Summer's Freedom Read online

  But this entire week, he’d been scarce. She had seen him working in the garden, had heard his music playing and watched him come and go. Once, she’d been on her way outside to speak with him, and he’d headed straight for his door, even though Maggie had been certain that he’d seen her.

  She scrubbed a pan with unnecessary force. Chances were, she’d simply pegged him wrong—he’d only seemed sincere. He was probably a charmer, after all.

  The trouble with that picture was that a charming man, seeing the goal of seducing Maggie nearly complete, would not back away but rather forge ahead with gusto.

  Damn. She peeled her rubber gloves off with a sense of confusion and frustration. At the moment, she’d prefer a charmer. Somewhere in the past week, she’d ceased to care if she ever found a flaw in Joel. She didn’t care what he was hiding. She didn’t mind that he kindled within her a passion she feared was dangerous and perhaps unhealthy.

  She wanted him with every beat of her heart. A restlessness dogged her steps every moment that she couldn’t be with him; it crawled under her skin and kept her from sleeping.

  Thus far, she’d managed to keep herself from analyzing the emotion too deeply for fear of what she would find. And she didn’t allow much now, only an admission that she not only liked and respected Joel Summer, but she definitely wanted to share his bed—right or wrong.

  Was it wrong? If it wasn’t, would she have held off in Samantha’s presence?

  Her wandering gaze caught on the framed photograph that Samantha had had published in the city daily. Sam had a rich future awaiting her—and Maggie had done almost everything she could do to make sure her daughter would make the right choices when adulthood overtook her. From here on out, Maggie’s role would consist of being there for Samantha to lean on as she began to decide her life.

  Therein lay the trouble, Maggie thought. For ten years, her life had been centered upon Samantha—and she regretted not a whit of it. But now, her own needs were clamoring for satisfaction. It was time for her to acknowledge them. No, she didn’t take lovers lightly. But a grown woman could form responsible alliances with men similarly inclined.

  Thus fortified, Maggie straightened her shoulders, found her jacket—and headed for her car. After all, in the absence of courage, there was always work.

  Chapter 9

  As afternoon deepened into evening, a hard rain began to fall. Maggie had worked with dedication for several hours, but the gray storm stole the last of her motivation. She locked up the newspaper office firmly and headed home, planning to view a movie she’d rented from the video store and eat everything in sight.

  But when she reached the top stair of her porch, her feet carried her to Joel’s door instead of her own, and her hand lifted itself to knock with a good deal of authority on the screen door. Beyond the sound of the pattering rain, she heard his music.

  A fit of panic slammed into her chest. What if he was entertaining another woman? There had been no signs of one in his life, but one never knew—perhaps that was the reason he’d seemed distant. She dipped her head, trying to think of a reason for knocking. A cup of sugar—that was a time-tried, but worthy, excuse. Mentally, she rehearsed her lines.

  When Joel swung open the door, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt the color of his incredible eyes, her lines fled. She swallowed. “Can I come in?” she blurted out.

  Casually, he pushed open the screen. “Sure.”

  Maggie brushed the wet from her jacket, then took it off and stepped inside, smelling coffee. The air inside was moist and warm, and the sound of a mournful ballad playing on the stereo added a smoky atmosphere. “I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner,” she said.

  “No.” He shifted a stack of books from the couch to the coffee table. “Have a seat.”

  Gingerly, Maggie settled on the edge of the couch, her hands folded in her lap. Now what? Moses circled around her legs, and she reached down to pet his glossy back.

  Joel settled in one of the chairs by the window. He said nothing.

  Maggie took in the thick fall of hair over his high forehead, his blunt nose and full lips. In his huge hands, he shifted a paperback book back and forth restlessly.

  “You’re sending me mixed messages, Joel,” she said finally. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I don’t know how to act when you do that. I can live with it if you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to see me, but I’d like to know.”

