Banner was grateful for the task of gathering the instruments; it gave her a means of hiding her flaming face. “No, I will not.”
With rather a lot of difficulty, Adam knelt, facing her. Had it not been for the pain shifting in his ink-blue eyes, she would have been furious.
“Why not?”
“We aren’t married,” replied Banner, setting instruments on the tray that had obviously been dropped with them.
He caught his hand under her chin, forced her to meet his gaze. “Is that your price, O’Brien? Marriage?”
Banner wanted to cry, but instead she nodded her head, knowing all the while that she should have said she didn’t have a price.
The awful truth was that, where this man was concerned, she did.
Adam gripped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. “O’Brien, I need you. I—”
Banner closed her eyes, but the words she had hoped to hear were not spoken. After a time, and against her better judgment, she lifted her hands to his face. “You need coffee, Adam. And sleep.”
“Marry me.”
Banner sighed. “You’re drunk. We can’t—”
Adam’s powerful shoulders moved in a disjointed-looking shrug. “Why not? Do you already have a husband, O’Brien?”
She stood on tiptoe, kissed the beard-roughened cleft in his chin. “No, I don’t have a husband. But I did once, Adam. His name was—is—Sean.”
Adam swayed, looking benignly puzzled. “Sean?”
Banner nodded. “I’m divorced, Adam.”
“I don’t care.”
“But the church would. They wouldn’t recognize a marriage between you and me.”
“I don’t care,” he repeated.
“You will when you’re sober.”
He shuddered, and a soft, soblike sound escaped him. “Hold me, O’Brien,” he said.
Banner held him, longed to draw the pain from him, into herself. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Then marry me.”
Banner could only hope that the cold night air would sober him. “All right, Adam. All right. But where is this marriage to take place? We haven’t a license, or—”
Adam found his suitcoat, which smelled of brandy and pine pitch, and draped it over her shoulders. “Stop worrying, O’Brien,” he said. Then he dragged her out into that cold, snowy night.
“Adam—”
He was holding her hand, dragging her toward the stables. There, he hitched up a horse and buggy with surprising dexterity, considering his state of drunkenness.
This done, he lifted a wide-eyed Banner into the buggy seat and scrambled up beside her.
It didn’t look as though the night air was helping.
“Adam, please,” she pleaded as they started down the slippery, rutted hill. “We can’t do this! You’re drunk.”
He belched.
Banner sank back in the seat and knitted her fingers together. What if Adam didn’t sober up before they reached their destination, whatever it was? What would she do then?
“Suppose I say I won’t marry you after all?” she asked, testing the waters.
Adam shrugged and his white teeth flashed in a grin. “Then I’ll take you anyway, O’Brien. Right here in the buggy.”
Banner blushed with fury and a scandalous measure of anticipation. “You wouldn’t.”
He moved to draw the buggy to a stop alongside the road. “Want me to prove that I would?”
“No!”
“Then you’d better marry me.”
It was then that Banner O’Brien faced the distasteful facts. She hadn’t been hoping that Adam would get sober at all. Insane as it was, she did want to marry him, to share his life and his bed, to bear his children.
She said nothing until she realized that they were headed into Water Street. “Wait a minute! Where—”
Adam laughed. “You can tell our grandchildren that we were married in a brothel, O’Brien.”
“A brothel?”
The buggy was jostling down over the hillside that led to the Silver Shadow. The converted ship’s many windows were merrily alight in the snowstorm, flinging soft-edged golden squares onto the ground, and the raucous voices aboard rose in an exuberant rendering of a carol.
“Adam!” Desperately, Banner caught his unshaven face in her hands. “Adam Corbin, are you listening to me? No. Do you hear me? No!”
He climbed out of the rig and dragged her after him, and she struggled as he carried her up the boarding ramp. Onto the decks of Water Street’s finest bordello.
“Adam!”
He nuzzled her neck, nibbled at her earlobe. “One way or another, O’Brien,” he vowed, “I’ll have you tonight. You might as well have the paper to make it legal.”
