Virgin Star (22 page)

Lord, she felt so soft and slim and warm ...

He chuckled softly as he actually felt his pulse in his groin. She gasped, startled eyes looked up to find him. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Myself, Shalyn, myself."

He looked down to see the amber eyes searching his, and even in the darkness, the faint light of a crescent moon shining through the open window, he saw the question. Her lips—

No, do not think of those lips! Remember she's a virgin!

Moments ticked by, filling with a voluptuous promise.

"Seanessy?"

“
Yes ..."

"My name? Shalyn." Just as in her nightmare she asked him, "Was it a happy Irish tale?"

"What?" He was having a great deal of trouble concentrating, "Oh. Ah, well…" His passion-drugged mind caught up to the question, which caught him off-guard. Why had he decided to call her Shalyn? A lovely name, aye, but the story was told to young people to prepare them for the inevitability of their arranged marriage, to warn them of the tragedy brought by the passion of true love.

"Is it?"

"Aye." He returned his hands to her hair and he lied, "’Tis indeed a happy tale, though admittedly not a very good one."

"I don't care. Tell it to me now."

The words came in a soft whisper of desperation—the desperation of a young woman who badly needed a distraction from the tired circle of her thoughts, if only for a moment. Seanessy was many things, and one of them was kind. So it was with kindness that he said, "No doubt you will be surprised that I am not well-known for my ability to spin tales, but for you, Shalyn, I shall try. It goes something like this." His gaze searched the ceiling as if he might see the story printed there. "Once upon a time the Irish people did not believe in true love."

"Oh?" she asked.

He stared at the upturned face. "Do you, Shalyn?"

His voice sounded light and teasing. She rewarded him with a smile and a nod. "Aye, 'tis a heavenly wonder when it comes," he agreed, his voice taking on an animated Irish brogue. "But long ago the Irish were too world-weary to believe in such. The goodly Irish folks worked too blessed hard pullin' potatoes from an unyielding soil, workin' from dawn to sundown to harvest enough to keep the bairns from cryin' out in the dark middle of the night for want of food.

"One day in the midst of a cold hard winter, a lad was born to a lowly cotter woman who etched the barest livin' from a rocky plot of a baron's piece of land. The lad was as bonny and brawny as a knight's by-blow, quick of mind and faster of feet. He grew and thrived. His life, like many an Irish lad's, was a great joy to his mother."

A single lamp lit the spacious room and bathed them in a soft golden light. Almost touching, they faced each other on their sides. Seanessy rhythmically smoothed the long and loosened hair that spread behind her across the crisp white bedclothes. Even as he spoke, he studied the beauty laid before him: the dark and delicate arch of brow over lovely eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the tempting curve of her lips, lifting slightly with childlike anticipation of his story.

"The winter his mother died, the baron gave our deserving orphan to his shepherd to learn the care and keeping of sheep. Learn he did. The flock thrived and multiplied under the boy's care. It was during the spring when rain colored the land emerald-green and the skies turned corn-flower blue that he first saw her.

"She was the baron's youngest daughter and she was beautiful. A young girl made of joy, gaiety, and laughter. She had hair the color of late summer fields, and eyes that were dark with promises."

Shalyn laughed, catching his trick, and the sweet music of it went through him like a caress. His control was a new kind of marvel to him. Desire burned hot and bright through him; he wondered if he had ever wanted a woman as much.

"A highborn lady she was, and many, many worlds separate from our young shepherd. He could not presume to so much as speak to her, nor could or would she condescend to speak to him. He was as invisible as the air to her. She never noticed him long enough to learn his name. It did not matter. The piercing sting of true love had struck our shepherd's heart; he was forever changed. He told himself it was enough just catching glimpses of his lady as she rode about her father's lands, or sang from the window of the keep, or strolled the flower-filled meadows nearby. It was enough that he heard her laughter each night in his dreams, where she laid in his arms and they whispered the secrets of lovers. It was enough.

"That year, as the nights grew long and the cold north wind began blowing across the lowlands and it was time to leave for the high country, our shepherd knew misery, the unbearable misery of separating from his true love. And yet to not leave meant banishment and eventually starvation. With a breaking heart and a heavy spirit, he forced himself to go."

Shalyn's eyes, like poetry, somehow conveyed every emotion of her heart. Her long lashes briefly brushed the high curve of her cheeks before returning to his face with expectation and hope. She seemed unaware that somewhere in the space of the story he had aligned her slender form against him and how he envied her absorbed attention. His entire consciousness fixed on the press of her slender curves, the faint scent of rosewater in her hair, the growing heat between them. Continuing the story was a struggle that felt as difficult as scaling the cliffs of Dover...

"Yet the angels took pity on the young man's sorrow and sought to breathe the girl's spirit before him. They sent the young lady out riding that day. They urged her to take the worn path that leads far up to the high country. Along the way her fine spirited mare felt the prick of a thorn. The mare raced as if chased by demons—and the girl lost control of the reins. Up and up the mare carried our young lady, charging full

speed. She never saw the low-hanging branch that hit her head and knocked her from her seat.

"With a pounding heart, our shepherd watched the daring ride and his young woman's fateful fall. He raced to give her aid, finding her unconscious. When finally she woke in his arms, she had no memory of her life, or her station in it. She only knew the kind blue eyes of the shepherd who saved her. He named her—"

"Shalyn." She smiled up at him.

"Aye, he named her Shalyn. Shalyn. The name of the high mountain fairies who watch over the lonely shepherds all the winter long. His dreams had come true. For one long cold winter she belonged to him." The fateful and tragic words were out before he could change them for her. "And," he added quickly, knowing she needed a happy ending, "ah, from that time on they lived happily ever after."

