Born In Ice (19 page)

Her nails dug into his back, drawing out a groan of dark delight from him as his hand skimmed down her bared hip. He knew she'd stiffened again and begged whatever god was listening for strength.

"Not until you're ready," he murmured and brought his lips patiently back to hers again. "I promise. But I want to see you. All of you."

He shifted, knelt back. There was fear in her eyes again, though her body was quivering with suppressed needs. He couldn't steady his hands or his voice, but he kept them gentle.

"I want to touch all of you." His eyes stayed on hers as he unsnapped his jeans. "All of you."

When he stripped, her gaze was drawn inexorably down. And her fear doubled. She knew what was to happen. She was, after all, a farmer's daughter, however poor a farmer he'd been. There would be pain, and blood, and...

"Gray-"

"Your skin's so soft." Watching her, he skimmed a finger up her thigh. "I've wondered what you'd look like, but you're so much lovelier than I imagined."

Unsettled, she'd crossed an arm over her breast. He left it there and went back to where he'd begun. With soft, slow, drugging kisses. And next caresses, patient, skilled hands that knew where a woman longed to be touched. Even when the woman didn't. Helplessly she yielded beneath him again, her breathing quickening into catchy pants as his hand roamed over the flat of her stomach toward the terrible, glorious heat.

Yes, he thought, fighting delirium. Open for me. Let me. Just let me.

She was damp and hot where he cupped her. The groan tore from his throat when she writhed and tried to resist.

"Let go, Brianna. Let me take you there. Just let go."

She was clinging to the edge of some towering cliff by no more than her fingertips. Terror welled inside her. She was slipping. No control. There was too much happening inside her body all at once for her burning flesh to hold it all in. His hand was like a torch against her, firing her, seering her mercilessly until she would have no choice but to tumble free into the unknown.

"Please." The word sobbed out. "Oh, sweet God, please."

Then the pleasure, the molten flood of it washed through her, over her, stealing her breath, her mind, her vision. For one glorious moment she was blind and deaf to everything but herself and the velvet shocks convulsing her.

She poured into his hand, making him moan like a dying man. He shuddered, even as she did, then with his face buried against her skin took her soaring again.

Straining against the chain of his own control, he waited until she was at peak. "Hold me. Hold on to me," he murmured, dizzy with his own needs as he struggled to ease gently into her.

She was so small, so tight, so deliciously hot. He used every ounce of willpower he had left not to thrust greedily inside as he felt her close around him.

"Only for a second," he promised her. "Only for a second, then it'll be good again."

But he was wrong. It never stopped being good. She felt him break the barrier of her innocence, fill her with himself, and felt nothing but joy.

"I love you." She arched up to meet him, to welcome him.

He heard the words dimly, shook his head to deny them. But she was wrapped around him, drawing him into a well of generosity. And he was helpless to do anything but drown.

Coming back to time and place was, for Brianna, like sliding weightlessly through a thin, white cloud. She sighed, let the gentle gravity take her until she was once more in the big old bed, candlelight flickering red and gold on her closed lids, and the truly incredible pleasure of Gray's weight pinning her to the mattress.

She thought hazily that no books she had read, no chatter she had heard from other women, no secret daydreaming could have taught her how simply good it was to have a man's naked body pressed onto hers.

The body itself was an amazing creation, more beautiful than she'd imagined. The long, muscled arms were strong enough to lift her, gentle enough to hold her as if she were a hollowed-out egg, easily broken.

The hands, wide of palm, long of finger, knew so cleverly just where to touch and stroke. Then there were the broad shoulders, the long, lovely, lean back, narrow hips leading down to hard thighs, firm calves.

Hard. She smiled to herself. Wasn't it a miracle that something so hard, so tough and strong should be covered with smooth, soft skin?

Oh, indeed, she thought, a man's body was a glorious thing.

Gray knew if she kept touching him he'd go quietly mad. If she stopped, he was certain he'd whimper.

Those pretty tea-serving hands of hers were gliding over him, whispering touches, exploring, tracing, testing, as if she were memorizing each muscle and curve.

He was still inside her, couldn't bear to separate himself. He knew he should, should ease away and give her time to recover. However much he'd fought not to hurt her, there was bound to be some discomfort.

And yet, he was so content-she seemed so content. All those nerves that had sizzled through him at the thought of taking her the first time-her first time-had melted away into lazy bliss.

When those skimming caresses caused him to stir again, he forced himself to move, propping up on his elbows to look down at her.

