Wild Irish Rose

by Ava Miles

  Oh good Lord, he was making her breathless with this kind of talk. “Tell me.”

  “Your lips,” he said, his mouth inches from hers. “They’re the color of a rosy sky and so lush that all I want to do is kiss them until they darken to an even deeper rose.”

  Was there a sexy gift of the gab? If there was, she’d been missing it. She caressed his cheek. “I like the way your jaw feels like the Scots pine needles I’ve used for dyeing wool—soft yet deliciously prickly—and the way your voice drops lower and lower like the sun sinking into the sea.”

  He leaned his cheek against hers and rubbed it so she could feel more of those prickles. “I thought about shaving again for you.”

  She raised her other arm so she could link her hands around his neck. “Oh no, you mustn’t. I love the feel against my skin.”

  His sharp intake made her belly tighten. “Good, since I love your skin. Becca…”

  Then he pressed his lips to hers. This time he was slower, and she was happy to follow his languid pace. Oh, good heavens, he could kiss, and the way he pulled her onto his lap…

  His big body was warm and strong, and she loved the hard feel of his muscles. He changed the angle of their kisses, placing one on the corner of her mouth and then sucking on her bottom lip. He was so clever, this one, and she found herself eager to see how he’d kiss her next. Then he ran his tongue over her lips, and she nearly smiled with joy. Yes, she thought. Kiss me like that.

  He slipped his tongue inside and circled hers, and soon they were playing with fire. She felt the hands at her waist brush up her sides and waited for them to cover her breasts. God, it had been so long since she’d been touched like this, and with him, it was a revelation. Urgency and desire were only one layer to what was coursing through her. There was also tenderness and enjoyment, and she simply wasn’t in a rush.

  She shifted in a way that brought his hands flush against her breasts, and the moan that fell from her lips seemed to vibrate from a deep place inside her. His hands caressed her, and she liked the way he held her breasts’ weight as if getting their measure before starting to stroke her nipples through her dress and bra. She ran her fingers across the back of his neck, but it wasn’t enough for her now. She wanted to touch the warm skin of his chest, so she snuck her hands between them and opened a button on his shirt.

  He paused in kissing her and drew back to look at her. That look in his brilliant eyes, full of wanting, made her melt.

  “You make me feel so… Never mind.”

  She wondered what he’d planned to say, but then he was shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it to the floor. She raised up on her knees and tugged her dress up and off as he worked on the buttons of his shirt. When he finally pulled it off, she was surprised to see a St. Christopher medal hanging from a chain around his neck.

  “Goodness, you have a fine chest,” she said, running her hands over the defined pectoral muscles. “I’m glad you have hair here. I’ve heard men from America usually wax it off.”

  His laugh was part snort. “Manscaping is for pussies. I figure the hair is there for a reason so why pay someone to burn you with wax and strip it off every few months. Forget I said that. How could I be talking about that when you’re sitting here in your underwear. I’m a sucker for lace, by the way.”

  She’d thought the matching black lace bra and panties would bolster her confidence. “I’m glad you like it.”

  He ran his hand down her belly to her core, his eyes raking down her body and making her very aware of it. Trevor had a way of giving his full attention, and it made her heart race. This was foreplay, she thought, delicious, delicious foreplay.

  His finger traced the edge of her belly right above the lace, and a wave of fire followed in its wake. “God, you’re beautiful. I just can’t seem to stop saying it.”

  “I won’t tire of hearing it.” She ran her hand over his chest, enjoying the way his muscles tightened in response to her touch. “You’re beautiful too. In fact, you take my breath away.”

  He looked up and smiled at her. “You do the same to me. Come here, Becca O’Neill.”

  She boldly put her hands around his neck, savoring the shiver that ran through her when he traced the outline of her lacy bra. Oh, how she wanted to feel his hands there without anything between them. She reached behind her back for the hooks, but he stopped her.

  “Wait,” he whispered, his mouth against her breasts. “Let’s try this.”

