by Sara Forbes
“No, he wouldn’t have been,” Danny says morosely.
“A teetotaler?”
“Dead. Dead these six years.”
“Oh.” My hand flies to my cheek. “Oh, poor Lorcan.”
Danny’s sweating. He rubs his temples. “Yes, poor Lorcan,” he whispers, rising from the chair and placing his hand against the trunk of the tree. Then, as if deciding it’s not a good spot, he walks to the well, and leans on the wall in front of it.
“What is it, Danny?”
He spins around. “You asked if I ever had anything to do with Cliona and yes, I did. Eight years ago, it started. I was twenty-three and she was twenty-one. I fancied that we were in love.”
I swallow. It’s painful to hear, but eight years is a long time ago. I nod for him to continue.
“We went out for two years and I was thinking of popping the question. I had the ring bought and the day planned and everything. But then Owen Callaghan came to town. Stole her away from me.”
“Wow, you can’t have been pleased.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” He shakes his head. “I went over there… I only meant to punch him in his pretty face, to put his acting career out of action for a while, but what happened was...”
He can’t seem to continue. I wait.
Danny's voice rises. “I came over and demanded a fight, like a stupid cowboy. We went outside to Ginnitty’s field. Owen threw the first punch. It got me in the stomach but didn’t do me much harm. He wasn’t that strong. He wasn’t built like his brothers. I just wanted this to be over quickly, for him to learn his lesson. I swung my fist at him, I was aiming to do damage to his face. He twisted to avoid me and somehow, he tripped over a rock, fell backward, and then bashed his head against a sharp iron bar that was lying there rusting in the field. It was part of an old trailer. It punctured his skull at the back. A fatal head injury.”
“Oh, Christ.”
Danny nods. “He was still alive when they rushed him to hospital but within twenty hours, Limerick County hospital reported Owen Callaghan, twenty-four years old, dead.”
“Holy…” I walk toward him.
He shakes his head. “I was enemy number one. Seamus vowed to kill me—and I don’t blame him, not for a second—but pretty soon after that, he upped and left for San Francisco for some job, almost without a word. Nobody expected that.
“See, Seamus was the golden boy, expected to run the business. Niall was only seventeen and Enda, fifteen, at the time. The Callaghans were devastated, losing two sons in one blow. Nobody knows why Seamus left really. Some think he just couldn’t bear to be in the house where Owen and he used to play and work together all the time. They were very close.
“To make matters even worse, the mother died soon after—of a broken heart, they claimed. Cliona was in a terrible state, as you can imagine. The Callaghans blamed her for Owen’s death. They actually seemed to better understand the jealous fit of madness that overcame me than the wickedness that induced her to seduce Owen in the first place.”
Danny looks at me grimly. “But don’t judge Cliona too harshly, Shannon. She’s had enough of that. And I suspect the seduction mainly happened in the other direction. Owen was a right charmer.”
“I’m not judging her,” I say.
“Not yet,” he sighs. “Little did we know at the time, but she was carrying Owen’s baby. Eight weeks pregnant. When she began to show, everyone was up in arms all over again. The whole community speculated on whose baby it was. Of course, I knew it was Owen’s. I hadn’t slept with her. But nobody else but Cliona knew that.”
“You hadn’t slept with her?”
“No.”
“And yet you were ready to propose?”
“Yes.”
“Was this a religious thing?”
“No, an inheritance thing. My mother is so incredibly paranoid about illegitimacy that she made me swear on the bible that I wouldn’t indulge in pre-marital sex. I was young and idealistic enough to go along with that. Hence the rush to get married.”
“But you weren’t fast enough?”
He nods again. “While everyone was running around yelling insults, my mother quickly recognized that the true victim in all the fights between us Moores, the Callaghans, and Cliona’s family, the Stephensons, was going to be the baby. She wanted Lorcan to be cared for properly. She encouraged Cliona to come over here as often as possible, especially when I wasn’t around. I was attending university and I couldn’t bear to be around Cliona or the baby-–when he came.”
