.

"Sweetheart, you're upset. We've just talked about Lonnie. It's all fresh in your mind. I think we should wait until another time."

"Don't you want me?"

Oh, God. He'd never wanted anyone or anything more. But he also wanted the timing to be right. What if he failed to make it magical for her? Let her down? "Oh, sweetheart, I want you. Of course I want you.

More than I can say."

"I don't mean to push. It's just—it's like having a monster in the closet. You know?"

Where that had come from, he had no idea. "A what?"

"A monster in the closet. When you were little, didn't you ever believe there was a monster in your closet?"

He'd never seen eyes as beautiful as hers. Her every thought and feeling was reflected in those liquid brown

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depths, and the mixture of emotions terrified him. She obviously wanted to face her demons, and somehow, in her mind, he was one of them.

"I never believed a monster was in my closet. But I used to think there were ghosts in the stable after dark."

"How'd you come to realize there weren't?"

"When I was about twelve, I took a sleeping bag out and slept in the tack room. It was a hell of a cure, but by the time daylight rolled around, I wasn't afraid anymore."

"Well, when I was young, I thought there was a monster in my closet. Night after night, I lay in bed, staring at the closet door, afraid to go to sleep. Finally one night I couldn't stand it anymore, and I jumped up and opened the door. Guess what? No monsters. I was never afraid again."

"Maggie, are you saying I'm a monster in your closet?"

Her gaze clung to his as she shook her head. "No. Lonnie's my monster now, and you're the door I'm afraid to open." She nibbled her lip, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "I know it's stupid. Please don't be hurt. It's just—"

Rafe angled a fingertip across her lips. "You don't have to explain. I understand, and I'm not hurt. There's nothing inside me you haven't seen, Maggie. No monsters lurking. Nothing of Lonnie in me."

"I know that. I've known for quite a while," she admitted shakily. "But I need to prove it to myself. You know? Unfortunately, it's not quite as simple as grabbing hold of a doorknob this time." She smiled tremulously. "You don't come equipped with one."

He could think of other things she might grab that would get the job done in damned short order. He drew her face closer to his. He'd never contemplated making love to anyone who looked more frightened, and conversely, that scared the ever-loving hell out of him as well.

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"If you really want to make love, Maggie, all you have to do is kiss me," he told her. "I'll take it from there."

To his shame, he was hoping she'd back off. Give herself some time. Wait until her mood was better. Instead, her gaze dropped to his mouth. She licked her lips, then flicked the corners with the pink tip of her tongue. His guts knotted and fire sluiced through him, liquid and racing.

"I've never," she murmured. "Been the one to start, I mean."

She dipped her head, then drew back and angled her face in the opposite direction. Several false starts later, her silken lips finally grazed his—so lightly, so shyly and tentatively, that he made a fist in her hair, yearning to draw her closer. But no. As she'd so aptly put it, this was her door to open, her monster that needed to be vanquished. And he had to let her do it in her own way and at her own pace.

Maggie had barely begun kissing Rafe when she realized he meant to just lie there and let her run the show. For an instant, she found the idea appealing. It was a novel experience to feel in control—to be the aggressor and know nothing would happen unless she wanted it to happen.

But that feeling quickly waned. She remembered how it had felt that day in the airplane when he kissed her— the breathless, exciting, heady sensation that had come over her. She wasn't experiencing the same feeling now. She was new at this and wasn't sure how to proceed. She'd always found Lonnie's lips revolting, and she had tried to twist her face away, swallowing her gorge.

Her heart squeezing with nervousness, she touched the tip of her tongue to Rafe's lips, hoping that might inspire him to take over. But he still just lay there, kissing her back—sort of—but not touching her and making her nerve endings sing like he had the other time. She wanted that, needed that. As it was, she felt awkward, not to mention nervous. After kissing him, what was she supposed to do next? Touch him?

Undress him? If he intended to follow her lead, they might lie here all night with their lips glued together.

Wholly unsatisfied with their progress thus far, she drew back to search his gaze. His eyes glittered strangely, the twinkling warmth she was accustomed to

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gone. He was aroused, she decided. He wanted her. So why didn't he do anything about it?

"You said you'd take it from here," she reminded him shakily.

His satiny lips twitched, and his long, black lashes dipped low, momentarily veiling his eyes. "I changed my mind. It's better if you set the pace. I'm afraid I'll rush you."

"Maybe I'd rather be rushed."

His eyes filled with questions.

She shrugged, her gaze drawn to his mouth. "The last time you kissed me, I could scarcely think."

"You couldn't?" He looked surprised to hear that. "I thought you were scared to death."

She gave a nervous laugh. "I was." She caught the inside of her cheek in her teeth, working the sensitive tissue until the sting made her quit. "I need you to start this," she blurted. "I, um—feel self-conscious doing it."

Issuing no warning, he shoved her elbow out from under her. The next instant, she found herself flat on her back with him looming over her. "Self-conscious, huh? Well, Maggie girl, we can't have that." The warmth had returned to his eyes. He bent his head to kiss the tip of her nose. "I feel like I've been waiting a lifetime for this," he whispered huskily. "It's hard to decide which part of you I want to taste first."