  He shocked her by kissing her there, black lace and all. Somehow it was more erotic. The pressure and warmth of his mouth inflamed her, and she arched into him, closing her eyes. She gave a delicious hum and edged closer as he shifted to her other breast.

  Then she heard another hum, and this one wasn’t from her. Trevor seemed to freeze against her, and then he shot back from her with a loud “Ugh!” and toppled off the cushions and onto the floor. Boru gave a bark, and Becca jumped back too, staring in shock at Buttercup, who stood behind the sofa, batting her long eyelashes.

  “That thing!” Trevor cried, scrambling to his feet. “It licked my back. How the hell did it get in here?” Buttercup only cocked her head and gave another loud hum.

  Good question. “I don’t know how she got in here.” She grabbed the teal throw to her chest. Buttercup hadn’t figured out a way to open doors, had she? The alpaca had managed to unlock three different gate latches. Perhaps she was a genius in disguise.

  “Shoo!” Trevor said when Buttercup walked around the sofa, advancing on him. “I mean it, Buttercup.”

  Becca stood, clutching the throw. “Buttercup, stop! Leave Trevor alone. No means no.”

  The alpaca emitted a stream of loud hums as if she were cussing Becca out for stealing her man or was outright jealous. Then she lurched at Trevor for another lick, and he ran around the sofa in an obvious panic. Boru gave a muffled bark and then lay back down on the floor.

  “You’re no help,” Becca said, stepping over him.

  “That animal isn’t right in the head. Toss me my shirt, will you? I don’t like the way she’s looking at my chest. She’s making me feel like a piece of meat.”

  “Oh, she won’t eat you,” Becca said, looking around for his shirt and not finding it. “I don’t see your shirt.”

  “It was right there on the floor a moment ago,” he said, not taking his eyes off Buttercup.

  Hatshep, Becca thought. She scanned the room for the cat but didn’t see her.

  She donned her dress and then passed Trevor his jacket. “Put this on until I find your shirt. Buttercup, let’s go. You don’t belong in here.”

  When she moved for the animal’s nape, Buttercup scampered past her and around the sofa, straight toward Trevor. He jumped, dropping his jacket.

  “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, what’s Buttercup doing in here?” Becca turned to see Aileen standing in the doorway. “The back door was open, and so was yours, and I got worried.”

  “I honestly don’t know, Aileen,” Becca said.

  “It’s sick in the head, that’s why.” Trevor ran around the sofa again, Buttercup right behind him.

  “My heavens, what a fine-looking man you are, Trevor,” Aileen said, humming much like Buttercup. “Becca, maybe we should have a spot of tea and watch this delightful show.”

  She found herself laughing. Trevor ducked as Buttercup went to lick him again.

  “You both are as crazy as the alpaca.” He darted out of the room with a shriek to evade the animal. “Sorry, Becca, but I’m out of here,” he called, and then she heard him pounding down the stairs and slamming the door as he left.

  Becca crossed her arms as she walked toward the stairs with Aileen, whose mirth was contagious. Sure enough, Buttercup stood at the top, staring forlornly down the steps.

  “She has a real thing for your man there,” Aileen said, shoulders shaking. “I’m so sorry we interrupted you. Even our dear Hatshep seems to want him in your bed.”

  Becca caught sight of white sleeves on the floor in
her bedroom. “Hatshep, you’d better give me that shirt.” She thought about Trevor running back to his room shirtless and laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her face and her chest hurt from it.

  Hatshep finally sauntered out of her room with the shirt in her mouth, and then Boru appeared with Trevor’s jacket.

  “I’ll say it again. Animals know the true measure of a man.” Aileen put her arm around her shoulders. “Clearly, they want you to be with Trevor Merriam.”

  It certainly seemed that way, and it was yet another sign. They’d never taken to someone quite like this.

  “While he’s here, that’s what I want too.” Buttercup gave another pathetic hum and craned her head in the direction Trevor had left. Goodness, Buttercup really did have a crush on Trevor. Becca understood. She did too, it seemed.

  “You might be wanting more, my dear,” Aileen said. “My advice. Keep your heart open to what comes. You never know what magic might be afoot.”

