Mermaid in a Bowl of Tears (Exit Unicorns Series) (39 page)

“Casey Riordan you’re drunk,” she said, trying to wriggle out of his grip and succeeding only in pulling her skirts up so that her legs were fully exposed to the night air.

“Mmphm, ye may be right, though ye know they say that an Irishman is never drunk as long as he can hold onto a blade of grass an’ not fall off the face of the earth. Granted,” he paused to blink a melting snowflake out of his lashes, “I can’t even find the keys, much less a blade of grass at present. “Goodness,” he blinked again, a slow smile spreading across his face, creasing his lone dimple, “yer a wee bit scantily dressed for a winter evenin’, Mrs. Riordan.”

She gasped as his hands, rimed with snow, slid up the back of her thighs coming to rest firmly on her bare backside. He gave her a stern look, the effect of which was slightly marred by the fact that he had begun to hiccough. “An’ I thought ye were a respectable married woman, with yer wee flat an’ all in such an upscale part of town. Ye’ll be after scandalizin’ the neighbors, woman.”

“If indeed,” she said, batting ineffectually at his hands, “we had any neighbors to scandalize, my reputation would hardly be helped by my husband attempting to compromise me on the doorstep.”

“
Attemptin’
is it? I’ve no intention of
attemptin’
anything,” he said, managing to grin lecherously and hiccough at the same time. “I’ve every intention of compromisin’ ye, Jewel, an’ no attemptin’ about it.” His hands slid surely round the dipping arch of her ribs, fingers falling just short of his goal as his hands became tangled in the folds of silk.

“For such an insubstantial garment,” he said irritably, “it’s got the helluva lot of material.” He focused then with new determination on the tiny buttons that ran from neckline to waist, eyes slightly crossed with the effort.

“A moment ago you couldn’t feel your legs,” she let out an undignified yelp, as his hands, wet with melted snow, found the rounded curve of her breasts. “And now you’re up for making love in the snow in subzero temperatures?”

“Aye, darlin’,” his voice was slightly muffled as he took a mouthful of silk, “not all my bits are numb.” As if to back up his bold statement he pressed a rather substantial bit against her that was obviously not feeling the effects of the cold at all.

“Casey, what are you trying to do?” she asked, a pulsing warmth spreading through her center even while her extremities were beginning to sting with cold.

“Undo yer buttons,” he said, pausing to gasp for breath.

“With what?” she asked as his face once again disappeared into a swathe of silk.

“My teeth,” he said, just as a flash of blinding light caught her directly in the eyes. Instinctively she dove for the ground, cracking her nose against Casey’s forehead in her haste. The pain was immediate and nauseating.

“Are ye alright, Jewel?” Casey asked in remarkably calm tones.

“Mmphmm,” she mumbled, refusing to move her face from his chest.

“Good evenin’ to ye Harvey,” she heard Casey say, and groaned inwardly. She’d entirely forgotten about Harvey, the one-armed security guard that had been hired to patrol the area after a rash of vandalism. Generally she left a thermos of something hot out for him each evening, or Casey would come down and have a cigarette and a chat with him on the man’s tea break.

“Good e’en to yerself as well, Mr. Riordan, an’ to yer missus.”

“It’ll be a fine night, won’t it then, Harvey?” Casey asked as though they were merely passing the time on a street corner. She had the annoying feeling he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Oh ‘twill indeed be, ‘twill indeed. The snow has cleaned everythin’ up right pretty.” The security guard cleared his throat and Pamela could feel his discomfort even at three yards. “Will everthin’ be alright here then, Mr. Riordan?”

“Aye ‘twill be fine, only ye’ll have to make allowances for my wife, as ye’ve caught us in a wee bit of a compromisin’ situation.” His hand drifted down discreetly and flicked at the waves of silk that were rucked up on her back. She felt it drift chill and sheer over her bottom and bare thighs and bit him sharply on the nearest piece that was handy. He muffled a yelp and tightened his hold on her.

“Well I’ll be off on my rounds then sir. Ye enjoy the rest of the night.”

“I’ll certainly try,” Casey responded, a rumble of suppressed laughter sounding in his chest.

“Well good night to ye, Mr. Riordan, Mrs. Riordan.”

“Good night Harvey,” Casey managed before dissolving into laughter.

“In the house,” Pamela managed through gritted teeth.

“Right then,” Casey said and in one fluid move, stood, heaving her none too gently over his shoulder.

“Put-me-down, you bastard,” she said, beating ineffectually at his back with her fists.

He nipped her neatly on her left buttock, effectively silencing her struggle, and headed toward the stairs leading to the open door.

“Settle down woman, we can’t have ye walkin’ barefoot in the snow, ye might catch cold.”

“Casey Riordan,” she said, closing her eyes against a world of spinning white, “if it’s the last thing I do in this world, I’ll get you for this.”

“Aye,” Casey said with a certain relish as he stepped over the threshold, “I’m countin’ on it, woman.”

“I’D FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT HARVEY. I tell ye Jewel, the look on the poor man’s face…” Casey, still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, underwent yet another paroxysm of mirth.

“Yes, poor Harvey,” she said bitingly, “he’ll likely have nightmares for months, watching us roll about in the snow with your head down my nightgown.”

“Ah, now about that nightgown...”

“What about it?” she asked, digging in the top drawer of her nightstand for the mentholatum.

“Woman,” he said, tones coddling with charm, “come here to me.”

“You can save the Irish charm for someone who doesn’t know you quite so well,” she said huffily, turning away from the drawer in a flurry of skirts, only to feel a broad forearm catch her round the waist and tumble her backwards onto the bed.

