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Authors: Diana Palmer
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tender tracing because the excitement she was feeling was so intense.
His black eyes moved back up to hers. “You fascinate me,” he whispered tautly. “All of you. Your body, your heart, your mind. I’ve always thought of women in physical terms until now. But, I touch you and I wonder…”
“Wonder what?” she asked in a soft whisper, because it was almost reverent with him.
“I wonder how it would be if I gave you a child,” he whispered, his tone full of awe.
She stopped breathing. His words held that kind of impact. Her eyes searched his face, and she lifted her hand to touch his mouth, to trace the thick mustache, the hard cheek, the thick brows. His eyes closed and he sat quietly and a little tensely while her soft hand went over him, learning the contours of his face.
She arched then and touched her mouth with aching tenderness to his. Her fingers found his, pressing them down over the softly mounded flesh, holding his palm there while her mouth made slow, sweet love to his.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered on a tortured laugh.
“You aren’t doing my metabolism much good, either,” she whispered at his lips. She was sitting up on his lap, with both hands on his chest, and her eyes were full of emotion. Their color was soft, like gray doves.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to pull her jersey down, smoothing it around her waist. “I’ve got to go to work,” he groaned. “My God, I hope I can pitch hay bent over double.”
He was laughing, though, and her eyes blazed with triumph, with delighted knowledge on her part in his downfall. She smiled at him, and her hands smoothed back his thick dark hair, lingering at his temples.
“What would you like for lunch?” she asked.
“Anything,” he replied. “As long as I get to look at you while I eat it.”
“Oh, Tate.” She put her mouth over his and clung to him, feeling him move, feeling his lean hand gather her hips suddenly against his.
He felt her tauten. His head lifted and he looked into her wide, frightened gray eyes. “I won’t hurt you, Maggie,” he whispered. “I just want you to know how much a man I am with you. It isn’t a threat. It’s…” He paused. “I don’t know. Pride, I think,” he decided finally, and it was in his eyes, in his whole look.
She met his level gaze and the fear was gone, all at once. She relaxed into him, forcing her taut muscles to give, forcing her body to trust him. “It’s difficult,” she said softly. “I’ve spent years holding back.”
“I understand.” He kissed her closed eyelids and then he let her go, helping her back onto her feet as he rose and towered over her. “I didn’t bring you here to seduce you,” he added, framing her face in his warm, strong hands. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“But I am afraid,” she whispered, frowning as she looked up at him. “Tate, I… We mustn’t…”
He put a long finger against her soft lips. “I have to go.” He brushed his hard mouth over her forehead, and the mustache tickled. “Let’s live one day at a time. OK?”
She forced herself not to panic. “OK,” she agreed.
He smiled. He seemed to do a lot of that lately, she thought, watching him go down the hall to his bedroom. But, then, so did she.
* * *
The days that followed were magic. Tate didn’t touch her again, although she could see the banked-down fire in his eyes when he looked at her; she could read the hunger there. He spent time with Blake at night when he wasn’t working, talking cattle and marketing, things that went right over Maggie’s head, but that Blake seemed to understand and really enjoy. And when Tate loaned him his
Stockman’s Handbook
to study, the boy was over the moon.
“It’s got a whole section on feedlot management,” Blake said enthusiastically.
“We could use a feedlot around here. I just never seem to get time to look into the possibilities,” Tate said, leaning back on the sofa with a cup of black
His black eyes moved back up to hers. “You fascinate me,” he whispered tautly. “All of you. Your body, your heart, your mind. I’ve always thought of women in physical terms until now. But, I touch you and I wonder…”
“Wonder what?” she asked in a soft whisper, because it was almost reverent with him.
“I wonder how it would be if I gave you a child,” he whispered, his tone full of awe.
She stopped breathing. His words held that kind of impact. Her eyes searched his face, and she lifted her hand to touch his mouth, to trace the thick mustache, the hard cheek, the thick brows. His eyes closed and he sat quietly and a little tensely while her soft hand went over him, learning the contours of his face.
She arched then and touched her mouth with aching tenderness to his. Her fingers found his, pressing them down over the softly mounded flesh, holding his palm there while her mouth made slow, sweet love to his.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered on a tortured laugh.
“You aren’t doing my metabolism much good, either,” she whispered at his lips. She was sitting up on his lap, with both hands on his chest, and her eyes were full of emotion. Their color was soft, like gray doves.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to pull her jersey down, smoothing it around her waist. “I’ve got to go to work,” he groaned. “My God, I hope I can pitch hay bent over double.”
He was laughing, though, and her eyes blazed with triumph, with delighted knowledge on her part in his downfall. She smiled at him, and her hands smoothed back his thick dark hair, lingering at his temples.
“What would you like for lunch?” she asked.
“Anything,” he replied. “As long as I get to look at you while I eat it.”
“Oh, Tate.” She put her mouth over his and clung to him, feeling him move, feeling his lean hand gather her hips suddenly against his.
He felt her tauten. His head lifted and he looked into her wide, frightened gray eyes. “I won’t hurt you, Maggie,” he whispered. “I just want you to know how much a man I am with you. It isn’t a threat. It’s…” He paused. “I don’t know. Pride, I think,” he decided finally, and it was in his eyes, in his whole look.
She met his level gaze and the fear was gone, all at once. She relaxed into him, forcing her taut muscles to give, forcing her body to trust him. “It’s difficult,” she said softly. “I’ve spent years holding back.”
“I understand.” He kissed her closed eyelids and then he let her go, helping her back onto her feet as he rose and towered over her. “I didn’t bring you here to seduce you,” he added, framing her face in his warm, strong hands. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“But I am afraid,” she whispered, frowning as she looked up at him. “Tate, I… We mustn’t…”
He put a long finger against her soft lips. “I have to go.” He brushed his hard mouth over her forehead, and the mustache tickled. “Let’s live one day at a time. OK?”
She forced herself not to panic. “OK,” she agreed.
He smiled. He seemed to do a lot of that lately, she thought, watching him go down the hall to his bedroom. But, then, so did she.
* * *
The days that followed were magic. Tate didn’t touch her again, although she could see the banked-down fire in his eyes when he looked at her; she could read the hunger there. He spent time with Blake at night when he wasn’t working, talking cattle and marketing, things that went right over Maggie’s head, but that Blake seemed to understand and really enjoy. And when Tate loaned him his
Stockman’s Handbook
to study, the boy was over the moon.
“It’s got a whole section on feedlot management,” Blake said enthusiastically.
“We could use a feedlot around here. I just never seem to get time to look into the possibilities,” Tate said, leaning back on the sofa with a cup of black
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