Their ragged moans mingled as they shared a kiss that tasted of raw joy and hungry ardor, mouths moving, tongues sliding. Keara’s fingers glided into his hair, her nails scraped his scalp and spears of need stabbed into him.
He never wanted to let her go. He didn’t want her to leave, but the idea of begging her to stay, of opening himself up like that, making himself so dangerously vulnerable, horrified him. He couldn’t do it. He could implore her with his body, with his mouth, with his hands. He could appeal to the emotion he knew raged in her too. But he couldn’t say the words.
He bent and hooked his arm beneath her legs, swinging her up against him. She choked out a gasp and grabbed on to his shoulders and he loved it, loved the feeling of her hands gripping him so needily.
He carried her upstairs. “This time we make it to the bed,” he promised her. She tucked her head against him, and he admired the sleek curves of her legs dangling, the skirt of her dress hitched up well above her knees.
He set her down to sit on the bed then dropped to the carpet beside her. He picked up one foot and slid the strap behind her heel off, then slipped the shoe off. Her foot felt delicate in his hands and he kissed her instep, then her ankle. She shivered and her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
He removed the other sandal, skated his palms up over silky calves, and rose onto his knees. Darkness and quiet enfolded them, the only sound he could hear the thudding of his heart. His hands slid up higher, beneath the dress, over her thighs, until he touched the edge of her panties.
Their eyes met. And she lifted her hips just enough for him to hook his fingers into the strings of what must be thong underwear and drag them down.
As he drew the panties over her knees, the scent of warm feminine arousal filled his nostrils and a feverish lust ripped through him. A moan of pure, primal desire tore from his throat and he tossed the panties aside and shoved her skirt up. With a choked gasp, she fell to her back on the bed, and he parted her thighs and surged over her, craving her taste. He licked and sucked and kissed, filled himself with her scent and her taste, her soft whimpers mingling with the soft noises of his mouth on her until her fingers tightened in his hair and her hips arched beneath him. She cried out. “Shane! Oh God, Shane.”
He sucked until her quivery body went still, and even then didn’t lift his head, inhaled her, eyes closed, wanting to imprint that scent in his olfactory memory forever.
If this was their last time, he was going to make it…everything. He wanted to do everything to her, wanted to be everything to her, as she was everything to him.
His throat burned when he finally lifted his head and moved up over her to kiss her mouth again, sharing her taste with her.
Her hands fluttered over his back. “You make me come so hard,” she whispered, mouth moving against his. “I want you inside me.”
“Mmm.” Oh yeah, he wanted that too. But he knew they could take their time because he was going to make love to her all night long, even if it meant she drove back to LA with zero sleep. This was their last night and every minute—every second—built a memory, a fragile keepsake, a dream he could sink into alone at night.
* * * * *
Keara was drunk and floating, dizzy and breathless, her body soft and wet and pulsing. But she needed more. She needed it all. She needed Shane, naked, over her, in her, around her. Shaky fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, greedy with the need to feel his chest, smooth, bare, warm.
She felt so much. She felt shaken with the extent of her need for him, knowing this would not be enough.
She almost couldn’t remember why she was leaving this man, except she knew it was important and she didn’t really have a choice. She longed to ask him to come with her back to LA, but before the words could even form in her head, she knew how stupid they were. Of course he wouldn’t leave Kilkenny. His career, his family, his life were all here. If he’d wanted to leave he would have gone with Trista.
So this night had to last the rest of her life, had to fill the emptiness her life would be without Shane in it. Her throat quivered and ached and she slid her hands inside his shirt finally, over hot sleek skin. Her fingers played in the silky patch of hair, her palms brushed over the hard bones of his shoulders. Strength and security and honor emanated from him.
She pushed his shirt back off his shoulders and tasted the skin of his chest with her lips and tongue, sliding lower, until she kissed the quivering flesh of his belly below his navel. She fumbled with his button and zipper, and he helped her reveal the throbbing, hot erection beneath. Her mouth watered and opened instinctively to taste him, to take him in and she breathed through her lust for enough patience for him to stand up and get rid of his pants and underwear.
Her eyes drank in the sight of him, long, hard, thick, and her hands reached for him. She rose to her knees on the bed and he let her stroke him. She loved his rough moan. She tested the weight of him, of his heavy balls, bent her head to suck him in.
His low growl inflamed her, his hands in her hair sent a barrage of sparks over her body, and pleasure swelled inside her, almost unbearably sweet.
“Keara, God, your mouth. Suck me.” He groaned. “Suck me, just like that.”
His voice splintered and her body burned, her mouth loving him, her hands admiring him. She wanted it all. But he pulled out of her mouth, and stood, holding himself, panting.
Now she was the one who moaned, her lips swollen, mouth aching for more.
“Inside you,” he muttered, and he pushed her down to the mattress with a dominance that thrilled, yet with a gentleness that moved her. The knowledge that this man had all that inside him—the overriding need to protect not just ones he loved, but everyone, and the strength and courage and conviction to carry that out—made her feel like her heart was going to explode.
