by JoAnn Ross
There were cheers when he finally, gamely, made it to his feet and tottered the few steps to his mother, obviously seeking breakfast. The mare and her human helpers were drenched in sweat. Since the midnight air in the barn was a great deal cooler, the foaling stall had grown as steamy as a sauna.
“You’re right,” Zoe said.
“About what, darling?” Kate asked.
“A miracle is definitely worth whatever trouble it takes.”
Kate and Alec’s gaze met. “Absolutely,” they said together.
22
THE DRAMA OVER with for the night, the children returned to the house, Zoe promising to make certain Kate’s son at least ducked beneath the shower before returning to bed.
“She’s a fine girl,” Kate murmured as she stood in the open doorway of the barn with Alec, watching the lights come on upstairs in the house. “You should be proud of her.”
“I am proud of her. But I sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Of course you did.” She smiled reassuringly. With her eyes and her oh, so sweet mouth. “You’re the only father she’s ever known. She lived with you for four very important formative years, and you’ve stayed in touch since then—”
“Not as close as I would have liked. As I should have.”
“Possibly.” She impressed him once again with her honesty, answering him truthfully when a pretty lie would have been easier. “But parents aren’t perfect and children don’t arrive on the doorstep with instruction manuals.” Her weary gaze warmed. She really does have incredible eyes, Alec thought. The kind a man could drown in. “Isn’t that what second chances are for?”
Alec figured Kate knew a lot about second chances. “I’ll take your word for that.”
The night had remained clear. And cold.
He braced a hand on the wooden wall beside her head. “Where were we before we were interrupted? Oh, yeah. You were about to kiss me.”
“You were about to kiss me,” she corrected.
“You weren’t exactly running away.”
“Would it have done any good if I had?”
“Probably not.”
His rough voice made her smile. “Good.”
Satisfaction glittered in Alec’s eyes. Then his head swooped down and claimed her mouth with a force that stole Kate’s breath away. Passion hit with a speed and power that made her head swim. As his roving hands reached beneath her sweater and cupped her breasts, she dived into the greedy kiss, matching heat for heat, hunger for hunger, then demanded more.
All the dreams she’d suffered, all the desires she’d been repressing, burst free with the force of a volcano. Needing to touch him, as he was touching her, Kate struggled with the stubborn buttons of his shirt. How was it that the same hands that had delivered a breech foal could not manage to unfasten a simple bloody button? “I can’t … I need …”
“Rip it,” he ground out against her mouth. His breathing was harsh. Ragged.
Wondering why she hadn’t thought of that, she wildly yanked at the front of the shirt, sending buttons flying. “Oh, aye,” she moaned as her hands streaked over hot damp flesh.
His mouth greedily ravaged hers, then moved down to savage her throat while rough hands plundered. When he pressed her against the wall with his hard male body, a bubble of panic rose from some deep dark place inside her. Kate pushed against his chest, but she might as well have been trying to move the cliff.
“Alec.” She managed to choke out his name, but mistaking the ragged tone for desire, he didn’t back away, but took the kiss deeper. Darker.
He caught both her wrists in one hand, braceleting them like a pair of steel cuffs with his fingers as his other hand deftly unfastened the button at the waist of her jeans, and suddenly she was no longer in the barn, but on the floor of her own bedroom, her hands held helpless above her head as her huge, hulking husband knelt over her, his free hand opening his trousers.
Terror was a cold, sharp thing, ripping through Kate like an icepick. “No!” Head spinning, knees shaking, heart pounding, she abruptly pulled away, yanking her hands free. Curled them into tight fists.
“Don’t touch me!” Her voice was high, edging toward hysteria.
Alec blinked. Once, twice, a third time. “What the hell?”
She pressed a hand against her breast and wondered if a woman her age could have a heart attack. “You’ve no right to take what isn’t offered.”
“Isn’t offered? I’m not the one who sent buttons flying.”
“I apologize for that. I’ll sew them back on tomorrow.”
“Fuck the damn buttons. I’m just trying to figure out what just happened.”
