Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  The tree sat high on a magnificent hill, round and green, overlooking the village. Another vague memory came into sharp focus: Erin and her brother fighting over the last biscuit during a family picnic. Her mam had wisely taken the Solomon approach, breaking it in two.

  Rory stood, hands on his waist as he slowly turned in a circle, looking every inch the master of all he surveyed.

  “Bring back any memories?” Erin asked, loving the way the breeze tousled his hair.

  He turned to her. “Apart from breaking my collarbone when I was a kid? Yeah. I think the last time I was up here might have been with you.”

  Erin was pleased he remembered. “It was. That summer between your junior and senior year of university.”

  “Thought so.” He closed one eye, scanning the land like a surveyor. “There,” he said, pointing two hundred yards away. “We had sex there.”

  “I thought men didn’t remember things like that.”

  “They do when the sex is amazing.”

  Erin kicked off her sandals, fluttering her toes in the cool air. It was so relaxing, being up here with him and away from worries like exams and whether or not her mother could drive even Sandra mad.

  “I remember the pictures you showed me when you were at university: all those waterfalls and countryside, that big lake. I thought, ‘It’s as lovely there as it is here.’”

  “Yeah, Ithaca’s pretty great.” Rory sat down beside her. “I’m sorry you never got to see it while I was going to school there. I’ll bring you there when I’ve got a break in my schedule. I promise.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “I would love that.”

  He stroked the back of her hair. “You’re sure you can leave all this behind?”

  Erin slowly lifted her head and looked at him. “Rory, all I’ve ever wanted to do is leave this. Not that I don’t love it, mind, but you know I’ve always wanted to live somewhere else.” A sick feeling was creeping up on her, and as much as it scared her to ask what he was getting at, she had to. “Are you getting cold feet?”

  Rory pulled back slightly so he could look her fully in the eyes. “Are you jokin’ me?”

  “Cut me slack, will you please? I’ve been floatin’ on air about us getting back together, but when you say things like that, it makes me worry that you’re not sure you want me to come back to America with you.”

  “That is probably the maddest thing that’s ever passed your lips.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ve said madder things than that. Maybe not to you, though.”

  “Ah, so you’ve got secrets.”

  Erin laughed with amusement. “Oh, yeah, that’s me from head to toe: an international woman of mystery.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rory said abruptly, deep pain lining his face. “For all of it.”

  “Where’s all this coming from?” Erin asked softly.

  “Just now. The fact that you could even doubt I want you with me. It kills me, the way you still don’t completely trust me—” He broke off, overcome by emotion.

  “Rory.” Erin cupped his cheek in her palm. “I do trust you. I just had a momentary lapse. I appreciate so much that you realize how badly you broke my heart. But it’s in the past now, love. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this. I want to look forward, not back, unless it’s memories of the good times.”

  “Which I’m sure is the main reason you’re willing to give me another chance,” Rory ventured.

  “Not the main, but it did help that there was a shared history between us I could look back on. Ultimately, though, it’s about more than memory. It has to be.” She ran her finger along the side of his cheek. “I was never able to really hate you. Distraught as I was, the world still felt out of step without you. Now I feel like all the pieces fit.” She halted, blushing. “God, I must sound like I’m on EastEnders or something.”

  “You sound lovely.” He rested his forehead against hers. The mind meld, they’d always called it. My thoughts are yours and yours are mine, same as our hearts. It went all the way back to their teenage years, those words.

  “I want you to close your eyes,” said Rory.

  Erin lifted her head, looking at him suspiciously. “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh, what?”

  “Uh-oh, I’m not too sure about that.”

  “Uh-oh, I want to propose to you, and if you say yes, I’ll give you a ring, you daft woman.”

  Erin’s lips parted in shock. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘Oh,’” Rory replied, amused. “I suppose I can’t do it now I’ve spoiled the surprise.”

  “No, no, do it,” Erin implored, twining her fingers through his.

  “You sure? Because—”

  Erin cupped his neck, roughly pulling his mouth to hers. “I’d forgotten what a windbag you could be.”

  “I know. I know. All right, then, close your eyes.”

  Erin closed her eyes, then opened one. “Why do I have to close my eyes? Don’t you want to gaze into them as you pop the question?”

  “Yeah, I guess I do,” Rory replied, brows furrowed in confusion. “It’s obvious I’ve thought this out all backwards, because I’m nervous.”

  “You nervous?”

  “Yes, it does happen once every ten years or so.” His lips moved slightly as he murmured to himself. He’s so adorable, Erin thought. He would hate to hear himself described this way, but it was true. When he did things like this, she saw the handsome teenage boy she’d fallen for.

  His lips stopped moving, and he looked at her with such tenderness and longing that Erin felt her heart tumbling.

  “First, I need to get down on bended knee.” He winced slightly as he positioned himself in the classic will-you-marry-me pose.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” Rory said dismissively. “Hurt my knee two seasons ago. Sometimes it gives me a bit of trouble.” He checked his stance. “I’m pretty sure you have to be standing for this to work.”

  He was right. Erin stood in front of him.

  Rory fished in one of his front pockets, pulling out a small, square, blue velvet box. The anticipation. Miraculous, she thought, that it’s come back round to this.

