Chapter Seven #2
She told herself if his lights were off, she would close the doors again and try to sleep. But there they were, bright against dark, beckoning.
She closed her eyes on a shiver of anticipation and nerves. She’d prepared herself for this step, this change in her life, in her body. It wasn’t an impulse, it wasn’t reckless. But she felt impulsive. She felt reckless.
She was a grown woman, and the decision was hers.
Quietly she stepped back and closed the doors.
Brian closed the condition book, pressed his fingers to his tired eyes.
Like Paddy, he wasn’t quite sure he trusted the computer, but he was willing to fiddle with it a bit.
Three times a week he spent an hour trying to figure the damn thing out with the notion that eventually he could use it to generate his charts.
Graphics, they called it, he thought, shifting to give the machine a suspicious glare. Timesaving and efficient, if you believed all the hype. Well, tonight he was too damn tired to spend an hour trying to be timesaving and efficient.
He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week. Which had nothing to do with his job, he admitted. And everything to do with his boss’s daughter.
It was a good thing he had that trip to Saratoga coming up, he decided as he pushed away from his desk and rose. A little distance was just what was needed. He didn’t care for this unsteady sensation or this worrying ache around the heart.
He wasn’t the type to fret over a woman, he thought. He enjoyed them, and was happy for them to enjoy him, then each moved on without regrets.
Moving on was always the end plan.
New York, he remembered, was a fair distance away. It should be far enough. As for tonight, he was going to have a shot of whiskey in his tea to help smooth out the edges. Then by God, he was going to sleep if he had to bash himself over the head to accomplish it.
And he wasn’t going to give Keeley another thought.
The knock on the door had him cursing under his breath. Though she’d been doing well, his first worry was that the mare with bronchitis had taken a bad turn. He was already reaching for the boots he’d shed when he called out.
“Come in, it’s open. Is it Lucy then?”
“No, it’s Keeley.” One brow lifted, she stood framed in the door. “But if you’re expecting Lucy, I can go.”
The boots dangled from his fingertips, and those fingertips had gone numb. “Lucy’s a horse,” he managed to say. “She doesn’t often come knocking on my door.”
“Ah, the bronchitis. I thought she was better.”
“She is. Considerably.” She’d gone and let her hair loose, he thought. Why did she have to do that? It made his hands hurt, actually hurt with wanting to slide into it.
“That’s good.” She stepped in, shut the door. And because it seemed too perfect not to, audibly flipped the lock. Seeing a muscle twitch in his jaw was incredibly satisfying.
He was a drowning man, and had just gone under the first time. “Keeley, I’ve had a long day here. I was just about to—”
“Have a nightcap,” she finished. She’d spotted the teapot and the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. “I wouldn’t mind one myself.” She breezed past him to flip off the burner under the now sputtering kettle.
She’d put on different perfume, he thought viciously. Put it on fresh, too, just to torment him. He was damn sure of it. It snagged his libido like a fishhook.
“I’m not really fixed for company just now.”
“I don’t think I qualify as company.” Competently she warmed the pot, measured out the tea and poured the boiling water in. “I certainly won’t be after we’re lovers.”
He went under the second time without even the chance to gulp in air. “We’re not lovers.”
“That’s about to change.” She set the lid on the pot, turned. “How long do you like it to steep?”
“I like it strong, so it’ll take some time. You should go on home now.”
“I like it strong, too.” Amazing, she thought, she didn’t feel nervous at all. “And if it’s going to take some time, we can have it afterward.”
“This isn’t the way for this.” He said it more to himself than her. “This is backward, or twisted. I can’t get my mind around it. No, just stay back over there and let me think a minute.”
But she was already moving toward him, a siren’s smile on her lips. “If you’d rather seduce me, go ahead.”
“That’s exactly what I’m not going to do.” Though the night was cool and his windows were open to it, he felt sweat slither down his back. “If I’d known the way things were, I’d never have started this.”
That mouth of his, she thought. She really had to have that mouth. “Now we both know the way things are, and I intend to finish it. It’s my choice.”
