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"Didn't you know, honey?" he asked, lifting his head to look down into her wide, sated eyes. He wasn't
smiling.
Her fingers lifted to his beloved face above her. She could still feel him, deep in her body, throbbing, as
she was throbbing.
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He brushed his mouth lightly over hers. "How many times have I had you," he whispered, "and never
bothered with a single precaution?"
"It would be hard for me to get pregnant," she rationalized.
"It's going to be easier than you ever dreamed," he said drowsily. "I love babies."
She was confused. Perhaps the convulsive pleasure had popped a major artery. She said so.
He chuckled again, moving so that the pleasure returned in teasing little spasms. "Probably we both did,
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but making babies is exciting, and I can't stop trying."
Her hands slid up to frame his face. "It's the excitement of it," she tried to explain, worried. "It's new,
and..."
He nibbled her upper lip. "It's new and exciting, and that's why I keep neglecting protection, hmm?"
"Isn't it?"
"New and exciting? Yes." He lifted up from her and looked down their bodies to where they were still
tightly joined. "I'm thirty-four," he said huskily. "You're twenty-six." His eyes went back to meet hers.
"We're used to each other in all the ways that matter, and now we find an explosive passion that shows
no signs of weakening. In fact, if what just happened is any indication," he added, moving again,
sensuously, and watching her moan, "we're becoming quite adept at giving each other pleasure."
He started to lift away and she protested, but he sat back from her, kneeling over her prone body,
studying every inch of her as if he'd never seen a woman nude before. Probably it should have
embarrassed her. It didn't. She liked his eyes on her.
"When we get back to Houston, the minute we get back," he added to emphasize it, "we're having blood
tests and getting a marriage license."
That was part of the fantasy. She smiled. She was dreaming, of course. She knew it, now. Cord
Romero would never marry again. Hadn't he said so a million times?
"Why are you smiling?" he asked warily.
"I'm dreaming," she said simply.
He moved, an arrogant shift of his knees to push her long legs apart. He was still capable and growing
more so by the second. He caught her upper thighs and drew her up to him, positioning her.
"Cord..." she whispered worriedly.
"You can take me," he whispered back. He began to ease inside her in tiny, quick little thrusts of his hips
that brought unexpectedly intense spasms of pleasure.
"It's ... too ... soon," she choked.
He was watching her body absorb him with eyes that contained equal measures of wonder and
excitement. "I've never. .. done it like this," he groaned. His hands tightened on her thighs and his eyes
began to dilate. "I've never watched ... so intimately.."
292 Diana Palmer
"What do you see?" she whispered breathlessly.
"I see you ... having me," he bit off, flinching as the pleasure began to throb. "I see you opening ... for
me!"
She looked down and he lifted her away, letting her see. It was erotic. It was blatant. It was...!
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She was moaning, twisting, throbbing. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing. The pleasure, so
intense before, was unbearable now. She caught the wet towels in both hands and gripped them until her
knuckles turned white while he invaded her with slow, hard, merciless thrusts that lifted her hips
rhythmically at first and then violently quick. Her last sane thought was that they were going to hurt each
other. A second later, she became a meteor, flying headlong through space in a throbbing, fiercely hot
tunnel of pleasure.
Cord felt her release in the seconds before he was twisted and convulsed by his own. He fell on her, his
body heavy and hot and wet with sweat as they lay shivering together on the towels.
She trembled, gasping, as the exhaustion finally worked its way with her and left her too tired to move or
speak. Her heartbeat was shaking both of them.
He pulled away before she could protest, if she'd had the breath. She felt him get to his feet and lift her,
carrying her to the bed. Her last memory was of the cool sheets above and beneath her, and the
darkness all around.
The next morning, she was more sore than ever.
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She woke moaning and trying to find a comfortable position, which there wasn't. She got up and
dressed, wincing at even the most delicate touch of intimate things against her.
She was brushing her long hair when Cord opened the door and came in. He was wearing slacks and a
knit shirt, his dark, slightly wavy hair combed, immaculate. He moved behind the vanity stool, took the
brush from her hands, and began to work on her hair.
"You're uncomfortable this morning," he said without preamble. "I'm sorry. I know better, but once I
touch you, I can't seem to stop."
She met his eyes in the mirror, surprised by the apology. "I couldn't stop, either," she reminded him, and
she smiled.
He bent to kiss her hair tenderly before he renewed his efforts with the brush. "Brought you something."
He took a small vial out of his pocket and pressed it into her hand.
"What is it?" she asked.
He looked vaguely uncomfortable. "It's for the discomfort," he murmured.
She was horrified. Had he asked one of the women in the household...?
He smiled helplessly at her expression. "I had to use some myself," he said sheepishly.
Her eyebrows lifted. This was really interesting. Men got sore, too?
294 Diana Palmer
He chuckled. "Yes," he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. "Men do, too." "Wow."
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"Now you know," he said complacently. He finished with the brush and put it on the table. "But just for
the record, if last night was my last few hours on earth, I wouldn't have one single regret."
"Neither would I." She drew his hand to her mouth and kissed the callused palm. "I love you with all my
heart."
"As I love you," he bit off. He bent, tugging her mouth up so that he could kiss it with fierce possession.
A few seconds later, he forced himself to lift his head. His eyes were turbulent, his heartbeat violent.
"The more I have you, the more I want you, Maggie," he said huskily. "That isn't going to stop. That's
why we have to get married. I'm old-fashioned about kids. Nobody's calling mine bastards."
Her fingers touched his hard mouth. It was contagious. She was beginning to believe she could have his
child. Her eyes were wide and soft with wonder, with anticipation. It was all part of the fantasy. It wasn't
real. But she was insulated, cocooned, right now. She could believe. She could love. She could accept
love and the phantom image of pleasure. She could dream.
"You can have anything you want," he whispered hoarsely, seeing acceptance and joy in her face and
Desperado 295
misreading thedaydreamy look. "I'll stay home and raise cattle."
And he'd hate it, and her, and the baby, she thought. But it was a dream, and they could share it for
now. The risk of someone discovering her past was too formidable to let her look very far ahead,
especially with Cord. He was going to be so disgusted if he ever found out. She couldn't let that happen.
She had to keep him in the dark, in that one way. She was certain she couldn't get pregnant, after what
the doctors had said, and she'd been honest with him. He didn't believe it, but it wouldn't make any
difference. She'd grow old alone, but she would have these exquisite, delicious memories of Cord making
love to her. Along with the excitement and danger of the present, there was the physical delight of it. She
was grateful for every second that he looked at her with desire.
"You're not talking to me," he mused.
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