Darling obstacles by Barbara Boswell, Copyright Paperback Collection (Library of Congress) DLC
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rush her again. When they had been standing so closely on the stairs he'd recognized her attraction to him. It was almost as if permitting him into her house had allowed her to let down her emotional barriers as well. She was suddenly sexually aware of him and he'd been unable to resist responding to her.
"I'm not what you—you probably think I am," she said stiffly, jerking her head away from his touch. Her hair fell against her cheek. "I—I'm not a sex-starved widow looking for a cheap thrill."
There was an ominous silence and Maggie gathered enough courage to cast a covert glance at Greg. He was grinning! "What's so funny?" she demanded, pouring oil into the hot skillet. It spit back at her and she lowered the temperature slightly before spooning the batter into the pan.
"You are. A sex-starved widow looking for a cheap thrill."
Tm not!" she said hotly. "How dare you say such a thing!"
He laughed at her indignation. "I've never seen you this way. You're cute when you're all fired up, Maggie." He lounged comfortably against the counter, obviously enormously amused.
"A not-very-clever spin-off of the tired, old 'You're beautiful when you're angry' line," she muttered. She'd watched enough TV to know all about tired, old lines. "Surely a man of your vast experience can do better than that, Dr. Wilder."
"So we're back to that, hmm? Funny how you didn't seem to have any trouble saying Greg back there on the steps, Mrs. May."
"Don't call me that!" Maggie snapped, then paused to stare at him, confused. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Greg addressing her as Mrs. May. Except that she hated him to do it. "I mean I—you—"
"You don't know what you mean, hot little Maggie," Greg replied, laughing. He was positively
delighted that he'd managed to shake her previously relentless cordiality toward him.
Her cheeks burned. "Don't laugh at me!"
"I'm not laughing at you." He traced the length of her arm with one long finger, slightly scoring her skin with his nail. To her great dismay, Maggie quivered at even this most simple touch. Greg was watching her, his eyes narrowed speculatively.
She stepped away from him. "Greg, I know I'm acting like a blazing idiot." She chewed her lower lip. This was incredibly difficult for her. "But I'm not well versed in these—these games. You're the first man who's kissed me since my husband died."
Greg looked stunned. "You're kidding!" he said.
For some reason, his reaction infuriated her. "No, I'm not," she replied defiantly. "You're the first. And I'm sorry that it had to be you."
His lips tightened into a straight, hard line. "Why?" he asked harshly.
"Why?" she echoed crossly. "I'll tell you why, Dr. Wilder. You had a fight with your girlfriend last night and you went to bed all frustrated and—and—" She swallowed. "Unsatisfied. When you woke up this morning in the same unfortunate condition, you grabbed the first woman you saw. And it happened to be me! Am I supposed to be flattered by your attentions? Well, I'm not!"
"Maggie, you're wrong. I—"
"I'm absolutely right and I refuse to discuss it any further."
"Oh, we're going to discuss it, Maggie. Just as soon as you finish making the children's breakfast."
Maggie flipped the pancakes onto two plates and sailed out of the kitchen, her head held high. After serving Wendy and Kevin, she hurried upstairs, ignoring Greg's commanding summons from the kitchen. She rushed into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She'd made a complete and utter fool of herself with Greg, she conceded grimly, quickly stripping off her robe and nightgown and reaching
into the drawer for her underwear. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the bureau and stared at her nude body as if seeing it for the first time. Full mature breasts—breasts that had nursed three babies—that were softly rounded with rosy peaks. Waist, not as small as it had once been, but still in proportion to her breasts and womanly curved hips.
"I'm not what you—you probably think I am," she said stiffly, jerking her head away from his touch. Her hair fell against her cheek. "I—I'm not a sex-starved widow looking for a cheap thrill."
There was an ominous silence and Maggie gathered enough courage to cast a covert glance at Greg. He was grinning! "What's so funny?" she demanded, pouring oil into the hot skillet. It spit back at her and she lowered the temperature slightly before spooning the batter into the pan.
"You are. A sex-starved widow looking for a cheap thrill."
Tm not!" she said hotly. "How dare you say such a thing!"
He laughed at her indignation. "I've never seen you this way. You're cute when you're all fired up, Maggie." He lounged comfortably against the counter, obviously enormously amused.
"A not-very-clever spin-off of the tired, old 'You're beautiful when you're angry' line," she muttered. She'd watched enough TV to know all about tired, old lines. "Surely a man of your vast experience can do better than that, Dr. Wilder."
"So we're back to that, hmm? Funny how you didn't seem to have any trouble saying Greg back there on the steps, Mrs. May."
"Don't call me that!" Maggie snapped, then paused to stare at him, confused. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Greg addressing her as Mrs. May. Except that she hated him to do it. "I mean I—you—"
"You don't know what you mean, hot little Maggie," Greg replied, laughing. He was positively
delighted that he'd managed to shake her previously relentless cordiality toward him.
Her cheeks burned. "Don't laugh at me!"
"I'm not laughing at you." He traced the length of her arm with one long finger, slightly scoring her skin with his nail. To her great dismay, Maggie quivered at even this most simple touch. Greg was watching her, his eyes narrowed speculatively.
She stepped away from him. "Greg, I know I'm acting like a blazing idiot." She chewed her lower lip. This was incredibly difficult for her. "But I'm not well versed in these—these games. You're the first man who's kissed me since my husband died."
Greg looked stunned. "You're kidding!" he said.
For some reason, his reaction infuriated her. "No, I'm not," she replied defiantly. "You're the first. And I'm sorry that it had to be you."
His lips tightened into a straight, hard line. "Why?" he asked harshly.
"Why?" she echoed crossly. "I'll tell you why, Dr. Wilder. You had a fight with your girlfriend last night and you went to bed all frustrated and—and—" She swallowed. "Unsatisfied. When you woke up this morning in the same unfortunate condition, you grabbed the first woman you saw. And it happened to be me! Am I supposed to be flattered by your attentions? Well, I'm not!"
"Maggie, you're wrong. I—"
"I'm absolutely right and I refuse to discuss it any further."
"Oh, we're going to discuss it, Maggie. Just as soon as you finish making the children's breakfast."
Maggie flipped the pancakes onto two plates and sailed out of the kitchen, her head held high. After serving Wendy and Kevin, she hurried upstairs, ignoring Greg's commanding summons from the kitchen. She rushed into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She'd made a complete and utter fool of herself with Greg, she conceded grimly, quickly stripping off her robe and nightgown and reaching
into the drawer for her underwear. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the bureau and stared at her nude body as if seeing it for the first time. Full mature breasts—breasts that had nursed three babies—that were softly rounded with rosy peaks. Waist, not as small as it had once been, but still in proportion to her breasts and womanly curved hips.
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