“So, what changed?” I ask. Danny now being the picture of paternal perfection.
“Well, Cliona’s folks died three years ago, heart attacks in rapid succession. I had just graduated from my agricultural science degree and was home full-time. Mother got sick. It was a rough time. Cliona and I were the only ones keeping the two households running, and we bonded in the hardship, I suppose. As I saw her struggle to keep the most basic of appointments, I came to realize it was my duty to help out with the parenting seeing as I’d killed Lorcan’s father and there was no other father figure around.”
“Meanwhile, Mother used all the connections she had in the Irish judiciary system to protect Cliona from the wrath of the Callaghans. She helped with making sure Cliona kept full custody of Lorcan. The Callaghans were all “But he’s our grandson,” but she prevailed. And for that, Cliona is eternally grateful to my mother. They’re firm friends now, as you probably noticed. It’s not me she’s coming over to see when she comes here.”
“I had noticed that she spends a lot of time up in your mother’s quarters,” I say.
“We never got back together as a couple, and we never will, but I love Lorcan. I love him like a son.”
“I know. I can see it.”
“So, there you have it.” He studies my face as if he’s expecting me to explode.
“But what happened you?” I ask. “Didn’t you get convicted?”
“There was a trial. I was charged with manslaughter, which in this country is the one serious offense that’s punishable with just a fine. The court can decide to suspend all or part of a custodial sentence, and in my case when they looked at the circumstances, they decided on a hefty fine. My mother, I suspect, was instrumental there, too.”
“Oh, Danny, this is truly awful, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it was my fault. Who else’s could it have been?”
“Yes but—”
“I accept my responsibly fully,” he says. “Otherwise, it would be even harder to live with myself. At least I have that.”
“So, that’s why everyone hates you. Especially the Callaghans.”
He nods. “It hit Seamus Junior the hardest. He and Owen were only a year apart in age and were close. They were going to take over the running of the hotel together once Senior retired. But then Seamus ran off to San Francisco and Senior took over the hotel again instead of retiring as had been the plan.”
“Quite an upheaval then,” I say, hoping I don’t sound like I’m siding with the Callaghans.
“Yes.”
Danny reaches out to me.
I close the gap between us and run my fingers down his arm. “I’m glad you told me even though I know how hard it is. Shit happened, I get that, but you didn’t do it deliberately. You were trying to build the best life possible for yourself, and then fate knocked you down.”
His gaze meets mine, his eyes glowing. “Maybe it wasn’t the best life possible after all.”
My heart goes still. He’s looking at me so intently. He shouldn’t do that because I’m falling…falling.
I may not be able to get back up.
18
DANNY
“I want you,” I tell her. I can hear the neediness cracking my voice up. I don’t think I’ve ever said anything like this to a woman.
“You have me.” She kisses me.
I can’t believe she’s heard my story and still wants this.
Our kiss d
eepens, our clutches get more fervent. Clothes are becoming problematic.
“Please tell me you have soundproofed walls and a lock on your bedroom door,” I say, nuzzling into her sun-warmed hair that smells of vanilla.
“You weren’t so worried about privacy in your place,” she teases. “I seem to remember an unlocked living room…and a piano.”
“I got caught off-guard that time.”
She giggles and takes me by the hand, up the path, through the back door, through the kitchen, up the tiny stairs where I have to bend my head so as not to hit the ceiling, and finally into her bedroom.
It’s mostly white. That’s all I notice before I lift her off her feet and toss her onto the bed. I plank above her, looking down into her beautiful, glowing face. “This is how I want you,” I say.
Her fingers are grappling at my belt and this hunger of hers ignites my lust even more. I’m so hard for her, I feel I’m going to burst. The memory of her hot, tight pussy burns in my mind. It’s where I want to be.
