CHAPTER TWO

I can't believe I'm on a date with an English lord, Maggie thought as the cab made its way downtown. What about Johnny? Then Maggie decided that there was really no need to call this a date—she was simply being friendly. Hadn't she been friendly to all those GIs at the USO dances? This was the same thing. Simon was new to the city and he'd asked her to show him around. There was nothing wrong with that.

Sure, her conscience told her snidely. Tell me another one.

Oh, be quiet, she replied. I haven't done anything wrong.

Yet, it told her.

Stop that, she said firmly, and turned to Simon. "What do you do?" she asked him.

"So it's true," he smiled. "Americans are utterly preoccupied with occupation."

"Well, that's what happens when you have to earn a living," she retorted. "We aren't aristocratic, idle rich who sit around inheriting money and doing nothing."

The cabdriver laughed. "She got you there, Mac."

"So she did," he replied. "While I am not 'idle rich,' I'm afraid I'm a rather boring businessman. I own some factories, land, make acquisitions—that sort of thing."

Maggie really hoped she had only imagined the way he looked at her when he said "acquisitions."

"And you, Meghann? How do you spend your days?"

"I volunteer at the USO, but I already told you that Let's see. I work at a munitions plant. They let me have tonight off. And I also take classes at Hunter College. I'll probably transfer to Radcliffe in the fall," she stated with a touch of pride.

Before Simon could inquire further, the cabdriver piped up. "What do you need college for? You're a girl."

"Is there some reason women shouldn't go to college?" she demanded to know.

"Of course there is—they should be at home."

"And who has been running this country—the factories, the banks—during the war?" she inquired heatedly.

"Listen, that's only while the men are away. No soldier's gonna want to come home to some broad who wants to wear the pants."

"Why does the thought of a woman having an education or a job threaten you?"

"It doesn't threaten me, but who needs some ball breaker, excuse my language," he said hastily at a dark look from Simon, "some… ah, woman… who wants to compete? I don't need that. And neither does any guy with sense."

"I see," Maggie told him. "I guess you need a woman to be completely dependent on you in order to be able to function with her."

"What the hell do you mean by function!"

Fortunately, the cab had arrived at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Simon paid the driver and told him, "My young companion has some nonconformist ideas."

The cabbie seemed ready to continue the argument until he looked at the money in his hand. Then his face lit up like a sunrise. "Gee, thanks! And don't worry about her ideas. She'll grow out of that At least she's pretty."

Simon pulled her away from the taxi before she could tell the hack exactly where to put his archaic, unsolicited opinions. "How much did you tip that philistine?" she demanded. "What a patronizing, old-fashioned, boorish…"

"Meghann, don't be so hard on the poor fellow. On one point, he was quite right."

"About women staying home?" she asked in a viper's tone.

"About you being beautiful," he replied, caressing her cheek.

Flustered from both the compliment and the caress, Maggie muttered, "He didn't say I was beautiful. He said I was pretty."

"Then I say you're beautiful." Simon noticed the hateful blush coloring her face. He turned her toward him. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that you're beautiful? You seem so bashful when I compliment you."

"Well,s-sure," she stammered, "but they never said it as… uh… as, um… extravagantly as you do."

"That," he said softly, looking deep into her eyes, "was their mistake. I do not intend to repeat it."

He was leaning toward her. Maggie stepped away hastily, telling him, "I'll go see what time the next ferry leaves."

As she walked away, she acknowledged to herself ruefully, Face it—this is a date. Now if you had any brains at all, you'd leave this minute. That was great advice—too bad she felt completely incapable of following it.

"We're in luck," she told Simon, who had walked over to her. "The next boat leaves in a few minutes."

Simon looked around the circular, cavernous room with its ugly yellow-tiled walls. "The view does get better?" he asked hopefully.

"Don't be silly," she giggled, "of course it does."

While they waited for the boat to dock, Simon asked her how old she was.

"Eighteen," she told him. "I'll be nineteen in July. How old are you?"

Something about her question seemed to amuse him. "I'm thirty-three," he said.

There weren't very many people on the ferry. She and Simon stood by the rails, staring at the activity by the Brooklyn Piers. Ships filled the port, and men were busy unloading cargos. "Does your city never shut down?" he asked her.

