Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (24 page)

Maggie finished off the chicken, making an inordinate amount
of noise, then licking her fingers, she began rummaging around beneath the seat
again.

He pushed his hat back and gave her a glare, which was
wasted in the dark. “Now what?” he said with supreme irritation.

“I ken there was one apple…”

“Son of a bitch!” he said, and began searching for the
apple, bumping heads with her as he leaned down. At last he found it. “Here!”
he said, thrusting it toward her. “Now will you go to sleep?”

Sleep?
She blinked her eyes. “Are we sleeping, then?”

He made a disgruntled sound. “Yes, we are. What else is
there to do out here in the middle of nowhere?” he said.

Make love.
“Hout! If you have to ask me that, Adrian
Mackinnon, you have a better store of idiocy than brain.”

She shook her head and took a bite.
CRUNCH!

“Will you be quiet?”

“Aye.”
Crunch…crunch…crunch.

“Maggie,” he said after a few minutes.

“Aye?”

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he said. “And I know it.”

“What? Being hungry?” she said. She was pleased that it was
too dark for Adrian to see her satisfied smile.

“No, eating that goddamn apple.”

“Och! I canna get it into my stomach if I dinna eat it,” she
said.

“Never mind,” he said, giving her his back.

CRUNCH! Crunch…crunch…crunch…

He gritted his teeth and listened to her chomp.

“There’s one bite left,” she said at last. “Do you want it?”

“No!”

CRUNCH!
She finished it off. He ground his teeth
again.

She tossed the core from the buggy, then settled back into
the seat. “Good night.” He said nothing. “Adrian?” Nothing. “
Adrian?
”

He half turned toward her. “What the hell is it now?”

“I said good night.”

“Good night.” He gave her his back again. She changed
positions. It wasn’t comfortable, so she changed again. The seat springs
creaked.

“What in God’s good graces are you doing now?”

“Settling in.”

He gritted his teeth again. If this kept up, he wouldn’t
have any teeth left. “How long does that usually take?”

“What?”

“All this goddammed settling in.”

“I dinna ken. I canna remember ever having to settle it when
I was in a buggy before.”

“For the love of God,” he shouted, ”will you shut up and go
to sleep?”

“Aye. Will you?”

The urge to throttle her was strong. But she was such
unorthodox mixture of practicality and sentiment that would probably wiggle out
of his hands like a trout.

Adrian wasn’t sure how long he sat there listening to the
sound of the rain tapping on the top of the buggy and the noise she made trying
to settle in, as she called it. She was worse than a damn pig with all her
rooting around, and she made more racket than a coon in the attic.

He was so busy thinking about how much she irritated him
that he didn’t notice she had settled down. He thought perhaps he might have
dozed off, for when he became aware of where he was, he slowly realized that
the rain had stopped.

And so had Maggie.

The moon broke between the clouds, bathing the small
clearing in moonlight. He saw the dark shadow of the horse, then looked down at
her, seeing the faint outline of her barely visible in the moonlight. She must
have been asleep, sitting straight up, her head dropped forward. She looked
uncomfortable as the devil.

But she was still.

And she was quiet.

He hated to wake her up, purely for selfish reasons.

Still, she didn’t look too comfortable—and she would
probably get a crick in her neck or a catch in her get-along, and he would have
to listen to her complain. He felt a little guilty about that, when he was
reminded that Maggie did precious little complaining. In all fairness, he would
have to give her credit. He hadn’t exactly made her short time here pleasant,
yet she had made the most of it, and most of the time, she was optimistically
cheerful about it.

While he watched her, she shifted and stirred in her sleep,
moaning something he couldn’t understand, then tilting toward the left, farther
and farther, she came to a stop when she thumped up against him. He wasn’t
about to touch her. He was no fool. He might not love this woman. But she
was
a woman. And he sure as hell wanted her. She was warm and soft in all the right
places, and it was damnably fresh upon his mind what it had been like to hold
her, to make love to her. He looked down, knowing he should take her in his
arms—if for no other reason than to see she slept comfortably.

