When her sister had gone down the stairs and she and Patsy had both shouted a goodbye, Georgia dropped onto the edge of her bed, relishing the sudden silence.
Home, she thought with a sigh. This cottage, in Dunley, Ireland, was now home.
It felt good.
* * *
She took a long bath, savored a glass of wine in the stillness, then dressed in what she thought of as her Ireland winter wear—jeans, sneakers and a shirt with one of her thick, cable-knit sweaters, this one a dark red, over it—and went downstairs.
Restless, she wandered through her new home, passing through the kitchen to break off a piece of the fresh bread Patsy had left for her. Walking back to the small living room, she paused in the center and did a slow turn.
There were still changes to be made, of course. She wouldn’t bring all of her things from America, but the few items she loved would fit in here and make it all seem more hers somehow. Though already she felt more at home here than she ever had in the plush condo in Huntington Beach.
The fire in the hearth glowed with banked heat, its red embers shining into the room. Outside her windows, the world was dark as it could be only in the country. The streetlights of the village were a faint smudge in the blackness.
Georgia turned on the television. Then, the instant the sound erupted, turned it off again. She hugged herself and wished for company. Not the tinny, artificially cheerful voice of some unknown news anchor.
“Maybe I should get a dog,” she mused aloud, listening to the sound of her own voice whisper into the stillness around her. She smiled at the thought of a clumsy puppy running through the cottage, and she promised herself that when she left America to come home to Dunley for good, she would find a puppy. She missed Beast. And Deidre. And the sound of Ronan’s and Laura’s voices. And the baby’s cries. And Patsy’s quiet singing when she was working in the kitchen.
She wanted another heartbeat in the house.
Georgia frowned as she realized the hard truth. What she wanted was Sean.
She could call him, of course, and actually started for her phone before stopping again. Not a good idea to turn to him when she was lonely. He wouldn’t always be there, right? Better she stand on her own, right from the beginning.
Plus, if she was making Dunley her home now, then she might as well get used to going about the village on her own. With that thought in mind, she snagged her jacket off the coat tree by the door and headed for the Pennywhistle.
It was a short walk from her door to the main street of the village, and from there only a bit more to the pub, but she fought for every step. The wind roared along the narrow track, pushing at Georgia and the few other hardy souls wandering the sidewalks with icy hands, as if trying to steer them all back to their homes.
Finally, though, she reached the pub, yanked open the heavy door and stepped into what felt like a wall of sound. The silence of the night was shattered by the rise and fall of conversations and laughter, the quick, energetic pulse of the traditional music flowing from the corner and the heavy stomp of booted feet dancing madly to the tune.
Just what I need, Georgia thought, and threw herself into the crush.
Seven
Georgia edged her way to the bar, slipping out of her jacket as she went. The heat inside was nearly stifling, what with the crowd of people and the fire burning merrily in the corner. Waitresses moved through the mob of people with the sort of deft grace ballet dancers would envy, carrying trays loaded with beer, whiskey, soft drinks and cups of tea.
A few people called hello to her as she made her way to the bar and Georgia grinned. This was just what she needed, she thought, to remind herself that she did have a real life; it merely also included a fake fiancé. She had friends here. She belonged, and that felt wonderful.
Jack Murphy, the postmaster, a man of about fifty with graying hair and a spreading girth, leaped nimbly off his stool at the bar and offered it to her. She knew better than to wave off his chivalry, though she felt a bit guilty for chasing him out of his seat.
“Thanks, Jack,” she said, loud enough to be heard. “Looks like a busy night.”
“Ah, well, on a cold night, what’s better than a room full of friends and a pint?”
“Good point,” she said, and, still smiling, turned to Danny Muldoon, the proprietor of the Pennywhistle.
A big man with a barrel chest, thinning hair and a mischievous smile, he had a bar towel slung over one shoulder and a clean white apron strung around his waist. He was manning the beer taps like a concert pianist as he built a Guinness with one hand and poured a Harp with another. He glanced up at her and asked, “Will it be your usual then, love?”
Her usual.
She loved that. “Yes, Danny, thanks. The Chardonnay when you get a minute.”
He laughed, loud and long. “That’ll be tomorrow morning by the looks of this crowd, but I’ll see you put right as soon as I’ve finished with this.”
Georgia nodded and turned on her stool to look over the crowd. With her jacket draped across her knees, she studied the scene spread out in front of her. Every table was jammed with glassware, every chair filled, and the tiny cleared area closest to the musicians was busy with people dancing to the wild and energetic tunes being pumped out furiously by a fiddle, a flute and a bodhran drum. Georgia spotted Sinead’s husband, Michael, and watched as he closed his eyes and tapped his foot to the reel spinning from his fiddle. Sinead sat close by, her head bent to the baby in her arms as she smiled to the music her husband and his friends made.
Here was Dunley, Georgia thought. Everyone was welcome in Irish pubs. From the elderly couple sitting together and holding hands to the tiny girl trying to step-dance like her mother, they were all here. The village. The sense of community was staggering. They were part of each other’s lives. They had a connection, one to the other, and the glorious part of it all, in Georgia’s mind, was that they had included her in their family.