  Aileen always did like a good story. Becca picked up Trevor’s shirt and jacket, and his scent struck her hard in the belly. The truth was inescapable. She’d never been so affected.

  Perhaps it was time to believe magic was afoot.

  Chapter 9

  Normally, breakfast was a meal Trevor looked forward to, especially in Ireland, but his good humor was being tested by a lovesick alpaca.

  “Aileen told me she saw you shirtless in the house last night, running from Buttercup,” his aunt was saying over their full Irish breakfast. “Said you were a right brawny fellow.”

  God help him, Aunt Clara was trying to pull an Irish accent. It sounded more like someone from New Delhi, India. He might have stayed with Becca if they could have herded Buttercup out, but Aileen’s arrival had sealed his decision to leave. The interruption had been unwelcome, and he hoped they could get back on track. Like tonight. Her skin had been silky to the touch, and her mouth… The memory of her kisses had kept him up last night.

  Still, although he didn’t begrudge Aileen a good laugh over what she’d seen, he wished she hadn’t said anything. “What can I say?” he joked with a clenched jaw. “The female sex finds me irresistible.”

  “What I can’t figure out is how you ended up shirtless to begin with,” Uncle Arthur said, stabbing his fork into his blood sausage. “You know, this stuff isn’t bad at all.”

  “It’s only a sausage, sir,” Hargreaves said in a dry tone. “Of course, Master Trevor lost his garment to the alpaca when it tried to bite him. Isn’t that right, sir?”

  Hargreaves had opened his door last night as Trevor pounded down the hallway. The man had given him a regal nod before retreating back into his room.

  He’d feared Hargreaves would tell all, but it turned out the butler had covered for him.

  “Exactly,” Trevor said, nodding to the man. “It got one chunk of my clothing, and it wouldn’t let go. After repeated attempts, I ended up stripping it off.”

  “You seem to have inspired Buttercup to new heights of affection, Young Trevor,” his uncle said. “Perhaps next time, you should use a stick to deter the animal from biting you.”

  Or a taser…

  He was going to have to do something about that animal. Uncle Arthur’s granddaughter, Jill Hale, had texted him this morning that she’d uploaded Aunt Clara’s video of him running from Buttercup to YouTube, and it already had ten thousand hits. The damn thing was going viral. Of course, Jill thought it was all right that she’d referred to him as “an unidentified man,” but the rest of his siblings save Connor had already seen the video, and he was getting ribbed right and left about his new girlfriend. God help him if any of his business associates saw it. His tough-as-nails reputation would be ruined. Running from an animal like that. Everyone might laugh, but they wouldn’t understand. Buttercup had it in for him, and now the animal had learned to break into the inn. He turned his head and scanned the room just to make sure the alpaca hadn’t appeared.

  “Cian said he was changing the locks this morning.” Aunt Clara patted his hand like he was a fraidy-cat. Great.

  “Your virtue is safe,” Uncle Arthur said with a snort.

  His virtue. It was Becca’s he’d been interested in last night. Things had been progressing nicely until that darn animal had shown up to interrupt everything, and he’d been too embarrassed after his flight from Becca’s quarters to seek her out and apologize. She seemed to be of the same mind since she was conspicuously absent from the dining room this morning. Oh, hell, he was going to have to find her and think of something suitable to say. His choices weren’t great if you asked him. Your alpaca is a blight on peace. I was totally into you until your hairy farm animal tried to join us, and I’m not into that.

  Aileen was humming as she approached the table, and Trevor had the odd urge to slide under the table and hide. Maybe he would have if not for the steaming basket in her hands. “Trevor, dear. I thought you might need an extra serving of scones this morning.”

  Did he ever. “Thank you, Aileen.” He was going to ignore the wide grin and the humorous gleam in her eyes.

  “Would you care for a cup of…butter?” she asked and then laughed as she set extra butter on the table and sailed off.

  Everyone laughed except him and Hargreaves, and he noticed the butler shaking his head after the woman. Who knew he would turn out to be such a pal?