  Joel looked at her. Her tiger eyes glowed as if they held their own light, and her hair was slightly damp with rain, her skin dewy with its mist. He put the book down and crossed the room, unable to resist the lure of her honest confusion or the promise of the harbor she offered. “Changed my mind?” he echoed with an ironic note. He took her hand and tugged her to her feet. “You act like there was a choice involved.”

  He crushed her against him, feeling a sweet explosion as their bodies met—hers strong but rounded against his, her solid height filling his arms, covering a lifetime of cold places. As she melted against him, he let go of everything but the moment, unable to resist her unguarded coming.

  Upon his mouth, her hair felt heavy and smelled of rain. Her breasts thrust against his chest, and he let his hands wander over the dip of her spine to the full swell of her bottom, allowing the generous flesh to fill his hands for a moment before he pulled her more tightly into him.

  He nudged away the hair over her ear and tasted the spare arc of skin at her earlobe, suckling gently until she sagged against him. At that instant, Joel felt her hands slip under his T-shirt in the back, and her cold fingertips ran up the length of him. He nipped her earlobe and heard her laugh with throaty enjoyment.

  All the desire that had been building within him now slowly filled every molecule of his body with the realization that it was Maggie, his sweet, sweet Maggie, in his arms. He tightened his hold. “I won’t let you go this time,” he growled, and took her lips with a nearly unbearable hunger—a hunger deeper than anything physical, one unlike anything he’d ever known. With Maggie in his arms he felt whole, as if all the worn, raveled wounds of his soul were being healed.

  Maggie drank of him, opening her lips to his seeking, searing tongue. Her arms looped hard around his neck. Her feet barely touched the floor as one of his arms anchored her waist against his body.

  A fierce desire swept through her, as if all the vivid imaginings she’d indulged since meeting him had narrowed to this moment in his arms. “Make love to me, Joel,” she murmured, and raked her fingernails lightly down his sides.

  He groaned and Maggie thrilled to the evidence of his arousal pressed against her belly. His mouth bruised hers in dizzying promise. “You know I want you,” he said against her lips. “But I’m not prepared.”

  Maggie dipped her head shyly and whispered, “That’s okay.” Then, lifting her eyes to his, she added, “I am.”

  His grin was dazzling. He scooped her up into his arms. Maggie gasped as he headed for the steps that led upstairs.

  “I can walk,” she protested. “I was only kidding about Tarzan.”

  He dipped to kiss her as he took the first stair. “I’m not taking any chances.” He grinned, his dimples showing deeply. “I’ve always wanted to do this. Don’t deprive me.”

  His voice rumbled through his chest and into her body, and Maggie laughed at the sheer delight of being carried—actually carried—by a man.

  He made his way down the hall to the twin of her own bedroom. The room was dark with rain and evening. Just beyond the threshold, he paused, still cradling her, to press his lips to hers. “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve heard you moving next door and wanted to tear the wall down.” He moved to the small alcove off the bedroom and settled her upon a mattress covered with a thick quilt and an assortment of oversize pillows. The cool scent of rain wafted in through an open window.

  Maggie knelt and drew Joel down to face her. She opened her palms to spread her fingers upon his face. “You weren’t alone,” she breathed, tast
ing his sculpted mouth once more, “in wanting to tear down the wall.” With bold but unhurried movements, she ran her tongue over the unfamiliar corners of his lips, letting it dart toward his teeth and the thrust of his tongue. His was a flavor unlike any she’d ever known, not sweet or salty. He tasted of himself, like a summer sky, like a bird in flight.

  His hands moved from her hips up over her ribs with agonizing slowness, until they nearly covered her from the lower swell of her breasts to her shoulders. “I’m sorry about this week,” he murmured, tasting the flesh of her neck. “I must have been crazy to think—“

  “Shh,” Maggie whispered. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “You’re beautiful, Maggie,” he breathed, letting his fingers slide down over the hard tips of her breasts. There he paused to play a light tattoo that sent a quickening through her belly. She moaned softly.

