The Maverick's Thanksgiving Baby. Brenda Harlen

his hand over the curve, his wide palm covering her almost from hip bone to hip bone, as if cradling their child, and the sweetness of the gesture made tears fill her eyes.

      “Everyone says that a baby is a miracle,” he said. “But the idea of you growing our baby inside of you is every bit as miraculous.”

      “You call it miraculous now. In a few more months, you’ll be calling it fat.”

      She’d been teasing, attempting to lighten the mood, but as soon as she spoke the words, she wished she could take them back. Talking about the future as if they would be together was a mistake, even if it was—deep in her heart—what she wanted.

      But he shook his head. “You’ll always be beautiful to me—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

      Which might have sounded like a well-rehearsed line from another man, but the sincerity in his tone made her heart swell inside her chest.

      “I want to be with you through every step of your pregnancy,” he continued. “I want to see the changes in your body as our baby grows. I want to be the one who runs to the grocery store in the middle of the night when you have a sudden craving for ice cream.”

      “I didn’t think the store in Rust Creek Falls was open in the middle of the night.”

      “Lucky for you, I have a key.”

      “That is lucky,” she agreed. “But I don’t want to worry about the future right now.”

      “What do you want?”

      She lifted her arms to link them behind his neck. “You. I only want you.”

      “Well, that’s convenient,” he said. “Because I want you, too.”

      Then he captured her mouth in a long, slow kiss that went on and on until her head was actually spinning. The hand that was on her belly inched lower. His fingers sifted through the soft curls at the apex of her thighs and her hips automatically lifted off the bed, wordlessly encouraging his exploration. He parted the slick folds and dipped inside. She didn’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones or Jesse, but all it took was that one stroke, deep inside, and she flew apart.

      He continued to stroke her while the convulsions rippled through her body. Her hands fisted in the sheet, as she tried to anchor herself against the onslaught of sensations. “Jesse, please.”

      He leaned forward to reach into the drawer beside his bed and pulled out a small square packet.

      Though she was reassured by this evidence of what was obviously a long-ingrained habit, she had to smile. “Isn’t that a little like closing the barn door after the horse is out?”

      “I guess it is,” he agreed. “Although there are more reasons than pregnancy for using protection.”

      “Oh.” She blushed. “Of course.”

      “But there’s been no one since you,” he said sincerely. “And no one for more than six months before that.”

      She took the square packet out of his hand. “Then we don’t need this,” she said, and set it on the bedside table.

      He parted her legs and settled between them, burying himself deep in one thrust as she arched up to meet him.

      He groaned in appreciation as she wrapped her legs around his hips. “You feel...so...good.”

      “You make me feel good,” she told him.

      He smiled at that and lowered his head to kiss her, long and slow and deep, as he moved inside her.

      Maggie had never thought of herself as a particularly sensual woman. She certainly wasn’t the type to get carried away by passion. She’d always thought sex was enjoyable, if unremarkable, but that was before she’d had sex with Jesse.

      Over the past few months, she’d decided that her memories of the one night they’d spent together had been exaggerated by her imagination. It wasn’t really possible that just standing close to him had made her knees weak, that breathing in his unique scent could make her insides quiver, that the touch of his mouth against her was enough to make her bones melt. Of course it wasn’t. For some reason, she’d romanticized the memory, turned their one-night affair into something it never was and was never meant to be.

      And then she’d seen him again, and her knees had gone weak. He’d stepped closer to her, and her insides had quivered. It didn’t matter that his gaze had been guarded and his tone had been cool. All that mattered was he was there, and every nerve ending in her body was suddenly and acutely aware of him, aching for him.

      Then, finally, he’d touched her. Just a brush of his hand over her hair, but that was enough to have her heart hammering inside of her chest. And then he kissed her, and not just her bones but everything inside of her had melted into a puddle of need. There was no thought or reason, there was only want. Hot and sharp and desperate.

      As he moved inside of her now, she felt the connection between them. Not just the physical mating of their bodies but the joining of their souls. Maybe it was fantastical, but it was how she felt. She couldn’t think of anything but Jesse, didn’t want anyone but him.

      The delicious friction between their bodies was every bit as incredible as she’d remembered—maybe even more. Every stroke, every thrust, sent little shock waves zinging through her blood. She could feel the anticipation building inside of her. Her body arched and strained, meeting him willingly, eagerly, aching for the ecstasy and fulfillment she’d only ever found in his arms.

      Her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles, her nails scoring his skin. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he drove her higher and higher to the pinnacle of their mutual pleasure.

       Yes.

       Please.

       More.

      And he gave her more. With his hands and his lips and his body, he gave and he gave until it was more than she could take. Pleasure poured through her, over her, a tidal wave of sensation that was so intense it stole her breath, her thoughts, her vision. There was nothing but bliss...and Jesse.

      He was everything.

      With a last thrust and a shudder, he collapsed on top of her, his face buried in the pillow beside her head.

      She lifted a hand to his shoulder, let it trail down his back. His deliciously sculpted and tightly muscled body was truly a woman’s fantasy—and he’d proven more than capable of satisfying every one of her fantasies, even the ones she hadn’t realized that she had.

      He lifted his weight off her, shifted so that he was beside her. But he kept his arm around her, holding her close. “Are you okay?” he asked.

      Her lips curved. “I’m very okay.”

      He pulled her closer, so that her back was snug against his front and her head was tucked beneath his chin. “I almost forgot how good it was between us.”

      “I tried to convince myself it couldn’t have been as good as I remembered.” It was somehow easier to make the admission without looking at him. “But I was wrong.”

      “I missed you, Maggie.”

      “I missed you, too. But this...chemistry,” she decided, for lack of a better term, “between us doesn’t really change anything.”

      “You don’t think so?”

      “Wanting you—and wanting to be with you—doesn’t alter the fact that our lives are twelve hundred miles apart.”

      “We’ll figure it out,” he told her.

      He made it sound so easy, but Maggie knew there wasn’t a simple answer. His suggestion that they should get married and raise their baby together wasn’t a viable one. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—give up her career and her life in LA simply because he wanted to be a hands-on parent