"Nope, there's always something going on." Taking on her role of tour guide, she pointed out the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan Bridge, the lights from the cars twinkling in the dark.

As the boat pulled away from the dock, they were able to see more of the city skyline—including the Empire State Building.

Simon took in the well-lit buildings. "Did someone forget to tell New York about the dimout?"

"A lot of people ignore it," she told him and gestured to some of the dark buildings. "But some people observe it—normally you see a lot more lights—and the Empire State Building used to be lit up on top."

"You seem to know the skyline very well."

"I love it," she told him. "On the night before my… fiancé"—she stumbled over that word a little—"was called to duty, we went up on my dad's rooftop and got dr… uh, intoxicated. Then we watched the sunrise over the city."

"Why didn't you marry before he left?"

"Well, I was only seventeen and my father said that was too young to be married." She wasn't going to add all the unflattering remarks her father made at the time—ranging from his dislike of Johnny Devlin to Maggie being too young and silly to know what she was doing.

"Then I owe your father my thanks." Before Maggie could recover from that remark, he asked, "Do you live with your parents?"

"No, Daddy knew how angry I was about him not letting me marry Johnny. So his graduation present to me was that I could live in an apartment in the city with my best friend, Bridie McGovern. See, she'd been accepted to nursing school and I was going to Hunter. Since we were both going to be in Manhattan all the time, he said it made sense for us to live there on our own. He knows the guy who owns the building we live in." Maggie gestured to the passing sites. "Look, there's Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. Hey!" she said indignantly. "You're not looking!"

"I'd much rather look at you." He put his hands on her hair.

Maggie yelped when he started taking out the hairpins. "What are you doing?"

"Be still," Simon ordered, and she stood quietly while he took her hair down. He didn't hurt her at all when he took the pins out, but his touch was making her feel queasy and warm… and weak. She found herself gripping the ship's rail.

When the last hairpin was out, Simon fluffed her hair around her shoulders. Keeping his hands in her hair, he tilted her face up to him. "Titian hair… You look radiant in the moonlight."

His hands were keeping her hair from blowing into her face. He leaned down to kiss her—it should have been a romantic moment. But the wind from the river was cold, and Maggie hadn't bothered to wear a coat to Pauline's. When she started shivering, Simon took his tuxedo jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Shall we go inside?"

There was hardly anybody inside. She and Simon were able to sit by themselves on one of the wooden benches by the windows. Maggie started to sit on the bench, but Simon grabbed her without a word and placed her on his lap.

"Do you mind?" His tone seemed to imply that it wouldn't matter if she did.

"No," she told him, "but you really can't see much from here."

"I'm seeing all I wish to see," he said. Then he started stroking her arms. "You have a rather strong right arm."

"I pitch for the softball team at school."

Simon's eyebrows shot up. "I thought baseball was a man's sport?"

"Not entirely," she replied. "A lot of girls like it—but when you're the youngest child and you have six brothers, I guess you grow up as a tomboy."

"Ah, so that explains why you go around stomping on toes and arguing with strange men without any thought of consequence."

Maggie laughed, feeling quite comfortable on Simon's lap. "Well, they taught me how to throw a punch, climb a tree, and hit a ball. Do you know I never had any dolls or tea sets? My dad just never thought to buy me anything like that. Instead, I had my brother's old baseball cards and old footballs to play with."

"You only mention your father. Didn't your mother try to stem this masculine upbringing?"

Maggie looked down. "Well, she died when I was five. She had cancer."

"I'm sorry. Do you remember?"

Maybe it was the fact that they were practically alone on the boat. Or maybe it was Simon's soft amber eyes making her feel so protected, but she found herself telling him things she'd never told another person before. He never interrupted; he simply stroked her hair while she told him of the sketchy images she had from that time.

"I don't really remember my mother at all. All I remember is my brother Frankie telling me one day that he was going to take me to school because Mommy was too sick. And then I remember waking up late one night." Her voice got a little shaky. "I heard someone moaning in pain, so I went to the door of my bedroom. My father was in the hallway, outside his bedroom. He saw me and shouted, 'Maggie, go back to sleep! Everything's okay.' And then in the morning, my mother was dead. Daddy didn't let me go to the funeral—he said I was too young. So Brian—one of my other brothers—he stayed with me. I remember him crying."

