If there were any traces of those suspicions still lingering in his mind, she needed to know.
Maddy paused before she spoke, choosing her words carefully. “You never seriously thought my relationship with Walter was . . . was anything improper, did you,Tom?”
She realized she was holding her breath for his answer.
Time to step up to the plate, thought Tom. Silence hung between them for a long moment. Maddy’s eyes were questioning, unguarded. Tom knew any kind of future he might have with her rode on him giving the right answer the first time.
Knowing her now as he did, how could he ever have doubted her innocence?
“Not after I got to know the real you, Maddy,” he said.
Maddy’s sigh of relief was audible.
“Before that day you opened the door in your apron, I had built up quite a different picture of Madeleine Cartwright, believe me.”
To his relief, she giggled. “Tell me. Go on.”
“We-ell,” he said. “Bleached-blond hair—”
“Big boobs,” she prompted, laughing. “Go on. I bet you thought big boobs.”
“And tons of makeup.You know, completely fake.”
Maddy put up her hands to her makeup-free face.
“Everything I’m not,” she said, her voice a little unsteady.
It was true. There was no artifice to her. What you saw was what you got. She looked so cute in that childish T-shirt with its chubby ponies, her hair mussed, her freckles standing out from her pale skin after a day in the spring sunshine.
So entirely different from that gold-digging Madeleine Cartwright he had envisaged.
He had to kiss her. Her lips were warm and yielding as she kissed him back, pressing her delicious curves against him. She smelled intoxicatingly of lavender, a touch of hay, and warm, lovely woman. His woman. Maddy. Beautiful. Funny. Generous. His woman.
He kissed her harder, parting her lips with his tongue, savoring the feel and the taste of her. Enjoying her enthusiastic response, the throaty little murmurs of appreciation as he slid his hands down her arms and pulled her tighter to him.
In response she slid her arms around his waist, hugging him hard.Tom couldn’t help but wince at the pressure.
“You’re hurt,” she said, alarmed.
“Not really,” he said, releasing her to rub under his shoulder blades. “It’s just where that idiot Stoddard thumped me. After a day on horseback I’m feeling it.”
She slid her hands under his shirt, her fingers delicate but firm. “Can I rub your back for you? I’m quite good at massage.”
There was nothing he’d like better than her warm, slender hands on his bare skin. His body’s response was instant.
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “But, Maddy, you start massaging my back, and I won’t be responsible for what might follow.”
“You mean, step six?” she whispered, looking up at him, her green eyes lit by a provocative gleam.
“Step six and all the steps after it,” he said.
She smiled a mischievous, catlike smile. “I’ve never been afraid of heights,” she murmured.
“You really are the best kisser in the world, Tom O’Brien,” Maddy murmured on a sigh of contentment sometime later. She always liked to give credit where credit was due.
“I’m glad you think so.” Tom pressed a trail of hot little kisses down her throat that sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her.
“In fact, I’d say the best kisser in the universe,” she amended in a whisper.
“Let’s not get into any more semantic debates. I’m far more interested in exploring what those hungry ponies are after.”
“I—” she started, then gasped as, with his fingers, he traced the shape of the carrots embroidered on the pocket over her breasts. Her nipple peaked immediately in response.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said, cupping her breast. “Poor old ponies, doomed forever to never getting nearer to their target.”
“Whereas you . . .”
“I’m right where I want to be.” He dipped his head and nuzzled at the pocket, taking her nipple into his mouth through the fabric.
“Right where I want you to be,” she said, suddenly short of breath. She pushed her fingers urgently through his hair.
“The next place I want to be is under the carrots,” he said, tugging at her T-shirt and pulling it from the waistband of her breeches.
He slid it over her head, stood feasting his eyes on the sight of her in her bra. “Ah, good enough to nibble on,” he said in a voice husky with appreciation.
He caressed her over her bra until her breath came in short gasps and her nipples were so hard they ached.
“You always surprise me with your underwear,” he said, sliding the straps over her shoulders.
