Page 36 of When We Touch

Go, go! she urged herself. She had never know a fear like the one suddenly seizing her, not even tonight, when a bullet might have burned through her flesh at any instant.

Go, go . . . run. Run into the house, as fast as you can!

“Maggie!”

A curious tone in his voice brought her to a halt. She turned. He hadn’t moved. He remained where he was, a slight breeze lifting the shoulder capes of his coat, his stance still and strong, the great horse at his side.

“Yes?”

She hated herself. The word sounded like a whisper, almost a plea.

A plea for what?

She was walking back to him. She hadn’t in the least suggested to her feet that they carry her back, and yet . . .

She walked. She almost felt him as she did so. Almost felt . . .

Lord help her. She couldn’t begin to understand all the emotions seething through her as she stood there. Anger, regret, longing, admiration, perhaps grudgingly given, a strange kinship, more, longing.

More.

Desire. As strong as any she had known in her life, as strong as she had felt for . . . a man long buried. Dearly loved, but long buried. While this one . . .

Was alive. Very much alive. Vibrant. Vital. A wealth of heat and seduction, even as he stood, not moving, just his eyes touching her, and that look . . .

Dear God, the visions that look brought to her mind’s eye.

She came to a halt before him and fought the images of what might be with such a man.

Still, he hadn’t moved, and he didn’t speak.

Despite the fantasies sweeping through her mind at the wicked pace of a blustering wind, she was startled when he touched her. His forefinger first, touching slightly against her chin, lifting it, then his hand, stretching out, cradling her jaw. His thumb ran down the length of her cheek, then brushed over her lower lip. Then suddenly she was closer still, not at all certain if his touch manipulated the angle of her head, or if she had stepped forward herself. His mouth formed over hers, and it was no subtle, hesitant, brushing kiss, but a consuming invasion. Rockets exploded within her mind as she felt the reckless, passionate sear of his tongue, the thrust and sweep, a molten, liquid fire, heating her blood to pure lava. Her heart thundered, she heard and felt the cacophony. His arms seemed a shelter of iron, the pressure of his body a torment that teased down into the very essence of her, stirring within her breast, a shattering reawakening of sensuality that stroked and teased from her breasts to her thighs, and her very center. His hand, so large and capable, fell at the base of her spine, pressing her closer, and she didn’t realize till long after that she hadn’t taken a single breath in all the long seconds that he held her so.

God help her! How she wanted this! How wonderful to be in his arms. She was so ridiculously familiar with his eyes, voice, scent.

She could have stayed forever, feeling the sensual sweep of his tongue. It evoked so very much, led her to imagine what could be. She had really believed herself immune to such feelings ever arising again, and yet this was as if they were born entirely anew. It wasn’t nostalgia, loss, the memory of something gone before. It was James, this man, this touch, this feeling, and she was stunned to feel that the wanting inside her was shatteringly deep and desperate, that there was longing, physical, and in her heart, and . . .

Physical.

A burning, a desire that was more than just hot and urgent and . . .

Then, quite suddenly, he stepped away, and staring at her, swore. She didn’t stumble, nor did her knees buckle, yet she stood there, just staring at him, stunned, feeling the dampness remaining upon her lips, the swell of them from his touch, and as if she would blow away like a leaf were the slightest breeze to arise.

“You are a witch!” he said softly. And he wiped his mouth suddenly with the back of his hand, as if he had indeed tasted something evil.

Silver clouds evaporated.

She turned at last and headed up the walk, and into the town house.

Chapter 6

Jamie stayed by Newton several long seconds, gathering his equilibrium. His muscles hardened, stiffened, and chilled, and his jaw locked. Good God, what was the matter with him? He loved Charles, owed him so much.

If he believed in it, he’d say that he was indeed bewitched!

But he didn’t believe in such things. And it hadn’t been all the raw hungers she evoked simply by looking the way she did that had seemed to mesmerize him that night. It had been in those few moments when he had seen the pain and the passion within her, the hurt that had led her to the type of reckless action she had carried out tonight. It had been something in her voice, something in the glimpse of honesty.

He swore aloud.