Someone came over. "I'm sorry, but you have to leave now. This ship isn't leaving for a half hour."

Simon looked up at him. "Is there some reason we couldn't wait?"

The man seemed about to shake his head, but then he said uncertainly, "Well, sure. I guess it's not a problem." He wandered away.

Maggie forgot her sadness. "How did you do that? They almost always make you leave."

"I've been told I can be quite persuasive. Are your brothers overseas now?"

"Four of them are. Frankie, the oldest, is a cop and has three kids. They haven't taken him yet. And Paul was wounded in North Africa, so he came home."

Simon took in her gown and makeup. "What did you tell me? That you grew up as a… tomboy? But obviously, someone taught you other skills."

His look flustered her again. What was wrong with her? "Well, Frankie got married when I was twelve, and his wife, Theresa, took an interest in me. She taught me all about dresses, lipstick, and high heels. And then there was Bridie. We pretty much learned a lot together… from the makeup counter at Woolworth's and the movie magazines. Wait a minute! I'm being so rude." She castigated herself, and smiled. "Here I've been talking my head off and I never asked you anything."

"I want to know more about you. Tell me what young people do in America. How do you entertain yourselves?"

Maggie thought about that. "We go to movies and ice-cream parlors. Sometimes we go on dates to the nightclubs… but usually my boyfriends don't have the money for that. And then in the summer we go to ball games, the beach, and Playland."

"The beach?" Simon questioned. "You're very fair, Meghann. Doesn't the sun burn your skin?"

"Oh, sure," she replied. "If I'm not careful. I have to keep remembering to put on the suntan lotion or I get burned. And I also wind up with a million freckles. I don't mind, though. I love the sun." Maggie took a look at Simon. If he had one flaw, it was that his skin was too pale. "What about you? You don't like the sun?"

"No," he told her flatly. "I don't."

"Then what do you like?"

"You." He smiled.

People were coming onto the boat again. Maggie stood up. "Come on," she told him. "I promised you a tour of the city. And you're getting one whether you want it or not!"

"I hardly dare argue. You might do grave injury to my toes."

"Kippy deserved that," she protested.

"He deserved far more, but at the time I was more interested in meeting you. You knew the young man?" They walked back outside.

"He's Pauline's cousin. I bet anything they'll get married someday—no one else is going to want them."

"How catty, Meghann—I like that."

They were both quiet on the way back, staring at the moonlit water. Maggie thought she'd never forget this night, or the man she was with. Was this what people meant by shipboard romances? She had asked him how long he was going to be in New York, and he told her a few more days. What harm could there be in seeing him? He'd be gone soon. She was sure Johnny must have had a few girls while he'd been in Europe.

They were coming back into Manhattan. With a sense of mischief, Maggie showed Simon the old fort on Governors Island. "That's where the colonists fired on the hated British ships when they came into the harbor."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Hated British, is it?"

"Hated," she said firmly. "Absolutely despised. Who could like anything about such a loathsome race?"

Simon picked her up and swung her around. She giggled and demanded to be put down. "Not until you take back those slurs on my ancestry."

"No way!" she laughed. "So I guess you'll just have to hold on to me forever."

"I suppose I shall," he said, bringing her very close. "Or do my very best to persuade you to look on at least one Englishman with favor." He tightened his arms around her, and kissed her very softly on the lips.

Maggie could not understand how one small kiss could make her feel so weak. "Please put me down," she murmured.

He released her immediately, and they left the ferry. "I feel terrible about such a cheap date, Meghann. Didn't you mention before that some of your beaux didn't always have enough funds to entertain you in style? Tell me someplace you've never been that you've always wanted to go."

"The Stork Club?" she suggested.

Simon hailed another cab, and admonished her, "No arguing this time."

"Do you think women should stay at home?" she asked before he opened the car door.

He pulled her close again. She shivered and he smiled very softly. "If I wanted a woman to stay at home, I would make sure she enjoyed the time there."

