The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  “By tying me up in knots until I howl at the moon like yer brother’s dog?”

  “I don’t understand.” And she didn’t. How could her turmoil hurt him?

  “I know ye don’t, but I can’t tell ye.” He sighed. “You won’t believe me. I’ll have to show ye.”

  From the glint in his eyes and the way his hands kept clenching and unclenching, she wondered if he was angry with her. When she asked, he sighed, low and long. “No,” he answered. “Not with you. With meself.”

  She held out her hand to him. When he finally took it she asked, “Do ye promise to stop if I ask ye to?”

  His eyes changed from the warm brown she’d always known to a deeper shade, as she’d told him earlier, like burned peat: dark and mysterious. “Ye have me word.” Drawing her into his arms, he said, “There’s so many things I could show ye, but we’ll have to settle for one or two until yer ribs are healed.”

  Her earlier hesitation gave way to a yearning that filled her to bursting. “Can we stand up, or do we need to sit down?”

  His smile eased the worry that had been growing steadily since she’d acquiesced. “Let me hold ye first, so ye know I won’t be goin’ back on me word.”

  He was solid and warm where her breasts and belly pressed against him. Shifting so her thighs pressed intimately against him made her head spin. She must have told him so, because he chuckled softly. “That’s yer passion callin’ to me.”

  Tilting her head back, she smiled up at him. “I’m guessin’ ye don’t mean like Father Feeney’s calling to be a priest.”

  He lowered his mouth and sipped from her lips. “Ye always were a fast learner.” When his lips coaxed hers apart, he groaned, tangling his tongue with hers.

  Lost, she whispered, “Teach me.”

  Mindful of her injury, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the front parlor. Laying her down on the sofa, he stepped back and stared down at her. “I won’t know what ye like and don’t like, or what worries ye and what scares ye. So, ye must tell me.”

  Speech was beyond her. She nodded that she understood.

  Instead of lying beside her, he knelt beside her and ran his hand from her ankle to her knee. Gently stroking, watching and waiting for her to tell him yes or no.

  Jessi didn’t want to break the spell that wove around them with silken strands. For a big man, his hands were feather-light. She nodded, and he eased the fabric of her nightgown to mid-thigh. She shivered slightly. When he looked up at her, waiting, she finally spoke. “Are ye stopping then?”

  He shook his head. “I’m waitin’ for ye to tell me to stop.”

  “What are you plannin’ on doin’ that I would?”

  “I want to ease your pain. Erase the bad memories.”

  Jessi stiffened, thinking she finally understood. “Ye want to bite me and pinch and poke at me?”

  Sorrow flashed in the depths of his dark eyes. “No,” he finally answered. “I want to kiss ye, stroke ye until yer beggin’ me to slide into ye and make ye mine.”

  A funny feeling fluttered in the pit of her stomach. She’d always trusted him, and she wouldn’t stop now by shying away from his words. “Ye’ll not hurt me?”

  He shook his head.

  “And ye’ll stop when I ask?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  “One kiss, then.”

  He dropped his head to her knee and groaned.

  “Have I asked too much of ye?”

  Reilly lifted his head, and she realized he was struggling for control. “Too little.”

  Accepting his words, she changed her mind. “Two then, if ye must.”

  The heat of his lips pressing against the side of her knee startled her, but he soon distracted her from the fact that he had shifted her gown higher, exposing her leg from her knee to the top of her thigh.

  He stroked the back of her leg, lifting it up so he could press a kiss to the fading yellowed outline of a larger bruise.

  The strangled sound she made shocked her, but not as much as when he pulled back from her and pulled her gown back into place.

  “Why did ye stop?” she whispered. “I didn’t ask ye to.”

  Bending low, he pressed another kiss to her forehead and mumbled, “Ye said two kisses.”

  Enraptured, she rasped, “They were both grand.”

  His lips lifted in a crooked smile that went straight to her heart, reopening the bottomless well of love she’d carried for this man for as long as she could remember.

  “If ye want me to kiss ye again, ye’ll have to ask,” he said. “I’ll not be takin’ from ye, lass.”

  “One more.”

  He shifted closer and pressed his lips against her thigh. The heat of his mouth burned through the soft white cotton of her gown. She moaned softly.

  He cupped her ankle with one hand, while he skimmed his other hand up and down the length of her thigh. A whisper of a touch that gentled her, reassured her. But it was the banked passion burning in his eyes that had her asking, “Will ye kiss me again?”

  His lips curved. “Where?”

  Gathering her courage, she eased the gown up to mid-thigh and waited.

  He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to another bruise.

  Shifting so the back of her leg was exposed to him, she waited and was rewarded with the flick of his tongue followed by another soft kiss.

  When she moaned, he helped her settle back against the couch and started to move away from her. Desperate for more of his tender touch and scorching kisses, she opened her arms to him.

  “Tell me what ye want, lass,” he said, gathering her gently into his arms.

  “Don’t ye know?” She couldn’t verbalize all that she felt inside of her; the emotions were too new, the feelings too raw.

  “I think I do,” he said, kissing the tip of her chin.

