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

tickle of his mustache. And the feel of his muscular body so close was making her tingle from head to toe.
    He lifted his head, and his dark eyes were black as they searched her face.
    She felt drowsy, hardly capable of standing alone. “Tate,” she whispered, lifting her mouth toward his blindly.
    “No, honey.” He moved away from her then, the endearment coming without any effort at all, although he’d never used them in his life. He held her until she got her balance back, his hands gentle but firm on her soft upper arms. “We have to stop.”
    She looked up at him with blank eyes that slowly darkened as she became aware of reality again. She flushed and dropped her eyes to the heavy rise and fall of his chest. “Oh, my,” she said inadequately.
    “You’d better get dressed,” he said, fighting for reason. The bed was just behind him, and he could already feel her soft bareness against him. He shook his head to clear it. “I’ll go roust Blake and help him dress.”
    “Thank you.”
    He moved her gently to one side, his hands still warm and comforting on her arms. “Maggie, are you all right?”
    She forced a smile. “Just a little shaky, that’s all,” she said and laughed at her own weakness.
    He laughed, too, because it was new to be vulnerable. And because he didn’t mind if she saw that he was. She was just sweet hell to make love to. That could cause some problems, but he wasn’t wasting time thinking about consequences right now.
    “Me, too,” he murmured, lazily studying the way her pajama top was shaking with her heartbeats. Her breasts were hard tipped. He could see their outline, and he wished for a moment that he had more experience, but since she wasn’t put off by it, why should he worry?
    “Stop that,” she whispered, embarrassed, and crossed her arms over her chest.
    He chuckled. He liked her reactions. He liked her. “Get some clothes on.”
    He opened the door and went out, and it was almost a minute before Maggie could even move. She tasted him on her lips, she smelled the clean scent of him on her pajama top. She and Blake were going to his house, to live with him until the snow stopped.
    Until the snow stopped
. She blinked. Christmas was next week, and soon she and Blake had to leave Montana. She winced. It was going to be harder than she’d expected. She didn’t want to leave Montana. She didn’t want to leave Tate. She turned back to her chest of drawers to get out a blouse, wondering how this sudden attachment to him had come about and how she was going to cope with it.
    Tate had his own four-wheel-drive Jeep outside, and he carefully loaded Blake into it, then Maggie, along with the clothes she’d packed quickly, and they headed for his place.
    Fortunately, it was a big house, and there were four bedrooms. Tate had renovated one of them and made it into an office where he did his book work, but there were three rooms with beds left. Tate had the biggest, filled with antique furniture in dark oak shades and a bed that was king-size and boasted a quilted coverlet with a Western motif.
    The others were alike, pine-paneled rooms with modern furniture and trimmings in shades of brown and beige and green. Earth colors that suited him. Maggie took one room and Blake had the other.
    “Who cleans the house for you?” Maggie asked as she joined him in the huge living room with its cathedral ceiling and large stone fireplace. The furniture was heavy and dark, made for comfort. There were stone ashtrays and several potted cactus plants, and even a rubber tree in one corner.
    “One of my men has a compassionate wife,” he murmured, smiling at her curiosity as she went around the room looking at the Indian pottery on the mantel, at the huge Hereford bull whose masculine beauty was captured in a painting above the mantel.
    “Who is he…was he?” she corrected, indicating the bull.
    “King’s Honor,” he said proudly. “He was a champion sire. Lived to be twenty years old