Hoodwinked (20 page)

“I'm thirty-seven years old,” he said shortly, turning to face her with narrow dark eyes. “I've never even lived with a woman. I've never had to answer to
anyone. My time has always been my own, and business has filled it.”

“Children need two parents,” she said simply. “And I don't want to wind up like so many society wives do—with a drinking habit or a lover because I'm left alone too much.”

“I can't give you all my time,” he said.

“I'm not asking for it,” she replied. “I just want more than an occasional hour in bed and being made to feel like a harem girl.”

He stared at her levelly. “Is that how I made you feel the first time we made love together?”

She colored and lowered her eyes to his broad chest where his shirt was unbuttoned and thick hair peeked out of the opening. “Oh, no,” she confessed huskily. “You made me feel the way every woman dreams of feeling, her first time.”

“Do you really think I'd have given a damn about your pleasure if I were the kind of man you're trying to make me out to be?”

“You're twisting it,” she muttered.

“No, you are.” He came closer, kneeling just in front of her, one big hand on her thigh while the other idly held the burning cigarette. Pungent smoke rose between them. “I want to live with you. I can't guarantee you the moon, or that I'll be home on time every night. But I'll take care of you, and I swear on my heart that you'll never be just a body in bed to me.”

“But you don't love me,” she whispered miserably. “You just want me.”

“For a man, wanting sometimes comes first. It's the way we're made.” He smoothed his hand over her thigh, watching the material of her dress ripple
sensuously under his fingers. “You want me just as badly. I can hear your breathing change when I touch you.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?” He moved, easing her backward so that she was lying down, and his big body slid sinuously over her, pressing her down into the mattress.

“Your…cigarette,” she gasped as his hips settled over hers.

“To hell with the cigarette.” His mouth went down on hers.

Somewhere along the way, the cigarette wound up in an ashtray and their clothing scattered from the bed to the floor. Maureen felt his skin brushing hers, the thick hair on his chest abrasive on her bare breasts, his mouth smoky and expertly demanding on the swelling contours of her soft lips.

She clung to him, moaning softly at the things he did to her, glorying in the sweet pleasure of loving. He whispered to her, graphic things, touching her in remembered ways, guiding her own hands, leading her deeper and deeper into the high waves of passion.

When she felt him lift her, her eyes opened, drowsy and narrow, to look straight up into his.

He held her gaze while his powerful body slowly, sensually, overwhelmed hers and she gasped at the stark intrusion, at the fusion that made her fantasies about him shatter under the blinding pleasure. He knew so much, she thought, crying out as the sensations piled one up on another and began to throb in great red waves. He knew…everything!

He laughed roughly, watching her helpless response to him, feeling her nails stabbing into his
hips, her body lift to his as fulfillment buffeted her damp body. She cried out, the same throb in her voice that he felt in the pliant body beneath his. He watched her face as it happened to her, and only then gave himself the freedom to dive into the ecstasy with her. The waves hit him, too, and he groaned and groaned, his deep voice twining with her sharp cries as he felt the world spin off into darkness around him.

She couldn't stop crying. He held her, shuddering in his own peace, and smoothed her damp hair away from her wet face.

“It's all right,” he whispered. His lips touched her eyelids, sipping away the salty tears. “It's all right, now.”

But still she cried, her arms clinging around his neck, her body trembling as it sought the powerful contours of his, sought comfort.

His big hands smoothed down her back, loving the warmth of her. “I watched you,” he whispered against her lips. “It was better this time than last.”

“Oh, yes,” she moaned, shivering. Her face burrowed into his damp throat, feeling the throbbing coolness of his skin. “Don't let go.”

“I won't.” He rolled onto his side, easing her lovingly against him, caressing her with his lips and his hands. “Is it easing?”

“N-no,” she choked. “I'm sorry, I…Jake!” Her nails bit into him and she arched in sweet anguish as he moved over her, against her, his mouth grinding into hers as he shifted.