His old feelings toward her warred with these newer, more
tender ones that began to emerge. He pushed her upright and back against the
seat, then turning his back toward her, he settled himself into a comfortable
position and went to sleep.

Sometime later she moaned again and turned toward him, her
face and her breasts pressed against his back, and something hot and liquid
stirred within him. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep. Not now. Not like
this, with her so close, so warm.

With a frustrated oath, he turned toward her. Before he
could finish saying, “Oh, for God’s sake, come here,” she had tumbled into his
arms.

He held her against him, setting his back against the corner
of the seat, stretching his legs out toward the opposite corner, bracing them
against the dashboard. She adjusted to his change in position, rolling half
across him. He didn’t close his eyes. He knew it would do no good. She was
lying across him,
that
part of her dangerously close to touching
that
part of him. He groaned, feeling his body was ready and stiffly alert.

Damn. It was going to be a longer night than he first thought.

He wasn’t sure when he began to rub her back, or when he
first rested his chin on the top of her head. But he was dead sure she realized
it, because he felt her body go suddenly rigid and tense. He could feel her
eyes upon him, and looking down at her, he could see she was watching him, her
eyes wide in the moonlight. He didn’t think about sending her away, or that she
had known another man before him. He was only conscious that she was a very
desirable woman and she was his wife, and she was damnably close, and she felt
as if she was where she belonged.

In his arms.

Slowly, ever slowly, the hand that had been caressing her
back began to climb higher, until it settled around the back of her neck, his
thumb coming up to stroke the soft hair where it curled near her ear.

The intimacy of it shattered her. She knew as well what
could happen here if this continued much longer. The rigid length of him
pressing against her hipbone said his body had started some plans of its own. A
tremor rippled over her when Adrian’s head lowered and she felt him kiss the
top of her hair, her forehead, her eyes.

She could have resisted him, and for a while intended to,
but this gentler, tender side of him was something she had never seen before.

When she looked up at him, she saw his beautiful, full,
inviting mouth. His expression seemed to ask whether she would accept him or
push him away. Slowly he lowered his head and pressed his lips lightly against
hers.

Adrian had his answer when her arms came up, locking around
his neck.

For a moment he felt frozen in time, uncertain which he
wanted most. To touch her. Or to have her touch him. He felt consumed by the
aching, the need to have her want him. Dangerous thing, this wanting, this
needing. It made a man just a little crazy.

He felt her weight shift against him as she raised herself,
her arms coming up to take his head between her hands, pulling him down so she
could kiss him.

“Maggie,” he warned.

“Aye?”

“You’re making it hard,” he whispered against her lips.

She laughed, a deep, throaty sound. Her hand came down
between them. “I can make it harder,” she whispered, her hand closing around
him.

“Dear God in Heaven!” he whispered, his breath sucking in
sharply.

“Relax,” she said.

Relax?
He leaned back a bit and looked at her.
“Relax? I’m supposed to say that, aren’t I?”

“Aye, but I could grow old waiting for you to do it,” she
said.

“Maggie…”

She smiled and said nothing, but she caressed him just a
little harder through his breeches, nuzzling his throat as she did so. “Relax,”
she said, with laughter in her voice. “Just lie back and think of England.”

“England!” he said with a start.

“Aye.”

His arms came around her. “I can’t think of England at a
time like this,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got my mind on Scotland.”

“Well, you—”

“Maggie, will you shut up and kiss me?”

“Aye,” she said. “I will.”

And she did, placing her hands to each side of his face.
Then she planted a kiss on his mouth that had enough heat in it to fire up an
extinct volcano. Adrian had never known his body could react so violently to a
woman’s aggression. Then he reminded himself that it hadn’t reacted to a
woman’s aggression before, only to Maggie’s. There was a difference.

He shifted their position in the buggy, turning her to lie
beneath him, taking control of the kiss as he did so. He groaned, pressing
himself against her softness, feeling his penis grow hard in response to her
own groan. Her hands were in his hair now, as if she had to hang on to him to
keep her sanity. He could understand that. He was feeling a little crazy
himself.

