Quinn's Deirdre (9 page)

Quinn filled her and her inner spaces
tightened around him with wanton need.
 
He rocked her, his arse shifting in a dance as old as time as she
shifted so he could go deeper.
 
Deirdre stretched
out her arms, blind with want and wrapped them about him as he worked in and
out, out and in.
 
Each time, the friction
brought her closer to orgasm.
 
His dick,
hard as Connemara marble, delivered extreme pleasure and through a haze, she
caught sight of his face.
 
His broad
grin, his focused concentration and half-slit eyes told her he enjoyed it as
much.
 
He penetrated into her body and
pierced her soul.

“Come with me,” he cried as the rhythms
intensified.
 
He sped up his movements to
keep pace with the growing earthquake about to hit. “Deirdre, come.”

She held back as long as she could,
savoring the savage intensity and delighting in every wave of sensation. Quinn
rammed harder and quickened his pace again.
 
Deirdre surrendered to the spasms and gave way to the rushing tide of
pure physical delight.
 
She clung to him
and at the very last moment, he kissed her, tongue and all.
 
Between them, the life force reared with
power and banished any lingering illusion of death. Locked into one embrace,
bodies engaged in every possible way, they shuddered and peaked.
 
Together they rode the erotic fire into the
sun, gasping and consumed.
 
It lasted
forever and ended too soon.

Quinn remained inside her for a few
moments, his mouth connected to hers,
then
he quivered
one more time.
 
He collapsed
beside
her, sweating, panting, and red-faced with a smile
brighter than anything she’d ever seen. “
Ta
ghra agam do, acushla,”
he whispered.

“Oh, Quinn, I love you, too.”

“Come here, woman.” He pulled her into
his arms and held her, not speaking for some minutes,
then
he groaned. “It’s a wonder Des hasn’t come beating down the door after me.”

The idea struck her as hilarious and she
started giggling.
 
It became a
full-bodied laugh and he joined her.
 
Then he shook his head.
 
“I’ve got
to get dressed and get downstairs.
 
I’ve
got a mouth on me now, ready for supper, but I’ll wait for
ye
.
 
Ye are comin’ down, are ye not?”

Limbs stretched and limp, body slick
with sheen of sweat, she’d rather curl up
and
 
bask
in the after effects.
 
“Yeah, I am.
 
I think I’d better shower first, though and get dressed. You should,
too.”

“I haven’t time,” Quinn said as he
pulled on his shirt and buttoned it with quick fingers. Minutes later, fully
dressed, hair combed back with a lick and a promise, and drenched in cologne,
he departed.

For now, happy and sated, Deirdre pushed
her fears back into the shadows.
 
She
cleaned up, dug out a champagne-colored, satin evening dress with puff sleeves
and a lace bodice, did her face, and left her hair in a wild riot of curls down
her back.
 
She laughed at her reflection
in the mirror.
 
Anyone could guess she’d
just been fucked, but she didn’t care.
 
Deirdre all but floated downstairs into the pub.
 
Quinn sat tucked into a booth at the end of
the bar, and she worked through the crowds to get to him.
 
He reached for her hands as soon as she slid
into her seat and kissed them. “Ye took long enough,” he said without heat and
a smile sweet enough to stop her breath. “I ordered for the both of us.”

Within minutes, a server delivered two
plates heaped with roast chicken, colcannon, and carrots.
 
Quinn paused long enough for the blessing,
then dived into the food and after a moment’s hesitation, so did Deirdre.
 
When she began, she never thought she’d
finish the large portions, but she managed.
 
By then, the area around the bar teemed with people, more than on a
usual weeknight.
 
A slender young man
with fiery red hair pushed through with a classical guitar in one hand.
 
“That’s Tommy,” Quinn said. “He plays the
traditional music, too.
 
I need to go
fetch Uncle Des.
 
Ye can stay here—ye’ll
have a good view.”

In her years away, Deirdre sometimes
listened to the music of Tommy Makem or the Clancy Brothers and cried.
 
She had wept, missing Quinn and all he meant
to her and mourned the loss of her heritage.
 
As the three men gathered together, she watched with tears of joy as
Quinn and Des pulled out tin whistles.
 
Quinn blew a few sharp notes and the noise died to a low murmur, then
into silence.
 
“Welcome to County
Tyrone,” he said. “We’re goin’ to make a bit of music tonight and have good
craic.
 
We’ll start with a children’s
song those of us from the North all know well, a wee ditty called
I’ll Tell Me Ma.
”

She watched as he and Des played the
opening chords to the old tune, the sound bridging the present to the
past.
 
Deirdre had listened many times,
both at the pub and in private, as they played together.
 
The man Quinn had called Gerry played the
guitar with a slap-handed style to make the most noise as first Quinn, then his
uncle sang the lyrics.
 
They paused to do
the chorus together and Deirdre wiped her eyes with a napkin, happy.
 

Quinn glowed with joy and pleasure as
they played for more than two hours
-
 
amusing
songs, sad songs, and then one
of her favorites,
The Leaving of
Liverpool.
 
The poignant lines had
echoed in her head as she’d left Kansas City, the words, “Fare thee well my own
true love” haunting her.
 
Then, Deirdre
never dreamed she would see Quinn again and now, hearing his tenor voice lifted
in song, she realized she’d come full circle back to where she belonged.

When he finished the song, the last of
the evening, he beckoned her up to him and before the gathered crowd Quinn
draped his arm around her shoulders.
 
Desmond beamed at them both as Quinn whispered endearments into her
ears.
 