Reading my mind, she unzips me and frees my cock from my pants, gripping firmly. I'm drowning in the glorious sensation of her hands squeezing me. I give myself over to her completely. She has all the power over me.
Her grip on my shaft tightens, pumping slowly up and down. A drop of pre-cum glistens on my tip. I’m close, and she knows it.
I sit back on my heels and pull her jeans open, tugging them over her hips. She shimmies to help me get them off. She’s wearing yellow, silk knickers that look perfect against her golden thighs. I smooth my fingertips over the silk covering her mound, moving down until I reach the wet patch. I caress her there in gentle strokes.
“Danny,” she says, wriggling. “Don’t make me wait.” She arches and her nipples harden even through the bra.
I pull out a condom from my pants and I shuck them off, along with my boxers. She wants it now, she’s getting it now.
Once sheathed, I dive down over her again. She’s bucking her hips off the bed, pressing against my erection. I pull the panties down over her hips, then her thighs, and slide them down her legs. Once the silk is cast away, I nudge her legs with my knees into a wider V.
Her breath hitches as I move my cock close to her entrance. To settle her nerves, I dip my head and kiss her mound then trail my tongue over her clit. She shudders. I know from before how much she likes that.
I lift my head. “Take off your top.”
As I stay watching her, she teases me by pulling the T-shirt up her midriff, then inch by inch over her head. She unclasps the bra and settles back with a sigh against the pillows, her beautiful, round breasts bobbing, her hard nipples jutting toward the ceiling. Her eyes meet mine, glowing softly, telling me she trusts me, wants me…accepts me.
“I’m in Heaven right now in a Catholic house.”
She giggles. “Should I say a prayer?”
“If you like. You’ll be taking the Lord’s name in vain in a minute.”
“Oh, you are so full of yourself, Your Grace,” she says.
It’s the first time she’s used my title.
“And now you’re going to be full of me.”
Her snort turns into a gasp as I move inside her, angling myself to fill her, inch by inch. She’s warm, tight, glorious. I feel her clenching around me, sucking me into her deepest core. In this tender moment—we’re open to each other like never before, connected, not drifting into individual fantasies. I want to make her happy.
She tenses in pain for a brief moment but keeps a tight grip on my hips. I hold her gaze and I know exactly when the moment has passed and she’s relaxed again. I’m fully in. I start a gentle rhythm of push and pull, letting her pressure on my hips guide the tempo. It feels incredible to be inside her.
But then I pause, watching her. Her face is flushed, her eyes shining. This feels different. Her. Us. Here. Different to anyone I’ve ever been with. It means something.
“You’re…special,” I say aloud.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says.
“That’s how I meant it,” I say.
“Well, you are too,” she says, her eyes shining. “But that doesn’t mean you can stop.”
I grin, and then I sink myself into the deepest part of her. I keep a firm grip on her hips to get full traction, my speed increasing until she’s making rapid “ohohoh” sounds with every thrust. Sweat builds on our bodies, making us slide slickly against each other. The bed creaks in time with my pounding. I don’t care. Sorry, Nuala.
I massage Shannon’s breasts, kneading her flesh. She’s too far gone to notice much. She’s bucking madly with her hips, whimpering softly, “Oh God, yes, oh God.”
I’m not sure what sounds I’m making. All I know is I’m heading towards climax fast.
We speed up. She claws at my back. My hands lean heavily into the mattress as I pump even harder. Her body arches up, every muscle stiffening. Her pussy gives my cock a final squeeze as she trembles into orgasm and just seconds later, I shoot my load into her with the most satisfying release I’ve ever had. Heaven opens its doors for me for a few blissed-out seconds.
Shannon gives a shudder and her grip on my hips goes slack. I pull out, remove the condom, and fall on my side next to her. Our breaths heave in and out, sometimes in sync with each other, sometimes not. Her eyes are closed and an angelic expression washes over her face as she basks in the after-waves.