“A mistake is what happened.”
“A mistake.” Frustration and disbelief rang in his voice.
“Aye. A mistake I won’t be making again.”
Oh, bloody hell. She was going to start in weeping. She never wept. Not since that last day with Cadel. The day she’d feared she was going to die.
Kate pressed her fingertips against her temple and tried to remind herself what Erin had told her. That on those rare occasions deep-seated terrors were tapped into, they, in turn, could trigger other emotions she was trying to avoid.
She didn’t experience the terrifying flashbacks all that often. At least not anymore. Only when she was exhausted. Or emotionally unsettled. As she’d been since first encountering the MacKenna at the cliff.
“You wanted me,” he insisted stubbornly, “as much as I wanted you.”
“I thought I did,” she admitted. “But that was before I thought—” She shook her head with mute frustration, grabbed up a shovel and began furiously scooping up the soiled straw. “Never you mind.”
“I do damn well mind.” When he reached out a hand, she instinctively flinched.
“Aw shit … I’m not him, Kate.” The sharp edge was gone from his voice. The pity she thought she heard in those words only added to the humiliation she was feeling from her overreaction.
“Kate.” Her nerves screamed when his hand shot out again, but he was only after the shovel. “I’m not him,” he repeated.
“I wouldn’t be knowing who you’re speaking of.”
“Your husband.” His tone remained mild; his eyes were not. “I’m not a saint. I get angry. Hell, as I proved with Wellesley, I’ve even been known to lose my temper. Especially when I’m filthy, exhausted, and flat-out frustrated. I wanted you earlier, before Nora had her foal, which damn well isn’t anything new, and you were sending out some pretty powerful signals that you wanted me, too.
“But you don’t have to worry, because even if you weren’t looking at me like I was the Castlelough rapist, I’m so dead on my feet, I probably couldn’t do anything about it anyway, and only end up humiliating myself. Which, to be real honest, isn’t even a little bit easy for me to admit.
“So, here’s the deal. If you don’t want to go to bed with me, fine. I’ve never forced myself on any woman. Nor have I lied or used pretty words I didn’t mean to get a woman into my bed. I’m not going to apologize for wanting to touch you, Kate. Everywhere and often. But I told you that I’d never—ever—lay a hand on any woman in anger. And I meant it.”
“Well.” Kate let out a long breath. He wasn’t alone in his exhaustion. Now that the adrenaline rush of birthing the foal had worn off, she felt as if her legs could well collapse on her. “I owe you an apology.”
“Nah.” He shook his head and managed a half-smile. “We’re both not at our best right now. How about we put whatever it was that just happened behind us, get this place cleaned up and hit the sack. Alone,” he said quickly, as if afraid she’d misconstrue his meaning.
Anxiety faded into the background. “Thank you. Perhaps you don’t want an apology. But I’d be needing to give you an explanation.” She took in the stall that looked as if the Anglo-Irish war had been fought in it. “Later.”
“Later,” he agreed.
That settled, at least for now, he
began shoveling up the straw. Grateful for his assistance, Kate set in gathering up the towels, putting those worth salvaging in a pile to be washed. While he scrubbed down the walls, she prepared a new feedbag for Nora, who’d labored so hard to bring her baby into the world and now appeared famished.
Finally, they were done.
“God, I need a shower,” Alec muttered, grimacing as he took a sniff at his filthy shirt.
“You’re not alone in that.”
“I’ll walk you back to the house.”
“No.” Her eyes lifted to his. In those weary blue depths he saw trust. And something else. Some emotion that at any other time might have sent him running in the other direction. “I don’t want to spend the night there.”
Jesus, the woman could be frustrating. What kind of female could be on the verge of bawling one minute, then turn right around and start arguing when it was obvious she was dead on her feet? PMS, he decided. That was the only answer since from what he’d been able to tell, except for the witch thing, she wasn’t normally all that nuts.
“Look, if you’re worried about the mare, I can stay down here with her and—”
“That’s not necessary. What I was meaning to say was that I want to spend the night upstairs. With you.”
