Spellbound

by Jeanette Baker

  Words were unnecessary. Later she would ask what had happened and how he could appear before her, apparently unscathed, when all the world had given him up for drowned. Now it was enough to touch him, to smell the cold December night he’d brought with him, to run her hands up and down the nubby fabric of his sweater and underneath to the smooth, soft cotton of his shirt, then up to the sharp bones of his face and the faint edge of beard beneath his skin.

  What was left of the audience ignored them, making their way up the aisle, dividing around them, keeping their eyes downcast, minding their own business, unusual for curious Dubliners. When they were alone at last, Sean lifted Mollie’s head from his shoulder. “I haven’t kissed you yet.” He touched her cheek. “I never thought I’d kiss you again.”

  She lifted her lips.

  It started tenderly, cautiously, a gesture of reverence. But soon it was more, a drowning, a swallowing, hands and arms and tongue coming into play, the kiss of a man who knew he was going down for the last time. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Let’s go home.”

  “The girls are at the hotel.”

  “We’ll get another room.”

  “I have another room.”

  Mollie followed him up the aisle, out the door, and into the backseat of the taxi waiting outside. She heard Sean converse with the driver and tried to pay attention, but her mind wouldn’t work. He was alive and he was here. She was the one he’d come to.

  Mrs. Flannery peeked out of the kitchen and waved.

  “How were the girls?” Mollie managed.

  “Not a peep out of them.”

  Sean introduced himself and continued up the stairs. Mollie held tightly to his hand. Careful not to make noise, she turned the knob and stepped inside. The door between the rooms was slightly ajar. Sean stepped in the smaller bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed his nieces shared. Gently, he rested one hand on Caili’s head and the other on Marni’s.

  The look on his face tore at Mollie’s heart. She stepped back to give him some privacy and removed her coat and gloves. Her hands were trembling. What now? What did his coming to Dublin really mean?

  She waited, counting the minutes. It seemed an eternity before he came back into her room.

  After closing the door behind him, Sean locked it and stepped in the light. From across the room she could see the color of his eyes, the clear, water-locked color of them, sometimes blue, sometimes green, more often something between the two. He wore his twisted grin, but there was something different in his smile. Dear God, let it be what she thought it was. Somehow she remembered to breathe. She watched his eyes move to her mouth and narrow. The wanting rose in her throat, crowding the air. Was it possible to want someone so and pretend otherwise. The space between them sizzled with tension.

  She swallowed and sat down on the bed. “Tell me what happened to you.”

  He shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell. Shortly after I left, I hit my head and blacked out. When I came to, the boat was listing, and half of it was gone. I hung on until the rescue boat came.”

  Mollie shivered. “You were lucky.”

  “Aye.” He sat down beside her and touched her face, her hair, her eyelids, following with his lips. “Very lucky.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Your mother gave me the name of your hotel. I called from the Green, and Mrs. Flannery told me you were at the Abbey.”

  She sighed, closed her eyes, and rested her head on his shoulder. Just now, she could hold no more.

  He ran his hand up and down her arm. If only this moment and this mood would last forever.

  His voice was husky, the words sincere, unschooled. “I want to make love to you, Mollie. I’ve thought of nothing else since Graham pulled me into his boat.”

  She had a million questions, but they could wait. Everything could wait, for now. She turned to find his lips, firm cool lips that pressed against her mouth, opening, welcoming, drawing her in, readying her for his hands sliding down her zipper, baring her shoulders, her breasts, slipping off the rest of her clothes and then his own. The feel of his arms dizzied her, cool flesh against warm, his murmured words and seeking mouth exploring the column of her throat, the junction of her shoulder, the pulse where the blood drummed, the slope of one breast and then the other, circling with his tongue, sucking, hard.

  Completely aroused, Mollie let her instinct prevailed. Sliding her hands across his shoulders and down his back, she paused at the dip between waist and hip, her fingers lingering on the bunched muscle beneath the skin. This part of a man was so definite, so hard and muscular, so completely masculine.

  “Don’t stop,” he whispered, lifting his mouth from hers. Had there ever been a time when he hadn’t wanted her, from that very first day she’d stood on Kerry’s front stoop, hair a twisted tangle of wheat and honey, lips parted in a movie-star smile? She seemed too good to be real. She was still too good to be real, but this time Sean knew better. This time he wouldn’t turn away. This time he wouldn’t refuse the treasure offered him.

  He felt her mouth open against his chest. Her hands were on his backside, warm, urgent. She was ready for him. He kissed her deeply. Without releasing her mouth, he parted her thighs with his leg and entered her. The slight intake of her breath nearly undid him. He stopped moving. The scent of her skin, the silky hair, the soft, hot flesh closing around him were an onslaught of sensation, coming too soon after his battle for survival. For the first time since he was a boy, Sean lost control. The heat mobilized, pulsing through him, from his body to hers, a debilitating release of desire and need, fear and love, an affirmation of life.

