An Emerald Heart

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  By the time Ash drew her closer and put his lips against hers, Maya lowered all defenses. Her body burned with the fervent flame of a lit candle against the night, illumination against darkness. Heat seared her from his mouth. His lips were fire, dangerous and yet life-giving, and she yielded to him without remorse. His mouth stirred her body into a seething and tense stew. Her breasts perked up at his proximity and her nipples, even before he tweaked first one and then the other with dexterous thumbs, hardened. Between her legs, Maya’s pussy warmed and softened, the inner walls melting to accept Ash when the moment arrived.

  His fingers played over her skin like a virtuoso, skilled and light. Without ever removing his mouth from hers, Ash managed to unzip the sheath dress and work it down to the floor until Maya stood nude in nothing but a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels. With her flesh revealed, his hands explored her curves, straying over her skin like a New World explorer. Each touch brought her desire higher, every stroke of his fingers notched up her need. Somehow, somewhere he’d shucked his sport jacket and so Maya’s fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. She jerked it free and then used her hands to fondle his nipples until they rose hard and proud from his hair-covered chest. Maya tore her lips away from Ash’s mouth to suckle first one, then the other. His moans encouraged her to do more, and so she nibbled at a tender spot just below his collarbone. Her teeth claimed it, her lips sucking until she drew a bruise.

  Ash cupped his large hand over her mound and allowed his fingers to stray up into her channel. He fingered her clit and took her breath away. “I think ‘tis time to see my bedroom,” he murmured.

  “Oh, yes,” she gasped.

  Without asking, Ash scooped her up into his arms. Swept off her feet, Maya clung to him. No one ever carried her in this way. Until now, she thought no one did this in real life, believing it was the stuff of romance novels and the silver screen. The reality offered a heady delight, one enough to turn her head like good wine. Maya kept just enough of her senses to notice his beautiful bedroom. His huge bed looked out onto the backyard and gardens through bay windows. There were no curtains, so the sunshine streamed through like gold. Ash put her on the bed and, still wearing the designer heels, Maya spread her legs in a wide ‘V’. She raked her legs against his sides as he plunged between them, his cock erect and ready for entry.

  “God, you’re lovely,” he gasped as he rammed his dick into her waiting hole. On connection, Maya’s body bucked with impact as serious delight spiraled through every nerve and muscle. The walls of her cunt squeezed his cock and they both made noises of pleasure.

  As Ash worked in and out of her in an erotic rhythm she adored, Maya used her long fingernails to titillate his bare skin, but she didn’t scratch, not quite. She just applied enough pressure to tease and tempt. He went deeper, his boner so hard she thought sure he would spear her on it.

  A frenzy of sensations poured through her body as she gasped, “You’re fucking me to death. You’re fucking me to death.”

  Breathless laughter filled her ears as Ash said, “Then ‘twill be a sweet death, woman, for I can’t stop.”

  Maya’s legs cinched together around his torso just as they both came in a wild explosion of sweat and semen, pleasure and physical reaction, with incredible energy as they impacted. Her head whirled, she felt dizzy, and her body spasmed with intense sensations, each one greater than the one before as they shared orgasms in a burst of fever and wanton electricity both needed. During the event, her heels raked against his back and he yipped.

  “Mind your spurs, acushla,” Ash cried, laughing as he crashed down on the bed beside her. “You win, woman, as you’ve drawn first blood.”

  Although her body yearned to bask in the somnolent warmth of their lovemaking, Maya lifted up to see a thin trickle of crimson ooze from the scratch she’d inflicted. “Oh,” she cried, “I’m sorry, Ash.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “You’re a wild thing. I’ll have to tame you, vixen.”

  Maya arched her body, her thighs wet with his come, and said, “Now?”

  “Ah, God, yes,” Ash replied, one hand over his heart. “Woman, you’ll be the death of me, but I’ll do my damnedest.”

  Before she could speak or even guess what he intended, Ash dived between her still-open legs. His tongue entered Maya’s sensitive twat and explored. Each lick, each thrust, each motion sent an incredible rush through her. Helpless and unable to protest, Maya cried out as she came again and then yet again in a red blur of fire, of feeling, and intense pleasure. Her orgasms came swiftly, but with a depth and power she’d never experienced until now. This time, when Ash sprawled beside her, Maya lay still, her body numb and sated, her bones melted into the flesh. She caressed him with one lazy hand and they remained in his bed for a long span of time, not speaking, just touching.