"This place is wonderful," Maggie said enthusiastically after they walked through a small lobby and she had her first glimpse of the elegant supper club. Its posh barroom was on her left, with a long mirror above it; everything was illuminated by a soft, rosy light.

"I'm glad you like it."

In truth, Maggie was more spellbound by Simon Baldevar than the Stork Club. She reflected ruefully that her other dates (including Johnny Devlin) had behaved like country bumpkins compared to him.

Sometimes they had taken her to nightclubs… places that were cheap rip-offs of the Stork Club or El Morocco. Even there, the boys had been cowed by the condescension of headwaiters, not knowing how one got a table that was not right next to the kitchen.

Simon certainly didn't have any problems with head-waiters, she thought, watching a captain greet him effusively. There was something about Simon that made people jump to do his bidding, Maggie observed as the fawning captain opened a thick glass door and led them into a huge room paneled with mirrors that reflected the tuxedo-clad men and fashionably attired women dancing, drinking, and chattering at the tables.

Maggie glanced at one of the mirrors and then blinked in confusion. Either she had dust in her eyes or someone hadn't cleaned the mirror properly because Simon's reflection was all blurred… nearly invisible.

Simon gave her arm a gentle tug, and they continued to follow the captain past the main room and into a small oak-paneled room.

"This is the Cub Room," Maggie whispered excitedly after the captain seated them at a small banquette table. "I read about it in Winchell's column all the time!"

"That gossipmonger," Simon scorned, but he gave her a smile.

The waiter returned, bearing the bottle of Dom Perignon 1911 Simon ordered.

Maggie had never had champagne like this. Even the stuff at Frankie's wedding tasted like cheap seltzer compared to this dry liquid that went down her throat like silk.

"This tastes great," she enthused, starting to rummage through her purse for a pack of cigarettes. She was eager to be able to tell Bridie she'd used one of the famous Stork Club ashtrays, dipped her ashes right onto the stork wearing a black top hat.

"Don't," Simon said, putting his hand over the unopened pack of Lucky Strikes.

"Why not?" Maggie was surprised; she hardly knew anyone who didn't smoke.

"I dislike the taste of tobacco."

"But if I'm the one who's smoking, how will you taste—oh!"

Simon grinned and extended his hand to her. "Would you like to dance?"

"One O'clock Jump!" Maggie glowed when the horns started thumping out the infectious, lively beat.

Tuck in, throw out, change places, sugar-push, do a tight whip… Simon performed all the steps with a grace and agility that made Maggie feel like she was dancing on air. What a marvelous dancer he was! Was there nothing this man couldn't do?

When they linked hands to trade places, Maggie felt his eyes on her and looked up, puzzled. It was almost like he was trying to come to some kind of decision, she thought while her feet pounded out the swing steps without missing a beat.

For the next song, the orchestra started playing "It Had to Be You."

"Much better," Simon whispered into her ear.

"What do you mean?"

"This time, you're not dancing with me for spite." He nibbled her ear, and she felt like she would have fallen if he weren't holding her up.

"You shouldn't do that," she protested in a soft voice that probably would encourage him to do more rather than less.

"Why not?"

Because it made her want more. Because it made her feel like she was melting, like she wanted him to peel her clothes off and kiss her like that all over…

Jesus Christ! She felt her cheeks turning red again. Maggie had never had thoughts like that, ever! She looked up into Simon's arch grin, and thought it was almost like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"This… this could be our song." Why did her voice sound so tremulous?

"What does that mean, sweetheart?"

"Well, when people, uh, go together, they're supposed to have a song—something they'll always remember each other by. And since we've danced to it twice in one night…"

"I hardly need a song to remember you by, Meghann. But I rather like the idea of 'going together.' " He pulled her very close, kissing her neck.

"Please stop doing that," she whispered.

"Don't you like it?" Simon kept her close. "I thought you said you were engaged."

"Well, Johnny never did anything like that." Her prim words completely clashed with the new, sultry purr she heard in her voice. What was this man doing to her?

Simon raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Well, we're Catholic," she explained defensively. "Everything is supposed to wait till you get married."

Simon laughed. "Ah, yes… No pleasure, purely procreation. Is that right?"

"Well…" It did sound kind of silly when put that way. Why hadn't Johnny done any of this? She liked it a lot.