  Without hurry, he released each of the buttons on her shirt until it lay unfastened but closed over her.

  “I’ve waited so long for this,” he whispered, and at the heat in his eyes, Maggie felt a surge of power, the ancient power women have felt over their men for time immemorial. She waited.

  He stretched out his fingers to slide the fabric aside, off her breasts, and for a long, endless time, simply moved his hands over the bared flesh. “Ah,” he breathed at last, bending over her, “you are a sight to behold.”

  Gathering a supple breast into each hand, his tongue reached out to flitter over one, then the other, the moist touch no more than the errant tap of a moth’s wing. The rasp of his skin grated the tender flesh as his head moved with his languid supping. She arched at the exquisite sensation.

  Still Joel teased, curling his tongue around each gentle slope and rise, moving up to taste the hollow of her throat before slipping down once more.

  All at once, he sucked one nipple into his mouth to roll it between his lips, and Maggie cried out, grasping his head between her breasts. He refused to let go, teasing and tasting and nibbling until Maggie thought she would explode.

  A low, satisfied half laugh rumbled in his chest, and with a surge of joy, Maggie understood that he could play while they made love. It needn’t be a rushed or serious thing—the night, at last, belonged to them.

  “My turn,” she murmured in his moment of laughter. She pushed him onto his back, flung her shirt away, and throwing her hair out of her eyes with a wicked grin, straddled him.

  Until that moment, Joel had managed to maintain a semblance of control—he wanted to learn the terrain of her slowly, to savor every inch of her. As she knelt over him, her breasts free and glistening, her hair tumbling like tawny velvet around her naked shoulders, he felt his control snap.

  She leaned down and took his lips, tasting him the way he’d tasted her. “Too bad,” she teased, “that you aren’t wearing buttons I could tear off.”

  “Allow me,” he said, half sitting to twist his shirt off in one quick motion, then falling back to the bed. He reached to touch her again, reveling in the contrast of his work-roughened hands against her pliant breasts. Her hips moved alluringly over his, her hair brushed his cheek and her nipples burned with hard heat into his palms.

  Her fingers traced his shoulders and chest, and as they moved, Joel felt her mood shift. Her voice was breathless, constricted when she spoke. “Joel,” she said, bending to press her lips to the places her fingers had learned, “you’re so incredible I can hardly believe you’re real.”

  “I’m real,” he assured her, gathering her to him. “You’re the wraith. You’ve bewitched me.”

  He laid her gently upon the quilt and stripped away her jeans and underwear, then shed his own. When he would have stretched next to her, Maggie knelt and urgently held him away, unable to resist admiring him in the rain-dimmed light. In reverence, she let her hands rove over the tight curve of his shoulders, trace the wide triangle of black hair on his chest, revel in the might and breadth of his rib cage. With her mouth, she tasted the curve of his bicep.

  At last, she swayed forward to let her unclothed body brush his, feeling an overwhelming swell of delight at the long-sought press of him against her. His breath rasped against her shoulder, her breasts met his magnificent chest—and Maggie sighed. The sweetness was so acute, she could have knelt that way with him for the rest of her life, reveling in the joy of the simple contact of their bodies.

  But Joel was not so content. His hands roamed her, traveling over thighs and belly and neck, as if he wanted to memorize the feel of her. And as his hands and lips roved and teased and explored, Maggie knew that she, too, must find release in his arms. The thought gave her a brief moment of terror, and as his gentle fingers approached the deep center of her womanhood, his hands nudging her thighs apart, she froze.

  “There’s a tiger waiting in your eyes, love,” he whispered. “Let me unleash it.” His voice rumbled almost below register. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The ministrations he offered were too gentle to resist. Maggie let go, gave herself to Joel, to the man who’d captured her like a kite on a string. And like the kite, he held her loosely while she gained altitude, reined her in when she would have plunged, fed her more line to let her soar until she felt herself hovering high above the earth, connected only by the touch of his hand to anything remotely real. She cried his name, begging him to come to her.

