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Authors: Barbara McCauley

BOOK: Secret Baby Santos
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But love, whatever it was, had always evaded him. Love, the kind that rang church bells and cried babies, Nick simply didn't comprehend. No woman had ever gotten that far under his thick skin.
Of course, there was his fantasy woman, the woman who had haunted his dreams for the past five years. A woman with skin as soft and smooth as rose petals, a woman who tasted as sweet as honey and cream. Even her scent still lingered in his mind, delicate, yet strangely exotic.
What a strange night that had been. He'd thought he'd made love to Cindy, his ex-girlfriend. Cindy had always been sweet, but they'd never really had a lot in common. Before he'd even gotten out of bed the next morning, he'd called her to talk about giving it another
try, told her that he'd enjoyed being with her again the night before. Cindy had slammed the phone down on him, but not before she'd coolly informed him that she may have been at the party, but she most certainly had not “been with him.”
He must have stared at the receiver for a full five minutes before he could even hang up the phone. He'd been drinking, but he certainly hadn't been drunk. How the hell could he have made a mistake like that? He'd never been that careless or negligent when it came to sex. He'd sat on the edge of the bed, his mind racing with scenarios of angry husbands and horrible diseases.
That's when he'd looked at the bed and noticed the faint red spot on the sheets.
Good Lord
. His mouth went dry as he stared at the sheet. A virgin? He groaned at the thought, cursed himself, then searched the room for something, anything that might reveal his mystery woman's identity.
But there'd been nothing left behind to tell him who the woman was, only a cassette under the bed with a silly quote about cobblestones or some strange thing.
He'd called everyone at the party he'd known, even friends of friends, but no one remembered anything about her. He'd waited for her to call him. He'd even left a number he could be reached at after they checked out of the hotel. But as mysteriously as she'd come into his life, she vanished again.
That was the one woman, the only woman, who had ever gotten under his skin. He'd dreamed about that nameless, faceless seductress often after that, and though it had been a long time since the last dream, strangely enough, he'd had it again, just last night. It had been the same as always: he couldn't see her face,
couldn't speak, and then she vanished, like smoke into the night.
Maybe he only wanted what he couldn't have, he thought with a sigh, watching Maggie ruffle her son's hair and laugh. A mystery woman and a woman who wouldn't give him the time of day.
Still, despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise, he was certain that Maggie was not so indifferent to him. He reasoned it could be wishful thinking, but earlier, in his office, when he'd impulsively touched her mouth with his thumb, he'd watched her green eyes deepen, felt the shudder of breath from her lips. She might not have realized it, but she'd even leaned toward him, as if she'd
wanted
him to kiss her. As if she were asking.
He'd come close, so damn close. If Drew hadn't stopped him, he was certain he would have kissed her. He wondered what she would have done if he had. Would she have opened those sweet lips to him and kissed him back, or would she have slapped him?
Life was chock-full of risks, he thought, and rubbed at his cheek. The risk of a sore jaw might be well worth finding out what Maggie Smith tasted like.
“Come see.” Drew took hold of his mother's hand and dragged her out of the office. “Nick says I can put air in the tires, but we gotta get new ones first. Don't we, Nick?”
“That's right, pal.” Nick handed the youngster a clean rag. “We'll have her fixed in no time.”
Grinning, Drew swiped the rag across his hands, then stuffed it into his back pocket the same way he'd seen Nick do. “Can I ride on your motorcycle now?”
Nick glanced at Maggie. She frowned darkly. “Another time, maybe. And anyway, after a hard morning's
work, we need hamburgers and chocolate shakes to build up our strength. My treat.”
“Nick—” Maggie lifted a hand to protest, but Drew was already bouncing with delight. With a sigh, she let her hand drop and shook her head. “Nick Santos, what in the world am I going to do with you?”
He'd like to tell her, in explicit detail. But there was a child present, so instead he grinned broadly and wiggled his eyebrows. “Anything you like, Maggie Smith. Anything at all.”
To his surprise, she laughed. The sound rippled through him like a familiar tune from the past, whispered softly to him like a long-forgotten lyric he'd heard before.
He blinked, and the moment passed. Smiling at his own foolishness, he swept Drew up and carried the giggling child to the washstand in the back of the shop.
And all the while, her heart aching, Maggie stood quietly by and watched them play.
Five
“T
hanks for the ride, dear.” Two tins of fresh-baked cookies in her hand, Angela Smith slid out of the front seat of the car. “Ruby Peterson is going to drive us home after the bridge game, and your father's already settled in to watch the football game in the bedroom. You just enjoy the quiet.”
Quiet was exactly what Maggie didn't need. Quiet gave her too much time to think about things, and about people she didn't want to think about. “Are you sure Drew won't be any trouble?”
“Nonsense. Ruby's bringing Tommy, her grandson. The boys will have a good time playing. Give your mother a kiss, Drew.”
