Wife for Hire - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,22
out a marriage with secrets, would it?”
Maggie groaned. She’d groaned partly because it was such a ridiculous thing for him to say, but mostly she’d groaned when his lips touched her skin. She snatched her hand away and stuffed it into the pocket of her shorts for safekeeping. “Were you really the scourge of Skogen?”
“I never thought of myself in exactly those terms, but I suppose I put fear into the hearts of a few mothers.”
Maggie had no trouble believing that.
“Physically I was one of those early maturers,” he told her with a grin. “Emotional maturity took a little longer. About fifteen years longer.”
“So, you think you’ve finally achieved it, huh?”
“Definitely. Look at me; I’m married and everything.”
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but you’re not married. You’re pretending to be married. Most people wouldn’t consider that to be a sign of mental health. And there is no everything. There isn’t even something.”
“You’re wrong,” he said nudging against her. “There’s something.”
She raised a haughty eyebrow.
His thumb brushed across the nape of her neck. “Go ahead, admit it. There’s something, isn’t there?”
A delicious shiver traveled the length of her spine. “There might be something.”
“Damn right,” he said, whirling her around, pulling her into the circle of his arms. His hands roamed over her back, pressing her closer, his mouth lowered to hers, and his tongue swept away what little resistance she’d been able to muster. He heard her small gasp of delight, felt her yield to him, and was immediately uncomfortable with the fit of his jeans. It was like being sent back to puberty, he thought. He was out of control. He was in love. And he was hurting. He pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length, and took a deep breath. “We could actually get married, you know.”
If he’d been serious, she would have been furious. As it was, she attributed his proposal to his awful sense of humor and his forced abstinence.
He pressed his lips together, feeling like a fool. “I can see that took you by surprise.”
“I’m getting used to being surprised. Besides, it wasn’t such a surprise. It was testosterone talking.”
He couldn’t deny it. Still, he’d lived with testosterone attacks for a lot of years, and he’d never before asked a woman to marry him. “So, what’s the answer?”
Maggie rolled her eyes.
“I suppose that’s a no.”
“Are you relieved?”
A small smile curved at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe a little.” He slid his hands down to her hips. “But not entirely. I like having you in my house.”
Maggie backed away. Smooth, she thought. He had good moves. Moves that were undoubtedly designed to throw her off guard. Disarming one minute, and then charming the next. He was clever all right, but she was cleverer. She didn’t trust him for a second.
“I think you’re just trying to get out of walking,” she said. “I think you’re lazy.”
The grin widened. “No, you don’t. You think I’m only out for one thing, and I’m sweet-talking you.”
She felt the flush creep into her cheeks. “Well, you are the scourge of Skogen.”
“True. But I’ve changed. All that’s behind me. It’s been years since I’ve been worth anything as a scourge.”
“What about Linda Sue and Holly?”
Linda Sue and Holly felt like part of his extended family. He’d grown up with them. They made girlfriend noises, but it had been a long time since he’d found them exciting. Not since high school, in fact. And anything in a skirt had been exciting when he was in high school. “Linda Sue and Holly are my friends.”
“Have you explained that to them lately?”
“Linda Sue and Holly are good at talking, short on listening.”
Chapter 5
“Tell me about apples,” Maggie said, following the rutted road. “I want to know about your orchard.”
“I grow five varieties of apples. The original orchard was all McIntosh, but I’ve put in Paula Reds, Empire, Red Delicious, and Northern Spy. It’s extended my growing season, and I think the blend of apples makes a more interesting cider.” He picked a small green apple. “This is a Northern Spy. It’s the apple I intend to build my pie business around. It’s a hard baking apple. Matures late in the season. Keeps well.” He threw the apple down the road and Horatio took off after it.
So, he had to prove himself, she thought. She could relate to that. Her life wasn’t exactly filled with stellar accomplishments. She’d barely graduated from college, barely hung on to her teaching job, barely kept her sanity