His blood was already swimming. Hot and fast. “You don’t know anything, which is the whole flaming problem.”
“Are you afraid of innocence?”
“Damn right.”
“It doesn’t stop you from wanting me. Put your hands on me, Brian.” She took his wrist, pressed his hand to her breast. “I want your hands on me.”
The boots clattered to the floor as he went under for the third time. “It’s a mistake.”
“I don’t think so. Touch me.”
His hand closed over her. She was small, delicate, and through some momentary miracle, his. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a mistake,” he said, giving up entirely.
“We won’t let it be one.” Her head fell back as his hands began to move.
“Doesn’t matter. But I’ll be careful with you.”
Her eyes were blue and brilliant as she lifted her arms, slid her hands into his wildly waving hair. “Not too careful, I hope.”
When he swept her up in his arms she let out a shuddering sigh. “Oh, I was hoping you’d do that.” Thrilled, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck. “I was really hoping you’d do that.”
He turned his face into her hair, drew in the scent, held it inside him. “You’ve only to tell me what you like.”
She tipped her head back to look at him as he carried her into the bedroom. “Show me what I like.”
With moonlight and cool breezes shimmering through the open windows, he laid her on the bed. There had been moonlight the first time he’d kissed her, soft fingers of it then, as there were now. He’d never forget the look of it, or of her.
There had been few gifts in his life that had mattered, that had stayed in him, in his heart and memory. She would, he knew. She was a gift he would cherish.
“This,” he murmured, nibbling at her lips till they parted for him.
She opened, willing, wanting to be touched and tasted and taken. Even as he sensed her eagerness he led her slowly, patiently, thoroughly through the layers of sensations.
He caressed, his fingertips, palms, light as the air, then lingering at some secret place that had her breath catching on little jolts of pleasure. His mouth cruised lazily over her skin, sliding her into warmth, then it would come back to hers again, with a hungry bite that shot her into the heat.
Instinctively, avidly, she arched against him.
He was murmuring to her, lovely, stirring words in the old tongue, each like a tender kiss on the soul. Her heart fluttered, wings spreading wide for flight.
There were no nerves, no doubts as she raised herself to him, wrapped herself around him. When he slipped off her shirt, the breeze and his fingertips whispered over her. She felt beautiful.
Her skin was white silk, her hair rich flame. Every tremble was a gift, every sigh a treasure. In his life he’d never held anything as lovely as Keeley discovering herself.
She never shied when he undressed her, but embraced each new moment, welcomed each fresh sensation. Her curious hands moved over him, undressing him in turn. He’d never known how arousing it could be to be someone’s first.
Her heart hammered under his mouth, and the scent she’d dabbed on that fragile flesh swirled into his senses until they were as clouded as hers. He took more, just a little more, and she began to move under him in mindless invitation.
So much. There was so much, was all she could think. Her body was flooded with sensations, her flesh quivering from them. She could hear her own moans, her own ragged breaths but could do nothing to control them. The very loss of control was thrilling.
Everything inside her was tangled and straining. And desperate. Her nails bit into his back, her teeth found his shoulder. Then his hand closed over her.
She cried out from the shock of it, all that pulsing, pumping pleasure, the sheer heat of it that washed in one huge wave that crashed over her, inside her, and left her shuddering. She reared up, eyes blind, her fingers diving into his hair.
Then his mouth was on hers again, hotter now, hungrier, giving her no chance to catch her breath or her sanity.
“Give yourself to me,” he whispered, the blood pounding in his head as her eyes, heavy, stunned, looked into his. “Take me in.”
With her eyes on his, she opened and arched, and gave.
It was like rising into the air, each stroke another beat of wings.
Pleasure climbed higher and higher still, lifting through her body, sweeping through her mind.
All she could see were his eyes, dark and green and focused on her, even as his body was focused on hers. Mated and matched and moving with her.
Staggered by the beauty of it, she lifted a hand to his cheek, murmured his name.