Simon looked down at her quizzically. "You are aware of what happens when people marry? Or has the church decided knowledge has to wait until after marriage too?"

"My sister-in-law told me when I got engaged."

"And what did she tell you?"

"That it's a cross to bear."

Simon laughed so hard he wasn't able to keep dancing. A few people turned to stare out of curiosity while Maggie turned an interesting shade of magenta. What had possessed her to say that?

He got himself under control, and they walked back to their table.

"I'm sorry, Meghann—I shouldn't have laughed like that."

"It wasn't that funny," she sniffed.

"Not at all—it would be tragic for you to have such a dim view of marriage." Before they sat down, he lifted her chin and kissed her. "Was that a cross to bear?"

"No," she whispered, thankful for the chair she was able to sink into before she fell.

For a while, Simon kept her laughing with his sardonic descriptions of Pauline Manchester and some of the other ill-favored guests at the party. Then a rather stout gentleman who had his arm around a stunning, tall blonde passed their table. The blonde took in Maggie's hair streaming down her shoulders in a disdainful glance. Maggie glared back, refusing to look embarrassed.

"You shouldn't have taken my hairpins out," Maggie complained to Simon. "I look like I don't know how to dress for a night on the town."

"You look beautiful," he replied. "Don't let the woman's jealousy get to you."

"Jealous?" Maggie questioned in astonishment. "Why should she be jealous of me?"

"You did see the gentleman she was with? Perhaps she envies you for not having to entertain old, ugly but wealthy gentleman to buy all the finer things in life. You don't think she'd like to go out with someone rich and handsome?"

Maggie was tired of feeling flustered and ill at ease. She decided to tease. "Whoever told you you're handsome?"

"Meghann! You're wounding my pride." He sighed in mock resignation. "But if you do not find me attractive, perhaps I should ask that man," he said, indicating the blonde and her toadlike companion, "if he would like to trade dates?"

Maggie looked at the other table, and shuddered. If you looked as good as that girl, why should you have to bother with some ugly man?

"Why are you looking so wistful, Meghann?"

"I was just thinking how I'd love to look like that—tall, blond, and willowy."

Simon took her hand. "You mean you'd trade away that beautiful fire-red hair and verdant eyes to look like a thousand other women?"

"Well, all girls want to look like her…"

"You have no reason to envy her. She should envy your unspoiled beauty and sweetness."

Maggie blushed again, and Simon told her briskly, "Not that you deserve any compliments. As I recall, you informed me I was not at all handsome."

"I didn't say that—I just asked you who told you that you're handsome."

Simon's eyes trapped hers. "Am I handsome, Meghann?"

"Yes," she told him softly.

To lighten the mood, Simon continued to ponder the relationship of the other couple, saying that the blonde's interest in the man couldn't possibly be financial—no, she must be attracted by his stunning physique.

"You have a forked tongue, Lord Baldevar," Maggie admonished him.

"And who had nothing but deprecatory remarks about Pauline this evening?"

"Not me," Maggie said innocently while he poured her another glass of champagne and then turned the bottleneck up in the ice bucket. Although Maggie was feeling no pain, she thought it didn't look like the alcohol had affected Simon at all.

"In fact," she said wickedly, "I think you and Pauline would make a lovely couple."

"My dear, you shall pay for that remark."

"How?" she challenged laughingly.

"However I see fit."

The waiters were informing the remaining customers that unfortunately the Stork Club was closing now in compliance with the wartime curfew.

"Oh." Maggie was downcast. "I like it here."

"We can come back," Simon told her. "Assuming I forgive you for attempting to burden me with Pauline."

They were outside now, and the cold air was sobering Maggie up. "Where would you like to go now, Meghann?"

Home, she thought to herself, before I manage to get myself into trouble with this man. She remembered how it felt when he kissed her.

"I have to get up early tomorrow," she lied.

"Then I shall have to see you home. You said you live nearby? Would you like to take a cab or walk?"

Maggie looked up at the sky filled with stars, and the full moon. The air was crisp but not cold. "Walk."

On the way to her apartment, Maggie was in a quandary. What was going to happen? Would he expect her to ask him upstairs? And if she did, what would happen?