“Easy now,” he whispered into her mouth. “Come closer. I won't let you go until you feel it completely, this time. Kiss me…”

She hadn't realized that it was possible to survive such an explosion of sensation. She clung to him, spinning wildly between heaven and earth while he made the world go red with a completion beyond her wildest dreams. It was the closest she'd come to a dead faint, and she couldn't even lift her head when she felt him move slowly away from her at last.

“Come here, baby,” he whispered. He gathered her to him and pillowed her head on his shuddering chest. He stretched, groaning. “My God, I think I'm going to die of muscle failure. Are you all right?”

“If I die, right now, it will be all right,” she whispered on a shaky sigh. “I love you, Jake.”

“I'd have to be blind not to know it now,” he murmured softly, smiling against her soft mouth.

“You don't mind?” she asked quietly.

His head moved against her cheek. “I don't mind. It just takes some getting used to, that's all.” He laughed bitterly. “I've never been loved. Not by anyone.”

She framed his broad face with her hands and held it so that she could see his dark, haunted eyes. “Your parents…”

“I was adopted. Haven't you guessed?” he asked coldly. “They wanted children, or so they thought, so they adopted me from a young unwed mother whose name I never learned. When I got into trouble with the law, they blamed it on my unknown parentage and literally washed their hands of me.”

She couldn't quite take it all in. “But you inherited the corporation?”

“My adoptive father hadn't changed his will, for God alone knows what reason. My mother had an income for her lifetime, but the corporation went to me.” He rolled over onto his back, magnificent in his
nudity, and laughed coldly. “You can't imagine how she hated that. She couldn't get a penny out of me. She drank. And when she drank, she liked to call me and tell me what a hell I'd made of her life when I was a child. She'd get into the damnedest messes and call me to fly overseas and get her out of them. I cursed her until I ran out of curses, until the very night she died trying to kill me.”

“Oh, Jake.” She moved close to him, holding him, her cheek nestled on his hair-roughened chest. “Everyone said that you loved her, and I thought…I don't know what I thought. I'm so sorry.”

“I wanted to love her,” he said heavily. “But she wasn't the kind of woman who wanted that.” He smoothed the arm that lay across him. “She really hated me. I never quite knew why, unless she and my father had a warped idea of what parenthood meant. I think they realized at last that children aren't amusing little dolls that can be put on a shelf and forgotten when they aren't wanted.”

“That's true,” she said quietly. “But neither are wives.”

He lifted his head and looked down at her. “I don't know very much about wives. I never wanted one, until you came along. I don't know much about children, either. But I suppose you and I can learn together.”

“Can you spare the time?”

He sighed and touched her breasts gently with the tips of his fingers, watching her tautening body. “Oh, I think I'll manage that.” His dark eyes caught hers. “Say it again.”

“I…I love you,” she choked, arching toward his fingers.

“How much?”

“More than anyone or anything in the world,” she managed as his mouth came down to hers. “Except…”

His lips poised just over hers, his excited breath making cool shivers against them, “Except?” he asked, his tone challenging.

She lifted her hands to the back of his head. “Except for the child I'm going to give you…nine months from today,” she breathed shakily and brought his lips over hers.

He shuddered, and then his arms gathered her up tightly and he gave in, for the first time, to the need to be loved.

M
aureen and Jake bought the big gray house, and she did give up her job. But if Jake had thought she wouldn't be able to cope, he was wrong.

She found books on hostessing and other books on estate management. She took advantage of Jake's first overseas trip to start taking the reins of the household in hand. She hired a cook—not a French chef, but a kindly retired lady with an exquisite repertoire of home cookery—and a housekeeper and a maid. She employed a gardener. She went shopping for just the right clothes and had her hair done by an expert. The only concession she didn't make was to give up her glasses—she kept them, because after so many years, they felt like part of her.

“Mr. MacFaber is due home today, isn't he, Mrs. MacFaber?” Mrs. Candles, the cook, asked. “What shall I make?”