The kiss he planted on her cheek was noisy and wet, and Maggie smiled at the pleasure of it, knowing that it wouldn't be long before he'd balk at the idea of goodbye kisses. When she straightened the collar of his
cotton shirt, he mimicked her and tugged right back at the neckline of her blue chenille sweater. “Grandma says Tommy is bringing his Robot Rider action cars and that I can play with them, too.”
“Just mind your manners, young man.” Maggie ruffled her son's hair, loved the feel of the silky strands between her fingers. He bounced out of the front seat of the car before she could kiss him back.
“Oh, Margaret, dear.” With a thoughtful frown, Angela stared at the tins in her hands. “You know, I think I've brought way too many cookies for tonight, especially since Martha Wimpleman's on a diet again. Why don't you drop one of these tins by Nick Santos's for me? He enjoyed my chocolate pie so much last week, I'm sure he'll like these, as well.”
Maggie knew a setup when she saw one. Her mother hadn't stopped talking about Nick since he'd come over for dinner. About what a handsome,
single
young man he was. But Maggie also knew if she told her mother she wasn't interested, she'd only press all the more.
With an indifferent shrug, Maggie took the tin. “Sure, Mom.”
She contemplated tossing the cookies out the car window as she turned down Ridgeway Road and headed toward Nick's shop, but she couldn't bring herself to litter or waste food. She thought about eating them all herself, but then she'd only end up with a stomachache.
She didn't want to see Nick, dam it. She'd already seen way too much of him. The visit last Saturday, then ice cream in town at Judy's Creamery. That had been the worst. Watching Drew laugh with Nick and argue over what was better—chocolate with marshmallows
and caramel, or vanilla with blueberry bubble gum. They both teased her over her own bland selection of vanilla dipped in chocolate.
She felt as if she were in a vise. Every time Nick looked at her with those dark eyes, every time he smiled, that vise tightened another notch.
That's why she didn't want quiet, why she didn't want to think. With the quiet came the image of him touching her in his office, his fingers on her chin, the gentle caress of his thumb on her lips. Lips that still tingled. Lips that ached to be kissed.
How could she resist him? And even worse, did she truly want to?
She stared at the tin of cookies as if it were filled with snakes. A note. That's it. She'd write a note and just leave it by the front door. He'd find them in the morning.
Satisfied with that solution, she pulled into the parking lot of his shop and turned off the engine. His truck was in the back corner, but that didn't mean he was there. He rode his motorcycle most of the time. Either way, she'd sneak in and out and never be seen. She quickly scribbled a note on a scrap of paper from her purse and stepped out of the car.
The night was warm, and a breeze carried the scent of coyote mint from a nearby field. A crescent moon shone brightly overhead, and the sky was clear, sparkling with thousands of stars.
As much as she enjoyed living in New York, with all its energy and vibrancy, the sky seemed higher here, the trees taller and the stars brighter. There was so much she missed about small-town life. The sense of community, the slower pace. The only horn she'd ever heard honk since she'd come back to Wolf River was
Ethel Myers's attempt to shoo a loose cow out of the middle of the highway.
Several times she'd thought about moving back. She could do free-lance work, or even take a job with a local newspaper. Her work had felt stale to her lately, and the constant chaos in her busy office ground on her nerves like knuckles on a cheese grater. She'd needed this leave of absence, not just for her parents' sake, but for her own. The deadlines had been getting to her lately. The faster she worked, the more assignments they gave her, with tighter deadlines. And even more than all that, she missed her parents, wanted her son to see his grandma and grandpa all the time, instead of phone calls and letters.
But coming back had only been a dream, a fantasy. She could never come back now. Not with Nick here.
The front door to his shop was open a few inches, the lights were on inside. A song blared from a radio, about Hollywood Hills and Hollywood nights and Nick's deep voice sang along. She smiled at his enthusiasm for the song, and in spite of herself couldn't resist peeking her head inside.
He stood over a workbench, a screwdriver in one hand and a carburetor in the other. At least, she thought it was a carburetor. Because she was single, she'd had to learn a little about cars and mechanical things, but she still couldn't say what the difference was between an axle and a piston.
She allowed herself a moment to watch him, to let her gaze linger on the dark waves of thick hair, the stretch of black T-shirt over wide, strong shoulders, the hug of faded denim over a fine rear end and Texaslong legs.
Her pulse ricocheted, her breath quickened. Just
looking at him aroused her, made her want things she knew she could never have.
She started to set the cookies down inside the door when he turned sharply. The irritation in his frown slowly turned to a smile.
Darn, darn, dam.
She couldn't very well just run off now, not without looking completely ridiculous. And she'd certainly done that often enough when it came to Nick.
Be calm, Margaret
, she repeated over and over.
He set the screwdriver down and reached for a rag, wiped his hands with it. “Well, well, Maggie Smith. What brings you to the wolfs den?”
She prayed he wouldn't notice her knees were shaking as she walked across the shop. “My mother thought you might like some cookies.”
He kept his eyes on her when she handed him the tin. “I'd love some cookies.”
Why did he have to keep looking at her like that? As if he wanted to gobble her up whole instead of the cookies? And why was she thinking that she wanted him to?
