The Last Bride in Ballymuir (24 page)

Before her courage fled.

She drew in her breath as his car made its
way up the track. Wiping her palms on the soft cotton of the shirt,
she fought the impulse to grab her robe and delay this seduction
business.

“
Coward,” she chastised
herself, then swung open the door. A cold wind eddied around her
bare legs, at least giving an excuse for her shivering and
goose-flesh, she supposed.

Juggling a bottle of wine, a casserole dish,
and a sack, Michael didn’t look directly at her until he reached
the stoop.

“
I brought—” His eyes
widened, then his gaze skittered back to the bundles he carried. He
cleared his throat. “I... ah... brought—”

“
Dinner,” she finished for
him. Feeling a complete fool, she crossed her arms over her
breasts, as though
the act would somehow
make up for her scanty clothing. She stepped aside as he entered,
then closed the door behind him.

Michael rattled about in the kitchen, doing,
it seemed, everything he could to avoid acknowledging that she was
in the room. And wearing nothing but a shirt.

Seduction?
Hardly. She should have known she’d be a failure
at this. Not that the blame was entirely hers. How thick-headed
could one man be?

He poured some wine. “Would you like
something to drink?”

“
Nothing for me, thanks,”
she said, leaving him to offer the glass to the spot just to her
right where he seemed to be staring.

“
Well, dinner, then,” he
said and bolted for the table.

Kylie bit back a frustrated sigh. “Did you
notice anything different about me tonight?”

He put the wine at her place, then sat and
peered down at his empty plate. “Different?”

“
Yes, different.” Standing
above him, she laid her hand on his shoulder. He tensed beneath her
touch. “Surely you don’t think I wore this to school
today.”

Busy nudging at his silverware, he still
wouldn’t look at her. “I figured you had a bit of a lie-down when
you got home.”

“
Really?”

“
Or you’re not feeling well,
is that it?” he ventured, picking his words so gingerly that Kylie
had to smile.

She tugged at his shirt until he stood. “I
don’t suppose you’d like to help me, here? You’re making me do all
the work, and truthfully, I’d rather be out in that field moving
rocks than trying to find some way to tell you that I want you
to—”

“
Thank God,” she heard him
say just before his mouth settled over hers.

He kissed her long and hard,
nothing held back, and Kylie gave a silent “Thank God” of her own.
It was easy to set aside the shyness—to stop worrying—when Michael
held her. Hot, demanding, and
so very
right, he was, Kylie thought just before think
ing became impossible. She had put herself in the hands of an
obvious expert, after all.

The sweet taste of her, the
feel of her tongue meeting
and mating with
his, the knowledge that tonight—
now
—he would make her his, Michael
was wild with it. Wild, spinning, and losing what small bit of
control he still had.

Wrapping his hand around
Kylie’s wrist, he was intent on getting them both into that fantasy
of a bed. But, no. It was too damn far. He’d starve if he couldn’t
see her first. After two steps he stopped and set shaking hands to
the buttons on her shirt. She murmured words of encouragement—at
least he thought they were—and shrugged her way free as he
finished. Pale silken skin covered only by prim
white
underwear. He smiled at that. This
was the Kylie he knew—proper, tidy, and somehow still bold enough
to greet him at the door wearing only that damned shirt. She’d
knocked him reeling, and he’d scarcely righted himself
yet.

“
I’m too skinny,” she
whispered as he took in her beauty.

Michael smoothed his hands over her breasts.
“Are you, now?” he teased, then with his tongue traced the plump
line where her breasts were no longer covered by white cotton.
“Plenty there.”

He knelt before her and rubbed his thumbs
over her hipbones, where their points sat just under her skin. “As
for the rest of you, you’ve only your cooking to blame.”

She gave a shaky laugh that
turned into a shiver as
he brushed his
mouth against her mound. He peeled her panties down. She stepped
out of them, hands clutching at his shoulders. He wanted to look
his fill, and to touch, too, but she whispered his name in an
embarrassed little voice.

He stood, then reached
behind her to slide the elastic off the end of her braid and comb
his fingers through her hair until it rested in waves over
her
shoulders. As he kissed her, he fumbled
with the tiny
hooks on her brassiere. God,
what he’d give for a little more finesse, for the endurance to
hold her.

The hooks came free, and he
managed to rid her of
the bra. She moved
closer to him. He knew that it was as much to shield herself from
his eyes as it was for the physical contact. Michael wrapped his
arms around her. He tried to keep his touch comforting, but somehow
his hands settled on the curve of her bottom. Another wave of
absolute, mindless need rolled over him.

He swung her up into his
arms. “I’m trying to go slow, here,” he said, and it practically
hurt to speak.
“I’m trying, love, really I
am, but it’s just not going to
work that
way.”

“
I trust you.”

She trusted him, and all he wanted was to get
out of his clothes. He set her on the bed, noting that she’d turned
back the blankets sometime before he’d arrived. It was a good thing
they’d both been thinking about this evening for some time, because
he was afraid the act itself was going to be over in short order.
Michael stripped with a single-mindedness that bordered on
ferocity. He tossed his wallet on the nightstand and covered her
body with his own. Skin to skin, they both shook.

“
I’m a bit frightened,”
Kylie whispered.

He supposed it would do
neither of them any good
to admit that he
was, too. “Just let me hold you,” he said instead. And for a while,
he managed to do just
that.
He held her until the uncertainty faded,
until
they both trembled with excitement,
not fear. As one,
they began a slow
dance.

