All Through The House (12 page)

Oh, yes, she understood that kind of wanting. She felt
boneless, heat curling in her stomach. She needed him to kiss her as she had
never needed anything in her life.

Abigail made a sound, a squeak that he must have taken for
acquiescence, because he groaned deep in his throat and bent his head. His
mouth captured hers in a kiss as desperate as she felt. Abigail whimpered and
melted against him.

His kisses before had been practiced, as though he knew just
what worked best. He'd kissed with pleasure and artistry, coaxing, teasing,
seducing. Now he devoured her mouth with passion so out of control, her heart
splintered into little pieces. With teeth and lips and tongue, Nate kissed her as
though he wanted to consume her. His big hands lifted and pulled her into him,
molding her to hard thighs and an erection that pressed against her stomach.

James had never lost control. Not once. He had played her
like a musical instrument, strumming and caressing and fingering the notes he'd
learned awakened the most pleasurable sound. He had controlled not only
himself, but her. His sexual pleasure came from control, she had learned, not
from her.

But Nate.... Nate kissed her as though he starved for her.
For her alone. What defenses she had built came crashing down, and as
feverishly as he devoured her mouth, she devoured his. Her arms closed around
his waist and her breasts were pressed flat against his chest. She snatched a
ragged breath when he lifted his mouth from hers to string heated kisses across
her cheek to nip the soft flesh of her neck. Her head fell back and he wrenched
the bow at her neck loose and tugged her blouse open so that his mouth, hot and
damp and fierce, could slide along her collarbone and down her chest to the
swell of breasts above her bra.

When he discovered her bra didn't open in the front, a groan
made his chest vibrate. Hands that were no longer gentle shoved the straps of
her bra along with her silky blouse down her arms, trapping them even as it
freed her small breasts. First his hands took her breasts, engulfing them,
testing the texture and squeezing until her nipples were hard and tight.
Abigail struggled against the confining clothes. He kissed one breast as she
found the hooks behind her back and her bra and blouse dropped to pool on the
floor.

Oh, God, his mouth felt good. Sweet and painful and primal.
She grabbed his shoulders and held on as he lowered her to the floor. Her legs
twined with his and she pushed her hips upward until the pressure made her want
more. Nate lifted his head. His face was almost unrecognizable. His eyes blazed
and a flush ran along his cheekbones. His hair was damp, disarrayed. He was
brazenly male to her female, and nothing else mattered right now.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it aside,
kissed her, then worked on the buttons at the waist of her skirt. The Oriental
rug beneath Abigail was soft when she moved one way, as rough as sandpaper when
she moved the other. She was hardly aware of it.

Nate made a sound of satisfaction when he slid the zipper
down. He inched her skirt and panties and pantyhose over her hips, gazing down
at her with his face transformed by sexual hunger. She kicked her low-heeled
pumps off herself so that he could peel the pantyhose off and throw them aside.

If she had been aroused before, his touch undid her. He was
a little too rough, but that only made her frantic. With one leg she pulled him
over her while her fingers tugged at the zipper of his jeans. When her hand
curled around him, he growled and covered her mouth with his even as he bucked
away to shove his jeans down.

Abigail was so desperate for him, she led the way. She
parted her legs, guided him to her. With a convulsive movement he thrust deep
and hard. For an instant, this hurt, too; it had been so long since she had
made love with a man. No, she had never made love like this. Never so frantic,
so rough, so out of control. He filled her, he lifted her hips, he ground his
against her as he took her, one deep stroke after another. Pleasure swept over
her in long waves, him in one convulsive thrust.

"Abigail!"

She had never heard her name like that, a groan, a plea, a
benediction. She whispered his, but mostly she begged. For more, for less, for
promises and hope.

In the shaken silence, Nate eased to his side at last, but
he held her tightly. Her head on his shoulder, her arm laying across his sleek,
sweat-slick chest, Abigail clung. She tried to absorb the moment. She wanted to
remember the closeness, the sweetness of the pleasure, the gift of his
desperate hunger. Just once in her life, she had longed to be wanted like that.

