Man of Her Dreams (4 page)

“Mrs. Claiborne,” Maggie said, yanking up the strap of her slip. “I couldn't possibly have known you were coming here.”

“That's not what Miss Emma told me.” To save Maggie's virtue and his own sanity, he snatched her robe off the post at the end of the bed and thrust it at her. “Put this on before you catch your death.”

Maggie grabbed the black kimono out of his hand. Standing up, she turned her back to him, rammed her arms into the sleeves, and belted it with an angry tug on the sash that almost forced the breath out of her. Nothing like adding insult to injury, she thought. Not only did he not love her, he didn't even want to look at her. Damn the man.

“Ooooh, Miss Emma. That stinker. She sent you in here on purpose.”

“She said you were expecting me.”

“And you believed her? Everyone knows she tells the most outrageous fibs.” She sat back down on the bed, crossed her arms and legs, and huffed impatiently. “Why, I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear she told you I was up here having erotic dreams about you when I'm so mad I could spit tacks.”

The sarcastic statement brought a telltale flush to the apples of her cheeks, but Ry didn't notice. He had a plan to concentrate on.

“I came to apologize for this afternoon,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “I guess I upset you a little bit.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Your talent for understatement is truly astonishing.”

“Well, I just thought we ought to clear the air.” He wandered to her dresser and idly examined the various articles that cluttered the top, all the while keeping one eye on her via the mirror. “To tell you the truth, Maggie, I don't know what got into me today. I suppose with Katie getting married and all, I was carried away.”

“Carried away?” she murmured, her stomach fluttering with sudden nerves.

Ry picked up an eyelash curler and played with it absently. “Well, sure. My baby sister's married now, I ought to be married too. You know, it's sort of a reflex action. I reckon there are all sorts of deeper psychological ramifications, but—”

“Just what are you saying, Rylan?” Maggie asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Basically that I never should have proposed to you today.” He maintained a poker face while he watched Maggie's reaction. She was utterly still on the bed, her face milk white.

“You shouldn't have?” she asked weakly. Even worse than having him propose the way he had was having him say he shouldn't have done it at all.

A flash of panic went through her like a lightning bolt. Dammit, she should have snatched him up when she'd had the chance, married him, and
then
gotten him to fall in love with her. Now they were back to square one.

“No,” he went on calmly, trying to pull the eyelash curler off his fingers. It crashed onto a mirrored tray. He righted a bottle of nail polish and picked up a tube of lipstick to fiddle with. “Of course, that was obvious from your reaction. You were right, we're not ready to get married. I take my proposal back.”

“But I never—” She bit her tongue, ran a hand back through her hair, and tried to gather her scattering thoughts. She had never said they weren't ready to get married, but she
had
said she
wouldn't
marry him. So what was the difference? “Not ready” left the situation open at least. But who did he think he was, taking his proposal back? How could he retract a proposal she'd already thrown back in his face?

None of this was making any sense to her. The only thing that was clear was the anger building to the boiling point inside her once again. How dare he jerk her feelings around as if she were some kind of puppet!

Ry watched as twin spots of magenta appeared on her cheeks then spread out to the roots of her hair.
Right on cue,
he smiled to himself,
here comes that infamous McSwain temper.
He turned just in time to ward off the pillow she flung at him.

“You colossal jerk!” she shouted, launching herself off the bed as she heaved her pillow at him. With nothing else to throw at him within easy reach, she stamped her bare foot on the pine floor. “First you publicly insult me with a half-assed proposal, now you think you can take it back?”

Ry tried to look innocent. Inwardly he was praising the concept of reverse psychology. It was the perfect tool to use on women, since their minds tended to function in direct opposition to logic. His was a brilliant plan. If Maggie thought he didn't want to get married, she was liable to all but drag him to the altar. He would lure her with indifference and cement the deal with the syndication money.

He was projecting a Thanksgiving wedding.

