Wedding Fever. Susan Crosby
Smaller than last year’s oh-so-personal engraved pen and pencil set.”
“Haven’t you forgiven me for that yet?”
She tossed it once, caught it cleanly. “Heavy for its size, though. Professionally wrapped.”
“You’re worth it.”
“Probably offered free gift wrapping with purchase,” she said, casting him a quick glance before holding the package at eye level and examining it further. “Could be a key chain.”
“Monogrammed,” he offered.
“I’d accept nothing less.” She shook it, holding it close to her ear. “A box within a box.”
“You’re good at this.”
“When I was growing up I guessed all of my Christmas presents before I opened them.”
“You were never surprised?”
She made a sound of disgust. “My mother was predictable.”
He leaned close. “Why don’t you just open it?”
“But then the anticipation ends.” Maggie held her breath as she savored his nearness and warmth, and the scent she’d recognize anywhere.
He dipped his head a little farther. His breath stirred her bangs. “Open it.”
He’d taken off his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt before he’d arrived. Maggie’s nose was an inch from the open vee of his pleated shirt. Her teenaged niece had once pronounced him a—
“Stud,” she sighed.
“What?”
She stepped back. “Uh, stud. Your stud’s loose.” She tucked the present under her chin and slid a hand behind his shirt to fiddle with the black onyx and gold stud. The backs of her fingers brushed chest hair. The moment froze in time until she felt his hands encircle her wrists and move her back. He pulled the gift from under her chin, placed it wordlessly in her hand.
Maggie swallowed. She peeled off the pretty wrappings and tipped a burgundy velvet container out of a box bearing the discreet emblem of Rappaport Jewelers. The hinge didn’t make even the tiniest creak as she pushed up the velvety lid. Her hand hovered over the contents. “Why, it’s beautiful!”
She sought Diego, confusion swamping her. The gift was personal and expensive—a sparkling chain bearing a heavy gold pendant shaped like a teardrop, perhaps an inch long and half an inch wide at the base.
“May I?” he asked, extending his hand. “Turn around. Tip your head forward.”
She waited what seemed like an hour before he lifted the cham over her head. As he fastened the clasp, his fingertips grazed her neck, enough to make her skin prickle, but not enough to call it seduction. The pendant itself rested at heart level. She turned around to thank him.
“I wish I’d changed into something nicer. Something silk to show it off,” she said, looking down, lifting a hand toward it.
He touched three fingers to the pendant as it nestled at a level just above the front clasp of her bra. His thumb and little finger grazed the inner curve of her breasts. Their gazes connected ; her hand fell away.
Where did he come from, this James Diego Duran, who admitted he desired her, yet resisted her so easily; who avoided touching her for a year and a half, then the first time he did, touched her intimately? Oh, she knew of his background, of his difficult childhood, but that didn’t explain the man, only some of the reasons why he behaved as he did sometimes.
“The necklace is all right?” he asked as he pulled his hand back.
“It’s incredible.”
“You won’t ever take it off?”
“Ever?”
“You won’t shove it in a drawer if you get angry at me?”
“It’d spend more time in my drawer than around my neck.” She smiled at him until he smiled back. “How about some wine now?”
He hesitated. “I should leave.”
They continued to stare at each other.
She inched closer. “Would you like to see what Misty designed for my birthday?”
“Probably not.”
She smiled. “It’s just a little something—”
“I’m sure it is. I’ve seen catalogs of her products.”
“Well, I love it, of course,” she drawled. “But I’d like a man’s opimon.”
Frozen, J.D. watched her stroll across the room and lift up a box lid. She withdrew a teddy fashioned of red satin and lace, and dangled it by the straps as she moseyed back to him.
Dios. He recognized the design of the garment, if not the garment itself. After he’d rescued Misty from those dirtbags the other night, he’d driven her home. She’d asked him what his ideal woman wore to entice him. “Just her skin,” he’d replied. When she hadn’t accepted that as an answer, he’d described the frothy bit of nothing Magnolia was holding in front of her as though she didn’t think he could imagine her clothes stripped away and the red see-through concoction molding her enticing curves.
“Misty’s quite a talented designer, isn’t she?” Maggie asked, stretching the bra cups at the sides until they settled provocatively over her.
“It suits you.”
“Does it? I tend to favor pastel colors in my lingerie. You think red is suitable with my coloring?”
“You think men think about things like that?”
She was quiet a moment, then said, “If you were going to buy this for...a woman, what would make you decide to purchase it?” Her voice had dropped an octave; her eyes took on a sleepy, sexy look.
He fingered the lace at the bodice. “I would wonder if it’s low enough to expose her breasts almost all the way, so there’s a danger of them spilling out if she breathes deep. I’d want her nipples visible through the lace. I’d wonder how easily it comes off. I’d want it not to be fragile, so that I don’t have to be too careful or too controlled when I take it off her.” He slid his hand down the fabric, down her, to toy with the snaps at the crotch. “I would want the fabric thin enough to feel how wet she gets when I touch her.”
“You want a lot,” she said, her voice catching breathlessly on her imagination.
“Oh, yes.”
“I could go slip this on...”
He held her gaze a few seconds, then he bent slowly toward her and brushed a fleeting kiss against her cheek.
Waves of sensation rolled through her. She forgot to breathe. When she did take in air again, he was gone, along with the unexpected pleasure he’d brought that suddenly burst like a birthday balloon when the door clicked shut, leaving her alone and bewildered.
Needing to analyze what had just happened, she paced her living room, walking off excess energy. She wasn’t completely sure of his intentions after tonight, but he seemed to be wanting a deeper relationship. When the phone rang a few minutes later, she snatched up the receiver and said hello.
“I forgot to say good-night.”
Diego. She dropped onto the sofa and tucked her legs under her. “Are you home already?”
“I’m in my car. I’ll be home in about ten minutes.”
“I’m already in bed,” she said languidly, as if stretching out on satin sheets. “Naked, except for your necklace.”
She smiled at the long pause on the other end.
“Are you?” he asked finally.
“No.