  “I think you’re supposed to give me your left hand.”

  Erin extended her hand to his. There was something comical to his directing the action step-by-step. Touching, too. There was no sign of the swaggering egomaniac here. Just a man and a woman with a past, wanting to step into the future.

  Rory cleared his throat. “Erin Margaret O’Brien, will you do me the great honor of—”

  “Yes!”

  Rory laughed. “Can I finish the sentence, please?”

  “Sorry,” Erin said sheepishly.

  “No need to apologize, love. I just want to do this proper.”

  Erin nodded, her left hand trembling in his.

  “Erin Margaret O’Brien,” he began again. “Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes,” Erin whispered, beginning to weep.

  “Then—oh, shite, I was supposed to take the ring out of the box so it was ready to slip right on your finger if you said yes. Let’s do it again.”

  Erin wanted to tell him to take a deep breath and relax, as but intuited it would only make him more nervous.

  “Okay.” He removed the ring from its home, holding it in his right hand as his left again took hold of hers.

  “Third time’s the charm, right?” He swallowed, his expression so sweetly vulnerable it transformed Erin’s anticipation into something deeper.

  “Erin Margaret O’Brien.” He took a deep breath. “So far, so good. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  Erin paused a moment to let the beauty of the words sink in. “Yes,” she said, pure joy winging through her.

  Any trace of anxiety that had Rory in its grip vanished as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Erin, overwhelmed. It caught the light perfectly, a r
ainbow of colors reflecting every facet of the ring. She held her hand out in front of her. She recognized it from all those trips to the shop years before. It was magical. Real. Hers.

  “It’s our ring,” she whispered. “From when we used to pretend.”

  “It is. I’m glad it’s still your taste,” Rory laughed. “I brought San with me to help pick it out. It was like bringing Elizabeth Bloody Taylor.”

  “That’s San.”

  “I bought something for her as well. A tennis bracelet. You woulda thought I’d bought her the Hope Diamond.”

  “That’s so lovely of you, Rory.”

  “It felt like the right thing to do.”

  “It was.”

  Rory took her hand, examining the ring closely. “I don’t want you to ever take this off. Ever.”

  “Why would I want to?”

  Rory gave a small grimace as he sat down on the blanket, Erin following suit. He lay back, his fingers entwined on his chest as he gazed up through the branches of the tree. “I’m trying to figure out how I only broke my collarbone and not my neck.”

  “Charmed life.” Erin lay down beside him. “When I was little, my mother told me the branches of the tree would protect me from fairies.”

  “My gran said the same thing,” Rory recalled.

  He rolled toward her, his fingers running a lazy trail up and down her arm. Erin embraced the feeling, shuddering a little. She laughed softly, touching his cheek, losing herself in those blue eyes that had always held the promise of love.

  A trace of a smile played at the corners of Rory’s mouth. He leaned toward her, kissing the tip of her nose before moving on to each of her cheeks, and then finally her mouth. His lips on hers were tender as a caress, sweet as if this were the first time they’d kissed; it felt that innocent and new. Erin cupped her hand against the back of his head, sliding her fingers back and forth over the soft prickle of his buzzed, blond hair.

  “I love when you touch me,” he murmured, his body pressing into hers. “Nothing else in the world compares to it. It feels like home.”

  Erin smiled, putting her mouth to his lips. Home. That was the word for Rory. He was her home. She didn’t have to hide with him, or put on a show, or worry that she wasn’t enough for him. He came back for her. Nothing else needed to be said.

  She pulled back, smiling at him. “I love you.”

  “That’s convenient, seeing as how you agreed to marry me,” Rory replied playfully. He grabbed her and pulled her on top of him, drawing her into an intimate embrace. Erin closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of the sunlight hitting her face, the breeze trifling over her body.

  “May I kiss you again, miss?” Rory asked.

  The question sent a steady thrum of warmth through Erin as she nodded yes. This time, Rory’s kiss was more demanding, the feel of his tongue effortlessly sliding between her lips inducing a potent sense of intoxication. She couldn’t lie: Rory had been this good girl’s drug of choice since she was a teenager. She adored the familiar terrain of his skin, the way he gently held himself atop her so she could run her hands up and down his muscled back. Even when they’d been apart, she’d been able to conjure every inch of his body and how it felt atop her, beside her, inside her.

  Rory rolled them so he was now the one on top, his gaze beating down on hers, full of months—years—of pent-up desire. Erin wrapped her arms around his neck, the thought entering her head: You’re hanging on to him for dear life. Because she was.

  Rory had started showering every inch of her face with soft, well-placed kisses. Erin giggled, then closed her eyes, knowing how the tenderness would soon give way to intensity. She loved when his lips brushed her earlobes, when he bestowed quick, tiny nips there. And her neck—it had always been one of her spots. All Rory had to do was deliver a small bite here and there, and fever shot through her. He could do anything he wanted to her now. Anything.