She whispered a frantic, “No,” clutching at him, when he
pulled away, but he only left her long enough to open his pants, and to pull
her skirts up and her drawers down. A moment later he was back, his mouth
searching for hers.

She whimpered in frustration, and his breath came hard in
response. His mouth searched hers, and she groaned when he used the weight of
his legs to nudge her thighs. She parted them readily, her hands rubbing his
back frantically, then cupping his buttocks, urging him on. “I want you,” she
whispered, her breathing coming in short gasps.

“It’s a good thing,” was all he managed to say before he
drove himself into her. She was so ready, and he was, too. A few hard, sure
strokes and he heard her pant.

“Too fast,” he whispered. “I didn’t want it to go so fast.”

“We can be slower next time,” she said, then he felt her
body convulse, his own coming a split second later.

His mind drifted between contentment and thoughts of making
love to her again.
It can be slower next time.
He felt himself growing
hard.

“Adrian?” she whispered.

“Hmmmmm?”

“We have to stop now.”

“Stop? Are you crazy?”

She laughed, pulling away. “No, but I think he is. I dinna
ken I have ever seen a horse eat a felt hat before.”

Adrian whipped his head around, and there in the moonlight
he could make out the shape of the hobbled gelding with his neck stretched out,
the rippled brim of Adrian’s hat protruding from his mouth.

She was doing it again. She was driving him crazy. “Stop
laughing,” he said. “That’s my favorite hat.”

“It’s only a hat,” she said, “and I canna be blamed for
laughing. It is funny.”

“It wouldn’t be funny if it was one of your hats.”

“Dinna be angry at me, Adrian,
I
dinna eat it.”

“No, but you sure as hell distracted me, or I would have heard
that son of a bitch before he did any damage.”

“Distracted you?” she said in a surprised voice. Then with a
throaty laugh, she said, “Aye. I did at that.” She snuggled closer to him and
closed her eyes. She could sleep now.

But Adrian sure as hell couldn’t. Too much had happened
tonight, too much had passed between them. It seemed like a long, long time
before the sun began to peek over the mountains, but Adrian was ready to go
when it did. He glanced over at Maggie.
Now she sleeps
. He hitched up
the horse and headed for home, pulling Maggie toward him, a smile curving
across his face when she took some time to settle in. Eventually she ended up
in his lap. Oddly enough, it was exactly where he wanted her.

About the only complaint Maggie had about her marriage was
that there were times that she didn’t see much of Adrian. Often he was gone
when she arose, or he was late for dinner—sometimes both. Whenever she
mentioned it, he had the audacity to look surprised. “You wish I didn’t work so
hard? Why?”

“Because I enjoy your company.”

He looked at their cold dinner. “You should have eaten,” he
said. “I’m too tired to be good company to anybody anyway.” After dinner he
announced he had some work to do, and something about the way he said it made
Maggie think he wanted to be alone. Once he was gone, she went into the kitchen
and told Molly to leave.

“I will, as soon as I’ve cleaned the kitchen.”

“I’ll do it tonight. You go on home and feed that husband of
yours.”

“He’s used to waiting. He always sleeps for a spell when he
comes home. Doesn’t wake up until I stick a plate under his nose.”

“Then go home and wave that plate. I feel like cleaning the
kitchen tonight. I might give the floor a good scrubbing as well.”

Molly looked her over. “You’re either with child or having a
fight. Have you missed your monthly?”

Maggie laughed. “If I didna have it, I ken I wouldna miss
it.”

“Then you and Adrian must be at it again.” She gave the
strings of her apron a yank. “Never saw the likes of it in all my born days.
It’s amazing to me that two people who would rather be making love find so many
other things to do. Are you two having a fight?”

“If we are, he forgot to tell me,” Maggie said.

“Well, he didn’t look too happy when he came home tonight.
If you two aren’t fighting, then what’s wrong with him?”