"My mouth?"-she suggested hopefully.

He slowly shook his head and grinned. "Can I choose?"

Maggie's heart thumped wildly at the base of her throat. She'd been counting on him to kiss her and make her feel mindless before he started exploring elsewhere. "I guess," she agreed reluctantly.

"Your ears," he whispered.

"My what?"

He arched a raven brow. "I have this thing about your ears. I can't explain it. They've been driving me crazy

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for weeks. I've dreamed about kissing them. Fantasized about it. Those ears of yours have been responsible for my taking at least a dozen ice-cold showers." His gaze burned a slow path to her hair. "I like to drool for a while before I actually taste the entree. Is there any chance I can convince you to push your hair back?"

"You want to look at my ear? You're kidding, right?"

"I'm dead serious. You're not territorial about those, too, are you?" When she didn't immediately push her hair back, he gave her a mock scowl. "Maggie," he said in a low, scolding tone. "I'm only asking to kiss your
ear.
I promise not to ravish your canal."

She giggled in spite of herself. His putting it like that made her feel silly.

"Please?" he cajoled. "I'm at the end of my rope. If I don't get to kiss one of those ears soon, I'm going to get pneumonia from cold showers, I swear to God."

She smiled and reached up to push her hair back. It was insane, but she felt shy.
Stupid, so stupid.
He wasn't asking her to strip. It was only her ear he wanted to see, for pity's sake. When she lowered her hand, she glanced up and saw that he was staring at the side of her head like a starving man who had just spied a heavily laden banquet table.

"That is, without a doubt, the cutest little ear I've ever clapped eyes on." With a twist of his waist, he rolled off of her and sat up, resting his broad shoulders against the wall. "Come here, Mrs. Kendrick," he said softly.

Maggie gave him a wary look. He chuckled and grasped her arm. "Come on. I'm only going to nibble on that ear, not chew it off."

As she rose to her knees, he released her arm, straightened his legs, and patted his thigh.

"This seems like a lot of preparation just so you can kiss my ear," she grumped, trying to inject a blase tone into her voice, even though her insides were quivering.

"Just?" His chest rumbled with a low, vibrant

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chuckle. "Maggie, Maggie. Ear kissing is an art, and I am a master."

She believed it.

After a good deal of twisting, grunting, and elbowing each other, they finally got comfortably settled with her astride his hard thighs.
Silence.
They regarded each other.

"Can I ask you something?'' she ventured.

"Shoot."

"What is it about my ear that you find so appealing?"

"The way I know you'll feel when I kiss it," he said with a mischievous grin.

Maggie couldn't fault him for lack of honesty. "How will I feel?"

"Let me kiss it and find out for yourself." He reached up to push a stray curl out of the way. "You ever done this?"

He'd barely touched her yet, and already she was having trouble thinking. "No, I've never done this."

"Well, I feel duty-bound to tell you you're in for an experience." His velvety warm mouth was at her temple. "Dear God, you smell so wonderful."

"I do?" she asked, her heart lurching as his lips tantalized the sensitive places along her hairline.

"Absolutely," he replied in a whisper that jangled all her nerve endings. "Bathing soap and shampoo and another scent that's uniquely yours."

She probably needed a shower.

"Oh, Maggie, have you any idea what you do to me?"

His lips found her ear. Maggie curled her hands over his shoulders, whether to hang on or shove him away, she wasn't sure. A tingling warmth settled low in her abdomen as his breath wafted softly into her ear canal. The tingling became electrical shocks of melting heat when he drew her lobe into his mouth and teased it lightly with his tongue.

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She couldn't move. The sensations were mesmerizing. A restrained breath shuddered from her.

"Oh, Maggie ... Maggie ... I love you so."

His voice seemed to radiate clear through her. She clutched his shirt in tight fists, tipping her head to accommodate his mouth, so focused on the feelings he elicited within her that she no longer even felt nervous.
Heaven.
No one had ever kissed one of her ears. Over the years, she had regarded those twin body parts mainly as things that needed to be scrubbed on a regular basis.

Now, suddenly, that ear seemed central to her being, the multitude of nerve endings making her whole body tingle.

She forgot everything. Lonnie. Her dread of sex. Even her name. His mouth moved to the hollow beneath her ear, his teeth nibbling and teasing the spot, his lips grazing her skin like warm, wet satin. Oh, dear heaven. He made her
want.
Way low in her belly, she started to ache—a throbbing ache that transmitted itself to her skin and breasts, making her toes curl inside the floppy socks she wore.

All this, just by kissing her ear?

She blinked when she felt him lightly run his hands down her arms, then back up to grip her shoulders.

She let her head fall back as he began to kiss her throat. "Oh, Rafe..."

A sudden dizzy sensation made her head swim. She moved back a bit, needing a moment to collect her wits. He made no attempt to restrain her, just allowed her to push away and then gazed up at her, the hue of his eyes smoky and warm.

"Afraid, Maggie?"