I splay my hand on her abdomen. I admit I’m imagining what could have been happening in there with my sperm if we’d done this unprotected. She would be probably horrified if she could read my mind. I’m a little concerned myself. Why am I thinking like this?
It’s absolutely crazy. We were strangers two weeks ago, strangers on different sides of the planet. And yet, I feel closer to her than I have to anyone. Ever. It’s just one of those things. Some people are simply destined to be connected. All they have to do is meet.
I’m blaming this one on Mother Nature.
“You want to sleep?” she murmurs. By the sleepiness of her tone, it’s clear that’s what she needs.
“Yes.” I stroke her hair. “If it’s OK that I stay?”
She opens her eyes. “It’s OK.” She smiles and runs her fingers down my arm.
God, it’s all so easy. Normally I’m making a four-hour trip home at this stage and I’m not feeling happy and fulfilled like I am now.
I gaze around the room, taking it in. It’s stylish. The cream wallpaper has subtle vertical strips. The window has a great window-seat and I bet Shannon sits there admiring the view over the hills. There’s a dainty, lilac wardrobe and dressing table, art deco style. Shannon’s laptop is on the dressing table, some paper notepads stacked beside it.
When I turn back, Shannon’s eyes are open, watching me.
“I’m curious,” I say. “Why did you even go for the housekeeping job? I mean, when you have a job that clearly keeps you busy and you can work remotely?”
“It was Nuala’s idea. Also,” she exhales a long breath. “I need the money.”
“Are you paying back student loans?”
“No, but there is a problematic element in my life that I’d like to… circumvent.”
I look down at her. She avoids my gaze. “Why are you looking away?” I ask.
She shakes her head and still avoids my gaze. When she finally turns her head to me again, her eyes are filled with pain. “I’m…running away, I guess. See, I’m not like you... I can’t just... I can’t really…” She huffs out a labored breath.
“What can’t you do, Shannon?”
“I can’t face trouble the way you do. I don’t have the power to stick it out and fight that you do, and that your mother does. I can’t seem to change anything in my life, you know?”
“What would you fight, if you could?”
“Brett.”
I sit up straighter. “Who’s Brett?”
She sits up, too. “My ex. Usual story—it was fine until it wasn’t.”
“What
happened?”
“I lived in his apartment. I’d been living with Mom before that and it felt great, grown-up, to be away from home. But then he started to do things like showing up at my workplace and insisting on driving me home.”
“I’m already not liking the sound of this,” I say. “Go on.”
“The first few times I thought ‘oh this is nice, he really cares about me.’ But pretty soon, it got worse. I came home one day to find he’d hacked into my Facebook account. That was not fun.” She grimaces. “I asked him what he was doing and he was quite open about it. He’d been searching for evidence that he seemed so sure of finding—evidence of my transgression with a particular friend of his, Greg. A nice enough guy, sure, but not someone I liked in any particular way, but apparently, I’d‘flirted’with him at a party. I told him he wouldn’t find any such evidence, but he made me feel guilty anyway.”
“He was getting too controlling. He needed to know when I was going out and with whom. I thought…I thought I could just tell him and it would be amicable, but the discussions were always so fraught. After that, I started toning down my exuberant nature, watching how much I drank, making sure never to be alone with a guy, et cetera.
“Marci started to ask me about it. At first, I was annoyed with her and denied anything was going on. But after she opened up and revealed what had happened with her and her ex, I saw the same patterns and told her I was feeling those very same things. That was the moment I woke up.”
“Better late than never,” I tell her.
“Hm, yeah. But while Marci is rich, and lives in a gated community and has a US Marshall as a father, I live in a two-bed condo with my mom and survive check-to-check and sometimes have to borrow just to get by when the clients dry up,” she says in a rush. “I can’t protect myself let alone provide my mom with any comfort in her senior years. Maybe if I’d been a go-getter like Marci and gone to university, it would be different, I don’t know.”
“At the risk of stating the obvious, you need first and foremost to protect yourself,” I say. “Get a new number.”