Maggie dismissed from her mind the notion that this man might simply neck with her and leave. So what was she going to do? She couldn't go to bed with him. Even putting Johnny aside, the fact remained that Maggie was Catholic enough to believe that sex before marriage was a mortal sin. Plus terrible things could happen… She could wind up having a baby. Her father would kill her.

Okay, she told herself firmly when they arrived in front of her apartment house. I'll just go upstairs, and I'll forget I ever met this man.

"Thank you for walking me home." Maggie started to walk away, trying to ignore those golden eyes before they tempted her into doing something she'd regret.

Silently Simon turned her toward him. He put his hand under her chin, leaned down, and kissed her. At the first contact of his lips, Maggie felt her knees buckle; Simon embraced her to keep her from falling. She put her arms around him, and kissed him back hungrily, all her reservations forgotten. Maggie had never been kissed like this. The tip of his tongue licked her lips, causing her to tremble. At some slight pressure on her lips, she opened her mouth to receive him. His tongue explored her mouth slowly but thoroughly. It felt like he wanted to possess her.

And I want him to possess me, she thought. God, how I want it. She felt like she was going to melt.

Simon broke off the kiss and stroked her hair softly. "Meghann, I want to come upstairs with you. May I?"

At that moment, Maggie could barely remember Johnny's name. All she could think of was that Bridie wasn't home, so there was nothing standing in the way of her inviting Simon upstairs.

"Yes," she said simply.

What in God's name am I doing? Maggie thought, giving Simon a sidelong glance as she fumbled with the keyhole. Was she really going to give her virginity to this stranger standing beside her? All the reckless passion she'd felt when he kissed her had vanished during the short walk to her third-floor apartment; now her only emotion was cold, quaking fear.

Tell him to leave, the voice of common sense hissed at her, but Maggie couldn't push any words past the leaden lump in her throat. Besides, the only thing worse than her fear of what would happen when she finally opened the door was her mortification at the thought of backing out now, of having to tell Simon she'd chickened out.

"Damn!" she cursed when the key fell from her trembling hand and clattered to the floor. Maggie bent down and then felt a large, warm hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Simon hunched down next to her.

Smiling, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and plucked the key up off the tiled floor, placing it in her outstretched palm. When their eyes met, Maggie felt an odd sense of serenity fall over her, dissipating her panic. Calm restored, Maggie inserted the key into the lock with no further difficulty.

"Please come in," she said, ushering him into the small apartment she shared with Bridie. Anxiously Maggie's eyes wandered toward the bedroom and her cheeks flooded with color while her heart began to pound so loudly she was sure Simon would hear the hectic drumbeat Surely, she wasn't supposed to just lead him into the bedroom! No, there must be other steps… amenities…

"Drinks!" Maggie screeched, and Simon turned toward her, though the apartment was too dark for her to make out his expression. Maggie stepped away from him, turning on a small lamp on an end table by the couch, continuing to jabber nervously. "I… I could make you a highball… Do you like ginger ale? Or I can make some coffee… I really make very good coffee…"

Simon started walking toward her and Maggie backed away involuntarily, stumbling against the arm of the couch and falling onto the cushions in an undignified heap.

Hastily reseating herself, Maggie blushed furiously, not looking up when she muttered, "I'm sorry" to Simon as he took a seat beside her. Quick tears stung her eyelids and she blinked them away, feeling like an utter fool, sure she was doing everything wrong and Simon couldn't feel anything for her now but pity and disdain.

"You have nothing to apologize for, little one," Simon said and reached out to draw her into his lap. Maggie peered up at him hopefully, warmed by both the new endearment and the tender, husky tone of his voice. Maybe she hadn't ruined everything after all. "Now what's the matter, sweetheart?"

It actually took her a moment to remember, so lulled did she feel by the warm, soft lap cushioning her and the strong but gentle hand stroking her hair. "I… I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

At first shocked by her own candor and uneased by the way this man compelled her to tell truths she'd have kept from anyone else, Maggie felt a rush of relief when Simon simply smiled. He revealed a dimple in his left cheek she longed to kiss, and he started twining fiery strands of her hair around his fingers to bring her closer to him. "Meghann, you don't have to 'do' anything but enjoy the pleasure I so want to give you."