Banner was dizzy; her head swam and her blood sang and her womb was melting within her. She’d tried to reason with Adam, hadn’t she? She’d told him about her previous marriage, she’d pointed out his drunken state. What more could she do?
He carried her to the end of a long, dark hallway and set her on her feet. She trembled as one of his hands came to cup brazenly over her right breast.
A low chuckle rose from Adam’s throat and rumbled in the cold, dark air. He pushed back the suitcoat he’d put over her shoulders and tugged at the front of her good blue taffeta dress. Her nipples hardened as he drew down her camisole, baring her.
“Make your choice, O’Brien. Marry me, or I’ll take you here.” He bent his head, tormented one distended nipple with warm lips.
She should have struggled, she knew that. But she couldn’t, for Banner’s wanting was as great or greater than his. She arched her back and gasped with delight as he made a banquet of her swollen breast.
And Adam was pressing against her; she could feel the hardness of him. He turned to plunder the other breast while caressing the first with his hand.
Banner whimpered. Would he take her here, as he’d threatened, against the wall?
She must have spoken the question aloud, for he left his feast to nibble at her earlobe again. “Here,” he said.
Banner was in agony—sweet, tumultuous, irrational agony that drove her on toward something she didn’t understand, for all her learning. Something she had never experienced before.
Adam bent again, slowly, and softly kissed each of her pleading nipples. Then he pulled the camisole back into place, along with the upper part of her dress, and knocked on the door that was inches away.
“Who’s there?” demanded a raspy, aged voice.
Adam yelled his name, causing Banner to wince.
“Come in then,” came the brusque answer.
Inside the spacious, well-lit room, a grizzled old man sat at a table with a tassled cloth, playing a solitary game of cards. He wore a frayed suit and spectacles, and his hair was combed to cover a bald spot.
“Well?” barked the elderly gentleman.
“I want to marry this woman,” Adam replied flatly.
The old man took in Banner’s mussed hair and rumpled dress and grinned, revealing two gold teeth. “Looks like you’d better. All right—you fill out the paper, and I’ll say the words.”
Adam and Banner both signed a remarkably ornate form that even had places for their photographs, should they wish to add them.
“Who is that man?” Banner whispered, as the fellow went out to recruit the necessary witnesses.
Adam smiled fondly. “He’s a justice of the peace. Usually, he marries sailors to prostitutes.”
“Wonderful,” wailed Banner, who was having second thoughts now that her blood was almost back to its normal temperature and her insides were solid again. “Adam, we can’t do this.”
He lifted one ebony eyebrow. “Must I convince you again, Shamrock?”
Banner had no doubt that he would, there and then. “I’m convinced!” she said quickly.
The justice returned, followed by a prostitute and a man wearing a ruffled shirt and a diamond ring. After clearing his throat and marshaling everyone into posi
tion, he opened his black book and began the ceremony.
Within five minutes, it was over.
Adam grasped Banner’s hand and strode out, dragging her along the hallway and out onto the deck. There, he swung her up into his arms again and carried her down the ramp to the buggy.
Banner didn’t open her eyes until he thrust her onto the seat. She looked up at the Silver Shadow and down at her ringless hand and wondered what had possessed her to do such a stupid and impetuous thing.
The drive back to the dark, slumbering house on the hill was passed in a daze. Banner alternately rejoiced and despaired, smiled and wept.
Inside the stables, Adam lifted her from the buggy and drew her close. Again, she felt the warm granite of his need, the power of his thighs. Within minutes, perhaps, he would be moving upon her, claiming her as his wife.
He kissed her at leisure, his hands cupping her bottom, pressing her to him.
At last, however, Adam broke away and unhitched the horse. When the animal had been led to its stall and fed, he gripped Banner’s elbow and propelled her out of the stables, across the snow-swept expanse of the backyard, and into the kitchen.
They traversed that room and the back stairway in silence and, on the second floor, Adam again lifted her off her feet. Without preamble, he carried his wife into his bedroom and thrust the door shut with one heel.