  “Clara and I are going to pop into town and check out the local museum,” Uncle Arthur said, grabbing one of Trevor’s fresh scones with a ghoulish grin. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  He let his older uncle have his fun and didn’t slap his hand for stealing a scone. There were plenty to go around, and he imagined he could wheedle Aileen into bringing another basket to his room. Someone should make up for Buttercup’s harassment and Aileen’s arrival, and if it was in scones, he was all for it, so long as the animal was prevented from future stalking.

  “The local museum,” he mused, thinking it over and then discarding the idea. It seemed prudent to keep Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara in the dark about his plans for The Wild Irish Rose as long as possible, and the townspeople’s attitude toward him might clue them in. “I have some work I need to look after. I’ll catch you for cocktails later.”

  “Hargreaves?” his uncle asked.

  “I loathe local museums, sir,” he said, his face completely composed despite the bite of the comment. “They’re usually trite and dusty.”

  Aunt Clara laughed. “Oh, Hargreaves. Dusty! You should come with us.”

  “No, thank you, madam. I plan on reading the history of Britain today after I drive you into town.”

  His uncle shook his head. “Missing your homeland, are you? We can stop in London on the way back if you’d like. Or heck, you can pop over there now, and we can meet up in Dublin and fly home together.”

  “But Hargreaves and I always travel together,” Aunt Clara said, crossing her arms.

  “My dear, perhaps he’d like to get away from you, err, us, for a while,” Uncle Arthur said with a telling look.

  Trevor almost laughed as Hargreaves picked his napkin off his lap and wiped his mouth as if the mere thought were unsanitary. “I’m perfectly fine here, sir. Madam, if it’s all right, I’m going to head to my chambers now and meet you by the car in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine,” Aunt Clara said. “Be a fuddy-duddy. You know you can read at home.”

  This time Hargreaves snorted. “Then why do people covet the activity so on vacation, madam?” With that, he stood stiffly and bowed to the table.

  “You have to give the man points for cleverness,” Trevor said. “I mean, he’s right. Why is a vacation read better than a regular read?”

  “Oh, who cares?” his uncle said, tossing his napkin onto the table. “Clara, love, are you ready for your cultural activity in the village?”

  “So long as it also involves some shopping,” she said, taking a final sip of her orange juice. “I have presents I need to buy, after all.”

 
; “Christmas isn’t for five months, for Pete’s sake,” his uncle said, standing up and holding out his hand to her.

  “These aren’t Christmas presents, dear,” she said, taking his hand. “They’re special treats from our trip here.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he said gruffly, making Trevor fight laughter.

  No one huffed and puffed like Uncle Arthur.

  “Perhaps we can do something romantic too,” she said, patting his weathered cheek.

  “We did that this morning, dear,” his uncle shot back, “and too much romance at our age—”

  “Oh, do be quiet, Arthur,” Aunt Clara said, crossing and kissing Trevor’s cheek. “There are young ears listening.”

  Her wink was downright cheeky, and Trevor found himself winking back at her. What a pair they were, finding love at their age. He hoped he’d still want to be “romantic” when he reached those years.

  “Don’t wander around, Trevor,” his uncle said, “or that alpaca might make you her love slave.”

  He was frowning as his uncle left. Love slave, his ass. But the thought brought back the need to apologize to Becca. Oh, hell, he liked her and wanted to hang out with her some more. He’d just have to buck up and do it.

  “Aileen,” he called when the woman drew near with more coffee. “Where would I find Becca?”

  Her lips twitched. “In the dyeing room. If you go out back, it’s the old detached kitchen. We’ve converted it, you see. Watch out for Buttercup, love.”

  He nodded and pocketed a few scones in his jacket before leaving. He’d have crumbs in the lining, but he honestly didn’t care. Their scones were the finest he’d ever had. His phone buzzed in his other pocket, and he pulled it out. Wonderful, a text from his mother.

  Saw the video. I knew you were special when you were born. Your father and I are so proud of your choice. We can’t wait to meet Buttercup. Love you.