  Later, much later, when the fire had burned low in the grate, when he’d kissed her palms, her belly, her breasts, and the smooth insides of her thighs, when he’d found the place between her legs and touched her with his fingers and his tongue until she was spent, when he’d pulled the covers around them and they lay in spoon fashion on the large bed, his hands cupping her breasts, he asked her, “What did you think of it?”

  “Of what?”

  “The play.”

  Mollie closed her eyes and thought a minute, composing in her mind exactly the right words that would make him realize she understood. Words that would tell him she knew his story was far more than the plot, and his theme was always Mother Ireland.

  Letting the covers fall to her waist, she sat up and looked at him, at the blue of his eyes, the black hair that fell across his forehead, and the high, clear bones of his cheeks. He was pure Celt, born to the breed. “It made me realize how well you understand people and how very Irish you are.” A wave of color stained her cheeks. “I’m sorry that I didn’t see one of your plays sooner. It would have settled things for me.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re in love with Ireland, Sean,” she said softly, “with her tragic history, her greenness, her beauty, and, most of all, the voices of her people. This is your home. I understand that now. You should never leave it.”

  Reaching out to her with gentle fingers, he traced her cheeks, her chin, the shape of her lips, the blade of her shoulder, the lovely soft curve of her breast.

  “Are you giving me up, lass?”

  Her head fell back on the pillow. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids, holding back the wetness, and nodded.

  He moved over her again, entered her, matching his rhythm to her breathing and then to the soft gasps of pleasure coming from the back of her throat. Her rise was slower this time, deeper, more profound, in keeping with the slow-growing intensity of his rhythmic thrusts. When she climaxed, she felt a completeness, a giving and receiving of body and spirit, of a kind she had never known before.

  Mollie knew she would love again. It was inevitable. Somewhere in the world walked a man who waited for her, a man she would share a life and children with, a man by whom she would be pleased. She was a woman easily pleased, one who loved laughter, who measured the success of her life through small pleasures lived
in a hundred small moments during the course of every normal day. She would not be a martyr and mourn Sean O’Malley forever. There would be a time when this ache in her heart had passed, when the memory of her year in Ireland would be a faint smudge on the canvas of her life, when another man and his children would take up the space in her heart. It wouldn’t be the same, not ever, but it would be enough.

  All that lay ahead in the nebulous future. There was still tonight to live through and all the nights ahead until June when she could go home.

  She must have slept. When she woke the room was dark. She was very conscious of Sean beside her, the warmth of his body pressed against her, his smell on the sheets, the stickiness between her legs because of him, because of what they’d done together. Mentally she chastised herself. How could she have slept? Their time was so short.

  Sighing, she turned over and ran her hand up his thigh, past the jutting bone of his hip to rest on his chest. He covered it with his own.

  “Are you awake, love?”

  Love, He’d called her love. “Yes.”

  “A Calibogie is unsinkable,” he began conversationally.

  “Oh?” Her brain struggled from its last vestiges of sleep to follow him. The boat. He was talking about the boat.

  “Did I tell you that it cracked down the middle?”

  “No.”

  “It did. There was nothing, no motor, no sail. All I could do was hang on and hope for rescue.”

  “And you were.”

  “Aye. Two days later.”

  She kissed his shoulder. “You were very lucky.”

  “It changes a man’s perspective when death stares him in the face. Nothing else matters but staying alive.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  He shifted to look at her, the eyes close and colorless in the darkness. “My priorities have changed, Mollie. I promised myself that if I survived I wouldn’t let you go.”

  At first his words didn’t register. When they did she began to tremble. “What are you saying?”

  “I want you stay in Ireland with me. Can you do that, Mollie? I won’t ask you to give up your home entirely. We could work something out, part of the year here, part in California.”

  “On Inishmore?” she asked.

  “In Galway. I’ve a home there. It’s large enough for all of us.”

  For all of us. Mollie’s head spun. What was he asking? Sean was wonderful with Luke and the girls. He was educated, literate, capable. His mouth and hands made her blood run hot, but was it enough?

  “Am I too late, Mollie? Did I wait too long to come to my senses? Am I wrong in thinking you love me?”

  She shook her head, very conscious of the swell of his arm beneath her cheek. “It isn’t that,” she whispered.

  “What is it, then?”

  She sat up, covering her breasts, tucking the sheets beneath her arms. “I love Luke and the girls, but I want children of my own.”

  “I’ll give you children.”

  Frustration sharpened her voice, “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “Of course. What did you think I was asking?”

  “You never said the words.”

  He reached for her, his hands clasping her arms above the elbow, drawing her down against his chest. His hand cradled her neck, rubbing the soft skin beneath her hair. His voice against her ear was soft, amused, the words firm and assured. “I love you, Mollie Tierney. I’m not a rich man, but neither am I poor. I’ve a mortgage on my home, but I can afford to support a family even if I never sell another play. A playwright isn’t a movie star. It gives me a very good living, but I’m not wealthy, not like a doctor from Newport, California.”

  He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Will you be my wife, Mollie, live with me, bear my children?” He kissed the lobe of her ear. “Please, say yes.”