He twisted and turned her body out of the formfitting dress. She wore no bra and her panties had already disappeared. He cupped her breasts, stared at them reverently, kissed and licked and nibbled them until sensations sparked over her body, pinpricks of pleasure racing over her, her nipples glowing points of pleasure, a hot aching need building between her legs.
His body inside her felt right. Perfect. Complete. They fit together, they moved together in an intimate, dazzling rhythm. Their quiet sighs and the sounds of their slick bodies moving together filled his dusky bedroom. She felt safe. She felt desired.
She felt so much.
He took her higher, sliding a hand between them to find her clit, to make sure she came again, and she loved him for that. He found the exact place, rubbed with a sure and perfect touch. Inside her, he thrust deep, filling her almost to the point of pain, a sweet pain. Everything drew up inside her tighter, higher, to a sharp point of ecstasy, and then even higher yet, higher than she’d ever been, so high she was scared. And then she burst and shattered and shuddered, clinging to him with her hands, her teeth sinking into his shoulder.
They pressed through their orgasms together, long, blinding, wrenching spasms, until they lay wrapped around each other in perfect intimacy and saturated rapture. She pressed her mouth to his shoulder where she’d bitten him, and when she felt wetness there she realized she was crying.
She felt so much.
Chapter Eighteen
She was getting away later than she’d planned because Shane had dropped her off at Maeve’s apartment at five thirty in the morning. They’d both been exhausted, emotional, totally in denial. Shane looked at her with tired and shadowed eyes as he laid his hands on her shoulders and gently kissed her goodbye, and she could tell his smile was forced.
And she did the same. She wanted to throw herself at him, into the protection of his arms, and stay there forever, and she had to physically stop herself from doing that. She felt as if his body was a magnet pulling her to him with a powerful, irresistible attraction but she had to resist.
She had to go home.
Jayla was working in the store, so Maeve came to the back where they’d p
arked the rental car the night before. Keara slammed the trunk down where she’d stowed her stuff, and dusted her hands together. Maeve regarded her with steady look, and the affection on her face made Keara’s heart swell up again and ache. Maeve opened her arms and Keara walked into them and hugged her frail body. She was always so energetic and vibrant, it was only when holding her like this that it became so evident she was aging and fragile.
Tears gathered and prickled in her eyes and she squeezed them shut briefly, before drawing back and smiling at her great-aunt. “I’ll call you after your doctor appointment,” she reminded her, stepping back. She pulled the car keys out of her jeans pocket.
Maeve nodded. “Drive carefully, muirnín,” she said, voice low and husky, her brow furrowing. She was worried about her on the highway where she’d had the accident and to tell the truth, Keara wasn’t looking forward to that part of the drive, either. Her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of those winding curves and the memory of that jerk riding her ass and then forcing her over the cliff.
It couldn’t happen again. It was random. Like the break-in at the store that the police had never solved. Shane had been annoyed about that, but they just didn’t have enough evidence. No prints. Nobody had really seen him other than Shane that night. There wasn’t much more they could do.
But she’d be fine. She’d take her time, drive slowly and carefully and she had her cell phone charged up and handy in case of any problems. And she had a piece of pink and gold Connemara marble sitting on her passenger seat for good luck.
“Thank you, Maeve,” she said, her voice coming out thick and choked-sounding. She swallowed, and her throat ached. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome, muirnín. That’s what family is for, right? We look after each other.”
Keara nodded, unable to say another word, her face tight and burning. A heavy weight of guilt settled on her shoulders. She was leaving her. All alone. She was the only family Maeve had. Maeve had helped her—but what if Maeve needed help? Where would she be?
She’d visit. She swore to herself she would come back and visit a couple of times a year at least. There was no reason not to. Her busy weekends of shopping, dinners and concerts seemed so unimportant now, compared to Maeve and making sure she was okay.
She got into the car and pulled out, hardly able to see where she was going through a wash of tears. She lifted her hand in a wave and as she left, the sun sparkled off thin silvery trails on Maeve’s cheeks.
At least she knew Shane and his family were there to make sure she was okay. She didn’t need to worry. Maeve had lived alone all these years and had done fine.
She had to keep repeating the various mantras to herself the entire drive home so she didn’t break down into a sobbing puddle of guilt and sadness.
She spent the rest of the weekend airing out her apartment, shopping for some groceries, doing laundry. In a way it was nice to be back in the little home she’d created for herself. The shopping she’d loved had yielded some pretty furniture and attractive accessories, and she’d created a cozy nest that was all hers, just how she liked it.
But the nest was empty. Even the television didn’t fill the silence and provide virtual company like it used to. And as she sat there on the couch, staring at the TV but not really seeing it, she lifted her head and looked around. She was alone.
For once, she wasn’t afraid. She was just…lonely.
A heavy wave of emotion swept over her, threatening to drag her down and under, like the depression had been doing before she went to Kilkenny. The feeling scared her, because she remembered what it had felt like before—hopeless, helpless, like she was drowning and couldn’t save herself.
