“I just moved my furniture in last week,” she murmured.
“Babe? Your insurance?” Max repeated.
Betty looked at him grimly. “Never buy cheap homeowner’s insurance from a small company, Maximilian.”
“What are you saying?”
“My insurance company declared bankruptcy last month. I hadn’t gotten around to buying a new policy yet.”
“Oh, babe. I’m so sorry.” Max shut his eyes. When he opened them, they were sympathetic, but puzzled. She could imagine what he wanted to ask. Why cheap insurance? Why delay in replacing it? And why hadn’t she begun remodeling, as she’d said she was planning to do?
The fire chief shook his head sadly and moved away. People drifted toward their vehicles. The firemen spat tobacco and chatted while they continued dousing the remnants of the fire.
Feeling shell-shocked, Betty stroked Faux Paw’s head and looked up at Max, communicating with him through haunted eyes. “Thank God you’re all right,” she whispered finally. “That’s all I really care about at the moment. I don’t Want to talk about the house just now.”
He cupped the back of her head and brought her close for a kiss. “Care to stay in my guest room for a few days? I’ve never had a beautiful, muddy, pink fairy as a house guest before. Or a mutant cat that is now gnawing on the hand that saved its life.”
Betty looked down. Faux Paw was chewing lightly on Max’s fingers. But then she gave them a loving swipe with her tongue and rubbed her head on his knee. “She’s crazy about you. She’ll probably follow you around from now on. I don’t think she can resist anymore.”
“You sound certain,” he said carefully.
Betty raised her head and met Max’s warm, searching green eyes. “Because I know exactly how she feels.”
Max glanced at a small digital clock on the mantel over the fireplace. Three A.M. He rubbed his forehead wearily, feeling the strain of the evening’s events—not the fire, but its effect on Betty. He had never felt so much anxiety or such tenderness before, and he’d spent the past few hours pouring all of his energy into making her feel better.
He wasn’t certain what he’d accomplished. She had eaten a sandwich at his insistence. She’d had a glass of cognac. She’d allowed herself to cry inside the comfort of his arms as he and she had sat on the couch in the dark. But she hadn’t wanted to talk, to answer the questions that he wanted to ask, that she must know he wanted answered.
When he’d mentioned that she ought to call her parents, she had shaken her head. They were in Europe. Her mother would overreact and her father would make scolding comments about the electric heater. Betty had told him, with a thin little smile, that her parents’ sympathy could be hard on the nerves.
So Max offered silent support. Inside himself he found something he thought he’d lost forever. He found a willingness to accept her silence, her mystery. He found a faith in her and because of her.
“Max?” Her soft voice came to him from the hallway. He turned swiftly and looked at her. She stood there with one of his large white bath towels in her hands. Her hair was still damp from her shower. It wisped around her face and neck in gleaming black strands, giving her a disheveled, vulnerable look.
Rings of fatigue circled her eyes, but she smiled as she glanced down at herself. She wore a set of his gray sweats. The shirt hung halfway to her knees, and the pants were so baggy and so long that they draped in big folds around her ankles. “I’ve been swallowed. I could rent space in this for conventions.”
“I’ll call Norma and see if she can find—”
“No.” Her eyes moved over him with disarming affection. “I like wearing this. It’s fine.” Studying him further, she frowned. “You look exhausted. Go take a shower yourself.”
He nodded, loving her concern, trying gruffly not to let her see how much he wished that they’d taken a shower together. He rose and went to her. They walked down the hall, and he followed her into the guest room, where Faux Paw lay snoring in the center of the bed.
Max didn’t want to think about sleeping in his own room alone, but he wasn’t sure how Betty would react if he suggested otherwise. He doubted that she’d believe him if he said that comfort and closeness were uppermost in his mind.
He brushed his lips over her forehead, then stepped back brusquely. “Good night, babe. Sleep well.”