  When at last she found strength to rise, Maya followed the sound of running water and the smell of sweet lavender to the adjacent master bath, where Ash sat filling a garden tub. They bathed together, still fondling and touching in a way she found both decadent and delicious. Afterward, she struggled into her dress and, barefooted, explored his sumptuous gardens.

  Fat purple wisteria bloomed along with bougainvillea’s deep pink shade. Tall Asian lilies bloomed beside a koi pond, where water lilies blossomed on the surface. Every nook boasted flowers in bloom and each inch of the perimeter featured trees, shrubs, or bushes. Jasmine bloomed and so did humble honeysuckle. In some places Ash created picturesque flowerbeds, neat and fenced, but in other parts of the large backyard, he let beauty riot in a burst of crazy colors and scents. Maya recognized wildflowers among the tame nursery variations. A patio open to the sky boasted potted plants and flowerboxes and another covered patio near the sparkling blue swimming pool had herbs growing in containers and beds.

  Maya crushed a sage leaf between two fingers, the pleasant aroma lingering on her hand. The scent reminded her of Thanksgiving, of roasted poultry, and of the past but now, she realized, it would also have a sensual connection. They strolled along rock pathways, meandered through bowers of blooming roses and at the far end of the lawn, fruit trees bore small green apples and pears. In an enclosed garden area, she saw he also grew the potatoes he’d mentioned, along with neat cabbages and several rows of corn. As the wind rustled the tall stalks, she laughed with delight.

  “This is the most amazing place I’ve ever seen,” she told him. “It’s like the Garden of Eden or something.”

  “Is it?” Ash asked but without mirth. His vivid green eyes radiated with inner emotion. “Then you might be careful, acushla, for we know what became of Eve, don’t we?”

  “I’m not afraid,” Maya said. “This is a safe, enchanted place.”

  His lips twisted into a smile but his voice lacked his earlier enthusiasm as he replied, “Ah, woman, you should be…but it’s glad I am that you’re not.”

  Later, beneath a Southern California night sky thick with stars and a full-bellied moon, Ash grilled mahi-mahi fillets for them both on the enclosed patio. He served a delicious green salad and a rice pilaf tastier than any she’d eaten. They finished with a glass of a sweet Moscato wine, and Maya didn’t refuse when he asked her to stay the night.

  ****

  Now, Maya sighed as she remembered the first time. Each encounter since resonated with the same sheer erotic power and connection, but she had no more claim than she had last summer. As the spring semester wound down to a close, Maya wondered if Ash would ever open himself to her fully, to break down the barriers he kept in place. Hers tumbled when she came to him on the day they met, but he reserved most of himself. She knew all about Ashton O’Neill, but Maya admitted she couldn’t claim to know the inner heart of the man.

  Her hopes he would invite her over to his magnificent house for the evening faded when he walked out of sight. She could head over to his house on Galewood Street

  , a lovely winding lane just south of Ventura Boulevard

  , but she’d never arrived without an
invitation before. Maya admitted she wasn’t sure how Ash might react if she appeared on his doorstep unannounced, and she feared she might find someone else spending time with her Irish lover.

  Maya checked her text messages but found none from Ash. She erased the few she’d received and lingered a few more moments before she descended the stairs to head home. Unlike Ash, she didn’t own a home. Maya lived in one of the motel-like apartment complexes as common through the greater LA area as convenience stores. Her plain room lacked most amenities and boasted no more than the simplest comforts. Until she met Ash, Maya wanted nothing more––just a place to sleep at night and park when she had nowhere else to go. His lovely home and sensational gardens brought out a latent desire for a permanent place. In her more open moments, she knew she’d love to share Ash’s home with him––forever.