Lucky she’d worn a pretty, lacy set and not some utilitarian sport bra.
“You mentioned surprises yourself,” she murmured. “You’ve got me wondering what they could be.”
“They wouldn’t be surprises if I spoke about them, would they?” he said, his voice roughened with impatience.
She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, pushing her tongue through his lips, breathing in the delicious scent of him, more male than citrus after a day on horseback. Now she wanted more than kissing. “So why not show me?”
“You can start by riding me,” he suggested.
“What? Here? Now?” she stammered.
“Not that kind of riding. Not yet.”
“I don’t get it,” she said, aware that she was crinkling up her nose in the way that seemed to charm him. He was right, the nose thing only worked when she didn’t think too hard about it.
“Take off your boots,” he ordered, then helped her pull them off, followed by her socks. Mmm. She hadn’t known her feet were an erogenous zone until he made sliding off her horseshoe-patterned socks into an exciting caress.
He lifted her up from under her arms and lowered her bare feet onto the toes of his riding boots. “I still don’t get it,” she said but gripped his boots with her toes to keep her balance.
“It’s easy. Just hold on and ride me,” Tom said, then started to walk her toward the bedroom.
Maddy hung on tightly around his neck and laughed in delight as, step by step, he moved her backward. “Now I get it. Silly me, how could I have imagined any other kind of riding?”
To keep her balance she had to press her body intimately to his, so closely she could feel the powerful muscles in his thighs working as he stepped forward. So close, she was aware he was as aroused as she was.
She took the opportunity to rain urgent little kisses down his throat. To kiss again the dimple that had fascinated her from the get-go.
“But what about Brutus?” she asked as they neared the bedroom. Behind them, the little dog lay asleep in his favorite spot near the big windows overlooking the bay.
Tom stopped. “What about Brutus? That crazy mutt ran around so much today—not to mention barking out of the window for most of the journey home—I doubt we’ll be hearing from him.”
“I’m just thinking of other occasions . . .” Her voice trailed off. “You know, unwelcome interruptions.”
“We’ll shut the bedroom door,” said Tom. “Brutus can spend some quality time with the view.”
“But what . . . ?” Whether he barfed or barked she was determined the little dog didn’t upstage Tom yet again.
“Maddy, quite honestly, I don’t give a damn what Brutus does. All I’m interested in right now is his mistress.”
He closed the door behind them, walked her over to the bed, and lowered her onto it. “Now you’re exactly where I want you to be,” he growled.
Maddy lay on his bed before him, exactly as he had fantasized her, her hair bright against the silver gray of the cover, her face flushed, her eyes expectant and just a little nervous.
Had riding gear ever looked so erotic? Well, if you counted just tight breeches and a lacy, see-through bra as riding gear.
Tom allowed himself to feast his eyes on her. He was overwhelmed by the strength of the feelings she aroused in him. She was so beautiful, so special, and here she was in his bedroom.
Just him and her with that pesky little dog snoozing out in the living room behind a firmly closed door.
It was taking all of his self-control not to tear through steps one to whatever and straight to the ultimate step that would make her his.
Impatiently he pulled off his boots, threw them on the floor, and knelt astride her. She wiggled beneath him and made little purring noises of anticipation that did nothing for his self-control.
“Maddy,” he said. He bent and made himself kiss her slowly, leisurely, wanting to make this special for her. Not wanting to rush their first time.
She kissed him back, murmuring with pleasure deep in her throat. Her bra was a greenish blue color, see-through in places, revealing tantalizing glimpses of milky skin and pink nipples puckered into sexy, tight peaks.
In seconds the bra was off and he was stroking her breasts, in awe of their perfection, her beauty. When he lowered his head and took each pink nipple in turn in his mouth, Maddy’s breath came in quick gasps, her hands gripping his shoulders.
“Step three already,” she murmured, “and I’m loving it.”