She started to say something, caught herself, and simply nodded. Max couldn’t decipher the mysterious gleam in her eyes, but it was too provocative for his current emotional state, so he gave her a friendly wink and left the room.
Thirty minutes later he dragged himself from a shower that he’d alternately run hot and cold, trying to relax at the same time that every thought and impulse begged for Betty. He would have been satisfied with just holding her, an attitude that he analyzed with surprise, hardly believing it himself.
Toweling his hair, his body feeling cool and exhausted inside blue pajama bottoms and a thick blue robe, he walked down the hall and entered his bedroom. He halted in the darkness, staring at the bed, wondering for a second if the shadowy light from the hallway was playing tricks on him.
Betty was asleep on his futon, curled up on her side with his burgundy quilt and sheet pulled over her, and both hands curled under her chin. Max dropped his towel and padded quietly to her side. The futon was cushioned by a mattress and also sat atop a mahogany platform he’d built for it; still, it was low to the floor.
He knelt by it and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. There won’t be any reprieve the next time, he’d warned. But now he said gently, “Betty Belle. You may be in the wrong bed. It depends on why you’re here.”
She struggled awake, smiled at him groggily, then reached out and stroked her fingers along his jaw. “I know you’re exhausted, but would you mind if I slept with you? I really want to stay close to you.”
After a moment he cleared his throat. “No problem.” He suppressed an urge to smile broadly and grab her in a hug. Max tossed his robe and climbed into bed behind her.
She turned to face him and gently laid her palms on his chest. “I’m so tired. I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“Me either.”
Max felt serenity slip through him at her touch; a peaceful brand of arousal let him settle his head on the pillow and pull her to him without hurry, knowing that he’d never shared such perfect friendship and comfort. The insistent hardness against his belly lost its urgency. He would never be too tired to want her, but for now the anticipation was sweet satisfaction in itself.
She nuzzled her face into the center of his chest. With the ease of complete trust they arranged themselves in a snug, comfortable embrace, legs entwined, arms draped loosely over each other’s sides, faces burrowed together above the quilt’s edge.
“Oh, Max,” she whispered, her voice fading but filled with contentment. “You were wonderful tonight. I’ll never forget it.”
He chuckled against her hair. “I won’t let you.”
Betty tiptoed back into the bedroom after checking on Faux Paw. She stopped by a Window only a few feet from the big futon and let her eyes adjust to the starlight. The slightest hint of dawn lightened the patch of sky between the valance and the bottom panels of the window’s simple white curtains. She anxiously watched Max sleep.
She’d been so groggy, so ready to fall asleep as soon as his arms were around her, that only now did she realize how she’d taken advantage of him. She recalled everything about his body, including the hard ridge of his arousal brushing against her thigh as she had snuggled mindlessly against him, using him for her own comfort.
He had needed more. She had expected him to say so. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d sighed so happily that she’d fallen asleep in a blissful dream. This man was incredibly special. He was honest with her, and she’d be honest with herself. She belonged to him in a way that she would never belong to any other man.
Max, who lay on his back, seemed to realize that she was gone from bed.
He stirred and sleepily stretched a hand out, searching for her. Tenderness and desire heated her blood. Smiling, she stripped off the bulky sweat suit. She went to the futon and slipped under the covers.
She nestled close to him without letting her body touch his. Slowly she placed her hands on his bare shoulders. A soft, half-awake sound of pleasure rumbled from his throat. Betty quivered with anticipation and pulled herself near enough to brush kisses across his parted lips. He sleepily wrapped his arms around her and dragged her against him.
His whole body tensed. Instantly awake, he shoved himself up on one elbow. “Max,” she whispered, drawing her hand down the softly furred muscles of his chest. “No regrets, Max. We need each other in so many ways.”
Above her he was a large, potently masculine form of shadow and warm, musky scent. His hair was ruffled in a way that made her hands anxious to stroke it. then ruffle it again. His eyes were hooded from sleep, but weren’t sleepy. Her breath drew short as she measured the sexual energy leashed in his motionless scrutiny.
