"Aye." He brushed his lips over her temple until she shifted her head to look at him. "I'm here." He nodded across the field. "We're here."
The circle of stones stood, waiting in the warm beam of the moon.
Chapter Sixteen
Under swimming stars and a moon that shone white like a beacon, he carried her to the center of the dance. She heard an owl hoot, a long call that drifted through the air and faded to humming silence.
He set her on her feet, then spread the first blanket, letting the other fall before he knelt in front of her.
"What are you doing?" Where had the nerves come from? she wondered. She hadn't been nervous even a moment ago.
"I'm taking off your shoes."
Such a simple thing, an ordinary thing. Yet the gesture was as seductive as black silk. He took off his own, setting them tidily beside hers. His hands skimmed up her body, from ankle to shoulders as he rose. "You're trembling. Are you cold?" "No." She didn't think she could ever be cold again with the furnace that was pulsing away inside her. "Murphy, I don't want you to think that this means... anything but what it means. I wouldn't be fair to..."
He was smiling as he cupped her face gently in his hands and kissed her. "I know what it means. 'Beauty is its own reason for being.' " Still soft, still tender, his lips skimmed over her cheekbone. "That's Emerson."
What manner of man was it, she wondered, who could quote poetry and plow fields? "You're beautiful, Shannon. This is beautiful." He would see to it, giving her his heart as much as his body. And taking hers. So his hands were soft, easy as he stroked her-her shoulders, her back, through her hair, while his mouth patiently persuaded hers to give more. To take more. Just a little more.
She trembled still, even as her body leaned more truly into his, as the sound of quiet pleasure sighed through her lips, then through his. A faint breeze danced up, through the grass, then swirled like music around them. He drew back, his eyes on hers, and slipped the man's vest she wore from her shoulders, let it fall. A murmur of surprise and longing whimpered in her throat as he kissed her again, his hands on her face, his fingers tracing.
She'd thought she'd understood the rules of seduction, the moves and countermoves men and women executed in the path toward pleasure. But this was new, this quiet, patient dance, this savoring of each elemental step. As with the waltz he'd taught her, she could do no more than hold fast and enjoy. Her breath caught, released shakily when his fingers rested on the top button of her shirt. Oh, she wished she'd worn silk, something flowing and feminine with some lacy fancy beneath to enchant him.
Slowly he opened the shirt, spread it, then laid his palm lightly against her heart.
The thrill shot through her like a molten bullet. "Murphy."
"I've thought about touching you." He took the hand she gripped at his shoulder, brought it to his lips. "How your skin would feel. And taste. And smell." Watching her, he slid the shirt from her shoulders. "I've rough hands."
"No." She could do no more than shake her head. "No."
His eyes were solemn as he traced a fingertip above the downward curve of her bra, and up again. He'd known she'd be soft. But the way her flesh quivered under his lightest touch, the way her head fell back in stunned surrender, added sweetness to desire.
So he didn't take-though he could already feel the way her breasts would cup, small and firm in his hands. Instead he bent his head and took her mouth again. Her lips were incredibly generous, opening and welcoming his. The dark, potent tastes curled through his system, hinting of more heated, and more intimate flavors.
"I want-" Her hands shook as she gripped his shirt. She steadied herself by staring into his eyes. "I want you, more than I ever imagined." Now watching him, she unbuttoned his shirt, reaching up to tug it over his shoulders. Then her gaze lowered.
"Oh." It was a sigh of delight and admiration. This was a body hardened and defined by labor and sweat rather than machines. Experimentally she spread her hands over his chest where the skin was smooth over solid strength, and his heartbeat jumped.
Then hers leaped into her throat as he loosened the waistband of her slacks. Mesmerized, she felt him take her hand, balancing her as she stepped free. But when she reached for him, he shook his head. Even the patience of love had its limits.
"Lie with me," he murmured. "Come lie with me."
He lowered her to the blanket and captured her mouth.