  When she only stared at him, waiting, he kissed the line of her jaw, stopping just beneath her ear.

  “How do ye know just where I want to be kissed?” Had he kissed so many other women?

  Easing her back against the seat, he moved so he sat beside her, settling her legs across his lap, resting one hand on her knees while the other brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  Damn. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “I don’t know.”

  “How do ye feel?”

  She thought about it and answered honestly. “Confused.”

  “Have I frightened ye?”

  The slight movement of her head must have been answer enough, because he kissed the end of her nose and brushed the back of his hand across her cheek.

  “Do ye trust me?”

  “I always have.”

  “Then tell me what else they did to you, so I can make ye forget.”

  Jessi hesitated, shamed to her core. “They touched me…” She lost her nerve and left the rest unsaid.

  Reilly cupped her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his. This kiss wasn’t like his others. Her toes curled and her breasts tingled. As if he knew, he dropped his hands and brushed his knuckles against first one breast and then the other.

  She sucked in a breath at the new sensation rocketing through her, but when he would have stopped, she shook her head at him. “Ye said ye’d do as I ask.”

  He nipped at her lips, brushing the tips of his fingers across one pebbled peak and then the other. “Ask me, lass.”

  “John.” She didn’t know what she wanted him to do next. “Please.”

  “Ask me,” his voice deepened. “Anything.”

  “Don’t stop,” she whimpered as he tugged at the loose neckline of her gown. Her eyes glazed over when he nudged the fabric and it caught briefly before slipping down to reveal the rose and ivory she’d never thought to bare to anyone but the babe she’d always hoped to suckle there.

  He licked and trailed the tip of his tongue across her breast until she cried out.

  “I’m sorry, I—” he began, but she slid her hand around to t
he back of his head and brought his mouth back to where she ached.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. This time he drew her into his mouth, suckling her until her eyes crossed and her head spun.

  When she thought she’d surely die from pleasure, he switched to the breast he’d neglected and had her moaning low in her throat.

  He laid his head between her breasts. “I have to stop.”

  “But I didn’t ask ye to.” And she knew she didn’t want him to, not when his touch was gentle and with each new place he kissed or stroked, he revealed another place that would be forever branded as his.

  Pulling her gown up, covering her swollen breasts, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “If I don’t stop now, lass, I won’t be stoppin’ until I’ve made ye mine.”

  When she only stared at him, he ground out, “Ye know what that means, don’t ye?”

  “I’m not daft,” she bit back, “I was thinkin’ it over.”

  His raspy laugh warmed her heart. “Yer enough to drive a saint crazy.”

  “Faith, isn’t it grand yer no saint.”

  He pulled her close and held on as if he didn’t intend to let go. “Flynn’s right.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “About what?”

  He soothed her by rubbing his hand up and down her spine until she was pliant again. “Ye’ve the face of an angel, a tongue that could take a man out at the knees, and a wicked right cross.”

  “Those don’t sound like the qualities ye’d want in a wife.”

  Reilly shrugged. “Maybe it’s time for ye to ask me what I’d be wanting in a wife.”

  Swallowing against the lump of fear forming in her throat, she nodded. “All right, then. What would you be wanting?”

  His lips captured hers in a bone-melting kiss. “You, lass,” he said. “I want you.”

  Having what she wanted offered to her again, but this time not out of a misplaced sense of honor for not having protected her, but out of passion, she smiled and asked. “Do ye expect me to be hittin’ ye often?”

  The look on his face told her the question had hit its mark. “What in the bloody hell are ye talkin’ about?” he demanded.

  She smiled sweetly. “Ye said ye admired me right cross. I’m tryin’ to figure out how often ye want me to use it on ye.”

  His grumbled reply wasn’t fit to repeat, so she ignored it.

  “Yer a confusing lass.”

  “Thank ye, John.”

  “It wasn’t meant as praise.”

  “I know,” she whispered. When he fell silent, she wondered if he’d be angry or oblige what she would ask of him. Rather than worry over it, she blurted out. “Will ye make love to me?”

  His body’s answer nearly lifted her bottom off of his lap, startling a giggle out of her. “Is that a yes?”

  The look on his face was a mix between anger and torture. “ ’Tisn’t something that I can give back to ye once ye give me your innocence.”

  “I told ye,” she said. “Me ma and yer mother—”

  He put his hand over her mouth, effectively silencing her. “I just wanted to be certain ye understood.”

  She nodded and he removed his hand, replacing it with his mouth. Knowing that to expect, she parted her lips and he swept his tongue between them, stealing her breath and her heart.

  Love for John Reilly poured through her. When he ended the kiss, she confessed, “I won’t hold it against ye if ye don’t love me.”

  His fingers bit into her upper arms where he’d grabbed her. “What in the hell are ye blatherin’ about?”

  “Moira told me that a man can make love to a woman with no intention of marryin’ her.”

  He eased her off his lap and stood. “If I didn’t love ye, why would I be takin’ the time to help ye heal?”

  She looked up at him and didn’t want to take the chance that she’d make him angry enough to leave.