  He sat up, the hard press of his legs against hers as he straddled her arousing her even more. He was sloe-eyed as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one she’d bought him years back—denim, but it was faded and soft now. Her breath caught as he removed the garment. Such a man, was all she could think. Muscular and trim, no trace of the football-playing schoolboy she’d fallen for back when she was fifteen and he was all lean and bone. This was the body he’d always aspired to, and now he had it: the cut biceps, the firm stomach. God, the solidity of him.

  She brought her hands up to his chest, opening her palms, fingertips pressing the warm flesh. Rory closed his eyes and smiled, giving a small moan of delight. She could feel him getting hard, and stopped pressing his skin just for a moment to fully appreciate it.

  Rory leaned forward, burying his face in her neck. “I love you,” he said, his hot breath making every nerve in her body tingle.

  “I love you, too,” she breathed. She took one of his hands, brought it to her breasts. Rory raised his head and began undoing the buttons of her shirt, leaning forward to take a small bite of her shoulder when it was bare. Erin shuddered. “I love when you do that. I’ve always loved it.”

  He helped her peel off her shirt, then unfastened her bra, and soon that was gone, too. The excitement, coupled with the chill, had made her nipples hard. And when Rory lowered his mouth to them, his teeth tugging and his tongue flicking, Erin felt herself beginning to disintegrate. Groaning, she rocked her hips against him, shocked by how quick her body was to shudder from this small increase in contact.

  “Shall I make love to you?” Rory asked, his breath cool as he blew on her heated skin.

  “You shall,” murmured Erin.

  She could see from the dark of Rory’s eyes that he was fighting for control, fighting to keep it slow as he undid her jeans and gently tugged them free of her legs, along with her panties. He kissed her low on the belly, pushing the heat pulsing through her to the surface. She wanted him now, and pulling her knees up, she wrapped her legs around his hips, carefully thrusting against him, each slow buck of her body against his exciting him more and more.

  “I can’t take this,” Rory groaned. Erin released him from her grip, desire roaring through her head as she watched him stand and hurriedly remove his pants and briefs. That’s when she felt everything inside her coalesce into one furious, vibrant hunger.

  “Rory…”

  He settled back atop her, Erin gasping with pleasure as he slid inside her and began moving. It was slow at first, beautifully, torturously slow. He increased the tempo bit by bit, so carefully Erin was in agony. Even so, she would never trade it for the slow build of heat that was curling through her body, the anticipation of how it would all end.

  Rory was breathing hard, moaning, his own mounting pleasure evident in every move he made. Erin tightened and flexed her inner muscles around him; that’s when his expression changed to something more driven, a craving. He began moving faster, thrusting himself deeper, whispering secrets and endearments in her ear that only the two of them knew. It wasn’t only the deep passion of the movement that finally pushed her over the edge into rapture; it was knowing this was it, finally, she and Rory, the way it was always meant to be. The way it always would be.

  * * *

  They lazed together in the sunshine for a long time, occasionally murmuring and stirring to kiss or to rearrange tangled limbs. Erin didn’t know what time it was, nor did she care. All that mattered was the man holding her.

  Rory lifted his head with a smile. “One of these days we’ll do it indoors, I promise.”

  Erin laughed delightedly. “I don’t care where we do it. Being with you is all that matters.”

  “I’ll remind you of that when we row.”

  “We’ll never row again.”

  “You know what? I think you’re right.”

  28

  “First you twist my arm into letting Sandra work here, and now this.”

  Erin ignored her mother’s latest stab at martyrdom as she helped her set the small kitchen table in her parents’ flat.
It was Sunday, two weeks after she and Rory had gotten engaged, and he and his gran were coming round for tea. It didn’t take as much strong-arming as expected, thanks to her father. “This is what she wants. We’re civilized people, are we not?”

  It had shocked Erin; usually her father retreated pretty quickly when her mother started getting worked up. This was proof he was truly on her side.

  It’d been killing Erin to keep quiet about the engagement, but she knew the only way to handle telling her mother was for she and Rory to announce it together. She’d been itching from day one to show her folks the ring: it had been hard to put it away in the bureau and not wear it. Her ring finger actually felt naked without it.

  Erin folded the napkins, placing them around the table. “Thanks for making soda bread,” she said gratefully, hoping it might help to shake her mother out of her mood.

  “Well, Rory likes it, doesn’t he?” was her mother’s sour reply.

  Erin’s fingers braced the table. “I told you: I’m not having this. Either you keep a civil tongue in your head or I’m off.”

  “I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I don’t like it one bit.”

  Erin came over to the counter where her mother was slicing bread and hugged her from behind. “What’s happened, Mam, is that I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “Well, I don’t like it very much, I’m telling you.”

  Erin kissed her cheek. “I appreciate the honesty.”

  “He better be on time,” her mother muttered under her breath.

  “Of course he’ll be on time.”

  Erin’s father walked into the kitchen, giving her mother a big smacky kiss on the cheek. “How’s it going, my girl?”

  “Oh, it’s going,” she replied dryly.

  Erin’s dad gave her a wink.

  “I see we’ve got a lovely collection of tea cakes,” he commented.

  “Mam thought it would be better to have a tea and cake kind of thing, and I agree.”

  “No, this is grand,” her father noted. “This way Rory and Fiona can leg it out of here if the dragon lady appears.”