Chapter 14
Kiara had been to Ireland several times before. Twice when she was doing research for a novel and a few times after she had gotten involved with Oscar. But never for long periods. And each time had been an adventure.
Kinsale was the most beautiful place she had ever visited as she had mentioned to Padric and Maeve. The picturesque coastal town in County Cork was situated in the south of Ireland and was popularly known for its rich tapestry of history, colorful streets and close proximity to the sea.
The natural deep water harbor with its collection of fishing boats and sailing yachts was a delight to the eyes. It was surrounded by rolling countryside, beaches and rugged coastal scenery. The streets were narrow, the houses a kaleidoscope of colors.
The pub that had started the O'Sullivan's very lucrative business was smack in the middle of the quaint town and was woven into the rich history of the place.
O'Sullivan's was a staple, blending into the historical charms of the place. It had maintained its rugged structure over the years, with patrons walking in for the rich and ripe atmosphere. The food was excellent and the atmosphere one of conviviality and cheer.
It was not unusual for someone to get up and start singing an Irish ballad. As soon as you step in you notice the warm welcome and rich character. The hum of conversation, gentle laughter and the smell of stout, wood polish and turf fire were the first thing one notices immediately.
The dark wooden floors were polished to a dull sheen, the long bar worn smooth by decades of use.
They had barely settled inside the charming spread of house situated on a slight rise and offering a stunning view of the coastal town, before they were shipped off to the pub and greeted with cheers and welcome.
News had spread of the nuptials of course and by the time they arrived, a celebration was in full swing.
A few local musicians were situated in a corner of the room, playing fiddle, tin whistle and bodhran. The music did nothing to stop the flow of conversation and laughter, nor the exaggerated stories embellished by the rich Irish accent.
Kiara was treated like one of the locals, despite her obvious American accent and welcomed into the 'family'. It amused and fascinated her to hear her husband fall seamlessly into the traditional language, his Irish lilt even more pronounced.
She was also proud and moved by how loved and respected the family was. It was not because they were wealthy or how influential they were. She recognized real caring; the attention paid to each and every patron and how close the family were to the villagers.
Padric had a knack of knowing each of them by name and Maeve's tendency of chatting with the local ladies, asking after the family.
She also realized that an Irish pub wasn't just a place to drink, it's the social heart of the community where history, humor and hospitality came together in a relaxed and timeless atmosphere. It humbled and warmed her at the same time.
"You're thinking too much."
She was so deep in thought, she didn't hear her husband come up behind her.
Leaning back, she sighed when his arms wrapped possessively around her thick waist. "I love it here. I was thinking of basing a story within these walls."
She found herself smiling at the easy camaraderie, the way strangers quickly became friends over shared stories and laughter.
The walls, adorned with vintage photographs and old Gaelic signs, seemed to echo decades of joy and sorrow, making her feel as though she had stepped into a living tapestry of tradition and memory.
"I'm sure the owners would not mind that one bit." He nuzzled her ear and felt the familiar stirring of desire when she purred her satisfaction. "As long as you get the history right."
He smiled as she snorted.
"I always do."
"Hmm. You smell like sin."
"I'm not sure that's something I like to be compared to."
He grinned, enjoying the space and freedom in their little corner. "It's nothing bad." He turned her to face him, the smile disappearing. "I walked in tonight with you on my arm and felt the envy of every man in the room."
She glowered up at him. "So what? I'm a kind of trophy?"
"Call it what you may," his hand cupped her face. "You're mine." His breath hitched and his voice thickened. "You belong to me."
"I don't..."
"You belong to me and I'm yours. It works both ways. Dance with me." The musicians had switched to a poignant ballad with English mixed with Gaelic. Drawing her onto the dance floor, he wrapped his arms around her.
She was wearing denims and an angora sweater that reached her knees. Her hair was styled into one big plait resting over her left shoulder. She looked like a teenager.
"What is it saying?" She had to raise her voice a little to be heard over the conversations and laughter going on around them.
He swung her around another couple effortlessly. "It's a story about a star crossed lover. An older man who fell in love with his best friend's daughter." He swung her around in time to the beat, arms around her waist, angling her close.