When the incredibly fast-paced song ended, the music slid into a ballad, the notes of which tugged at Georgia’s heart. Then one voice in the crowd began to sing and was soon joined by another until half the pub was singing along.
She turned and saw her wine waiting for her and Georgia lifted it for a sip as she listened to the song and lost herself in the beauty of the moment.
She was so caught up, she didn’t even notice when Sean appeared at her side until he bent his head and kissed her cheek.
“You’ve a look of haunted beauty about you,” he whispered, and Georgia’s head spun briefly.
She turned and looked up at him. “It’s the song.”
“Aye, ‘The Rising of the Moon’ is lovely.”
“What’s it about?”
He winked and grinned. “Rebellion. What we Irish do best.”
That song ended on a flourish, and the musicians basked in applause before taking a beer break.
“What’ll it be for you then, Sean?” Danny asked.
“A Jameson’s if you please, Danny. Tá sé an diabhal an oíche fuar féin.”
“It is indeed,” the barman answered with a laugh.
“What was that?” Georgia asked. “What did you say?”
Sean shrugged, picked up his glass and laid money down for both his and Georgia’s drinks. “Just a bit of the Gaelic. I said it’s the devil’s own cold night.”
“You speak Gaelic?”
“Some,” he said.
Amazing. Every time she thought she knew him, she found something new. And this was touching, she thought. “It sounds…musical.”
“We’ve music in us, that’s for sure,” Sean acknowledged. “A large part of County Mayo is Gaeltacht, you know. That means ‘Irish-speaking.’ Most of those who live here have at least a small understanding of the language. And some speak it at home as their first language.”
She’d heard snippets of Gaelic since she first came to Ireland, but it had never occurred to her that it was still a living language. And, to be honest,
some of the older people here spoke so quickly and had such thick accents, at first she’d thought they were speaking Gaelic—though it was English.
“Of course,” she said after a sip of wine. “The aisle signs in the grocery store are in both English and Gaelic. And the street signs. I just thought maybe it was for the tourists, you know…”
He tapped one finger to her nose. “It’s for us. The Irish language was near lost not so very long ago. After the division and the Republic was born, the government decided to reclaim all we’d nearly lost. Now our schools teach it and our children will never have to worry about losing a part of who they are.”
Georgia just looked at him. There was a shine of pride in his eyes as he spoke, and she felt a rush of something warm and delicious spread through her in response.
“We’re a small country but a proud one,” he went on, staring down into his glass of whiskey. “We hang on to what we have and fight when another tries to take it.” He shot a quick look at the man on the stool beside Georgia. “Isn’t that so, Kevin Dooley?”
The man laughed. “I’ve fought you often enough for a beer or a woman or just for the hell of it.”
“And never won,” Sean countered, still grinning.
“There’s time yet,” Kevin warned companionably, then smiled and turned back to his conversation.
Georgia laughed, too, then leaned into Sean as the musicians picked up their instruments again and the ancient pub came alive with music that filled the heart and soul. With Sean’s arm around her, Georgia allowed herself to be swept into the magic of the moment.
And she refused to remember, at least for tonight, that Sean was only hers temporarily.
* * *
Two hours later, Sean walked her to the cottage and waited on the step while she opened the door. Georgia went inside, then paused and looked at him.
For the first time in days, they were alone together. With his mother recuperating at his house and her at Ronan and Laura’s, they’d been able to do little more than smile at each other in passing.
Until tonight.
Earlier that night, she’d been wishing for him and now, here he was.
He stood in the doorway, darkness behind him, lamplight shining across his face, defining the desire quickening in his eyes. The cold night air slipped inside, twisted with the heat from the banked fire and caused Georgia to shiver in response.
“Will you invite me in, Georgia?”
Her heartbeat sped up, and her mouth went dry. There was something about this man that reached her on levels she hadn’t even been aware of before knowing him. He’d made a huge difference in her life, and she was only now realizing how all-encompassing that difference was.
Just now, just this very minute, she stared up at Sean and felt everything within her slide into place, like jagged puzzle pieces finally creating the picture they were meant to be.
There was more here, she thought, than a casual affair. There was affection and danger and excitement and a bone-deep knowledge that when her time with Sean was done, she’d never be the same again.
It was far too late to pull back, she thought wildly. And though she knew she’d be hurt when it was all over, she wouldn’t have even if she could.
Because what she’d found with Sean was what she’d been looking for her whole life.
She’d found out who she was.
And more importantly, she liked the woman she’d discovered.
“Is it so hard then, to welcome me into your home?” Sean asked softly, when her silence became too much for him.
“No,” she said, reaching out to grab hold of his shirtfront. She dragged him inside, closed the door then went up on her toes. “It’s not hard at all,” she said, and then she kissed him.
At the first long taste of him, that wildness inside her softened. Her bones seemed to melt until she was leaning into him, the only thing holding her up was the strength of Sean’s arms wrapped around her.
Her body went up like a torch. Heat suffused her, swamping Georgia with a need so deep, so all-consuming, she could hardly draw breath. When he tore his mouth from hers, she groaned.