“Chicken crepes,” she said instantly. “He loves those. And a potato casserole, asparagus, and a small caramel pudding for desert,” Maureen told her with a smile. “That should satisfy his hunger for French cuisine and mine for American. Oh, and could you make a big chef's salad as well?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Mrs. Candles grinned. “Wine?”

“I'll have coffee and so will Mr. MacFaber,” she murmured. “I want him to keep a clear head so that he can see the changes around here.”

The cook went away shaking her head.

Maureen had a gorgeous crepe dress with an overlay of hand-painted chiffon in rainbow colors. She wore that, with its billowing skirt, and left her hair loose in waves that fell beautifully to her shoulders. She didn't look the epitome of a sophisticated tycoon's wife, but she did look like Jake MacFaber's wife, she consoled herself.

He came in the door just as she came down the stairs, and Clare, the new maid, was quick to take his briefcase and raincoat.

“It was coming down in buckets in New York,” Jake murmured, his eyes following the neat little maid's progress. He looked up at Maureen and his lips pursed as his dark eyes slid over her hungrily. “Are you going to be dessert?” he asked huskily.

“If you'd rather have me than a caramel pudding with cream,” she said, laughing. “Oh, Jake, I missed you so!”

She threw herself into his arms, to be swung around and kissed within an inch of her life. He'd been gone for three weeks, and she'd barely been able to stand being away from him, even though he'd phoned almost every day. It wasn't the same as having him close in her arms like this.

“Are you going to kiss me to death?” he whispered.

“Can I try?” She grinned and reached up to his mouth again.

“I'm not complaining.” He nuzzled his cheek against hers with a heavy sigh and brought her close, his body shuddering a little. “I need you, Maureen,”
he whispered at her ear. “Suppose we make love on the hall table?”

“Mrs. Candles would faint.”

He lifted his head, frowning. “Mrs. Who? And come to think of it, who was that?” He nodded in the direction in which the maid had gone.

“Clare is our maid,” she explained. “Mrs. Candles is our chef.”

His heavy brows began to knit. “Is she a French chef?”

“Her great-grandfather was French,” she assured him. “And she's a top-notch chef.”

“Now, listen, baby…”

She took his hand and pulled him along. “We can go to bed early,” she promised, “and I'll show you how much I missed you. But right now, you have to taste Mrs. Candles's crepes!”

He allowed himself to be persuaded, but he was still reluctant, right up until he took the first mouthful of Mrs. Candles's crepes. Then Maureen could see all his resistance crumbling.

“Marvelous,” he said.

“Yes, isn't it?” Maureen grinned. “We also have a gardener, and I have a new wardrobe, and we're giving a dinner party next week for all your executives at the corporation.”

He blinked, shocked by her take-charge manner. “Well, well, you've been a busy little bee, haven't you?” he mused.

“Indeed I have,” she said, laughing.

His eyes narrowed. “You haven't been sneaking back to the office to work?”

“I don't have time for that these days,” she murmured. “I've been too busy looking after the
house and getting everything organized. Do you like to swim?”

He stared at her. “Yes,” he said cautiously.

“Good.”

There was a sudden
whump
in the backyard.

“What was that?!” he burst out and started to get up.

She touched his hand gently, easing him back down. “Nothing to get excited about. It's just the bulldozer.”

“What bulldozer?”

“The one that's digging the hole for the swimming pool,” she explained calmly. “Do eat your crepe, sweetheart. It's going to get cold.”

He let out a slow breath, frowning toward the noise outback. “Are there any more surprises in store for me?” he asked.

“Only one little one,” she said carelessly. “But not right away. Don't you want some potato casserole?”

“I don't think I like potato casserole,” he said absently. “My God, you haven't wasted any time, have you?” he chuckled. “Maids, housekeepers…And I thought you couldn't cope. More fool, me.”

“You didn't realize how desperately I love you, that's all,” she said, smiling softly at him, her eyes adoring on his dark face. “When you love someone, you'll do anything to please them.”