He touched her with a terrifying tenderness, molding her breasts, giving himself the aching pleasure of slipping beneath the cotton to test and tease. He needed the flavor that tempted him along her throat, over her shoulders. When his tongue skimmed, as his fingers had, under the material to lave her nipple, she arched like a bow.
"Now." Her breath sobbed out. "For God's sake."
He only flicked open the front clasp of her bra and took her silkily into his mouth.
Tormented, exhilarated, she pressed him closer. Beneath him her movements were frantic, shameless. He was undoing her with tongue and teeth and lips, making her beg with stumbling, breathless words. The flash came so fast, so hot, she reared up, gripping the blanket in defense. The hard, jittery climax had her shuddering, shuddering until she fell limply back.
Impossible. Fighting for breath she lifted a weighted hand to push at her hair. It wasn't possible. No one had ever made her feel so much.
On a groan of his own, Murphy pressed his lips to her flesh, letting his hand roam lower now, over the curve of her waist and hips. "Shannon, I love you. Ever and always."
"I can't-" Weak, she laid a hand on his back. It was damp, she realized dimly, the muscles tightly bunched.
"I need a minute." But his mouth was skimming over her rib cage. "God, what are you doing to me?"
"Pleasuring you." And he intended to do more to her, had to do more to her. The need was building painfully inside him, all hot blood and violent lust he knew he could only chain down for so long. He tugged the skimpy panties over her hips, and nipped. "Pleasuring me."
Her body was a treasure of dark delights he intended to explore fully. But the time for leisure had passed. Greedy now, he took, reveling in her frenzied movements, her gasps and cries.
He wanted her like this, helplessly his, clawing at him as he drove her ruthlessly into flame after flame. And when she was writhing and wet and wild, it still wasn't enough.
He was tearing at his jeans as he took his mouth on a sprinting journey up her torso, over her heaving breasts and back to her trembling lips.
She arched urgently against him, then her legs scissored to clamp hard around him. He shook his head, not in denial, but to clear his hazed vision. He wanted to see her, and for her to see him.
"Look at me," he demanded, fighting to expel each word over the heart that pounded thick in his throat. "Damn it, look at me now."
She opened her eyes. Her focus wavered, then sharpened until all she could see was his face.
"I love you." He said it fiercely, his eyes lancing into hers. "Do you hear me?"
"Yes." She gripped his hair. "Yes."
Then she cried out in triumph as he drove himself hard and deep into her. The orgasm rolled through her like a wave of lava, leaving her shaken and scorched. As her eyes closed again he savaged her mouth while his body tirelessly plunged.
Mindlessly she matched his pace, leaping heedlessly into the storm they brewed between them. She thought she heard thunder roll, and lightning flare its wicked fingers across the sky. Her body exploded, shattered, then went glowingly limp.
Her hands slid bonelessly from his back. She heard him say her name, felt him coil, then shudder, then drop his weight onto her.
He let himself wallow in her hair, kept his face buried there while his system vibrated. She was trembling again, or still, little bursts he knew were the aftershocks of good sex. He'd have stroked her to soothe-if he could have moved.
"I'll get off you in a minute," he murmured.
"Don't you dare."
He smiled and rubb
ed his face in her hair. "At least I can keep you warm this way."
"I don't think I'll ever be cold again." On a little purr of pleasure, she curled her arms around him. "You're probably going to get all smug when I tell you this, but I don't think I can mind. No one's ever made me feel like this before."
It wasn't smugness he felt, but joy. "There's been no one before you."
She cuddled and laughed. "You're entirely too good at this, Murphy. I imagine there are a lot of women-"
"They were all just practice," he interrupted and made the effort to shift to his elbows so he could look at her. The way she was smiling made him grin. "Now, I can't say there wasn't a time or two I enjoyed the practicing."
"Remind me to punch you later." She laughed when he rolled her over, and over again until they were at the edge of the blanket with her cradled against his chest. "I'm going to have to paint you," she mused, tracing her finger from biceps to pectorals. "I haven't done a nude since art school, but-"
"Darling, when you get me naked, you'll be much too busy for your brushes."