A fire had been lit on the hearth, but there was no other light in the room. Shadows danced on Adam’s face as Banner looked up at him, and he might have been either an angel or a devil, this husband of hers.
Adam’s hands came to remove the suitcoat she wore; it floated silently to the floor.
He undid the catches at the back of her taffeta dress, reaching around her to do so, and she let her head fall back in wanton surrender, felt the heat of his gaze through her camisole as the dress slid away. The undergarment came gently over her head, the pins were pulled from her heavy hair.
She heard him groan as the mane tumbled to her waist, and she reveled in this small power that was hers.
With gentle hands, Adam smoothed her hair back over her shoulders and caressed her cheeks, her upper arms, her breasts. And while he touched her, he spoke softly, wickedly, of all the places and all the ways in which he would pleasure her.
Banner shuddered and, of her own accord, untied the strings that held her drawers in place. Easily, she stepped out of them, standing before her husband, naked now, except for the shamrock pendant at her throat.
Adam touched the necklace with the tip of one finger, went on to touch the rosy gems beneath.
Banner gasped as he bent to suckle at one breast.
He savored that one nubbin as though it were a sweet morsel, and the warmth penetrated Banner’s flesh and mingled with the blood pounding through her veins. “Have me,” she pleaded shamelessly.
He chuckled. “Oh, no——not yet. Not—yet.”
Banner trembled and arched her back, silently offering herself to him.
Adam flicked at her with his tongue, ruthlessly taking what she gave. And when he had plundered both breasts, he knelt.
He parted the nest of silken curls with cautious fingers, found its sheltered secret with his tongue. Banner groaned.
“No—oh, Adam—”
He punctuated his answer with soft, wicked kisses. “You—are—mine now.”
Banner cried out softly as his lips caught at her, taking full and inexorable possession, driving her and yet offering a fierce sort of comfort, too.
Adam drew on her with gentle ferocity, pressing her legs apart, kneading the yielding flesh on her buttocks. He pulled her down and down, until she was kneeling over him, writhing in search of a freedom she had no desire to find.
His strong hands came to her hips, forcing her to give the strange, sweet nectar he sought so mercilessly.
Banner’s breath grew rapid and harsh, and beneath it coursed a low, primitive whine. Sweat shimmered on her upper lip and between her breasts, and then a sundering heat exploded inside her like a sunburst, centering in the nubbin Adam was still tormenting with his tongue and spreading to reverberate against the insides of her hipbones. From there, it streamed down into her thighs and up into her weighted, pulsing breasts.
In the molten glory of her release, Banner sobbed out Adam’s name. He brought her gently down from the crimson skies with treacherous kisses—kisses that would soon send her soaring again.
Chapter Seven
BANNER COULD NOT RECALL BEING LIFTED AND PLACED ON THE bed; it seemed, rather, that she had floated there. A singular satisfaction permeated her flesh and her spirit, and her breathing was still rapid.
She was a doctor. She should have understood human anatomy and the pleasures that could be wrought by skillful kisses and caresses, but she hadn’t. Never, for all the times she’d suffered beneath Sean Malloy’s heavy, straining frame, had she felt this fierce yet delicate fire that Adam had ignited within her.
He undressed quietly in the darkness, joined her on the bed. His fingers played over her breasts, her rib cage, her satiny stomach. He had drained her of every essence and he had yet to take her fully.
“P-please,” she managed. “Now?”
Adam withdrew his hand to light a lamp at the bedside, and there were dark blue, smoldering embers in his eyes as he savored her nakedness. “I want to see you, Banner,” he said, in a voice so low that she almost thought she’d imagined it. “I want to know that I’m pleasing you.”
Banner shuddered as his great, gentle hands came back to her breasts, whimpered as he plucked the nipples into readiness with his finger. “I—oooooh . . .”