Impatiently, she wiggled her way out of her breeches, leaving only the briefest of tight, lacy French panties that left him in no doubt that she was a natural redhead. He wanted them off, too, pronto.
But as he tugged at the elastic, she stayed him with her hand. “I think things are kind of one-sided here, me wearing only my panties and you fully dressed for riding of yet another kind.”
So who was he to protest when she proceeded with much laughter and sexy innuendo to divest him of his polo shirt and breeches?
Maddy could hardly breathe at the sight of Tom clad just in his boxers—made of a fine knit fabric that didn’t need ironing, she couldn’t help but notice. Those magnificent shoulders looked even better naked, the dark hair on his marvelously muscled chest just the right amount, his six-pack belly totally awesome.
“I promised you a massage,” she murmured, starting to explore the ridges and hollows of his body.
“Later,” he said.
“You promised me surprises,” she said, scarcely able to talk as his hands slid down from her breasts to her tummy and around to stroke the top of her bottom.
“We could talk about the various ways of moving from step four to step six or we could do them,” he said hoarsely as he pulled her to him, bare skin to bare skin. Her breasts ached with pleasure at the contact with his hard chest, the tickle of his hair. “What would you prefer?”
“Uh, trick question.” She gave up on trying to make a witty reply as he slid her panties off, somehow making the act a caress of her legs from thigh to ankle. Her ankle—just another erogenous zone Tom had discovered on his sensual exploration of her body.
As he kissed her, she tried to remove his boxers in as exciting a manner. Her fingers weren’t as skillful, but if his moans of appreciation were anything to go by, she was succeeding in some measure.
Then they were naked—skin to skin, softness to strength. “Tom, this is wonderful,” she whispered, unable to keep a tremor from her voice. “I can hardly believe we’re here together like this, can you?”
“Believe it,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and kissing first her forehead, then each cheek, then her nose in a way that was as tender as it was passionate. “And yes, it’s wonderful.”
For a long moment she gazed into his eyes, dark as bitter chocolate in the subdued lighting. The warmth she saw there only served to underline the sincerity of his words, the passionate yet respectful way he touched her body.
There was still so much unknown on this journey she was about to take. But even if this were all there ever would be with Tom, she wanted it. Now.
“Now about those steps . . .” she murmured on his mouth.
Step five was every bit as amazing as she remembered from last time as he stroked her intimately until she was melting with want.
She was too light-headed with desire to even think about whether it should be labeled step six when his tongue worked even more magic. Or did that count as one of his surprises?
Was it step seven when she returned the favor, his deep moans transmitting his pleasure? Or step eight when she pushed against him in urgent need?
Step nine, step ten, who cared anymore about counting or keeping track of steps? All she could think of was Tom and how much she wanted him as he took care of the protection and slid deep inside her.
Exquisite pleasure pulsed through her body until her whole being was centered on attaining the ecstasy that was so nearly in her reach.
Their rhythm became faster, more urgent. Then Maddy’s last conscious feeling was of looking up to see Tom’s face above her, focused, intent, until he let go, calling out her name, and she went with him in a kaleidoscope burst of sensation.
Twenty-two
Judge Irene Eaton was not happy to have a dog in her courtroom. Maddy was aware of her skewering glances of disapproval from the bench every time Brutus so much as shifted on her lap.
Despite his perfectly groomed coat and smart new black collar with coordinating leash, the little animal did not appear to have gotten off on the right paw with Her Honor.
Maybe the steel-haired judge with the piercing gaze did not approve of Brutus’s celebrity status. Maddy and Tom had had to run quite the gauntlet of press just to get him into the courthouse. The photographers had gone crazy to get a new shot of the millionaire mutt.
The judge’s gimlet eyes turned to Tom, who sat to Maddy’s right on the defense table. “Counselor, is the dog entirely necessary to your case?”
Tom stood up. He cleared his throat. “With due respect,Your Honor, the case hinges on the relationship the dog had with the testator, the late Walter Stoddard. This dog must have his day in court.”