Maggie started to say something else, but it was blotted out forever when Simon started to kiss her. The firm lips over hers banished her anxiety completely, bringing back all the knee-weakening desire she'd felt downstairs. Her hands reached up of their own volition to wrap around his neck and she pressed her body against him, feeling the hand around her waist tighten almost painfully.

God, this was wonderful, Maggie thought, overwhelmed by the dizzying sensations she felt as Simon continued to kiss her; his touch became more demanding as she became less restrained.

"Delicious," Simon murmured, attaching his lips to her neck. Eagerly Maggie pushed his head down, reveling in the heat that coursed through her as he kissed and licked the soft flesh of her neck. Then she thought she felt something hard and disturbingly sharp at the hollow of her throat, but Simon pushed her away abruptly, standing her on unsteady legs.

Giving her a quick smile, he took off his black bow tie while his eyes wandered over her body. He ran a finger under her chin; his fingertip made a slow, lazy path until it stopped just over her left breast. "I want you to take off your… shoes."

Maggie giggled at the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and kicked her silver mules off, returning his bold gaze with a saucy grin. "Is there anything else I should take off?"

"It appears that nervous maiden of a few moments ago has vanished… Good riddance to her," Simon said with a grin. Almost leering, as he spun her around.

"Oh," Maggie gasped when he unzipped her violet gown. Wordlessly she stepped out of the dress, bemused when she realized she was standing before a man wearing little else besides her lavender slip.

"Pull your hair up," Simon commanded and Maggie obeyed, using both hands to gather her shoulder-length hair into a haphazard upsweep.

"Good girl," he murmured and ran his lips down the nape of her neck, making her skin break out into tiny little shivers of gooseflesh. "Now keep your hands up until I tell you otherwise."

The directive proved harder than Maggie would have thought when Simon's hands reached up to cup the curve of her breasts. With exquisite slowness, Simon began to run his fingers in wide circles around her breasts, slowly spiraling toward her nipples while he planted soft kisses on her neck and ears. Maggie sagged against him, feeling an unfamiliar throbbing start to build inside her when she felt the hard, solid planes of his body pressed against hers.

"Oooh." Maggie heard herself moan when Simon's teasing fingers turned her nipples into hard little points, and unbearable warmth pulsated through her, making it almost impossible to stay on her feet. Startled by the open lust in her throaty moan, Maggie stiffened abruptly. What on earth was she doing? A decent girl wouldn't…

"No," Simon said and whirled her around. Maggie felt mesmerized by the demanding gaze that seemed to penetrate to the depths of her soul. It was his eyes that kept her against him far more than the imprisoning grip on her forearms.

"No," Simon said again, and she shivered at the intensity in his voice. "Don't ever feel shame for anything we do together, Meghann."

"I'm not ashamed," Maggie said, and she wasn't The brief embarrassment fell from her just like the gown she'd shed moments before. "It's just… I… I never felt anything like that before…"

"Of course you didn't," Simon said, giving her a voluptuary grin before his mouth encircled her breast.

"Oh, yes," she whimpered at the hot, soft tongue she felt through the thin silk of her slip, clinging to Simon as he stood up and carried her toward the bedroom.

"What could you know of passion?" Simon whispered and deposited her on the double bed with the rose-patterned quilt. At that action, one puzzling thought pierced her nervous though eager anticipation: How did Simon know which bed was hers and which was Bridie's without asking her? Maybe he'd simply made a lucky guess.

"Those fool boys you've been exposed to would never be able to rouse you; their fumbling, oafish gestures would leave you thinking lovemaking was something distasteful," Simon said, beginning to undress. Maggie quickly forgot her pique over the beds as his elegant clothes fell to the floor; she'd never seen a naked man before and her wide eyes devoured him with a virgin's curiosity.

"May I touch you?" she asked shyly, and he grinned broadly.

"You can do anything you want," Simon told her and lay down on the bed beside her.