And he was lost. Love and passion, dreams and desire stabbed through his heart. Helpless, he buried his face in her hair and let himself go.
With her eyes closed she absorbed the delights of being a well-loved woman.
Her body felt gloriously heavy, her mind wonderfully muffled.
There was no need to wonder or worry if she had given Brian the same pleasure.
She had seen it in his face, and felt it as he lay over her with his heart still thundering.
There was a change inside her, she thought. Awareness, understanding. And a soaring kind of triumph.
Smiling to herself, she traced a finger down his back. “How are the ribs?”
“What?”
And didn’t it feel grand to hear that sleepy slur in his voice? “Your ribs. That’s still a nasty bruise you have there.”
“I can’t feel anything.” His head was still spinning. “What’s this scent you’ve put on? It’s devious.”
“Just one of my many secrets.”
He lifted his head, started to grin at her, then it swamped him again. The look of her, the love of her. Lowering his head he brought his lips to hers in a long, dreamy kiss that came out of his soul and stirred hers.
Her hand slid limply to the mattress. “Brian.”
“I’m crushing you.” He said it briskly. He’d terrified himself.
He shifted away and shattered the moment. “There’s not really very much of you.” Suddenly aware that the breeze fluttering in the windows he left open was cold, he tugged at the bedspread until he could wrap it around her. “Are you all right then?”
“I’m fabulous, thank you.” Laughing, she sat up, without a shrug for modesty as the spread slid to her waist. She caught his face in her hands and gave him a quick, affectionate kiss. “Are you all right then?” she said, mimicking his brogue.
“That I am, but I’ve had a bit of practice.”
“I’ll bet. But let’s not bring up all your conquests just now. I’d hate to be obliged to punch you when I’m feeling so friendly.”
“I wouldn’t say they were conquests precisely. But we’ll let that be.”
“Wise choice.”
“Let me close the windows. You’re cold.”
She angled her head as he rose. “There’s nurturing in that bruised body of yours, Donnelly.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’d say it comes from the horses.” She pursed her lips, considered while he thunked a window down and scowled.
“You look after them, worry about them, make plans for them, see to their needs and their comfort—oh and their training, of course. Then if you don’t watch yourself you start to do it with people, too. ”
“I don’t nurture people.” He found the idea mildly insulting. “People can look after themselves. I don’t even like people very much.” He stalked over and shut the other window. “Present company excepted, as you’re sitting naked in my bed and it would be rude to say otherwise.”
“You didn’t phrase that quite right. You don’t like very many people. Do you have a robe?”
“No.” He wasn’t sure if it was the truth in what she said, or her understanding of him that irked him.
“Figures.” She spied one of his work shirts tossed over a chair, and though it smelled of horses, slipped it on. “I’d say that tea’s probably strong enough to hammer nails by now. Do you still want it?”
She looked... interesting in his shirt. Interesting enough that his blood began to churn again. “What are my options?”
“On my schedule, we have a cup of tea, a little conversation, then you get to seduce me back into bed and make love to me again before I go home.”
“That’s not bad, but I think it bears improving.”
“Oh, and how’s that?”
“We cut out the tea and conversation.”
She ran her tongue over her top lip—his taste was still there—as he walked toward her. “That would take us straight to you seducing me? Correct?”
“That’s my plan.”
“I can be flexible.”
His grin flashed. “I’d like to test that out.”
They never got around to the tea.
And when she left him, he stood at the door and watched her run along the path. Love-struck idiot, he told himself. You can’t keep her. You’ve never kept anything in your life that you couldn’t fit in the bag you toss over your shoulder.
It was a bad turn of luck, that was all, that he would slip up and fall in love. It was bound to hurt like blazes before it was done. He’d get over it, of course. Over her and over this slippery feeling inside his heart. He wasn’t so far gone as to believe this sort of madness lasted.
So best to enjoy it, he decided, and turned away when Keeley disappeared in the dark.
When he climbed into bed, her scent was on his pillow. For the first time in a week he slept deep and slept well.