"Did she ever remember her former life?"

"No," he lied. "Never. Blessed with true love, they lived happily ever after."

She looked confused. On the heels of a thoughtful pause, she told him, "That isn't a very good story."

"I did warn you, did I not?"

"Seanessy," she cried in a whisper, "I don't want to end up like the Shalyn of your story. I can't tell you how it feels to have no past memory. Ifs a loneliness deeper than the river Styx ..."

His arms came around her, as if to encompass and soothe her desperation. "Shalyn," he whispered, his lips lightly brushing her forehead. "My poor mystery child. Shalyn ..." Unable to resist, he let his finger trace the contours of her mouth until she gasped. "I want to kiss you again. I want to very much ..."

In the space of the moment she became aware of all things: he wore only loose-fitting cotton shorts, the kind for sleeping, and she only a nightdress, this thin cloth between their warm skin doing nothing to inhibit the shocking intimacy of his hard warm body pressed into hers as they lay in his bed. She felt that pulsating heat in her loins, a hot gathering in her chest. It frightened her; her next breath came with another small gasp.

"Shalyn." He said her name in a whisper as his lips lightly caressed her neck until she arched back with another gasp. Every nerve was alight with expectancy and fear; she couldn't move and she couldn't think to know if she should.

Seanessy groaned deep in his throat, the sound dying as he buried his face against her neck. His large strong hands fitted around the curve of her buttocks, gripping her tighter and holding her still. "Dear Lord, Shalyn—"

"I ... I should leave now."

He ran one hand slowly up her back and buried it in her hair.

"Seanessy ..."

She said his name and then forgot why.

He always gave as good as he got. "Shalyn." He said her name in a husky whisper as if they now played a game, and they did. A game as old as the seasons. He lightly touched the contours of her mouth, his hand sliding along the arch of her jaw to gently take hold of her chin for his kiss; his other hand slid over her backside.

The movement started to scare her, to pull her again to another time with another man, but then no. This was Seanessy. Seanessy. The name echoed in her mind and she drew a deep breath, as her heart started pounding, hard and slow and hard and slow again. She closed her eyes as she felt the brush of his lips on her mouth, so lightly it made her gasp again, the gasp bringing his warm firm lips to hers.

The kiss was hot and tantalizing, fueling her blood

with a slow-burning flame. Her neck arched as if she were offering herself to him. Seanessy accepted. She

felt his lips brush over her mouth and her closed eyes, and finally alight along the curve of her neck as his hand drew slow, sensitive circles in the small of her back, over and over. He shifted his weight, always careful to keep the slender form against him as he let his hands lightly stroke the sweep of her side. Hot shivers raced from the place his hands touched her, and she gasped.

She felt rather than saw his smile as he watched her respond. "More, Shalyn?"

She started to shake her head, but the question was rhetorical and whispered lightly against her ear. Tiny sparks shot from the spot. He answered her secret wish by pressing his lips to hers, tilting her head back so he could drink to full measure. And he did. Her entire consciousness centered on the hot pleasure of his tongue and mouth hers. She was hardly aware of his hand loosening the string of her nightgown, gathered at her collar, and pulling it apart.

He brushed the thin cloth from her shoulder. "I want to see you, Shalyn…." He whispered these words against her mouth, lightly kissing, tasting each and every small gasp of her breath the nightgown gathered at the mercilessly small waist. He lifted from the sweetness of her mouth to view the soft swells of her breasts. "Oh, Lord, Shalyn ,.."

A warm callused palm lightly stroked the side of her breast, his thumb grazing the peak. The incredibly lush pink tips tightened dramatically, and feeling this, he almost lost any last semblance of control as a small cry of pleasure escaped her. He caught the next in his mouth.

The kiss was long and deep, drawing hot serums from her body, and in the most unlikely places. She didn't know what was happening, even that it was happening. She didn't know anything except that he was kissing her and that somehow she needed the kiss more than she needed air. She never wanted his mouth to leave hers. She wanted this kiss to last forever...

The strokes deepened, making her twist and arch into the warmth of his palm. He groaned. Dear Lord, her breasts. She felt so soft and slim. He was so hot...

She was clinging tightly to his neck, tighter as his lips left her mouth to graze on her arched neck and lower. Slowly. She felt rushes of hot tremors as his mouth came to her breast. She gasped with surprised shock. Her gasps came faster as the slow thud of her heart dropped to her loins. Hot thick pleasure pulsated through her and she said his name in bewilderment as warmth rushed between her legs, making her writhe and twist. With the same innocent bewilderment, she said his name again. He answered her with his mouth on hers.

Then suddenly he stopped. He tensed. He pulled away from her. She was breathing hard and fast. "Hold still, Shalyn. Hold still." He leaned over her and seized the pistole lying on the night table. The crack of the barrel sounded as he cocked it, sitting up, his eyes on the door.

A giggle sounded, and it seemed like a hard slap to her face. She sat up. She first felt the cool air brush her bare breasts, then a wave of dizziness and disorientation as if she were waking from a dream. She was aware of hot moisture in a place she never before had reason to think much about.

The assault of a woman's perfume arrived a brief second before its carrier. Shalyn took one look at the darkened outline of a tall, voluptuous woman and knew she was beautiful, though why she bothered to note that, she would never know. She was very glad she was not holding the pistole. She would have shot her where she stood.

"Seanessy, Seanessy ..." Doreen took a long minute to see there was another woman in the bed with Seanessy, which was not at all unusual. "Couldn't wait for me again, could you," she laughed, seeming genuinely amused. "You lusty beast!"