It came as a surprise to realize she wasn't. Still bracing her hands on his chest, she said, "No, not really."

"Going somewhere?"

"No," she replied shakily and knew she meant it.

She gazed down at his mouth, yearning for him to kiss her. When he made no move to do so, she leaned
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hesitantly closer until her lips hovered a scant inch from his. Her heart went
wham-wham
inside her chest.

Her stomach tightened, making it difficult to breathe.

This time she scarcely thought about how to kiss him. She just pressed her mouth to his.

Unwilling to let this kiss end as the last one had, Rafe curled a hand over the back of her head, aware as he tightened his hold that even her skull felt small to him. He slanted his mouth over hers, taking control.

When he first touched the tip of his tongue to her lips, she stiffened. But after a moment, she opened her mouth ever so slightly.

It was all the encouragement Rafe needed.
Sweetness.
It seemed to him he had waited forever to taste her again, and he wasn't disappointed. Remembering an old song, he thought,
Kisses sweeter than wine.

It was no exaggeration. She was intoxicating.

Yearning hit him, fast and hard. He wanted to lay his hands on her satiny skin, to slowly trace every curve and plane of her body, to suckle her breasts.
Maggie.
This went beyond desire. He burned with such a fierce need to have her that he felt afire.

She pressed against him, her slender body soft, deliciously warm, and trembling with what he hoped was desire.
Maggie.
He slid his hands beneath the hem of her top and found bare skin. To actually touch her felt so wonderful his guts knotted.

At the edge of his mind, warning bells clamored. He had to go slowly. It was just so damned difficult when he'd wanted her so badly for so long. Never for a minute had he dreamed she might respond to him like this, or with such abandon.
Slow down. Don't rush her.
He wanted their first time together to be perfect.

She had experienced less than perfect too many times as it was.

He tamped down his rising passion, afraid he'd lose control and frighten her. As if she sensed his tension, she suddenly drew back, her beautiful eyes slightly un-BABY LOVE 335

focused, her lashes fluttering. "What is it?" she whispered throatily.

His hands anchored at her waist, he feathered his fingertips over her silken skin, the yearning within him to skim his palms upward so intense that he clenched his teeth. He let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to relax.
Honesty.
His rule. No more secrets between them, he'd told her.

"I'm scared to death," he confessed.

An incredulous bewilderment entered her eyes. "Scared? Of me, you mean?"

"For you," he whispered. "Scared for you. And for me. I'm afraid of screwing this up. Of doing the wrong thing." He drew his hands from her waist to frame her face with his palms. He trailed the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks, reveling in the silky smoothness, knowing full well she'd be just that soft everywhere—if not softer. "I love you so much, Maggie. I want to make this perfect for you, and I'm afraid I won't. That I'll blow it, and you'll never want me again. That—" He released another shaky breath and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm so nervous, I couldn't spit if you yelled fire. Can you believe it?"

She sat back, her soft bottom settling on his thighs just above his knees. Even in that, he found sweet torture. The heat of her. The alluring way her lush roundness molded to his firmness. Curling her slender hands over his wrists, she gazed at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then her eyes filled with tears, and a tremulous smile touched her swollen lips.

"I thought for a moment you'd decided you didn't want me."

"Oh, I want you," he assured her. "That's the problem. I want you so much, it's scary, and I'm—" He didn't want to alarm her, even with words. "I'm afraid I'll lose control and—" He swallowed. "I just don't want to do anything that reminds you of Lonnie, you know?" He tried to inject a note of humor into his shak-336 CATHERINE ANDERSON

ing voice. "The old monster in the closet, jumping out at you."

Maggie had never loved him more than she did then. She searched his eyes and knew he actually was afraid. Bone-deep afraid. He was shaking slightly, whether with nerves or the strain of holding back, she wasn't sure. And it didn't really matter, for either way, it told her how very much he did love her. She thought of all the nights that he'd held her, the hardness of his need pressed rigidly against her. Night after night, needing and never taking. Now, when he could finally have her, he still held back? That meant more to Maggie than she could say. In fact, out of all the things he might have said or done to make this easier for her, his doing nothing at all was the most disarming. It nearly broke her heart.

The old monster in the closet.
Her words, and she realized now that she'd been inadvertently cruel, telling him she had a deep-rooted fear that there was a little of Lonnie in him. Now he was afraid to be himself for fear she would draw comparisons. Not this man. Never. He was so sweet and dear, the very antithesis of Lonnie Boyle in every way. Granted, Rafe was big—and he was definitely strong, his body roped and padded with steely tendon and muscle. He embodied all that was masculine and all that Lonnie had taught her to fear. But Rafe Kendrick was more than just that, so very much more. Hard as he might be on the outside, he was a softie at the center, the most gentle and caring man she'd ever known.

And he loved her.
For keeps.
Not just a physical attraction, though that was undeniably interlaced with his feelings for her. But he loved her beyond that, more deeply than that, in a way that transcended the physical and would persevere even if she denied him the physical. She could bring this to a halt right now, tell him she wasn't ready and might never be ready, and he would
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