  The words were old-fashioned, sentimental, perfect. Still, there was a vague, unsettled question she couldn’t shake. “Would you be asking me if you hadn’t gone looking for Russ and nearly lost your life?”

  Sean knew the words he was about to utter would determine the course of his life. He began slowly, wanting her to understand what had always been in his heart and what had prevented him from acting upon it. “I would have asked you, Mollie, but perhaps not now. I would have argued with myself that you were an American, accustomed to a life of sunshine and comfort. I would have reminded myself that your mother had left Ireland and her husband, taken her child, broken a man’s heart. I would have let you go home, suffered your absence for a goodly length of time, and then I would have gone after you.”

  “Are you still worried about all those things?”

  He shook his head. “I did a great deal of thinking while floating in the open ocean. We won’t be living the austere life of a fisherman’s family on Inishmore. I have friends in Galway, professional people you’ll be comfortable with. We’ll go to California whenever you like.

  “You’re probably wondering if any of this has to do with the children. I’ve come to a decision about that, too. If your mother takes them with her, I won’t like it. But neither will I fight it. She is their legal guardian. They have nothing to do with how I feel about you.” His voice grew husky with emotion. “The alternative is life without you, Mollie, and nothing is worth that. Marry me, please.”

  Smiling, she turned her head and pressed her lips against his chest. “Yes,” she whispered, “I will.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Caili broke away from Mollie and ran up the rock-lined path to the cottage, where Emma waited on the porch. Throwing her arms around her grandmother, she announced, “Auntie Mollie and Uncle Sean are getting married. We’re going to live in Galway for a time and another time in California with you.”

  Emma lifted the little girl into her arms. “My goodness.” Her eyes moved beyond Caili to Mollie and Sean walking up the path with Marni between them. “You’ve certainly brought some interesting news. Have you gotten it right, I wonder?”

  “She has,” said Sean firmly. “Mollie has agreed to marry me. I hope you’ll allow the children to be with us in Galway for part of the year. The schools in Ireland are very good.”

  Emma smiled, set Caili on her feet, and hugged Mollie. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Congratulations to the two of you. Have you decided on a wedding date?”

  “Soon,” said Sean.

  “Not too soon,” Emma said quickly. “Mollie is my only daughter. I’d like her wedding to be special. It’s difficult to put a wedding together in a short time.”

  “We’re going to be married here, Mom,” Mollie said gently, “on the island.”

  Emma’s face fell. “What about your friends at home?”

  “We’ll have a reception in Newport later,” Mollie explained. “We’re going to have the ceremony in the church where Sean was baptized and where Danny and Kerry were married.” She squeezed her mother’s hand. “It’s what we both want.”

  Emma smiled tremulously. Her eyes were very bright. “I’ll pray for sunshine.”

  Sean released his breath, and Mollie laughed.

  “Don’t think you won’t have a crowd,” Emma warned them. “Daniel O’Shea has negotiated a settlement with Transom Oil. Nearly all the families involved will have a generous income until fishing is approved again. You’re responsible for that Mollie, everyone is very grateful to you.”

  Sean groaned. “The entire island will expect to be invited to the wedding.” He glanced hopefully at Mollie. “Are you sure you don’t want a quick ceremony in Dublin and a Paris honeymoon?”

  “Quite sure,” Mollie said firmly.

  This time it was Emma who breathed a sigh of relief.

  Two years later

  Sean pushed aside the contents of his suitcase, cursed under his breath, and looked guiltily at the four-poster bed where Caili lay on her stomach coloring.

  “You said a bad word, Uncle Sean,” she announced.

  “So I did. You won’t be telling your
Aunt Mollie on me, will you, lass?”

  “Not if you tell Annie to let me stay up until you get home.”

  “That’s a hard bargain, my love. You know we won’t be back until the wee hours of the morning. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.”

  Caili sat up and crossed her legs. “Why are you mad?”

  “Who’s mad?” Mollie walked into the room, and Sean caught his breath in appreciation. How did she manage it? A little nothing of a dress. Understated elegance. Everyone would look at her and know why the flavor of his work had changed, acquiring mystery, a different kind of edge. They would also know why his nights were never long enough. “I can’t find my cuff links,” he stammered, caught up, even after a year and a half of marriage, in her rhythms, counting the hours until he would have her alone again in the quiet darkness of their bedroom, cool silky skin wrapped in cotton sheets.

  She found them, as she always did, effortlessly, smiling conspiratorially at Caili. “Annie’s here, love. Why don’t you ask her if she wants some tea?”

  Caili collected her crayons and slid off the bed. “Maybe she’ll let me stay up until you get home.”

  Sean held his breath.

  “I doubt it,” Mollie said, slipping her arms around her husband’s waist. Waiting until Caili left the room, she whispered into his ear. “What would you do without me?”

  “God help me if I ever have to find out,” Sean said fervently, turning to kiss her. “Is everyone ready?”

  “My mother and Ward will meet us at the theater. Alice and my father are in the suite with your mother, entertaining our babysitter.” She reached up to straighten his collar. “You look wonderful. Are you nervous?”

  “Premieres always make me nervous.”