had been bombarded by silent messages.
Without a word, or a move out of line, Mitch had transmitted his desire, his intentions. Hewanted her, in the most basic way a man wanted a woman.
It was scary…yet excitingly so.
Needing a few precious seconds to collect herself, Maggie stood silent, inches outside Mitch’s door, drawing deep, calming breaths into her oxygen-starved body.
Raising one hand, she stared numbly at the tremor in her fingers. She was trembling inside, too, trembling and…
Again Maggie’s breath caught in her throat. She was trembling and aching, tight and hot and moist in the sensitive heart of her femininity.
She wanted him.
The realization battered its way through the barrier of Maggie’s self-constructed denial. She had wanted him from the moment she walked into his office that first day and looked into his eyes to feel the power of his masculine attraction to her.
Forewarned by the woman in the restaurant that Mitch Grainger was tough, hard as bedrock, she had been prepared to dislike him on sight. And Maggie had told herself repeatedly over the ensuing days that she had disliked him. She had spent the weekend avoiding the truth that, fromthat first moment, she had felt irrevocably drawn to him.
How had it happened? Why had it happened? Maggie asked herself, bewildered by her uncharacteristic response to him. She had believed herself sorely lacking in sensuality. She didn’t even particularly like sex, had never experienced anything remotely similar to joyous ecstasy while engaged in the act of lovemaking.
Still, her body pulsated with a hollow, aching desire to be one with Mitch Grainger.
What in the world was she going to do? Maggie’s first impulse was to bolt, not only from the office, but from the building, straight to the apartment to gather her stuff and hightail it out of Deadwood.
With trembling fingers, Maggie plucked her handbag from the corner of Karla’s desk, where she had placed it before entering Mitch’s office with his lunch. On shaky legs, she took a step toward the door, and freedom.
“Oh, Maggie,” Karla exclaimed on a short laugh, stopping Maggie in her tracks. “I didn’t hear you come out of Mitch’s office.” Her smile gave way to a frown. “You look a little upset. Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Maggie said, raking hermind for an excuse, any excuse. “I just need to go to the rest room,” she improvised.
“Oh…” Karla giggled. “I know the feeling.” She flicked a hand at the door. “So…go, you know where it is.”
Maggie was through the door like a shot, nearly colliding with Frank, one of the guards, and another man who were right outside. “Oh, excuse me, Frank,” she said, feeling foolish as she circled him and the other man. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
Frank chuckled. “Nature calling, huh?”
“Afraid so,” she said, her face growing warm with embarrassment. “Too much coffee,” she explained, continuing along the hallway to the door marked Women.
Once inside, Maggie slumped back against the door, her pulse racing, her breathing erratic, her body trembling. Staring straight ahead, she was shocked at the sight of her stark reflection in the long mirror above the marble-topped line of sinks.
Startled to her senses by her own pale, distressed image, Maggie drew a deep breath and stiffened her spine. Eyes narrowing, she moved closer to the mirror.
This is nuts, she thought, glaring at herreflection. You’re reacting like a twittery teen at the prospect of her first real date.
But, what to do about it? About Mitch?
The impulse to run swept over her again. Exerting every atom of willpower she possessed, Maggie quashed the thought out of existence.
Damned if she would run, she lectured herself. She had been running for months, only to learn, finally, that she couldn’t run from herself. Her anger, her uncertainties were always with her.
Well, she had decided to stop running, hadn’t she? Maggie
Without a word, or a move out of line, Mitch had transmitted his desire, his intentions. Hewanted her, in the most basic way a man wanted a woman.
It was scary…yet excitingly so.
Needing a few precious seconds to collect herself, Maggie stood silent, inches outside Mitch’s door, drawing deep, calming breaths into her oxygen-starved body.
Raising one hand, she stared numbly at the tremor in her fingers. She was trembling inside, too, trembling and…
Again Maggie’s breath caught in her throat. She was trembling and aching, tight and hot and moist in the sensitive heart of her femininity.
She wanted him.
The realization battered its way through the barrier of Maggie’s self-constructed denial. She had wanted him from the moment she walked into his office that first day and looked into his eyes to feel the power of his masculine attraction to her.
Forewarned by the woman in the restaurant that Mitch Grainger was tough, hard as bedrock, she had been prepared to dislike him on sight. And Maggie had told herself repeatedly over the ensuing days that she had disliked him. She had spent the weekend avoiding the truth that, fromthat first moment, she had felt irrevocably drawn to him.
How had it happened? Why had it happened? Maggie asked herself, bewildered by her uncharacteristic response to him. She had believed herself sorely lacking in sensuality. She didn’t even particularly like sex, had never experienced anything remotely similar to joyous ecstasy while engaged in the act of lovemaking.
Still, her body pulsated with a hollow, aching desire to be one with Mitch Grainger.
What in the world was she going to do? Maggie’s first impulse was to bolt, not only from the office, but from the building, straight to the apartment to gather her stuff and hightail it out of Deadwood.
With trembling fingers, Maggie plucked her handbag from the corner of Karla’s desk, where she had placed it before entering Mitch’s office with his lunch. On shaky legs, she took a step toward the door, and freedom.
“Oh, Maggie,” Karla exclaimed on a short laugh, stopping Maggie in her tracks. “I didn’t hear you come out of Mitch’s office.” Her smile gave way to a frown. “You look a little upset. Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Maggie said, raking hermind for an excuse, any excuse. “I just need to go to the rest room,” she improvised.
“Oh…” Karla giggled. “I know the feeling.” She flicked a hand at the door. “So…go, you know where it is.”
Maggie was through the door like a shot, nearly colliding with Frank, one of the guards, and another man who were right outside. “Oh, excuse me, Frank,” she said, feeling foolish as she circled him and the other man. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
Frank chuckled. “Nature calling, huh?”
“Afraid so,” she said, her face growing warm with embarrassment. “Too much coffee,” she explained, continuing along the hallway to the door marked Women.
Once inside, Maggie slumped back against the door, her pulse racing, her breathing erratic, her body trembling. Staring straight ahead, she was shocked at the sight of her stark reflection in the long mirror above the marble-topped line of sinks.
Startled to her senses by her own pale, distressed image, Maggie drew a deep breath and stiffened her spine. Eyes narrowing, she moved closer to the mirror.
This is nuts, she thought, glaring at herreflection. You’re reacting like a twittery teen at the prospect of her first real date.
But, what to do about it? About Mitch?
The impulse to run swept over her again. Exerting every atom of willpower she possessed, Maggie quashed the thought out of existence.
Damned if she would run, she lectured herself. She had been running for months, only to learn, finally, that she couldn’t run from herself. Her anger, her uncertainties were always with her.
Well, she had decided to stop running, hadn’t she? Maggie
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