Tears of the Moon (22 page)

“All right.”

Since he only stood watching her, seemed to be waiting, she rose to her toes and took his mouth with hers. She didn't mean to rush it, as she'd already concluded he wouldn't allow that in any case. But at that first taste she wanted more, she wanted it all. And quickly. Her hands flexed in his as she chewed on his bottom lip.

“I've got this powerful urge for you. I can't help it.”

“Who's asking you to?” He wouldn't rush, no, but it was tempting to pick up the pace. That fascinating little body of hers was already vibrating against his, and her mouth was like a fever. But he thought it would be much more satisfying all around to let her drive him crazy for a while yet.

“Come up here.” He let go of her hands to take her hips, to hitch her up so that her legs wrapped his waist as they'd done once before. “And kiss me again. I like it.”

Now she did laugh, and the nerves that had worried her flitted away. “Do you, now? Well, as I recall, the first time I did it . . .” She brought her mouth to within a breath of his, then drew back—once, twice. “You looked as though I'd coshed you over the head with my hammer.”

“That's because I wasn't expecting it, and you turned my brain upside down.” He gave her bottom an intimate, and friendly, squeeze. “Bet you can't do it again.”

“Oh, so it's a wager, is it?” Eyes glinting with the challenge, with the fun, she fisted her hands in his hair. “You're about to lose.”

She put herself into her work, he had to give her that. He could all but feel his eyes roll back in his head as her mouth attacked his. There were times when surrender wasn't a humbling experience at all. There was a hint of wine still on her tongue, warm and rich. Mixed with her own flavor, it spun into him, a lovely and intoxicating combination.

Harpsong and candlelight, a hot-blooded woman twined around him. He let both the passion and the romance pump into his system. Alluring. Arousing.Pleasure took on a fine, sharp edge.

She felt his fingers dig into her hips, heard his breath quicken like a man who'd done a fast sprint up a long hill. When he shifted, turning toward the bed, triumph flashed through her.

She would have him now. Her way. Fast and furious and done. Then this terrible pressure in her chest, her belly, her head, would find release. Her breath caught in a laughing gasp when he spilled her onto the bed, then covered her, pressed her into the mattress, tight body to tight body.

“I'll have to give you that one.” There was a gleam in her eye that only sharpened when he pulled her hands over her head and cuffed her wrists. “But now it's my turn. As I recall, the first time I kissed you, your eyes went blurry and blind.” He closed his teeth gently over her jaw. “And you trembled.”

Deliberately she arched her hips, pressed against him. “I'll bet you can't do it again.”

A man that aroused, that ready, wouldn't dawdle. She was sure of it. Still, she braced herself. And still she trembled when his lips skimmed tenderly, tormentingly over hers. Her arms went limp, her mind blank as glass. The pressure that had built to crisis point slid into a glorious aching.

The first hint of the rising moon slipped into the room to shimmer silver against the gold of candle flames.

He cupped her breasts, his fingers tracing the shape of her against her work shirt, before moving to the buttons. She wore a man's white T-shirt beneath. After he tugged the denim aside, Shawn found himself fascinated at just how sexy her small breasts looked, felt, under that simple white cotton.

“I've always liked your hands.” She had her eyes closed now, the better to absorb the little shocks of sensation.“I like them even better now.” But when he lowered again, when his mouth closed over her through the cotton, her eyes flew open. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

He might have chuckled, if he could have found the breath for it. But his lungs were clogged, and his head already starting to reel. Where had this been all his life? This taste, this texture, this shape? How much more had he missed?

She was tugging off his sweater as he dragged her up. Breath ragged, they stared at each other. Whatever shock there was on both sides, she nodded as he did. “Too late,” was all he said and pulled the shirt over her head.

“Thanks be to God.”

They dived at each other.

His hands might have been faster now, and just a bit rough here and there. His mouth might have been hotter, more impatient than it had. But it didn't stop him from being thorough. He wanted every bit of her, and would remember always, the taste of her flesh, that tender spot just under her breast, the way that angle went to curve from her rib cage to her hip, and the silken feel of it all under his palm and fingertips.

The strength of her was no small matter, and outrageously erotic as they rolled together, as he felt her muscles bunch. Erotic still when he made that strength waver toward weakness, feeling her shudder against him when he found some new spot that pleased her.

The music was flutes now, lilting and faerie-like, a rise of pipes beneath it. The moonlight strengthened, a pearl gleam on the air that was fragrant with candle wax and turf smoke.

She buried her face against his throat, fighting to catch her breath. “Shawn, for God's sake. Now.”

“Not yet, not yet, not yet.” He said it like a chant. He wanted those small strong hands of hers never to stop running over him. He wanted to find more and still more of her with his own. Didn't those lovely legs deserve his attention now that he'd tugged the ripped denim away? And the back of her shoulder was such a marvelous place to linger.

“For a little thing, there's so much of you.”

Desperate, she sank her teeth into him. “I'll die in a minute.”

“Here, now. Here.” And his mouth took hers again as he slid his hand between her legs, slipped his fingers into the heat.

She came in a flood, fast and full with her body bucking against him. He swallowed her cry of shock and release, absorbed it, savored it even as his blood burned for more.

Then she was pliant, soft as the wax that pooled at the base of his candles, and he was free to feast on her mouth, on her throat, on her breasts.

“Just let me have you for a while.”

The pressure built again, layer by layer, slick and slippery until she slid off the edge a second time. How could he bear it? she wondered. His flesh was damp as hers, his heart leaping as high and fast, his body as tensed and ready.

Once again she arched against him, once again she wrapped her legs tight around his waist. And their eyes met in the shifting light.

“Now.” He murmured it as he slipped into her, silky and smooth, as if they'd mated a thousand times before.