“I’ll do my best to make you happier than you’ve ever been before,” he promised in a low, gravelly voice.
“I’ll return the favor.”
He took the edge of the covers, and she quivered as his fingertips trailed across the tops of her breasts. By intimate degrees he drew the covers back. His gaze caressed her, creating almost tangible sensations on her skin and deep inside her womb. Her back arched instinctively; her legs shifted against his, and her breasts ached for his touch.
Pulling the covers down further, he traced her navel with his thumb, then pressed a knuckle into the soft indentation and rubbed gently. Trickles of exquisite desire ran through her belly. She grasped his shoulders as he molded his hand to her stomach and began to stroke the supersensitive skin. His hand moved upward.
“Great ribs. I suspected it,” he teased hoarsely. “And look what I found on top of them.”
Betty moaned as his hand moved over her breast. The air seemed to hum with expectation. The heat from their bodies mingled with the earthy fragrance of arousal. There would be nothing inhibited about their lovemaking; no coy games, no holding back.
With an abrupt, ragged sigh, his restraint failed him and he scooped his arms under her. Betty cupped his face as he crushed her to the bed, and their mouths met in a sweet but frantic search for satisfaction.
She stroked her hands over his shoulders and back, skimming the flexing muscles, then raising her hands to his hair, sliding her fingers into it. It was like short, luxurious mink, contrasting delightfully with the coarser hair of his body. She continued her explorations, reveling in the changing shapes, angles, and textures she found. Her fingertips danced over his jaws, loving the play of the sinews as his skillful, inventive mouth moved against hers. She cupped his heavyset shoulders and slid her hands down his arms, pausing at small, puckered spots that puzzled her. She had felt similar marks on his back.
“Shrapnel scars,” he whispered hastily. “From ’Nam. They’re not as noticeable as they feel to the touch.”
A soft, anguished protest burst from her throat. “They’re fine. Fine. I don’t mind them at all.” She kissed him and was rewarded with his smile against her lips.
He dragged his hands down her spine and under her hips, squeezing their round pads erotically, then curving his fingers under her thighs, tantalizing her.
Betty writhed upward, seeking the hard plane of his belly and finding the straight, thick ridge of his sex through the thin pajama bottoms he wore. She tucked her hands between their bodies and fumbled with the pajamas’ tie string. It was secured with a tight knot. “Max, what did you do to this?” she asked in dismay. “Is this an anti-invasion device?”
Chuckling gruffly, he sat back and unfastened the cord. “I was trying to protect you from a military secret.”
He lifted his hands. The waistband of his pajama bottoms sagged loosely, revealing his navel and a swath of the lean, hairy abdomen beneath it. Betty sat up and clasped his waist, drawing her palms down his sides.
She tilted her head back so that she could watch his expression. “Perhaps I should lower your defenses, Major.”
Max took her face between his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheeks gently. “I surrender.”
Trembling with love and desire, Betty pulled the pajamas to his thighs. Studying him breathlessly, she thought of no words that could do him justice. Mewling her appreciation instead, she leaned down and kissed his straining body.
“You’re generous … in victory.” He tried to joke, but the words faded into a low sigh.
She stroked his thighs. “Lay down and let me show you how generous.”
He settled on his back and watched her in electric silence. The short, quick rhythm of his breathing matched her own. She knelt beside him as she eased the thin cotton pajamas down his legs and over his feet.
Betty noticed the left foot and bit her lip to keep from crying out. She ran her fingertips over the surface scars, then touched the area where his little toe had been.
He cleared his throat and murmured, “That piggy went to market.”
She laughed shakily, then bent and gave the spot a kiss. “Poor thing.”
His voice became a roughly grained purl, as provocative as a caress. “Do you know how incredible you look, sitting there naked?”