“Now,” Casey said, putting a knee on either side of her as one hand pinned her wrists above her head, “are ye goin’ to tell me what the matter is, or are we goin’ to not speak to one another for three days like the last time? ‘Cause I’m tellin’ ye darlin’, if it’s the latter I’ll go sleep happily in the snow. It’ll be a deal warmer altogether.”

“Where were you tonight?”

“I had a few too many drinks with the lads, an’ I know I should have been home hours ago—”

“Were you with Joe Doherty?” she asked. His whole body stiffened at the question.

“Are ye askin’ because ye want to know, or are ye askin’ because ye already know?” His eyes had gone an impenetrable black. He seemed suddenly sober.

“You were, weren’t you?”

“Aye I was, though I’m a little more interested at present in how ye know that particular fact. Don’t tell me it was a lucky guess for I can tell by the look on yer face, ‘twas no such thing.”

“I just knew,” she said carefully, wishing the light in the room wasn’t quite so revealing.

“Just knew because Jamie told ye? Would that be it?”

“I think,” she said, squirming under his iron grip, “I liked you better when you were drunk.”

“It seems, then, we both have our secrets.” With his free hand he drew a line down her jaw, across the hollow beneath her throat and further down, pushing slightly until the first button popped under the pressure. Her body, turned traitor, arched toward the hand it knew, the hand it had succumbed to time and again.

“Casey,” she said, trying to infuse calm into the situation, “we can’t do this, it won’t solve anything.”

“Won’t it?” he asked, breath soft against her skin, her nipples rising hard at the mere suggestion of his mouth nearby. “It’s the language you an’ I know best, darlin’, an’ all the words in the world can’t come near that. We can talk an’ then we’ll fight, an’ it’ll be cold enough to freeze the balls off an ox in here, an’ we’ll not have solved a thing. Or we can mend things now.”

“How,” she said distractedly, as teeth caught her nipple through the silk and tugged it gently, causing her hips to rise in invitation, “will this mend things?”

“Because it does,” he said simply, free hand slowly pushing her nightgown up, “it may not make any sense, but then it’s not meant to, is it?”

She could feel the heat begin, in a slow rush before the wake of his hand, fingers as delicate as if they were tuning a violin. He knew her weaknesses well and played them like a virtuoso, losing himself in the passion of the performance. His fingers were still slightly cold and she half-gasped, half-cried aloud as he touched the center of her heat.

“Don’t tell me ye don’t want me, I can feel that ye do,” he whispered, drawing his hand down from her wrists to push the silk away from her body. She could feel the leather of his coat, wet with drops of melted snow, press against her breasts. The unfamiliarity of the feeling was oddly arousing. Only this morning she’d told him he looked a right thug in that coat, while privately thinking he looked dark, dangerous and sexy. The sort of thug one could fully imagine taking one up against a brick wall in some fetid alleyway. Or on one’s marriage bed, she supposed, if one happened to be married to said thug.

She heard the grate of a zipper being pulled and then in one quick, hard move he was inside her, making her arch and cry out. It was a possession, clean and simple. His body telling hers in no uncertain terms just to whom it belonged.

Rational thinking was no match for hormones apparently, she thought hazily, as her legs wrapped around his waist, arching and taking him deeper, making him groan as she felt the chafe of denim on the inside of her thighs.

He pulled back, taking her with him, so that they faced each other upright. She bit her bottom lip, nails digging into leather clad shoulders. He put his hands, broad and certain, on her hips, pressing her down firmly until she cried out, “No, Casey don’t—I can’t-please—”

“Yes, ye can. Jewel look at me,” she did, and then closed her eyes just as quickly, frightened by the naked scorch of his gaze. “Jewel,” his voice commanded, “look at me.”

She opened her eyes, regretting the action instantly. His eyes, dark as obsidian, unfathomable as smoke, laid her bare as if every corner of her soul were open to his view.

“This here—now—is what matters, this—” he moved slightly, making her gasp and curl her fingers tightly into the front of his coat, “is our truth, our language.”

He moved again taking her beyond pleasure, to the fine line that bordered pain, hands gentle but firm on her hips, allowing no escape from the sensations that knew nothing of logic or sanity.

She gave herself over to him, crying his name softly, head falling back on her neck as he took her mouth, his tongue thrusting against hers in delicate imitation of their more intimate connection.

All the world condensed into a diamond hard point of light, blackness swirling at its edges, dizzying, a maelstrom threatening to pull her in and dissolve her very bones. He thrust harder and she screamed, the sound lost against the rasp of his beard and the brutal assault of his tongue.

He seemed to be everywhere, under her, inside her, around her, in the cool slip of denim under her thighs, in the smoky taste of whiskey in her mouth, at her very core like a hot, hard brand, searing her soul with demand.

“
A liomsa,
” she heard him whisper and then again, “
a liomsa,”
as her mind translated it automatically to English, ‘mine,’ he said and again, ‘mine’ around the soft heat of his tongue. ‘Mine’.

She pushed her hands hard into his hair, felt the curls crumple like damp silk in the creases of her fingers, looked into his eyes, burning like black fire, and felt the last barrier fall from between them.

“Yes, you bastard,” she said, breathless against his mouth, “yours.”

And then the diamond point of light burst wide, obliterating the darkness, carrying them both over the edge and down into the consuming heart of the maelstrom.

“SO ARE YOU FEELING LIKE MASTER of your domain again?” Pamela asked, warming herself against the long expanse of her husband’s body.

“That obvious, am I?” Casey asked ruefully, “I suppose I could just take up pissin’ on yer shoes before ye leave the house.”