Her grin flashed wickedly. "You're right." She pressed her lips to his, lost herself a moment in the lingering. With a sigh, she rested her head on his chest. "I've never made love outside before."
"You're joking."
She lifted her head again and aimed a bland look. "It's frowned upon in my neighborhood."
Because her skin was chilling, he reached for the spare blanket. "Then it's a night of firsts for you. Your first ceili." He tossed the blanket over her, fussing with the edges until he was satisfied she was covered. "Your first waltz."
"It was the waltz that did it. No, that's wrong." She shook her head, then shifted so that she could frame his face with her hands. "The waltz seduced me. But it was when you sang. When I listened to you I couldn't understand how, why, I'd ever said no."
"I'll have to remember to sing for you often." He lifted a hand, cupped the back of her neck. "Pretty green-eyed Shannon, love of all my lives. Come and kiss me."
He woke her from a light doze just as the eastern sky was pearling. He was sorry to, for he'd loved watching her sleep, the way her lashes lay on her cheek with the light flush beneath them. And he wished there was time for him to love her once again as dawn broke.
But there were obligations and family waiting for him.
"Shannon" Gently, he stroked her cheek kissed it. "Darling, it's nearly morning. The stars are going out."
She stirred, whimpering, and clutched at his hand.
"Why won't you stay? Why? How could you come back to me only to leave again?"
"Ssh." He drew her close, pressed his lips to her brow. "I'm here. Right here. 'Tis only a dream."
"If you loved me enough, you wouldn't go again."
"I do love you. Open your eyes now. You're dreaming."
She followed the sound of his voice, opened her eyes as he'd asked. For a moment she was lost between two worlds, both of which seemed familiar and right.
Dawn, just before dawn, she thought hazily. And the smell of spring. The stones rising up, gray and cold in the waning dark and the feel of her lover's arms hard around her.
"Your horse." She looked around blankly. She should have heard the jingle of its bridle and the impatient stomp of hooves as it waited to ride.
"They're stabled yet." Firmly Murphy cupped her chin and turned her face back to his. "Where are you?"
"I..." She blinked and floated out of the dream. "Murphy?"
His eyes were narrowed on her face, with a hint of frustration in them. "Do you remember what happened then? What did I do to lose you?"
She shook her head. The sense of despair, and the fear, were waning. "I was dreaming, I guess. That's all."
"Tell me what I did."
But she pressed her face to his shoulder, relieved to find it warm and solid. "Just a dream," she insisted. "Is it morning?"
He started to argue, then backed off. "Nearly. I need to get you back to the inn."
"Too soon."
"I'd hold back the sun if I could." He squeezed her once more, then rose to get their clothes.
Cuddled under the blanket, Shannon watched him and felt the little tingles of desire begin to spark again. She sat up, let the blanket pool to her waist. "Murphy?" When he glanced back, she had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes go dark and cloudy. "Make love with me."
"There's nothing I'd like better, but my family's at the house, and there's no telling when one of them..." He trailed off when she rose, slim and beautifully naked. The clothes slipped out of his hands as she walked toward him.
"Make love with me," she said again and twined her arms around his neck. "Fast and desperate. Like it was the last time."
There was a witch in her. He'd known it the first time he'd looked in her eyes. The power of it glowed out of them now, confident and challenging. Though her breath hissed out when he dragged her head back by her hair, the look never wavered.
"Like this then." His voice was rough as he dragged her around. He braced her back against the king stone and, cupping her hips, lifted her off her feet.
She clamped herself around him, willing and eager. The power burst when he thrust into her, battering them both with the speed and desperation she'd demanded.
They were eye to eye, each violent stroke heating the gasping breaths they took. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her lips curved in triumph as their bodies convulsed together.
His legs went weak, and his palms had gone so damp he feared he'd lose his hold on her and drop her. He could hear his own breath panting out like a dog's.