So close he could see the fan of her lashes and the flawless complexion of her face. Her scent enveloped him like a cloak and sent heat spearing through him. Very soon he was going to suggest they take their leave. He wanted his hands all over her.
"They tried to fight the powerful attraction," he continued, his eyes holding hers. "But it was more powerful than their will. The father found out and challenged the man to a duel." Bending, he brushed his lips over her cheek, his breath fanning her skin.
Fighting her own powerful reaction to him, she shook her head. "What happened?"
"Hmm?" he was busy nibbling at her bottom lip.
"To the guy. Oh God! Stop that."
"Stop what?" he was using his tongue to slide over the moistness of her lip, pleasuring himself.
"Oscar," she moaned as he started to nibble again.
"Baby?"
"My knees are weak."
"Good or bad?" his tongue was tracing the outline of her lip.
"It's good. Bad." Her hands gripped his sweater. "I can't..."
He had started it and belatedly realized it was not a good idea. He was as hard as steel.
"We have to go." He breathed.
"Yes."
They couldn't leave fast enough. He cut through the throng of people milling around, cutting off an old man who wanted to congratulate the bride and groom.
"I wonder what the haste is all about." Jim McCleary wondered aloud, causing laughter to erupt.
"They're newlyweds," Someone shouted. "No explanation necessary."
He was trembling, he recognized in surprise. No matter how much time he spent with her, it still amazed him that she could bring out such powerful emotions inside him. He had to pace himself or he would be tearing off her clothing and plunging into her without the slightest bit of finesse.
He also had to remind himself that she was approaching her six month of pregnancy.
"Wait." His voice was harsh, his hands unsteady. "Just give me a minute." He had to step back and regulate his breathing.
"You started it and I don't want to wait." A fire was burning in the large hearth of the very cozy cream and gold bedroom they had been assigned to. It was a private suite complete with a large sitting room, another bedroom, a balcony overlooking the beach and a bathroom with a claw footed bath.
"I don't want to hurt you."
Sighing in exasperation, she shimmied out of the panties and started to unhook the bra.
"Strip." She ordered.
He stood still, staring at her. She had put on some weight, in her breasts and her thighs, but not much. Her belly was a gentle swell that had his heart turning over.
The light from the fire highlighted her shape and made him want to devour.
"I'm waiting."
Her voice stirred him into action. Pulling the sweater over his head, he dropped it where he stood and hurriedly took off his jeans.
Stepping over to her, he brushed his fingers over her smooth cheeks and tried to give himself time to settle. "I cannot stop wanting you." He admitted thickly. "I'm beginning to realize I never will." He trailed his fingers down her cheek and then her neck.
She arched towards him, clamping her hands tight around his neck, she smiled alluringly at the shock on his face when she boosted herself up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
"You're talking too much." She attacked his neck, nibbling until he was sure the blood had drained entirely from his head, leaving him feeling dizzy.
His fingers dug into her back and then her firm buttocks as he fought for balance.
"The bed." He gasped when she bit into his neck and started to pull the flesh between his teeth.
She muttered something he could not identify as he stumbled towards the bed. He was feeling for it like a blind man, unsure of direction.
When he felt the soft quilt, he whimpered in relief and tumbled her on top of it, dropping down and easing to the side so that she would not take his full weight.
He briefly thought about seducing her, using finesse, but that thought disappeared when she immediately climbed on top of him.
"It has to be now." She told him. She had become the aggressor and he did not mind. His only response was a grunt, when she lifted her hips so that she could straddle him and words and reasoning left him completely.
His body was on fire, his heart thudding like a jackhammer. He reached for her blindly, cupping her breasts, thumbs moving over the sensitive nipples until she was the one whimpering. Rearing up, he foraged for a nipple and started suckling.
The climax was swift and brutal. She cried out his name, fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, as if seeking purchase. Her body arched, the exquisite pleasure making her dizzy and disoriented.
"More." Lifting his head, he reached between them to toy with the sensitive flesh, sending shocked pleasure slamming through her body.
"I can't." She gasped, eyes wide and blurred.
"Take more." He was brutal in his determination to wring everything from her.