Hell. Timing, Alec told himself, was everything. Earlier, he would have taken her up on the offer without a moment’s hesitation. But it was more than obvious she was exhausted. And there was something else going on here. Something that had turned her emotions into live wires.
“Look, sweetheart, it’s not that I’m not flattered. Hell, I’m grateful. But you’ve had a long night and an emotional one and—”
“Would you be saying that you’ve changed your mind? About wanting me?”
“Of course not. It’s just that … Hell …” Surprising them both, he mustered up enough strength to scoop her off her feet. “Why don’t we sort it out tomorrow? After we get a decent night’s sleep.”
“All right.” He felt her go lax in his arms. Compliant. “I’ve never had a man carry me to bed before,” she murmured. She rested her head against his shoulder as he carried her up the stairs, cuddled closer in a way that stimulated more tenderness than passion. “It’s even more romantic in real life than it is in stories.”
“You want romance?” He brushed his lips against hers, nearly walking them both into the wall of the stairwell when her lips heated again and clung. “I can do that.”
“I’d not be needing romance, Alec. Only you.” Her smile was soft and sweet and unbearably trusting.
As he opened the door to the apartment, Alec decided that one of the most appealing things about Kate O’Sullivan was that she had more facets than the Hope diamond. He carried her straight into the bathroom, bypassing the bed, which took up most of the small room, with rigid discipline.
“Why don’t you take your shower,” he suggested, after depositing her on the closed toilet and turning on the water. “While I run over to the house and get you some fresh clothes. Meanwhile, if you want, you can wear one of my T-shirts.”
He tossed a dark green T-shirt, embroidered with the Keeneland horse and jockey logo, onto the top of the closed hamper and, because he didn’t dare kiss her, skimmed a fingertip down her nose. “I’ll be back in five.”
The kids had gone back to bed, the towels on the floor evidence that at least they’d cleaned up first. After checking on them, he went into Kate’s bedroom and as much as he was in a hurry to get back to her, he took some time to look around.
The view from her window was spectacular. Even now, at night, he could see the silvered shimmer of the sea and lake and the castle ruins, the mica in the stone glittering like ice in the moonlight.
She’d painted the room a soft green that brought the rolling fields indoors and the windows were framed with traditional white curtains. Photographs of Kate and her children, which he assumed had been taken by Michael, adorned the walls. The bedroom was as tidy as a nun’s cell, yet there were touches of whimsy that were uniquely Kate. A small metal faerie with gossamer wings smiled down from above a door at a porcelain wizard dressed in blue robes emblazoned with gold stars who held the moon in his hands atop Kate’s dresser.
Alec picked up a smoky globe sitting beside a twig basket of fragrant dried herbs and flowers and stared into it for a moment, then laughed when he realized that a part of him had actually been expecting to see his future.
He retrieved a pair of well-worn, but neatly pressed jeans from the closet and a heather-hued sweater from a heavy five-drawer chest that was obviously an antique. The brilliant display of silk and satin lingerie in another drawer might be an unlikely choice for a woman in rural Ireland to favor, but perfectly suited the sensual woman he knew her to be.
He considered telling her that he’d forgotten the underwear, but figured she’d never buy that story. So, feeling a bit like a pirate sifting through a treasure chest, he selected a pair of scarlet-as-sin panties so skimpy it was a wonder that she even bothered to wear them. “No point getting carried away,” he said, deciding to skip the bra.
She was in his bed when he returned to the efficient, but cozy little apartment above the barn. Just as he’d imagined her too many times to count. She was also sound asleep, her long wet hair strewn across his pillow in a way that brought up that fantasy he’d been having too often lately about those same jet silk strands draped across his thighs.
Biting back a groan, he tossed the clean clothes onto the chair in the corner, went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower, enjoying the feel of the needles of hot water stinging against his skin as the night’s grime and blood and fluid washed down the drain. Then, gritting his teeth, he twisted the faucet, willing his mutinous body to respond to the icy onslaught.
