The Humbug Man by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

because he hated admitting it. In fact, he didn’t know why he was even telling her.
    She had to catch her breath. He looked so sophisticated, so worldly. And he was telling her blatantly that he was as inexperienced as she was. She felt a thrill go through her body that was beyond anything she’d ever felt.
    He was rigid, waiting for the laughter. It didn’t come. And the way she was looking at him made fires in his blood. His head lifted, and he looked down at her quietly, curiously. “No smart remarks?” he asked, challenge in the very set of his dark head.
    “Oh, no,” she whispered, her expression soft, adoring. “There was only my husband, you see,” she replied. “And I was innocent and very young. He wasn’t terribly experienced, either. We did a lot of fumbling, and I don’t know if either of us was ever…satisfied.” She buried her red face in his hard chest, feeling his heart pounding under her forehead. “I could never say that to anyone before. I could never talk to a man like this.”
    He felt like throwing his head back and laughing with the sheer delight of what he was learning about her. He smiled to himself, secretly, triumphantly. “And here I thought you wrote the book on city sophistication,” he murmured with a soft sound that was almost a chuckle.
    “Fooled you, didn’t I?” she asked dreamily.
    In more ways than one, but he wasn’t letting his guard down that far. His hands smoothed her hair, savoring its softness. “Then come home with me, you and Blake. Until the snow’s gone, at least. You’ll need help bathing him, if nothing else,” he persisted. “I remember how I was at his age. I’d have raised hell before I’d have let my mother give me a bath.”
    She laughed delightedly and lifted her head, her gray eyes sparkling, beautiful in her soft face as she looked at him. “I guess he would, too,” she agreed.
    “I won’t hurt you,” he murmured. “I don’t have enough experience to seduce women. Even green little girls like you.”
    She smiled even wider. “Thank you, Tate,” she said gently.
    The sound of his name in that soft, husky tone made his heart stop beating. He searched her eyes, watching the smile falter at the intensity of the look they were exchanging. “Say my name again,” he whispered.
    “Tate,” she obliged, her voice breathless now.
    His lean hands framed her face, and holding her eyes, he bent toward her. His hard lips touched her mouth hesitantly, the mustache tickling. He was a little awkward, and his nose got in the way before he finally pressed his mouth to hers.
    “God, I’m rusty,” he whispered on a husky laugh. “I think I’ve forgotten how!”
    She laughed, too, because it was delicious being with a man who was as inexperienced as she was herself. It was the sweetest kind of pleasure. She reached her arms around him and tilted her head back. “I don’t mind,” she whispered. “Could we try again? I’m kind of rusty, too.”
    He smiled, a real smile this time, and bent again. This time he wasn’t awkward. His hard lips brushed hers, once, twice, and then settled, moving gently until the contact suddenly became electrically charged.
    She felt the very moment when his big body stiffened, when his breath caught. She started to speak. The opening of her lips coincided with the downward movement of his, and he tasted her.
    “Maggie,” he groaned. He eased her back against the door, and his big body moved down, pinning her there with exquisite strength but so gently that it didn’t frighten her. She felt his mouth, tasted its hard, moist crush, and her lips parted for him with a soft little cry.
    She couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had aroused her. Even during her brief marriage she hadn’t felt this oddly weak and trembling vulnerability. Tate might be inexperienced, but there was a powerful chemistry between them if this shuddering need was any indication. She loved the hard crush of his lips, even the abrasive