“Well,” she mumbled and backed away, “I have to get going.”
He reached out and took hold of her arm. “At least stay and have one cookie with me. I hate to eat alone.”
Don't do it, Maggie...
“Well, just one.”
While he washed his hands, she wandered over to a motorcycle beside his workbench. It was beautiful. A big, powerful-looking machine with polished chrome and a brand-new black leather seat. The only thing missing was an engine.
“Is this yours?” she asked when he came back.
“A friend's. We used to race together.” He broke
open the tin, and a smile of pure ecstasy curved his lips. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Ah, chocolate chip.”
He already had half a cookie in his mouth when he offered one to her. “I think I just died and went to heaven,” he moaned around the bite.
“I'll tell her you said so.” The expression of pleasure on Nick's face bordered on sexual, and Maggie felt her insides shift. She looked quickly away, turned her attention to the motorcycle while she nibbled on a morsel of chocolate. “Why did you quit racing?”
Well into his second cookie, he shrugged. “It was time. I was on the road all the time. Too many different hotels and restaurants.”
“And women?” Cursing her loose tongue, she bit the inside of her mouth and felt the warm spread of a blush on her cheeks.
His grin was wide and slow. “You read too many tabloids, Maggie.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's none of my business.”
“I have no secrets.” He set the cookie tin down on the workbench and moved behind her. “How 'bout you, Maggie Smith?” he whispered, his mouth inches from her ear. “What are your secrets?”
What are your secrets?
His question made her heart stop, but his closeness made it start up again at lightning speed. Her secrets she could never tell him. She watched, mesmerized as he lifted her hand to his mouth, then bent down and sank his teeth into her cookie. Her mouth actually watered.
When he came back for the last bite, and his lips touched her fingers, pleasure rocketed through her. “Let's take a ride.” His hands slid to her waist.
“A ride?” she repeated lamely. She could barely think, let alone refuse him.
“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?” He eased her closer to the bike.
She shook her head, felt the hard, cold steel against her leg.
He smiled. “Then your first time will be with me. I like that.”
He had no idea how true his words were, or the longing that swelled in her heart. “There's no engine,” she pointed out.
“We don't need an engine.”
She let out a squeak when his hands circled her waist and lifted her. Instinctively she swung her leg over the bike and grabbed for the handlebars. He climbed on behind her and settled his hands on her hips. “You're in control, Maggie. Feel the power.”
She did feel it. It surged through her like a speeding train, made her head spin and her heart pound. He'd sucked her into the fantasy, and she couldn't stop herself. A delicious bubble of forbidden delight swelled inside her. How long had it been since she'd given in to the emotions, just let herself go, let herself
feel?
Since the last time he'd touched her, she realized.
“Where shall we go?” she asked breathlessly.
“We'll go anywhere you want to, sweetheart. As far and as fast as you like.”
His words thrilled her. She closed her eyes, let the sensations course through her. He slid her body snugly against his, wrapped his arms around her waist and held on.
“It's dangerous to ride without a helmet,” she whispered, then felt the rise of heat on her cheeks at the innuendo.
He laughed softly. “I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe with me.”
Even in her dazed state, she knew that wasn't true. She could never be safe with Nick, but somehow, at the moment, it didn't seem to matter.
She could almost feel the wind in her hair and on her face, the vibration of the powerful engine between her legs. The radio played a hard-rock beat, and the pulse of the music pounded into her blood.
And then there was Nick.
She smelled the soap he'd washed his hands with, something citrus, but his own scent, pure male, consumed her. With a sigh of surrender, she melted into the heat of his broad chest, luxuriated in the strength of his muscular arms.
“Maggie, sweet Maggie,” he murmured.
How many times had she dreamed he'd say her name like that? That she might hear
her
name on his lips, not another woman's?
“Don't hold back.” His breath fanned her ear and waves of pleasure pulsated through her. “Just let yourself go.”
She thought she heard the roar of the engine, but it was the blood pounding in her head. They were going much too fast. It frightened her. It excited her.
She gasped when he nipped gently on her earlobe. “There's a stop sign ahead.”
“There's no one around for miles.” He brushed his lips over a spot just below her ear, and she shivered in response. “You don't have to stop.”
God help her, she didn't want to. She wanted this feeling to last forever. That last tiny portion of her mind that was still rational knew it couldn't, of course, but why not enjoy just a few minutes of heaven?
On a moan, she let her head fall backward. A trail of fire followed his mouth over her neck, then up her jaw. His touch turned her inside out, exposed every raw nerve. And still it wasn't enough.
“Maggie.” His voice and breath were strained. “I want you.”
She simply couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She turned toward him, needing to stop this, to stop him, but his mouth closed over hers and every word scattered like leaves in the wind.
She tasted like chocolate, Nick thought. Rich and dark and sweet. He angled his head so that he could taste her deeper, felt an arrogant pleasure from her soft whimper of delight. She was interested in him, all right, in spite of what she wanted him to believe. He had no idea why she fought against it as hard as she did, but he intended to break down every defense until he found out.

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