"Jesus." He blinked stinging sweat out of his eyes. "Sweet Jesus Christ."
Slumped against his shoulder she began to laugh. It bubbled up through her, full of joy and fascination. He
could only struggle to get back his breath and balance her as she threw her arms into the air. "Oh, I feel so alive."
A grin tugged at his mouth as he managed to keep her from tumbling both of them. "You're alive all right. But you damned near killed me." He kissed her hard, then set her firmly on her feet. "Get your clothes on, woman, before you finish me off."
"I wish we could go running buck naked through the fields."
He blew out a breath and bent to pick up her bra. "Oh, my sainted mother would love that, if she happened to take a turn around the yard and look out."
Amused, Shannon slipped into her bra and plucked her panties out of the grass. "I bet your sainted mother knows just what you've been up to, since you didn't come home last night."
"Knowing and getting a first-hand look's two different matters." He gave her bottom a friendly pat when she bent over to pick up her shirt. "You look sexy in men's clothes. I meant to tell you."
"Men's look," Shannon corrected, buttoning the oversize shirt.
"What's the difference?" He sat on the grass to put on his shoes. "Would you go out with me tonight, Shannon, if I come calling for you?"
Baffled and pleased, she looked down at him. That the man could ask, so sweetly, when they'd barely finished going at each other like animals, charmed her. "Well, it may be I'd do that, Murphy Muldoon," she said, giving her best shot at a west county brogue.
His eyes danced as he tossed her one of her shoes. "You still sound like a Yank. But I like it-'tis a darling accent." She snorted. "/ have a darling accent. Right." She reached down to pick up the blanket, but he stayed her hand.
"Leave them... if you will."
Smiling, she turned her hand so that their fingers twined. "Yes. I will."
"Then I'll walk you to your door."
"You don't have to."
"I do have to." He led her through the arch of stone and into the field where the light was just beginning to pearl the dewy grass. "And want to as well."
Happy, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. In the east, morning was rising gently in pinks and golds, like a painting washed by a pastel-tipped brush. She heard the crow of the rooster and the cheerful song
of a lark. When Murphy stopped to pick a wildflower with creamy white petals, she turned, smiling, so that he could slip it into her hair.
"Look, there's a magpie." She lifted her hand to point as the bird darted low over the field. "That's right, isn't it? Brianna showed me."
"That's right. Look there, quick. Two more." Pleased at his luck, he swung his arm around her shoulders. "One is for sorrow," he told her. "Two is for mirth. Three for a wedding, and four for a birth."
She watched the flight and cleared her throat. "Murphy, I know you have very strong feelings, and-"
He lifted her up and set her over the next wall. "I'm in love with you," he said easily. "If that's what you're meaning."
"Yes, that's what I mean." She had to be careful, she realized, as her own emotions had gone so much deeper than she'd ever intended. "And I think I understand how you believe that should progress. Taking your personality, your culture, and your religion into account."
"You've a wonderful way of cluttering things up with words. What you mean is I want to marry you."
"Oh, Murphy."
"I'm not asking you at the moment," he pointed out,
"What I'm doing is enjoying a morning walk with you and looking forward to seeing you again in the evening."
She slid him a glance, saw he was studying her. "So, we can keep it simple?"
"There's nothing simpler. Here. Let me kiss you before we're in Brie's garden."
He turned her into his arms, lowered his head, and melted her heart. "One more," she whispered and drew him back.
"I'll call for you." He made the effort and released her. "I'd take you out to dinner, but-" "Your family's here," she finished. "I understand." "They'll be gone tomorrow. If you wouldn't feel awkward with Brie, I'd like if you'd spend the night with me then, in my bed."
"No. I wouldn't feel awkward." "Till later then." He kissed her fingertips and left her on the edge of the garden where the roses were still damp with dew.
Humming to herself, she crossed the lawn, let herself in the back door. Only to come up short when she saw Brianna measuring up coffee at the stove.
Books by Nora Roberts Page 135