But now she knew she could. She just had to remember it. She had to remember the things she’d accomplished. She had to remember the good feelings she’d felt. Which led her to thoughts of Shane, to a flip of excitement in her tummy thinking about how he aroused her, how they’d laughed together and talked and how he’d bossed her around. But remembering how good he’d made her feel, just emphasized how alone she was now.
She thought about what her life would be, from this point on. She’d go back to work. She waited for the panicky feeling and felt only a small flutter. Good. She’d go back, get back into the swing of things. She’d need to get updated on what had happened while she was gone, but then she’d be ready to move forward. She’d had a plan in place for turning around the branch’s performance and she was ready to pick things up again. Next month she’d be meeting with her superiors at corporate head office to review her progress. She remembered how much she’d anticipated that meeting with the prospect of showing them how she was exceeding expectations, how much she would enjoy their pleased reactions. Strangely, now the idea didn’t excite her in the least.
Her bottom lip pushed out. She just needed to be back at work. Once there, she knew her usual enthusiasm and love of her job would take over.
* * * * *
What took over was panic.
It hit her unexpectedly as she walked into the bank Monday morning. She was always there early, before anyone else, and this Monday she was there even earlier, and was grateful for that as she went in because the panic punched her square in the chest and took her breath away.
She couldn’t let it take over, though. Now she understood physiologically what was happening to her body, maybe she could control it better than the last time she’d walked into this building.
She strode into her office and sat down. She focused on breathing, some of the techniques she’d learned in her therapy, because her body needed oxygen. But not too much oxygen. She relaxed her muscles. She repeated positive thoughts to herself and reminded herself she was not having a heart attack.
She’d started to get herself under control when other staff began to arrive. She guessed they’d all been told to expect her because nobody was surprised, and they greeted her with unexpected warmth. She knew they all thought she was a bitch axe-lady boss from hell, but they didn’t treat her like that at all. Thank God.
Her assistant manager, Peter, had put some things together for her to review and they spent an hour going over that. She had a gazillion emails to go through, most of which were junk and outdated anyway, but she did that. While she was concentrating on work, she was fine. But when Peter left her office and she was alone, the panic started expanding inside her again, tight and frightening.
She closed her office door and spent another hour refocusing herself. She had to do this. She had to. She could not leave here humiliated once again. She didn’t know what her staff thought of her sitting in her office alone with the door closed for an hour, but she didn’t care, just did what she had to do to make it through the day.
And she did.
At five o’clock, when she looked at her watch, she sagged with relief. She’d done it.
That knowledge gave her a much-needed burst of adrenaline, and she was able to wish everyone a good evening while they closed up. She actually felt lighthearted as she drove home. She hadn’t missed the crazy commute on the freeway, but she survived that too, and when she walked into her apartment, her little sanctuary, she covered her mouth with her hands and cried with the relief of it.
She’d done it.
She was strong. She survived. She could do it. She could do anything.
An expansive lightness filled her, and she changed out of her suit and heels and into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Maybe she’d get back into yoga again. That was good for stress relief. Or start working out at a gym. She’d always thought she should do that, she’d even bought a membership once but ended up working such long hours she never got there.
The buoyant feeling of freedom lasted until she started preparing her dinner. She’d bought some food, but she missed Maeve being there while she cooked, talking and drinking whiskey. Keara didn’t have any whiskey or she would have poured herself a little glass of it, just to celebrate.
And whe
n she sat down to eat alone, desolation fell over her again like a thick blanket. She wasn’t even hungry. She looked at her food, pressed her lips together and sat there for a long while, aching and empty inside.
* * * * *
She called Maeve on Wednesday and it was so good to hear her voice.
“How did things go?” she asked her, settling herself onto her couch.
“Well…good, I suppose.”
“What happened?”
“He asked me a lot of questions—Jesus and Mary, a lot of questions—but he doesn’t think it’s Alzheimer’s.”
Keara’s breath burst out of her. “Oh, thank God! What did he say?”
“Well, I guess there are some things that are typical aging memory loss and other things that are more indicative of Alzheimer’s. The bad thing is they can’t do any tests that will show it at an early stage. So he can’t say for sure. But he seemed very positive and reassuring that it isn’t.”
“I’m so glad,” she breathed. This was good news. Maybe she’d feel better than she had the last few days knowing that Maeve was okay. She wouldn’t have to feel so guilty.
Although she knew deep inside it wasn’t just guilt that made her feel so spiritless and sluggish.
“He told me a few things I can try to help,” Maeve said. “I need to exercise my brain more. He told me to get one of those things…what’s it called? A Game Boy?”
“What!” Keara laughed. “Really?”
“There are games you can buy that work your brain, apparently. I told him I just need more sex.”
“Maeve!”
“Well, it’s true. Those sex hormones also help cognitive function. But Glen won’t take that Viagra and it’s putting a damper on our relationship.”
“Oh no. You’re not seeing him anymore?”
“We are. But if he’s not as interested in sex as I am, it’s not going to last long. Let’s be honest here.”
Irish Sex Fairy: Ellora's Cave Page 17