Time drifted. Sunlight came in the small-paned windows,
lying across Nate and Abigail like an intricately stitched quilt. Tiny dust
motes danced in the air. Abigail listened to the slow, solid thump of Nate's
heart, felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. His lips brushed her hair
and at last his arms relaxed around her.

She gradually became aware of how hard the floor was beneath
her hip, of tender skin scraped on the rug, of sadness seeping into her joy.
She began to feel the need to separate herself from Nate and become
self-contained again. Biting her lip, Abigail sat up, almost sorry when Nate's
arms fell away to let her go. His fingers traced down her spine, sending a
delicious shiver in their path. She was tempted to turn back, to press a kiss
to his rough cheek, to find his mouth with hers and sprawl atop his long body.

But cold reality had gained too firm a grip. How had she let
him sweep her away so easily? He'd betrayed her, hurt her, and she'd reacted by
docilely cooperating when he'd taken her right there on the floor. No, she had
to be honest with herself. She hadn't been docile. She'd been passionate, even
aggressive. She had wanted him, no matter what he had done to her.

Abigail clenched her teeth against a wave of terror. She had
been so sure she was strong now, that no man could ever again do to her what
James had. Did she have some fatal weakness for charming, manipulative men? Did
she want to be smothered by a man who claimed to need her?

Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Nate, who lay
indolently naked on the floor, hands clasped behind his head as he watched her.
She was self-conscious struggling into her pantyhose and bra. Dressing in front
of someone was so undignified. She ought to have been able to snatch up her
clothes and retreat. Instead, she fought to fasten the hooks of her bra behind
her back. Unsmiling, Nate stood in one graceful move and did it for her.

Dear God, he was beautiful! Muscles slid smoothly beneath
tanned skin, bunching in his strong thighs when he tugged on his shorts and sat
beside her on the sofa. Furious at herself, her emotions uncomfortably jostled,
Abigail shoved her arms into the blouse and clumsily buttoned it.

He laid a hand across hers, stilling her fingers.
"Embarrassed?" he asked, in that soft growl that had attracted her on
the telephone before she'd even met him.

Was it that simple? she wondered. She nodded finally,
without meeting his eyes.

His hand left hers to gently grasp her chin and turn her
face up to his. He bent his head and kissed her tenderly. "Me, too,"
he murmured, then released her.

She should have been reassured. Instead, Abigail's fear that
he meant to manipulate her emotions intensified. "What do you intend
now?" she asked abruptly.

Nate lifted one brow, then smiled with lazy sensuality.
"Nothing," he said lightly, "except spending as much time with
you as possible."

It sounded like heaven, Abigail thought. The strength of her
own longing scared her afresh, and her voice was unintentionally harsh when she
said, "How are you going to feel if I bring somebody to look at the house
tomorrow? Or are you asking me to give up trying to sell it?"

A frown gathered between Nate's brows, although the twist of
his mouth was rueful. "No, I'm not asking you to give up trying to sell
it. If you didn't show the place, somebody else would. Anyway, you wouldn't do
it, would you?"

"When I accept a listing, I promise to give it my
best," Abigail said, feeling priggish. "I can't violate my
principles."

"I know." Nate smoothed her hair back from her
face, his fingers lingering on the curls. "I won't ask."

She chewed on her bottom lip, her gaze searching his
unflinching gray eyes. Was he sincere? Honest? Put in his place, would she have
tried to defend what she saw as her home? What would he do if she called to
make an appointment tomorrow?

"You know," he said, "the school board should
make a decision about the contract for the new school in the next month."

"And?"

"Can you hold off running any more ads for that
long?"

His request sounded reasonable enough. Or did she just want
to see it that way? She stood and stepped into her skirt, concentrating on the
zipper and button. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask," he said quietly.

While she slipped on her shoes, he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt.
Feeling horrendously awkward, she said, "I'd better go. I need to stop at
the office before I pick Kate up."

"Hey." He tilted her chin up again. "I'll
call you tomorrow."