“You’ve a way about you, Georgia,” he whispered, dipping his head to nibble at her ear.
She shivered and tipped her head to one side, giving him easier access. “I was just thinking the same thing about you…” She sighed a little. “Oh, that feels so good.”
“You taste of lemons and smell like heaven.”
Georgia smiled as her eyes closed and she gave herself up to the sensations rattling through her. “I had a long soak in that wonderful tub upstairs.”
“Sorry to have missed that,” he murmured, dragging his lips and tongue and teeth along the line of her neck until she quivered in his arms and trembled, incredibly on the brink of a climax. Just his touch. Just the promise of what was to come was enough to send her body hurtling toward completion.
The man had some serious sexual power.
“I thought about you today,” he whispered, turning her to back her up against the front door. He lifted his head, looked her dead in the eye and fingered her hair as he spoke. “Thought I’d lose my mind at the office today, trying to work out the figures on the new planes we’ve ordered… Galway city never seemed so far from Dunley before.” He dropped his hands to her waist, pulled up the hem of her sweater and tugged at the snap of her jeans. “And all I could think about was you. Here. And finally having you all to myself again.”
The brush of his knuckles against the bare skin of her abdomen sent a zip of electricity shooting through her veins. Releasing him long enough to shrug out of her jacket, she let it fall to the floor, unheeded.
“You’re here now,” she told him, reaching up to push his jacket off, as well. He helped her with that, then went back to the waistband of her jeans and worked the zipper down so slowly she wanted to scream.
“I am,” he said, dipping his head for a kiss. “And so’re you.”
He had the fly of her jeans open, and he slid one hand down across her abdomen, past the slip of elastic on her panties and down low enough to touch the aching core of her.
The moment his hand cupped her, she shattered. She couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to. She had been primed and ready for his touch for days. Georgia cried out and rocked her hips into his hand. While her body trembled and shook, he kissed her, whispering bits and pieces of Gaelic that seemed to slide into her heart. He stroked her, his fingers dipping into her heat while she rode his hand feverishly, letting the ecstasy she’d found only with him take her up and then under.
When it was done and she could breathe again, she looked up into his eyes and found him watching her with a hunger she’d never seen before. His passion went deeper and gleamed more darkly in his eyes. He held her tenderly, as if she were fragile and about to splinter apart.
“Shatter tú liom,” he said softly, gaze moving over her face like a touch.
Still trying to steady her breathing, she reached up to cup his cheek in her palm. The flash of her ring caught her eye but she ignored it. This wasn’t fake, she thought. This, what she and Sean shared when they were together, was very real. She had no idea what it meant—and maybe it didn’t have to mean anything. Maybe it was enough to just shut off her mind and enjoy what she had while she had it.
“What does that mean?”
He turned his face into her palm and kissed her. “‘You shatter me,’ that’s what I said.”
Her heartbeat jolted, and a sheen of unexpected tears welled up in her eyes, forcing her to blink them back before she could make a fool of herself and cry.
“I watch you tremble in my arms and you take my knees out from under me, Georgia. That’s God’s truth.” He kissed her, hard, fast, and made her brain spin. “What you do to me is nothing I’ve ever known before.”
She knew exactly what he meant because she felt the same. What she had with Sean was unlike any previous relationship. Sometimes, she felt as though she were stumbling blindl
y down an unfamiliar road and the slightest misstep could have her falling off a cliff. How could anything feel so huge? How could it not be real? And still, this journey was one she wouldn’t have missed for anything.
“Say something else,” she urged. “In Gaelic, say something else.”
He gave her a smile and whispered, “Leat mo anáil uaidh.”
She returned his smile. “Now translate.”
“‘You take my breath away.’”
To disguise the quick flash of feelings too deep to explore at the moment, Georgia quipped, “Back atcha. That means ‘same to you.’”
He chuckled, rested his forehead against hers, pulled his hand from her jeans and wrapped both arms around her. “I’ve got to have you, Georgia. It feels like years since I’ve felt your skin against mine. You’re a hunger in me, and I’m a starving man.”
Her stomach did a fast roll and her heartbeat leaped into a gallop. And still she teased him because she’d discovered she liked the teasing, flirtatious way they had together. “Starving? Patsy Brennan left some bread and soup in the kitchen.”
“You’re a hard woman,” he said, but the curve of his mouth belied the words.
“Or,” she invited, taking his hand in hers and heading for the stairs, “you can come up with me and we’ll find something else to ease your appetite.”
“Lá nó oíche, Tá mé do fear.”
She stopped and looked at him. “Now you’re just doing that because you know what it does to me.”
“I am indeed.”
“What did you say that time?”
“I am indeed.”
Her lips quirked at the humor in his eyes. “Funny. Before that, what did you say?”
“I said,” he told her, swooping in to grab her close and hold on tight like a drowning man clinging to the only rope in a stormy sea, “‘Day or night, I’m your man.’”
Then his mouth came down on hers and every thought but one dissolved.
Her man. Those two words repeated over and over again in her mind while Sean was busy kissing her into oblivion. He was hers. For now. For tonight. For however long they had together.
An Outrageous Proposal Page 9