He lifted his broad shoulders in a hesitant shrug as she continued to glare at him, magnificent in her anger. “I suppose if you had changed your mind, you could hold me to it. I mean, I did make the offer in front of witnesses. Have you changed your mind?”

“No!”

“Good—”

“Good? Good!” She cast a longing glance at his shins. If only she were wearing shoes! She grabbed the lipstick tube out of Rylan's hand and shook it at him as if she could kill him with it. “Ooooh! When it comes to thick-skinned, dirt-for-brains men, you absolutely steal the prize, Rylan Quaid! Good? What do you mean, good? If you had one molecule of gentlemanliness in you, you'd know enough to pretend at least a little bit of disappointment when a lady turns down your proposal!”

Ry held his hands up in surrender. “Now don't go getting all riled up again, Mary Margaret. All I meant was you and I have a good thing going. Why ruin it by getting married?”

“Ruin—?” She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “You have an extremely twisted view of marriage.”

“I haven't seen many sterling examples.”

Immediately Maggie backed off from the fight. She knew all about Ry and Katie's parents. Their mother had walked out on the family. Katie rarely spoke of the woman, but Maggie was well aware of the effect the desertion had had on her friend. Somehow she had never thought of it as having influenced Ry. He was so big and strong. Now she could see she'd been wrong. She could also see, in his simple answer, a tiny glimpse of that man she had dreamed lay under Ry's abrasive exterior.

Growing up in an environment of hostility had tainted his view of marriage as much as having his mother abandon them had. No wonder he had approached the subject from the practical point of view. That would be the safest way—no emotional risk.

“Do you think getting married will ruin Katie and Nick's relationship?” she asked.

“No. What they have is special,” he said quietly, turning once again to browse through her cosmetics. He knew his sister and her husband were in love—deeply, irrevocably in love. He also knew it was something that could never happen for him. He couldn't inspire those kinds of feelings in a woman. The best he hoped for in a relationship was understanding, friendship, and fidelity. “What they have is rare.”

We could have it too, Ry,
Maggie thought, her heart aching.

“So,” he said, accidentally squirting himself with cologne. He swore under his breath and put the atomizer down. “What do you say, Mary Margaret? Can we go on being friends and forget I ever mentioned marriage?”

She nibbled her lush lower lip as she considered his question. Whether he realized it or not, what Ry was offering her was a prime second chance, a chance to make him fall in love with her, a chance to change his mind about marriage. She would have been lying to say she didn't want that chance.

Sure, he was hardheaded and thick-skinned. Sure, he made her angry. No one could rile her the way Rylan could, that was part of what she loved about him.

She could cling to her pride and spite herself by refusing his offer of “just friends,” or she could seize the opportunity and make the most of it. Deliberation wasn't necessary.

Determination filled her previously weary body with strength. She was through waiting for Rylan to make all the moves. She would do everything she could to capture his interest, to make him see her love was a prize to be cherished instead of settled for. And she was finished with resigning herself to nothing more than a hot good-night kiss. “Just friends” was going to last only as long as it took her to work her feminine wiles on him. The next time Rylan Quaid asked her to marry him, practicality would be the last thing on his mind.

She met his expectant gaze in the mirror, offering him a reluctant smile. Slowly she stepped closer to him and slid her arms around his waist. She rested her cheek against his broad, muscled back, breathing in his warm, masculine scent. Miss Emma was right, he was some hunk of man. And he was going to be all hers.

“I guess we can still be friends,” she said, deliberately ignoring the second half of his question.

Ry swallowed hard at the feeling of her breasts pressing softly into his back. There was a hint of strain in his voice when he spoke. “I'm glad you're being so adult about this, Maggie. A lot of women wouldn't be.”

“Well, sugar,” she said, slipping around to wedge herself between Ry and her dresser. She tilted her head just so and batted her lashes at him in a manner that was patently seductive. “I'm not a lot of women.”

But you're a lot of woman,
he thought, fighting back a groan as his palms started to sweat. Her robe had worked loose, and he now had an unobstructed view of her cleavage.