Hands gliding over sleek
curves, finding spots he had dreamt of but never touched. Mouths
seeking and holding until the need to follow hands grew too strong.
Her cry as she arched beneath him. Hours, minutes,
a
lifetime.

Reaching over to the nightstand and the
waiting condom, he readied himself, then moved back between her
thighs. In that instant before union, he looked into blue eyes,
wide, smoky with need, and so trusting. God, so trusting.

“
It’s all right,
Michael.”

Slow, now. Slow,
now,
he told himself. Tight, wet heat
closed around him. Perfect, so incredibly perfect
that he couldn’t imagine anything finer. Once,
twice,
he rocked his hips into hers. She
gasped and wrapped
her legs about him.
Michael’s head dropped as he fought for control.

Slow, now.
He repeated the internal chant in time to his
slamming heart. It was no bloody use, for he’d found oblivion.
Pure, perfect oblivion.

Chapter Fifteen

Do it as if there was fire in your skin.

—
Irish Proverb

Kylie tried to wriggle from beneath the dead
weight that was her love. “Michael, you’re smothering me ... I
can’t breathe.” Face-down in the pillow he said something that
sounded like “Mmrphll,” then shifted his weight and rolled onto his
back.

She was able to draw air into her lungs, but
missed the intimate contact. Then one long arm wrapped around her
waist and drew her close. Kylie sighed and snuggled in. Being held
this way eased some of the tension still shooting through her
veins. Some, but decidedly not all of it. Just when she’d worked up
the courage to ask a few questions about what had happened between
them, he brushed a kiss on top of her head.

“
I’ll be right back,” he
said as he swung his legs
over the side of
the bed, then sat there a moment as if
gathering the strength to stand.

After he left the room,
Kylie reached down and pulled the covers up to her chin. She heard
the sound of running water from the bathroom and immediately
cozied up to the idea of having another soul in
the house. Smiling, she reached over to switch off the
light—something they’d never gotten around to
doing. Her gaze settled on the empty condom packet on the
nightstand.

Forgetting the idea of
settling in, she scooted closer
to the edge
of the bed. Two more packets peeked out of Michael’s wallet. It
seemed bad form to be poking around in his billfold, but...
Curiosity won. She took
one of the little
packages, turning it over and flexing it
between her fingers. Interesting, really, and something she’d
never had the opportunity to inspect. Just as there had been no
time to revel in lovemaking
before
it—actually, Michael—was done.

Kylie sighed. It simply
hadn’t been what she’d expected. She knew she carried a large
burden when
it came to these matters, and
she shouldn’t expect per
fection from the
first. Still, she had been close, so very
close to feeling something brilliant. Something that she knew
was as right and natural as her love for
Michael. And it was love, or she wouldn’t have found
the courage to put aside her fears. To give
herself to him, body and soul.

“
I thought maybe you’d like
some dinner,” Michael said from the doorway. “That is, unless you
have something else in mind.” He gave a pointed
look at the forgotten condom packet still between her fingers.
Kylie quickly tossed it back to the nightstand
and focused on him.

“
Ah—” Whatever brilliant
response she’d planned
to give disappeared.
He was naked. Beautifully naked.
The ache
low in her belly that had never quite been
satisfied returned with a vengeance. As her gaze
trav
eled over his broad chest, then
downward to narrow
hips and strong, muscled
thighs, it became apparent to
her
that neither of them was interested in
food.

She turned back the covers to welcome him.
Michael eased in next to her. The feel of his warm skin, coarse
with its dusting of dark hair, sent a hungry thrill through her.
Embarrassed by its intensity, she tried to hide her reaction. It
was no use, though.

Leaning over, Michael cupped her chin in his
hand. “I’m sorry about earlier, love. This time... this time it
will be slow,” he said, pausing between words to kiss her temples
and the tip of her nose. “And no matter how much begging you do—or
I do, for that matter—I promise I’m taking my time with you.
Very... thoroughly... slow,” he finished in a whisper that sent an
erotic thrill chasing through her.

Bracing on both hands, he
settled his open mouth over the hollow at the base of her throat.
His tongue
played against her sensitive
skin, and Kylie moaned—
both with the
pleasure of what he was doing, and with
her
imaginings of where else his talented mouth might
travel.

Michael proved to be a veritable artist in
promise keeping. Her hair was damp and clinging with perspiration
by the time he turned his attention from her mouth to her
breasts.

Later—much later—when he slipped lower in the
bed and traced her hipbones with his lips, she clenched the sheet
in knotted hands, feeling as though she were about to go spinning
into the night. Unable to help herself, she cried his name. His
answering chuckle held an edge of pure male satisfaction.

“
You’re not begging yet,” he
said as he ran his fingers up the insides of her thighs, stopping
just short of the deep caress her body demanded.

A brush of his mouth here, a
stroke there... Kylie wanted to beg, and would have, too, if she
had been able to put words together. Since that was impossible,
she took a page from Michael’s book and gave him the same attention
he’d been giving her. His body was a grand new world. She smiled at
the crisp texture of his hair beneath her fingers, relished
the
faintly salty taste of his skin as she
flicked her tongue
against his hard male
nipple.

And she felt great satisfaction when he was
the first to beg. Kneeling above him, Kylie reached for one of the
two little packets waiting on the nightstand.

“
Put this on,” she said,
wanting to sound all smart and take-charge.

The look he shot her way brought to mind a
pasha with one of his favored women. “You do it for me.”

She’d been bested at her own game. Tugging at
her lower lip with her teeth, working to still trembling fingers,
she gave a valiant try, but Michael’s hands quickly replaced her
own.