  As she walked across campus to the parking lot, Maya couldn’t shake her thoughts of Ash. Most of the time, she could compartmentalize things, but since she had glimpsed him earlier, Maya’s mind obsessed about him. Sometimes she possessed what her mother always called a ‘knowing things’ and Ash, when she confessed her nearly-psychic moments, told her she must be ‘fey’. Something was askew, she thought, but Maya couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  There’s something wrong, I think. I’ll call him. He can’t be mad about a phone call.

  Maya paused to call Ash’s cell, the sole phone he owned, but he didn’t pick up. After his terse greeting, she left a brief message and asked him to call her. She ducked into the student union for a cold drink and loitered, but Ash didn’t call.

  When she pulled away from campus, Maya intended to head straight home, but once on the freeway, she headed for Sherman Oaks like a homing pigeon and within thirty minutes, she rolled her beat-up Honda Civic to a stop in front of Ash’s place. Her heart climbed up into her throat and her nerves danced an easy rhythm as she meandered up to the front door. The closer she came to the front step, the slower she moved. Maya admired a bright red geranium in a pot and then she paused. Beside it, three fat drops of liquid marred the brick: a darker, deeper crimson than the flower. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that’s blood, but it couldn’t be. No reason why it would be.

  Still, she leaned down to touch one of the spots and lifted a finger stained red. Maya sniffed it and the unmistakable copper stink of blood entered her nose. She glanced around with wild eyes, wondering if Ash had cut himself, or what. Just as Maya started to ring the doorbell, the front door flew open and Ash, a worried scowl across his face, grabbed her arm and jerked her inside.

  “Jesus, Mary, and her husband Joseph,” he exclaimed. “The angels in heaven must’ve sent you. Come in. Come in, woman.”

  Eyes wide, Maya walked into the familiar vestibule. Ash’s Irish brogue seemed to have thickened since they’d last spoken––so much, he sounded like he’d just arrived from the Emerald Isle. He moved in a different way, too, more furtive and with less grace. As she studied him, Maya noticed the scarlet smears on his white shirt and gasped.

  “Ash, that’s blood!” she cried, “What’s happened? You’re acting so strangely.”

  He faced her and she noticed this man’s eyes weren’t green, but as blue as her own. Before Maya could react, he grasped her hand.

  “I’m Des,” he said. “I’m Ash’s brother. You wouldn’t be here, I’m thinking, if you weren’t his woman, so ‘tis good you came. He needs your help.”

  “Why?” Maya asked, too worried now to be happy to hear anyone describe her as Ash’s woman. “What’s wrong?”

  “They bloody well shot Ash, thinking he was me,” Des said. “Come on, there’s no time to waste.”

  Individual words struck her like tossed stones. Shot. Bloody. Ash. Fear struck her speechless but Maya followed, uncertain what she’d find or what she could do.

  Chapter Two

  Ash’s bedroom with the white walls, the multi-paned bay window, and the deep-pile carpet the very blue-green color of the sea from their favorite beach, always felt like a haven to Maya––until now. Des thrust her forward toward the bed. As she moved through the room, she saw a pile of discarded garments including a shirt dark with blood. Under the blankets, Ash’s dark head stuck out at the top, resting on several pillows. Maya noted his pale face and the drawn look of his features. Without thinking about it, she took his hand and held it.

  “Maya?” Ash whispered as his eyes flew open. “’Tis you?”

  “It’s me,” she confirmed.

  “Aye. I hoped you’d come, woman.”

  “You should’ve called me.”

  He shook his head with effort. “’Twas not something I thought about, but I wished you here, and so you came.”

  “Ash, I don’t understand,” she said. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long tale to tell,” Ash said. “I’ve not the strength to tell it, but Des can. He’s my brother, and you can trust him, acushla. Des, tell her, please.”

  “Aye, I will soon enough,” Des replied. He joined Maya beside Ash’s bed. “I think first, though, we’d best tend to you.”

  Maya looked from Ash’s wan face to Des. Their faces matched, except for eye color, but when she scrutinized closer, she noted their noses were different too. “Are you twins?”

  “No, not twins but no more than thirteen months between us,” Des said. “I’ll introduce myself since Ash isn’t up to polite gestures at the moment. I’m Desmond O’Neill, Des for short as you’ve heard, and I’m the older of the two of us. I’m also the black sheep of the family, I suppose.”

