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She searched his pale-blue eyes, noticing the tiny lines fanning out from their corners, and the length
and thickness of his black lashes. His brows were heavy and dark, and impulsively she ran the tip of
her finger over them. It was heady, touching him that way, and he seemed not to mind. His eyes
closed.
"Go ahead," he murmured. "Explore me if you want to."
She did. It was exciting, too, to run her fingers over his lean cheeks, the place where his nose had
been broken and was the most crooked, the chiseled line of his hard mouth, his stubborn chin. He
wasn't handsome—not technically. But he had an inner attractiveness that made his looks irrelevant.
And his body was just magnificent, she thought with a sigh.
"I like that," he murmured as she worked her way down to his chest. "I like the way your fingers feel."
"I like touching you," she confessed, finding the realization fascinating. "I've never wanted to touch
anyone else," she added vaguely. "It's odd, how I can't seem to stop doing it with you."
His eyes opened, searching hers. "That sounds serious."
"Does it?" She returned his scrutiny. "You don't have to look so worried," she told him, and smiled.
"I'm not going to fall madly in love with you and start clinging like ivy."
"That's a relief," he said, saying the words without really meaning them. He grinned. "I'd hate to have
a lovesick woman hanging on me all the time."
Her eyes dropped to his chest so that he couldn't see how much his careless remark had hurt. But why
should it matter? She didn't care about him. "Well, there's no danger of that," she told him firmly.
He wondered why he felt irritated by her remark. Did he want her to love him? He drew back, a little
disturbed.
She looked sad. Her face had lost its lovely color, and she seemed oddly taut.
"Hey," he said gently, tilting her chin up until her eyes met his. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "I was just wondering if we should marry..."
"I like you," he said at once. "Don't you like me?"
"Yes!"shesaidwithsmilingenthusiasm.
"Very much!"
He chuckled. "And together, physically, we create something beautiful and lasting. So why shouldn't
friends marry?"
She couldn't think of a single reason why not. There was always the hope that love would come, that
he'd learn to care about her; of course there was.
She sighed, watching him, thinking how devastating he was, how masculine and appealing. And he
was going to be all hers. No other woman would know him again as she did. He'd be her man.
Completely. She felt a wild hunger for possession. She wanted him to wear a ring; she wanted
everyone to know that he belonged to her. Her own bold thoughts startled her.
Her green eyes searched his hard face and she thought, I love him. I always have.
She felt the shock to her toes. Yes, she did love him. Otherwise she couldn't have given herself as she
had the night before. Especially not when she carried the scars from her first marriage so close to the
surface. Why hadn't she realized that before? A purely physical coming together wouldn't— couldn't
—have been so profound.
"You're worried," Gabe repeated, frowning.
"No!" She sat up, pushing back her hair, forcing a smile. "Truly I'm not. I just don't know if I
remember how to fish!"
"I'll teach you. That, and more," he promised, and bent to touch her mouth carelessly with his.
Maggie gasped at the soft contact. It was suddenly so exquisite to know how she felt and have him
touch her. She moaned a little and opened her mouth for him.
He caught his breath at her unexpected submission. His heart began to beat wildly. He lifted his head
and looked at her, feeling all man and a yard wide—and frankly hungry.
His lean fingers took hold of the strap of her gown and slowly tugged it down, baring one taut, pretty
breast to his glittering eyes.
Her lips parted. Her head fell back. She watched him, glorying in the way he was looking at her, in
his obvious hunger for her.
"Touch me there," she whispered huskily.
His heart leapt into his throat. She was going to be a handful. He hadn't expected this. He didn't know
what he'd expected anymore. His fingers trailed down her shoulder, her arm. To her ribs, up, but just
enough to tantalize. He watched the nipple grow harder and harder at his teasing, heard her breath
turning shallow and quick.
"Is it my hands you want, or my mouth?" he whispered, brushing his lips softly against hers.
Her nails gripped his shoulders helplessly. "Anything," she whispered back, her voice shaking.
"Anything!"
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