  “Why would I be stayin’ here instead of going back to the ranch where I’ll have to be goin’ in another hour or so to begin me chores for the day?”

  “Ye feel responsible for me,” she soothed.

  “Responsible?” he growled. “I feel responsibility for the care of me horse, not the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Why would ye want to spend your life with me after the way ye explained that ye weren’t ready to be married and ye didn’t want to be pushed into it?”

  He paced in front of the couch. “I’m ready now.”

  “Are ye?” She watched his eyes for a clue as to what he was thinking, but couldn’t find one.

  “I said I was.”

  “And yer a man of yer word.”

  He stopped and stared down at her. “That I am.”

  “What if ye change yer mind back?”

  “Now that I’ve made it up,” he told her, “I won’t.”

  “Ye did the other day,” she reminded him.

  “That was before,” he bit out.

  “Before what?” She couldn’t believe he was serious.

  He threw his hands up in the air and walked over to the doorway. With a huge sigh, he turned around and made his way back to where she sat. “Before I’d tasted the sweetness of your mouth, the silk of yer thigh and the berry-tartness of yer breasts.”

  His words had their desired effect; her cheeks blushed and her pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat.

  “So ye only want to marry me because of the way I look, speak and taste?”

  He grinned. “Don’t forget your aim.”

  “That’s not love,” she countered as the hurt slid between her aching ribs and began to throb.

  “What do ye think love is, lass?” he asked, bending down to take her hands in his.

  When she would have pulled away, he tugged and she finally looked up at him. “A feeling of gladness in me heart when ye look at me and smile.”

  “What else?” he prompted.

  “I admire the way ye treat people, both here and back home.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I count on yer strength.”

  He nodded. “So you think you love me because of the way I look at you, treat people, and the muscles in me arms?”

  As the truth of her words settled into her bones, she shook her head. “Does either of us know what love is?”

  “I think we do, lass.”

  “Well, then, please explain it to me.”

  “Do ye trust me?”

  “Ye know I do.”

  “Can ye imagine life without me?”

  Her eyes filled. “I’ve tried, but it doesn’t seem to work.”

  “Do ye see yerself twenty years from now still feeling the same?”

  When she shook her head at him, his face crumbled and he dropped her hands and turned from her.

  She stood and grabbed at the back of his shirt, pulling on it until he stopped and turned around. “I see myself loving ye more.”

  He swept her into his arms and kissed her. “I didn’t realize how much I loved ye, lass, until I thought I’d lost ye.”

  “Then ye do want me for more than me face and the way I taste?”

  “I trust ye, Jessi Fahy…with me heart.”

  “I won’t damage it.”

  He rested his chin on the top of her head. “We’ve things to settle before we wed. You’ll tell me what else those bloody bastards did, so I can fix it.”

  She agreed then added, “I’ve asked Inga and the ladies to meet with me tomorrow so we can form our plan.”

  He groaned. “What plan?”

  “I thought ye trusted me?”

  “I do.”

  “Then can ye wait until tomorrow to find out?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?” she asked, raising her chin up to better gauge his mind-set.

  “Do ye promise it won’t put ye or any of yer friends in danger?”

  “I promise.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  Jessi leaned her head against his broad ch
est and sighed. “Ye’ve already done that.”

  He chuckled. “I mean about tomorrow.”

  “Will ye ask the menfolk to come here tomorrow evening?”

  “What reason should I give them?”

  She stood on the tip of her toes and brushed her lips against his. “They’re wanted.”

  He kissed her tenderly. “How can any one of us refuse?”

  “That’s what we’ll be counting on.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  “Thank ye, John.”

  “You’ll tell me when ye can?”

  “I will.”

  “Ye’d best get to bed, lass.”

  “Will ye be comin’ with me?”

  He shook his head. “It’s late, and I’ve got stock that’ll be waiting for me to feed them by the time I get back to the ranch.”

  “But you’ll come back?”

  He smiled at her and kissed the end of her nose. “I’ll be back.”

  He led her to the stairs, and took her in his arms one last time. “You’ll be careful, lass?”

  “What makes ye think—”

  “I want yer word, Jessi.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”

  He nodded. “Sleep well, Jessi, lass.”

  “And ye, John.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jessi woke to the sound of skirts rustling nearby. She opened her eyes, and the room came into focus. “Inga?” She pushed herself up and bit back a groan. How long would it take her to remember to go slowly until her ribs were healed?

  “I didn’t mean to wake you just yet.”

  “I must have overslept.” Jessi shifted on the bed, eased closer to the edge and slid off.

  Inga watched her slow progress. “You must be in terrible pain.”

  “It’s not so bad, as long as my ribs are wrapped tight.”

  “Would you like me to help you bathe?”

  Jessi eyed the hipbath steaming in the corner of the room by the window. “How can ye do that without bending, lifting and reaching?”

  Inga smiled at her. “Doc said I couldn’t bend or lift. He didn’t say anything about reaching. That was something he told you not to do.”

  Jessi had to smile at that. “I hope Ben did the lifting and bending.”

  Inga nodded. “He helped me heat the water earlier and then helped me—”