“We should seal this bargain, don't you think?” she said, plucking her nail buffer from his fingers and dropping it behind her. “Kiss and make up?”

“A handshake is all you need dealin' horses,” he said with a nervous laugh. Her belly was pressing softly, provocatively against his hardening groin. He wanted her so badly, he could barely think straight. He had to remember they weren't alone in the big house, had to remember he couldn't make love to her until he had a firm handle on his control, or he was liable to ruin his grand plan.

Maggie slid her arms up around his neck, tingles running through her at the tightening of his heavy muscles. Her voice was low and smooth as she raised on tiptoe and inched her mouth toward his. “We aren't dealin' horses, sugar. Besides, what's a lil' old kiss between
friends
?”

The kiss was hot. There was no gradual warming. It was hot from the first. Maggie's lips coaxed and teased. Her tongue sought and gained entry to Ry's mouth, then retreated, luring him to sample the sweet delights of hers. He needed no more encouragement. Crushing her in his embrace, he took control of his kiss and lost control of his desire. His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom. There was a clatter of things falling on the dresser as he lifted her against him and slanted his mouth across hers.

Lack of oxygen was the only thing that saved him from taking her right there on the cluttered dresser. He tore his lips from hers to drag in a ragged breath, and a measure of sanity rushed in with it. He fought off a vague sense of panic and congratulated himself. Why should he feel as if he had been tactically outmaneuvered? He was the one with the plan, and the plan was working.

Putting an inch of space between them, he shot her a rare grin and said, “Well, that ought to seal the deal. Friends again.”

Friends indeed, Maggie thought, fighting a smile of smug satisfaction. A man couldn't kiss like that and be indifferent. Indifference didn't strain against the front of a man's jeans. This scheme of hers was going to work out fine. And the beauty of it was Rylan would never figure out he'd been manipulated. Men were so dense about that sort of thing.

Mischief sparkled in her dark eyes as she caught a whiff of the perfume he'd accidentally sprayed on the front of his denim shirt. She reached for the top button. “Mercy, Rylan, you smell like an Avon Lady. Why don't you let me take this shirt and wash it for you?”

Ry caught her hands as the third button and buttonhole parted company and his shirt opened further to reveal a vee of bronze skin thickly carpeted with curling black hair. Maybe his plan was working a little too well. “That's not necessary.”

“Oh, pooh,” Maggie said, trying not to giggle. “It's no trouble a'tall. Besides, what will the boys in the stable think if you come around smelling like Passion's Promise?”

“Passion's Promise?” He scowled. “Hell of a name for perfume.”

“I think it's very appropriate.” She lifted her wrist and brushed it in a slow, sensuous caress against his beard-shadowed cheek, knowing by the way his nostrils flared that he was inhaling the seductive scent. She ran her tongue along her kiss-ripened lower lip. “Don't you think so?”

“I think,” he said firmly, taking another step back from her, “that I'd better get home. It's chore time, and I still have a yard full of people from New Jersey to see to.”

“Oh. Well, if you're sure.” She allowed herself a tiny smile as she glanced down and tightened the sash of her kimono. This day wasn't turning out so bad after all. She looked up as Ry started for the bedroom door. “Rylan?”

The look he shot her with his stormy gray-green eyes bordered on suspicious. “What?”

She gave him a genuine smile. “I'm glad we're friends again.”

“Me too,” he said, although he had the distinct feeling they had just declared an odd kind of war. It was a ridiculous idea, he told himself, and immediately dismissed it. It was his plan, he was in control of the situation. He turned and took a step before her voice stopped him again.

“Ry?”

“What?”

“Better button your shirt, darlin'. You'll give Miss Emma palpitations. She's hot for your bod, you know.” She couldn't help but laugh at the look he gave her as he took her advice. “It's true!”

Ry's voice rang with disapproval. “Miss Emma is a sweet little seventy-some-year-old lady—”

“—who has eyes for a big strappin' man.” Maggie waggled her eyebrows suggestively and held back her laughter as Ry blushed with embarrassment.