  And at last, he plunged with her, in her, with restraint and power. As he thrust, Maggie felt herself soar through a bank of clouds into a burst of golden light, blinding and utterly dazzling. She arched and gasped, riding the currents of Joel until she knew he, too, had met the sky. His mouth closed upon hers, and the light grew and exploded.

  They drifted slowly back to earth together. Maggie opened her eyes to find his fixed upon her face, his sorrow gone. In its place glowed a transcendent beauty, the same gloriously beautiful light Maggie had seen upon his face the day he’d spoken of the red-tailed hawk that had begun his career. This time, she dared to reach for him, letting her fingers worship his magnificent face.

  Making a warm, purring sound, she sighed. “Well, Tarzan, I think you found your tiger.”

  With gentle hands, he cupped her face. “I knew you were in there.” Joel felt a tenderness and joy greater than any he’d ever known. And with a touch of fear, he knew the joining had gone deeper than either of them could yet guess.

  He wrapped her close to him, touching her body with as much of himself as he possibly could, and they dozed gently together, awaking to love and rest, love and rest all through the night.

  At one point as they lay curled in the quilt, listening to the rain fall against the trees beyond the windows, Joel stroked Maggie’s hair. She leaned into his chest, content to listen to the deep thudding of his heart below her ear. “Are you sure this was okay?” he asked softly.

  “I am now.” She cast around for a way to express herself. “That wasn’t like anything that ever happened to me before.”

  “Me, either.”

  “Really?” She scanned his face for truth, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way that was uncomfortable. “You don’t have to say that. I mean, maybe I just don’t know a lot about this. I’ve only…”

  He grinned. “You’ve only what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’ve only had one lover—maybe two?”

  “One,” she corrected. “I guess that makes me seem a little backward.”

  “Then we both are—me even more than you.” He chuckled. “Being a man and all.”

  Maggie couldn’t disguise her astonishment. “Your wife was your only lover?”

  He half shrugged. “We met when I was fourteen. Not much time for anyone else.”

  She twisted her mouth. “I wonder why men think they have to be Casanovas? I hate that double standard, and I hate it both ways. If it’s okay for a woman to make choices, it’s okay for a man to have the same ones.”

  Joel slid a hand with ease over the sleek, tawny skin of her shoulder.

  “Still,�
�� she said, smiling, “I’m proud and honored.”

  “And well you should be,” he teased, dipping to kiss her. They returned with laughter into the cushion of the mattress, curling there until the night faded.

  Morning found them both starved, and they carried coffee and bagels with cream cheese and jam outside to the picnic table in the backyard. Overhead, in merry celebration, a sparrow sang, flitting from branch to branch as a squirrel shook the best twigs. “Tell me about your wife, Joel,” Maggie invited.

  For an instant, Joel’s eyes went cold. Then he lifted his cup, sipped the hot coffee carefully and put it down. “What do you want to know?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know. Was she pretty?”

  “Like a rose—very lush and velvety at first.” He swallowed, as if the memory gave him pain. “Her hard living showed pretty fast, though. All the velvet wore off.”

  “How long ago did you divorce?”

  “Seven years.”

  “And you stayed celibate all that time?” Maggie burst out.

  Joel lifted his eyebrows with a sultry grin. “I was waiting for you.”

  It was hard to tell if the words were meant to throw her off her subject or if he really meant them. Maggie glanced at her plate with a little laugh.

  He took her hand. “Look at me, Maggie.”

  She complied. At the brilliance of the jeweled eyes, so bright in his dark face, she nearly bolted again, terrified at the emotions he called up in her.

  “What happened to me with Nina was a long time ago,” he said. “But there are long-range repercussions that I’m not ready to discuss yet.” The entreaty and sorrow had returned, and Maggie hated herself for putting it back when it had receded. He kissed her fingers. “I will tell you. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being nosy again.”