At first timid, Maggie rapidly gained confidence from Simon's utter stillness as her hands roamed over his pale, almost hairless body. She eagerly ran her hands over the sloping, bulging muscles in his arms while her eyes feasted on the wonderful breadth of his broad shoulders. She compared the hawkish, unmistakably aristocratic features of his face to the lean powerful physique of his thickly muscled chest, flat stomach and strong masculine legs his stylish clothes had hidden away. She thought Simon looked just like the dashing knight adorning the cover of one of her library lending novels… nobility mixed with uncompromising strength.

"Don't be shy, little one," Simon murmured when her hands made an abrupt halt at his navel; her eyes bulged almost comically at the hard, swelling flesh a scant inch from her hand. Gently he grasped her hand and wrapped it around him.

"I didn't know it would be so warm," Maggie whispered, hardly aware of what she was saying as her hand instinctively tightened around the quivering, jerking flesh.

"Did I do something wrong?" she inquired anxiously when Simon groaned, and he laughed softly as he pulled her toward him.

"You can do no wrong with me, Meghann," Simon assured her, slowly pulling off the rest of her clothes. "Glorious." Simon sighed when she lay naked beneath him, and he started to caress every inch of her. Maggie moaned at each new touch and stretched eagerly to meet the roving hands and mouth that gave her pleasure she'd never even imagined.

Beyond reservation now, Maggie simply spread her legs for the tender but demanding hand that stroked warm, secret flesh she'd never even touched herself. She heard herself making deep, almost feral sounds in her throat as she felt a delightful pressure begin to build inside her. It escalated rapidly into a pulsating rush of feeling that made her scream out like a woman possessed. "Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

Then she felt Simon's hand withdraw and he positioned himself between her legs before driving into her with one firm thrust that made her cry out from the unexpected pain.

The mouth that descended on hers again cut off her startled cry and she felt the sharp ache start to recede as Simon remained motionless, allowing her body to adjust to him. Then, with infinitesimal care, he began to move about very slowly, only increasing the tempo when Maggie's hips rose up to meet his thrusts, instinctively matching his rhythm.

"Oh," she cried softly, feeling a yearning, a need start to build as Simon moved inside her. She didn't understand what it was she wanted, what made her writhe and arch, what caused choked little cries to issue from her closed lips. She only knew Simon could somehow ease the burning pain inside her.

"Yes!" she finally screamed out, sinking her nails deep into Simon's back while her body shuddered from the force of her climax. She'd never felt anything like this sudden electrifying jolt that made her cry gratefully, "I love you! I love you so much!"

At her words, Simon's expression became wry, almost pitying, and he plunged deeper inside her; his movements so hard and fierce she actually became dizzy.

"Please stop," she gasped, but Simon refused to give her any respite. Though her body continued to respond, Maggie began to grow nervous, even a little frightened. The amber eyes locked on hers no longer seemed tender and loving—now Simon's eyes had a harsh, avid glitter that made Maggie try to pull away from him. Why did he look like that… like he was a miser about to enter a room full of gold, like a ravenous animal smelling meat?

"Please," she whimpered again as the world spun around her, and she had to shut her eyes to stop the lurching sensation that made her feel like she was trapped inside a Ferris wheel. The darkness swirled around her and the only thing Maggie was truly aware of was the ecstasy of climax after climax as Simon continued to thrust into her until a brutal, ripping pain pierced the thick fog of pleasure blunting her senses.

"No," she tried to say, but she couldn't seem to open her mouth or even her eyes to see what had hurt her so badly. She couldn't tell where the pain began, only that first there was a sharp, invasive pain like a stab wound, but then it lessened as a peculiar lassitude spread through her, making it harder and harder to stay awake.

Finally, with a supreme effort, Maggie managed to open her eyes and smile weakly at the gold eyes shining down at her. She saw the harshness that had frightened her was gone, replaced by love and something that resembled deep surprise, almost shock. She started to try to speak, to ask Simon why he looked so startled yet happy, but before she could open her mouth, Simon started to kiss her, leaving a vaguely metallic but not unpleasant taste in her mouth.

This can't be real, Maggie thought hazily when Simon entered her again and she felt the deep pleasure and half-terrifying, half-wonderful pain reclaim her. There couldn't really be a driving stranger with burning gold eyes possessing her like a wild, wonderful storm. It just couldn't be happening; it had to be a dream was Maggie's last coherent thought before she collapsed against the pillows, unconscious.