She murmured something as he joined her in bed. Rolled over and put her hand on his bare chest. Alec drew her closer. As perfect as she felt and as much as he ached for her, Alec had only time for a long, satisfied sigh before he, too, dropped like a rock into dreams.
23
STARSHINE WAS STREAMING THROUGH the window, casting the room in an unearthly silver glow. Feelings flooded into Alec as he turned his head and looked down at the woman who was snuggled against him. Drawn by something stronger, more complex than mere desire, he touched his lips to her tumbled hair.
She sighed. Her lips curved in a faint, unconscious smile.
There were rules, Alec reminded himself as desire returned, settling hot and heavy in his loins. And taking advantage of a sleeping woman was undoubtedly up there at the top of the list.
Just a touch, he promised himself as he skimmed a feather light caress down the slender white column of her throat and felt the vibration of her sleepy purr against his fingertip. She pressed closer. Her breath was warm against his bare chest. When she draped a long leg over his thigh, Alec knew he was lost.
At first Kate thought she was dreaming. Hadn’t she dreamed of the MacKenna this way, every night since he’d come to stay at the stud? Even before that, she mused sleepily as the dream of riding the big horse into the sun shimmered in her mind. She’d dreamed of him, and he’d come. To Ireland. To her.
Needing to be closer, she flung a bare leg over his and felt a shock of sheer pleasure as bare flesh met flesh. No dream had ever been so vivid. Or, so … solid. Her eyes flew open, her gaze colliding with his.
Before she could pull away to gather her tumbling thoughts, he touched his mouth to hers.
Awake now, Kate braced herself for passion.
But he surprised her. Beguiled her. Without words, he stroked her through the cotton T-shirt, wet her breasts with his mouth, took her nipple between his teeth, and when she began to move restlessly on the mattress, shifted onto his side and continued the leisurely exploration of her body, seeming fascinated with every curve and hollow.
His mouth was as soft as thistledown, his touch as tender as a wish. Her mind relaxed, then began to float; muscles strengthened by a lifetime on horseback grew l
ax as he coaxed her deeper and deeper into the swirling mists.
The room filled with the shimmer of starlight, with soft sighs and, impossibly, music. Kate heard the strum of harp strings, sweet as summer, sad as tears.
Time slowed as he seemed willing to caress her endlessly, as if her pleasure were the most important thing—the only thing—that mattered in the world to him. The T-shirt she’d worn to bed, the one that had wonderfully smelled like him, somehow drifted away, as if by magic. The moon floated across the black velvet sky. And still he lingered, lazily taking his time, apparently determined to touch and taste every inch of warming flesh.
How could any man be so strong, yet so gentle? So passionate, yet so impossibly patient? The mists thickened; her mind and body grew heavy, as if he were wrapping her in warm honey.
The bedroom filled with a pearly predawn light. Her eyelids grew heavy, as if weighed down by faerie dust; her body melted, flowing through his seductive hands like hot candle wax. Kate surrendered to him openly. Willingly. Blissfully.
He touched a soft kiss to each of those closed lids, encouraging her to open her eyes, which, though it took an effort, she did. His smile was as slow as his hands, his eyes warm with those same emotions that were swelling inside her, making her feel as if she’d swallowed the sun.
Steeped in him, Kate sighed as their lips met. They watched each other as he silkily slid into her. Filling her. Completing her. It was, they both thought, like coming home. It was magic.
It was the dream that jolted Zoe out of a sound sleep. She’d been riding Legends Lake, just the two of them galloping across rolling green fields, past the castle and the lake where the Lady supposedly dwelt in her underwater kingdom, down to the beach. As she rubbed her eyes with her fists, she imagined she could hear the pounding of the horse’s hooves and feel the icy spray of the sea water in her face.
She got out of bed and went to the window, where the world was lit in the soft lavender and silver glow of approaching dawn. Legends Lake was grazing in the pasture, but as Zoe pressed her forehead against the cool glass, he lifted his head and looked up toward the house, as if sensing her presence.