Her breath trembled in, then out. His hands covered hers, and she laced her fingers with his. They watched each other as they began to move.

Easy and lovely, like a dance remembered. Rising and falling, pleasure met with pleasure. Then, as if the music demanded it, a subtle quickening of pace. His eyes were darker now, that dreamy blue going opaque as he lost himself. When she tightened around him, when her eyelids fluttered closed and the moan rippled her throat, he held on, held on.

Then he buried his face in her hair and let himself go.
She was going to need a minute. Perhaps an hour. A day or two might be best. After that, she imagined she could move again, or at the very least think about moving. But for now it seemed like the finest of ideas to just stay as she was, sprawled over Shawn's bed with him plastering her into the mattress.

Her body was absolutely golden. She imagined that if she had the energy to open her eyes and look, she'd see it glow in the dark.

It was just as she'd said before. Once the man stopped thinking, he did a fine job of things.

“You aren't cold, are you?” His voice was muffled and sleepy.

“I doubt I'd be cold if we were lying naked on an ice floe heading for Greenland.”

“Good.” He shifted, settled in. “Let's just be here for a little while yet.”

“Just don't fall asleep on top of me.”

He made some sound, and nuzzled. “I like the way your hair smells.”

“Sawdust?”

There's some of that. It's nice enough. And there's a hint of lemon with it.”

“It's probably the shampoo I stole from Patty.” Her body was waking up again, and she began to take more notice to the way he fit against her, the way their legs were tangled. Even as interest began to stir, she also noticed the sheer weight of him.

“You're heavier than you look.”

“Sorry.” He tucked an arm under her and rolled. “ Better?”

“It wasn't so bad before.” But, now that he mentioned it, it was better to be able to cross her arms over his chest and look down at his face. It was so damn pretty, that face, that she didn't even mind, for now, the smug way his lips were curved. “I have to say, Shawn, you're better at the entire business than I figured on.”

He opened his eyes. The blue of them was dreamy again. “Well, I'll admit to having some practice over the years.”

“I won't complain about that, but there's a problem just the same.”

“Is there?” He picked up a lock of her hair, twined the curl of it around his finger. “And what would it be?”

“Well, my idea, originally, was that we'd have sex.”

“I recall you mentioning it.” He let the curl unwind, then fall, then chose another. “And I have to admit, a fine idea it was.”

“That was the first part. I mentioned as well that I was looking to do that in order to get this urge I had for you out of my system.”

“I recall that as well. An itch, you said.” He ran his nails lightly down her back. “I've done my best to scratch it for you.”

“You did, and I'd never deny it. But that's the problem part.” Watching him, she trailed a finger along his collarbone, up the side of his neck. And watched his lashes flutter until his eyes were a slit of blue behind them.

“Well, what's your problem, then, O'Toole?”

“You see, it hasn't appeared to work, as yet. It seems I've still got this itch. So we'll just have to have sex again.”

“If we must, we must.” He sat up, taking her with him. “Let's have a shower and a meal first, then we'll see what can be done.”

Chuckling, she laid her hands on his cheeks. “We're still friends, too, aren't we?”

“We're still friends.” He cuddled her closer, and intended for the kiss to be light and affectionate. But he sank into her.

Her mind was going fuzzy when he turned to lay her back on the bed. Her arms were reaching up for him as she said, “What about the shower and the meal?”

“Later.”

Did you know Betsy Clooney's whole brood's down with the chicken pox?

Have you noticed Jack Brennan's eyeing Theresa Fitzgerald now that she and Colin Riley have broken things off?

Between bites she told him of her sister Patty's latest flood of tears over whether to have pink or yellow roses in her bridal bouquet. And they lifted a glass to toast the closure of the deal with Magee.

“Are you thinking he'll send a man out to get the lay of the land and design the theater?” Brenna got up to let Bub in when he came scratching at the door.

“If that's his plan, it hasn't come down to me as yet.” He watched the cat slink over to Brenna to rub against her leg.

“Sure, it's the only way it can be done correctly.” She considered another serving, then decided if she gave in to greed on that, she'd suffer. With a little regret, she pushed her plate away. “He can't be sitting up in his lofty office in New York City and design what should be here in Ardmore.”

“And how do you know he has a lofty office?”

“The rich are fond of lofty.” Grinning, she kicked back in her chair. “Ask Darcy if lofty isn't an aim when she finds the rich man she's hunting for. In any case, they have to see what we are and what we have before they set in their minds what we'll be.”

“I'll agree with that.” He rose to clear the table. “I liked your design. Maybe you could draw it up a little more formally. We could give Aidan a look at it. If he likes it as I do, there's nothing stopping us from passing it onto the Magee for his consideration.”

For a moment she simply sat. “You'd do that?”

He glanced over his shoulder as he ran hot water and soap into the sink. “Why wouldn't I?”

“It would mean a great deal. Even if Magee laughs it off and tosses it aside, it would matter to me. I'm not an architect or engineer or anything that . . . lofty,” she decided as she got to her feet. “But I've always had a yen to have a hand in the designing and the building of something, from the ground up.”

“You get a picture in your head,” he said. “An empty field or lot and what you'd put on it right down to the fancy work.”

“That's right, yes. How did you know?”

“It's not so different from building a song.”

Thinking of it, she frowned at his back. Never once had she considered that they had anything in common in that area. “I suppose you're right. I'll draw it up for you as best I can. Whether the Magee takes a look at it or not, I'm grateful to you for thinking of it.”

She helped him clean up, then as it was nearing midnight, said she had to go.

He walked her out, and they'd made it nearly to the front door before he changed his mind. He settled it by simply plucking her up, hauling her over his shoulder and carting her up to bed once again.

As a result it was half-one when she crept into her house. Creeping was about all she had the energy for. Who would have thought the man could near to wear her out?