Adam chuckled as he released the pebble-hard morsels to take pillows from the head of the bed and fit them under Banner’s hips. She was more vulnerable than ever now, raised to him like an offering, and the sensations this stirred in her were woundingly beautiful.
She closed her eyes in a daze of passion as he began to stroke her again, circling her nectar-laden breasts with magical fingers, making patterns of fire on her middle, lifting her knees high so that she was spread for him, a tender banquet.
But Adam did not come to feast. Instead, he plied the quivering rosebud of flesh with his thumb, delighting in her soft, eager whimpers.
Everything within Banner leaped when his fingers sheathed themselves in her pulsing warmth, and her hips began to rise and fall with the thrusts of his hand.
She tried to draw her knees together—this pleasure was too keen, too fierce to be borne—but he would not allow her this defense or any other. No, he knelt between her legs, blocking one knee with his body and holding the other at bay with his free hand.
And still Adam plundered her sacred depths with tender savagery, smiling as she tossed her head back and forth in frenzy and thrust her hips ever upward, wanting more of him and still more.
Tears brimmed in her lashes and spilled down her cheeks as the passion grew to intolerable proportions. “Adam—oh, my God—”
“Let it happen, Banner,” he said, over her gasping cries. “It’s right, it’s good—let it happen.”
Banner’s entire being buckled now, in rhythm with the ceaseless, searing motions of his hand. A haze blurred her vision and an inferno raged within her and then she was sent spinning into the night skies, free of her body.
Adam brought her back to earth with kisses, pagan kisses that branded the spoils of their battle, the insides of her knees, the glowing smoothness of her belly. How much more of this could she bear?
In self-defense, Banner grasped the heated, imposing shaft that was his manhood in both hands. He groaned and fell away, still on his knees, and she somehow found the strength to lift herself from her prone position and plot vengeance.
Operating on instinct, she bent her head and nibbled at him, and her reward was a gutteral groan that seemed to rise from the darkest depths of him. As he had shown no mercy, she was ruthless with him, tormenting even as he pleaded.
Finally, in desperation, Adam thru
st her backward and entered her. She had expected pain—there had always been pain with Sean—but even after the glories she’d already experienced that night, Adam’s conquering was a surprise.
This pleasure was the most ferocious of all.
Their bodies were one, woven together like the strands of a rope tossing and buckling in the wind. Frantic, Banner wrapped her legs around Adam and held on as the sun flew apart and the moon splintered and all the universe trembled with the resulting shocks.
They slept for a time, as one, exhausted, then awakened to love again. Now, Banner sat astride her husband, facing him, suckling dark nipples hidden in a carpet of ebony down.
Banner’s name was torn from Adam in a hoarse cry, and he grew within her until she feared she could not contain him. She pressed him backward until he was prone and rode him wildly, professions of her love for him falling from her lips like a fevered litany.
And when their triumph came, in a sizzling, brutal fusion, their separate cries blended into one.
* * *
Adam opened his eyes to the insistent dawn, saw that Banner was sleeping beside him, one hip curved beneath the blankets, one delectable nipple peeking at him over the edge of the sheet.
He groaned and spread his legs slightly to accommodate the inevitable response. His tongue was thick and his head pounded.
God, he’d been drunk, and he’d seduced O’Brien in the bargain. What could he say to her? And how the hell was he going to explain this to his family?
Banner stirred beside him, and the one bare nipple taunted him, puckering in the chill air. Unable to resist such an inviting tidbit, he lifted himself onto one elbow and circled the pink confection with the tip of his tongue.
O’Brien whimpered and opened her wide, shamrock green eyes. Then she cupped one hand under the plump breast to offer it.
Adam nursed at his leisure, clinging to the sweet nubbin even as Banner sat up. He was cradled in her arms now, like an infant, but he didn’t care. He craved the intangible nourishment he drew from her.
Banner’s hand moved gently in his hair, pressing him close, and little cries of soft surrender came from her as he took his pleasure. After a long time, she guided him to the other breast and brushed his lips with the hardened nipple until he groaned and took it hungrily.
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