  Since her Ash took a bullet meant for him, Maya believed it. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I can’t say it’s been one yet,” she said. “I’m Dr. Maya Sheppard.”

  “Right,” Des said. His grin resembled Ash’s far too much. “I’ve heard much about you.”

  “Really?” She wasn’t sure if she should be mad or glad, especially since she hadn’t heard a word about Desmond. “We can chat later. Shouldn’t we take Ash to the hospital?”

  Ash’s hand tightened around hers. “Acushla, it can’t happen. I’ll be fine. Des knows what to do and if you’d be so kind as to help him care for me, it will all be grand.”

  “Why can’t you go to the hospital?” Maya couldn’t understand.

  “They report gunshot wounds. It’s the law of your fine land,” Des told her.

  Some inkling of the truth began to sink through her thick skull. “What are you?” she asked. “Are you a criminal? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Ah, it’s never so dark as all that,” Desmond said. “Some might call me a terrorist, but I’m more in the way of being a patriot, cailin. Ash said he’d mentioned where we’re from and all, the Six Counties. Some of the Protestants there think they owe allegiance to the British, where we think it’s our land.”

  “I teach history,” Maya snapped. “I’m aware.”

  Irish history wasn’t among her specialties, however, so in recent months, after Ash alluded to his family’s patriotic leanings, she did enough research to understand some of the centuries-old struggle between Irish green and England’s red. What she didn’t understand was how the fight ended up on Ash’s doorstep, and she said so.

  “Well, it’s an old grudge,” Desmond said. “Bad blood and such … but if you want the long version, I’m happy to share over tea later. At the moment, I’m worried about my brother.”

  Maya focused on Ash. His eyes were now shut and he looked ghastly, pale and as if he must be in pain. “Where exactly was he shot?” she asked. “Doesn’t the bullet need to come out?”

  Des sat down on the foot of the bed with a sigh. “The bullet tore through his left shoulder, saints be praised. A few inches over, it might’ve been his heart, and lower it could well have been his guts. And it’s out––I took it out myself, which is why I’ve got Ash’s blood smeared on my shirt. It’s no more than a flesh wound and as long as infection doesn’t set in, he’ll be up and right in a few days. He’s weak, of
course, ‘tis to be expected. And it’s likely he’ll have a wee touch of fever. Ash is hurting, but he should be fine.”

  His casual talk of bullets, wounds, and blood horrified Maya. Reality seemed suspended and she could swear this must be a nightmare. Her world didn’t involve anything like this, and she found it hard to believe she sat in this peaceful bedroom, talking and remaining calm. I can’t believe I’m dealing with all this without freaking out. Tears overflowed her eyes, but she brushed them away. Although she’d lived in the academic world for all of her adult life, older memories and stories handed down like heirlooms had begun to surface.

  Maya came from tough folks, or so her grandmother always claimed. Grandmammy’s voice echoed in her head now, so clear it became almost audible. “Why, child, I remember well the time your daddy got bit by the biggest water moccasin I ever saw. It was hot and dry, a real drought, and the snakes came up out of the bar ditches to find water. He wasn’t no more than six or so, and I thought sure he might die, but I had to try. I cut the snakebite, the way they used to say to do and sucked the poison myself. And he lived, girl, after two days and two nights of raging fever. We took care of our own.”

  Other stories rained into her consciousness from stored memories:Her younger brother, choking on cellophane halfway down his throat, until her mama fished it out with the long handle of an iced teaspoon. The time Maya busted open her knee, split the skin down the center and her daddy covered it with a comfrey paste. And then there was the time she cut her hand on barbed wire, trespassing on Old Man Sharp’s place to swim in his pond, and it festered. Maya hadn’t wanted to tell anyone what she’d done, because sixteen or not, her father would’ve probably taken a switch to her bottom. When the cut radiated heat and oozed nasty greenish pus, Maya treated it the way she’d learned from her folks, cutting it and letting the infection pour out with a rush of blood. Then she poured straight rubbing alcohol into it and it burned worse than she imagined hellfire might. Dr. Sheppard, savvy academic professor, retreated as Maya – originally May Jean – emerged from the past. Maya could deal with this. She owned the strength. She possessed the power within.