She heard herself make a trill of pleasure. It was so birdlike that both she and Max broke into low, private laughter, sharing a joy that erased the sadness of a second earlier. He held out both hands and she went to him swiftly, lowering herself atop him and trilling again, this time in unison with his husky murmur of delight.
Now each kiss was slow and thorough, meant to ignite slow writhing movements and complement the new journeys of their hands. He curved his down her hips and thighs, then delved into her with careful, unhurried fingers. His light, almost teasing strokes brought her to a level of dazed bliss.
“You make me feel as if I’m perfect,” she told him, knowing that she was returning his urgent, desire-drugged gaze. “Or that parts of me are perfect, at least.”
He shuddered and laughed hoarsely. His hips rotated between her thighs, gently grinding his length against the downy center in a way that made her body throb. “All of your parts are fantastic. My parts are crazy about them. And the sum of our parts—”
“Feels like this.” She slid herself onto him, smoothly, quickly, calling his name.
His body bowed in startled response, and his hands dug into her hips. Throwing his head back, he shut his eyes and cursed joyfully, his tone as tender as a love poem. When he shot her an apologetic look, Betty smiled and shook her head at him. “Point accepted,” she whispered. “Well said, Major.”
His eyes gleamed. He wrapped his arms around her. In one powerful movement he rolled her onto her back, their bodies still intimately merged, his thrusting even deeper. The commanding ache inside her belly began to grow into a storm that couldn’t be contained. She held Max tightly and whispered against his ear, “Take us there. Max. Take us there.”
He kissed her until neither of them had breath or control or concentration enough to do anything except make the fast, sweet trip home.
Nine
Coming home to Betty felt right. In fact, after just a few days, it felt not only right but essential. Max had never been happier with the fact that Webster Springs needed only a part-time magistrate. The afternoon stretched ahead, waiting to turn his anticipation into all sorts of delights.
“Where’s my woman?” he bellowed cheerfully, striding into the house and slamming the front door behind him.
She staggered out of the bedroom and grinned at him. She was nearly hidden behind an enormous armload of clothes. All he could see of her were her head, arms, and bare feet. “I just got back from Atlanta. Look! I have clothes again. You can take the Daisy Mae outfit back to the parlor.”
“Damn. That was my favorite costume. And it had great accesories. A white shotgun for the father of the bride to carr
y.”
From behind the mountain of clothes she made a mild sound of disgust. “I should have retired that costume for good.”
He strolled toward her, smiling drolly, calculating just how long it would be before they were in bed. “Babe, I’m glad that you had clothes in storage down in Atlanta, and I know that you’ve been traumatized by the fire, but you don’t have to clutch what’s left of your possessions for safekeeping. I’ll give you closet space. You look like an ant trying to wrestle a cotton ball.”
“Oh? What do I look like now?” She dropped the clothes. She was wearing only a pair of sheer black panties.
Max vaulted to her and swung her up in his arms. “You look like a woman who’s about to be kissed, fondled, and—”
“I knew you’d get the point.” Laughing, she unfastened his string tie and shirt collar, then nuzzled her lips to his throat. Her voice became husky and serious. “I thought you’d never get here.”
He trembled as he carried her to bed. Once there he made her tremble along with him. It was good to be home. It was good to know that home meant Betty. When he was deep inside her, holding her, losing control to the sounds of her moans, he knew that home would never be the same if he lost her. It was a sobering thought.
In the quiet aftermath, she sensed his change of mood. Raising her head from his shoulder, she stroked a strand of damp hair from his temple and smiled at him curiously. “What are you thinking about so hard?”
Max cupped her face in one hand and studied the loving gray eyes, the generous mouth, the unconventional beauty of her angular, imperfect features. “You’re unique and wonderful. That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Such good taste you have.”
“You’re awfully quiet yourself. And you look pale. How do you feel?”
She idly stroked the matted brown hair of his chest, then rested her hand there and propped her chin on it. “I keep thinking about my house. And trying to decide what to do next.”