If he had demanded more, insisted on talking about what had
happened, she would have run scared. Instead, she relaxed a little. "Okay.
I'm sorry, Nate. I'm not used to…to things like this happening."

"Don't apologize." He laid a finger on her lips,
then bent his head to place a soft kiss on the same place. Abigail's heart
twisted.

She drove away, half her attention on her rearview mirror.
Barefoot, Nate stood on the porch and watched her go. Even after he was out of
sight, she could still see the mansion's turrets and the tiny, round window
high up. She'd always half expected to see Rapunzel lower her long golden
tresses from that window.

Of course, Abigail's mind twisted the thought back to Nate.
If she let herself love him, would she be as trapped as Rapunzel had been? As
trapped as she herself had been by another man, once upon a time?

With his deft fingers and crooked smile, his gravelly voice
and rumble of a laugh, could Nate bend her will to his?

Abigail was already afraid of the answer. Because she had
known in her heart, even as she'd told him she would think about it, that she
would do as he asked.

Her ads had been successful. She'd attracted attention to
the magnificent old Irving House. What more could Ed expect? She needn't feel
guilty if she simply concentrated on other listings for a while. Or so she told
herself.

"You don't want the Irving House in our ads this
week?"

Meg stood in the doorway to Abigail's office, a sheaf of
papers in her hand. Abigail's partner wore her usual country chic: oversize,
drop-waist jumper with a fashionably faded, coordinating cotton shirt with tiny
flowers beneath. Abigail knew darn well how she would have looked as if she had
a gunnysack on. Meg instead managed to be an earth mother, prosaic, homey, even
pretty in a comfortable, middle-aged way.

"I don't think so," Abigail said, hoping she
sounded casual. "I've been neglecting some of my other listings. Anyway,
we have enough activity on the Irving place. Though maybe it should go in
Harmon Homes next month."

Harmon Homes was one of a slew of free magazines filled with
advertising bought by real-estate firms. McLeod and James always had a couple
of pages with pictures of their listings.

"Okay," Meg said, without moving. "I'll fax
it in, then." There was a moment's silence. "You still seeing the
renter?"

She'd seen all of him now. Abigail promptly gave away her
thoughts with a blush. "Um hmm," she admitted. "He...just sent
me a present."

"Oh?" Meg's brows went up and she came over to sit
on the edge of Abigail's desk. Abigail pushed the beautiful picture book of old
houses across to her friend and partner, who began to flip through it.
"Well, it's appropriate, anyway," Meg murmured.

"You mean, instead of sexy lingerie?" Abigail said
a little tartly.

Meg laughed with the cheerful abandon that characterized
her. "I'm not that old! I wish somebody'd give me some Frederick's of
Hollywood. I was just thinking out loud. I don't know if this is such a good
idea, Abby."

Abigail stared at the page Meg had stopped at. Atop the
charming gingerbread of the pictured nineteenth-century home lay a semidouble
rose, pressed flat. She reached out to touch its brittle petals gently.
Fragrance, sweet and musky, drifted faintly to her nose.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Conflict of interest." Meg touched the flower,
too, then firmly shut the book and looked straight at Abigail. "He doesn't
want that place to sell, does he?"

Abigail hesitated, wishing she could lie, but aware that Meg
knew her too well to let her get away with it. "No," she said
finally. "He'd like to stay in the house. What's new about that? Very few
renters want a house to be sold out from under them."

Which was true enough. Nate had been more creative than
most; a renter who was a slob could be enough to prevent a house selling.
Abigail supposed Nate had been afraid he'd be evicted by Ed, who wouldn't mind
any excuse. As an architect, Nate had a reputation to maintain, too; clients
might even stop by his house on occasion.

But Meg shook her head. "I don't know. From the way you
described it, he talks about the place... almost..."

Almost like a lover. Meg had trailed off, but Abigail filled
in the blanks with no trouble. Nate didn't hide his feelings well. If she had
been just a little more perceptive, she would have caught on sooner. The nearly
invisible tension she'd felt whenever the subject came up, the smooth shift to
another topic, the tightened jaw.... Oh, yes, Nate gave away his feelings.