Applause echoed through the room,
joined with a chorus of whistles, then the pub returned to the business of
drinking.
 
As she helped Des put the
kitchen to rights for the night, he turned to her with a grin. “Ye’re good for
him.”

“He’s good for me, too.”

“Aye, well, he’s not made music, not
here, not anywhere for three years,” Des said. “It’s grand to see him so again.
 
Sorrow leached all the songs from his soul
for too long.”

With quiet dignity, Deirdre said, “Mine,
too.”

The old man paused in his tasks to meet
her gaze. “Aye, I see it now, Deirdre. He’s told me he’s taking the day off
tomorrow to be with
ye
and talk.
 
I hope ye two can work it all through, love,
I do.”

He meant it and she appreciated it.
“Thanks, Des,” she said. “So do
I
.”

If they made it through tomorrow, she
thought, and no dangers lurked, things would be as they should.
 
Please,
God, may it be so.

Chapter Six

Deirdre awakened to the sound of rain
mixed with sleet against the window, but by the time she rose, the clouds had
moved eastward and the sun had emerged.
 
Quinn
slept as she dressed and made tea with a tin she’d brought up from the pub
kitchen, remembering his preference for it above coffee in the morning.
 
She thought about making breakfast until she
remembered his empty fridge and cabinets.
 
Deirdre abandoned the idea.
 
They
could grab something to eat anywhere.
 
Talking took priority today, not food.

As she had on the morning she’d left
him, Deirdre watched him sleep, but this time when he awakened she wasn’t
attempting to sneak away or telling lies about shopping.
 
Instead, she sat curled up against the
pillows, and when he opened his eyes, she leaned over and kissed him.
 
Before he became fully awake, Quinn pulled
her into his arms and they snuggled without speaking.
 
She matched her breathing to his rhythms
until they inhaled and exhaled in tandem.
 
Their hearts beat together too and Deirdre gloried in it. For those
moments, they were almost one.
 
After a
time, Quinn stirred. “Woman, I suppose we should get up before ‘tis noon.”

She burrowed closer to him, resting one
hand on his chest. “We should.
 
I made
tea but that was awhile ago.”

He nuzzled her neck with his lips. “Ye
can make fresh tea, love.
Its
likely gone cold.”

“Or we could stay right here.” In
another few moments, she’d be ready to make love.
 

“Ye’re a temptation, Deirdre.” Quinn’s
warm voice wafted over her skin with enough heat to send ripples down her
spine. “But we must talk, darlin’.”

They sighed in unison. “You’re
right.”
 
It had to happen and they might
as well get it done.
 
After she made fresh
tea, Des brought up rashers of Irish bacon and brown bread.
 
After the simple meal, Deirdre reached for
her purse.
 

“Ye’ll want to wear a coat if ye have
one,” Quinn said as he pulled on the Navy pea coat he’d bought years earlier.

“Where are we going?”

“The loch,” he said.

Deirdre adored the way he said the word
in his soft accent, ‘lock’, and she knew what lake he meant.
 
Although Quinn loved water and the often
treacherous waters of the mighty Missouri River flowing through the city, his
favorite place was Blue Springs Lake.
 
They’d spent many an afternoon along the wooded banks, sometimes fishing
or picnicking, or just sitting quiet beside the water.
 
“I’ll see if I can find a jacket,” she said,
pleased.

* * * *

Her red canvas coat cut the sharp wind
whipping across the parking lot as Deirdre climbed out of Quinn’s Mercury at
the lake.
 
She flipped the hood up over
her head and when Quinn put an arm around her, she huddled against him.
 
“If ye’re too cold, we can go elsewhere.”

“No, this is fine. I love this
place.
 
It won’t be so cold when we get
behind the hill.”

They trekked to their favorite spot and
Quinn led Deirdre to a park bench. “I don’t remember this being here,” she
said.

Quinn laughed. “It wasn’t.
 
I dragged it here myself so I’d have a place
to sit when I came out to stare at the water and mourn ye.
 
I never thought I’d bring
ye
here again,
mo chroi.”

His simple statement packed an emotional
punch.
 
This is going to be harder than I thought.
 
“But here we are.”

He nodded and scooted back until a foot
separated them.
 
Quinn crossed his arms,
a gesture she remembered well.
 
It demonstrated
he meant to be serious now. “So, tell me why ye left the way ye did, without a
word or bit of hope.”

The moment of truth she’d dreaded had
arrived.
 
Deirdre took one deep breath
and plunged into her story.
 
“I was
afraid,” she said. “On the day of the trial, when you went to bring the car
around, a man came up to me.
 
He
threatened me—then he threatened you.”

She repeated the terrible words the
hitman
had spoken, ones she’d never been able to forget,
and shuddered.
 
Quinn noticed, reached
for her,
then
stopped.
 
He cocked his head back and stared at her, his face a bland mask
although his eyes burned with blue fire. “Why didn’t ye tell me?”

Why hadn’t she? Deirdre struggled to
remember and explain. “After what I had witnessed, I believed he meant every
word,” she said. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, Quinn.
 
I kept imagining someone killing you with
slow torture, and I wanted to end any chance that it might come true. So I
called the WITSEC people back.
 
I’d told
them before, when they contacted me, I wasn’t interested in the witness
protection program, but I changed my mind.
 
So I ran away, Quinn, and I’m sorry.
 
I should’ve told you, talked it over, made another choice, but at the
time, I thought I was making the right decision.
 
What I’d seen upset me so much and I was
stressed out from the trial.
 
All I could
think about was making sure you’d be safe, and I never thought past that until
it was too late.”