“That giggle could get you into a lot of trouble, Maggie.”

She liked the way his voice softened when his eyes grew hungry, and she considered that the dance might be dull compared to other activities that were available to her. A dangerous thought.

He ran a slow hand the length of her bare arm. “Elsie’s already left.”

“Hmmm. So, we’re all alone?”

He made no reply. He just looked at her with such intensity that she imagined his passion had condensed-the way leaves eventually become part of the strata, decomposed into oil, compressed into coal, stressed through the eons into diamonds. She figured Hank was at the coal stages-hard as anthracite and ready to burn.

When he pulled her to him, she knew she’d been right about the hard part. In seconds the dress was spread in a pool of black at her feet. The lacy red scrap of a bra followed. His hands trembled at her waist, but his mouth was firm. Firm and hot and voracious. He hooked his thumbs into the bikini pan ties, and they were gone. So was Maggie’s resolve to keep him at arm’s length. He backed her into her room, and by the time they reached the bed, he’d stripped off his clothes.

“Don’t think I’m trifling with you, Maggie Toone Mallone. This is all-out lovemaking,” he said. “The kind that requires commitment.” He gently pushed her onto the bed and covered her. “I expect you to make an honest man of me.”

“I think it’s too late,” Maggie murmured.

“I’m talking about marriage, Maggie.”

“Marriage? I thought we were talking about making you honest.”

“That’s just an expression!”

His hands were at her breasts, stroking across the tips, and she wondered why he was talking when this delicious heat was flooding through her. “Do we have to talk about this now? I’m having a hard time concentrating.”

Hank decided that might be to his advantage. He supposed it was dirty pool to discuss marriage when she was in the throes of passion, but these were difficult times. And he was a desperate man. So he set about to disturb her concentration like it had never been disturbed before.

He moved slowly, using his body to exert pressure, teasing her with his fingertips, whispering words of love to her until she was wild and panting. She was almost on the brink, he thought, and he was almost at the point of insanity. He had to clench his teeth to momentarily stop the progress of his own passion. He’d been serious when he’d talked about commitment. He didn’t want to make love to a fake wife. He wanted Maggie to be his. Forever. For really.

“Do you love me, Maggie?” He had to know. Had to hear it from her.

She could only blink at him. She wanted to tell him. Wanted to shout out her love, but her throat was tight and the words wouldn’t come, so she nodded her head, yes.

“Will you marry me, Maggie?”

She licked swollen lips. “Really marry?”

He saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes, felt the hesitation. He kissed her slowly, deeply. The restraint was costing him, but he continued the seduction. His mouth moved to her collarbone, caressed her breast and trailed kisses to her navel. She gasped and her eyes dropped closed, and he asked her again. “Will you marry me, Maggie?”

“Yes.” Weren’t they already married? They were living in the same house, sharing the same bed, exchanging smiles across the breakfast table. Marriage wasn’t a piece of paper. Marriage was a condition of the heart. It was an attitude. Wasn’t it?

Maggie knew the smile was back. When the stars had finished exploding, when her heart had slowed to a normal beat, when that peculiar lethargy of after-loving had seeped into every muscle in her body, Maggie felt the smile return to her lips. She lay very still beside Hank and wondered how her body could be in such a state of euphoric contentment when her mind was such a mess.

Hank had proposed, and she’d said yes. It all had a dreamlike quality. Marriage had seemed perfectly natural fifteen minutes ago…now she wasn’t sure.

Marriage to Hank meant marriage to Skogen, Vermont. It was an idyllic place for a vacation, but she didn’t know if she could manage a lifetime of apple trees. And she didn’t know if she could feel comfortable with the people. What if they were all like Bubba?

Hank was having second thoughts too. He was feeling guilty about having coerced Maggie into marriage when she was in a weakened condition. “About that proposal…”

“You took advantage of me.”

“Yeah. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course I mind!” Maggie propped herself up on one elbow. “Were you serious?”

“Absolutely. I love you. In fact, I’ll ask you again just to make it official. Will you marry me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Too late,” Hank said. “You already said yes.”

“I can change my mind.”

Hank swung his leg over hers. “I suppose I’ll have to wear you down again.”

“What about the dance?”

“Wouldn’t you rather get seduced?”

“No!”

He slid his hand over her belly and kissed her bare shoulder. “Liar.”

“Everyone’s expecting us to be there. What about your new image? What about respectability? What about the cider press?”

Hank groaned. She was right. He needed the cider press.

“Okay, we’ll go to the dance. But when we get home, it’s back to seduction.”

Maggie put her hands to her head. “How bad is my hair?”

“Your hair looks great.”

She sighed and got out of bed to look in the mirror. “Oh my God.”

“You’re not going to spend another three hours in the bathroom, are you?”

Half an hour later Maggie pulled the black dress over her head. She was wearing a slip, and her hair wasn’t nearly as incredible as it had been the first time she’d arranged it, but she decided she was passable. The aftermath of passion had a tendency to lower her standards on these matters, she admitted. She followed Hank down the stairs and patiently waited while he locked the front door.

The light was fading rapidly. It would be dark before they reached the grange, Maggie thought. She climbed onto the bench seat of the battered pickup and winced at the twinge of excitement in her chest. How could she be nervous and fluttery about sitting next to a man she’d just made wild and passionate love with?

She’d always thought intimacy would breed boredom. She’d figured a romance was a lot like a fox hunt. It seemed logical that things would get a little dull after the fox was caught. Evidently she’d been wrong all these years. Now she compared romantic activities to eating peanuts. Once you got started, you were done for.

I must be strong, she told herself. She must fight this disease. She primly sat in the middle of the seat, resisting the urge to scramble next to him, when he slid behind the wheel. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her nose pointed straight ahead.

She wasn’t dumb enough to think love could conquer all. No siree bob, she was going to take her time on a decision like marriage. Just because she felt married and acted married didn’t mean she was going to sign on the dotted line. That was the one thing she’d been wrong about when she’d said yes to his proposal. That formal piece of paper called a marriage certificate really did make a difference. It was legally and mentally binding. It was scary.

“The grange is on the outskirts of town, by the railroad tracks and the grain silos,” he said. “I hope you’re not going to be disappointed. It’s mostly just a big hall on the southernmost side of the fairgrounds. It’s about the only place around to hold wedding receptions and town meetings, so it gets a lot of use.”

He drove past the grain silos and the cold storage ware house and pulled into the grange hall parking lot. It was already filled with cars and trucks so Hank parked on the grass.

“I hope you’re up to this,” he said. “I’m not much of a dancer. I’ll probably step all over your feet. And folks are going to be gawking at you.”