She was smiling. He couldn't have said why he found that so endearing, so perfectly charming. Her lips curved, her eyes warmly green, her skin softly flushed. Now, with that first rush of needs and nerves calmed, he could enjoy the moment, the lights, the shadows, the rippling pleasure of fresh arousal.

He pressed his lips to her brow, her temples, her cheeks, her mouth.

"Beautiful Brianna."

"It was beautiful for me." Her voice was thick, still raspy with passion. "You made it beautiful for me."

"How do you feel now?"

He would ask, she thought, both in kindness and in curiosity. "Weak," she said. And with a quick laugh, "Invincible. Why do you suppose such a natural thing as this should make such a difference in a life?"

His brows drew together, smoothed out again. Responsibility, he thought, it was his responsibility. He had to remind himself she was a grown woman, and the choice had been hers. "Are you comfortable with that difference?"

She smiled up at him, beautifully, touched a hand to his cheek. "I've waited so long for you, Gray."

The quick inner defense signal flashed on. Even steeped in her, warm, damn, half aroused, it flashed. Step carefully, cautioned a cool, controlled part of his mind. Warning: Intimacy Ahead.

She saw the change in his eyes, a subtle but distinct distancing even as he took the hand against his cheek and shifted it so that his lips pressed to her palm.

"I'm crushing you."

She wanted to say-no, stay-but he was already moving away.

"We haven't had any champagne." Easy with his nakedness, he rolled out of bed. "Why don't you go have a bath while I open the bottle?"

She felt odd suddenly, and awkward, where she'd felt nothing but natural with him atop and inside her. Now she fumbled with the sheets. "The linen," she began, and found herself flushing and tongue-tied. It would be soiled, she knew, with her innocence.

"I'll take care of it." Seeing her color deepen and understanding, he moved to the bed again and cupped her chin in his hand. "I can change sheets, Brie. And even if I didn't know how before, I'd have picked it up watching you." His mouth brushed hers, his voice thickening. "Do you know how often I've been driven insane watching you smooth and tuck my sheets?"

"No." There was a quick lick of pleasure and desire. "Really?"

He only laughed and laid his brow on hers. "What wonderful good deed did I do to deserve this? To earn you?" He drew back, but his eyes had kindled again, making her heart drum slow and hard against her ribs. "Go have your bath. I'm wanting to make love with you again," he said, slipping into a brogue that made her lips quirk. "If you'd like it."

"I would, yes." She drew a deep breath, bracing herself to climb naked from the bed. "Very much I would. I won't be long."

When she went into the bath, he took a deep breath himself. To steady his system, he told himself.

He'd never had anyone like her. It wasn't just that he'd never tasted innocence before-that would have been enormous enough. But she was unique to him. Her responses, that hesitation and eagerness playing at odds with each other. With her absolute trust shining over all.

"I love you," she'd said.

It wouldn't do to dwell on that. Women tended to romanticize, emotionalize sex in most cases. Certainly a woman experiencing sex for the first time would be bound to mix lust with love. Women used words, and required them. He knew that. That was why he was very careful when choosing his.

But something had spurted through him when she'd whispered that overrated and overused phrase. Warmth and need and, for an instant, just a heartbeat, a desperate desire to believe it. And to echo her words.

He knew better, and though he would do anything and everything in his power to keep her from hurt, anything and everything to make her happy while they were together, there were limits to what he could and would give to her. To anyone.

Enjoy the moment, he reminded himself. That's all there was. He hoped he could teach her to enjoy it as well.

She felt odd as she wrapped the towel around her freshly scrubbed body. Different. It was something that could never be explained to a man, she supposed. They lost nothing when they gave themselves the first time. There was no sharp tearing of self to admit another. But it wasn't pain she remembered, even the soreness between her thighs didn't bring the violence of invasion to mind. It was the unity she thought of. The sweet and simple bond of mating.

She studied herself in the misty mirror. She looked warm, she decided. It was the same face, surely, that she'd glimpsed countless times in countless mirrors. Yet wasn't there a softness here she'd never noticed before? In the eyes, around the mouth? Love had done that. The love she held in her heart, the love she'd tasted for the first time with her body.

Perhaps it was only the first time that a woman felt so aware of herself, so stripped of everything but flesh and soul. And perhaps, she thought, because she was older than most, the moment was all the more overwhelming and precious.

He wanted her. Brianna closed her eyes, the better to feel those long, slow ripples of delight. A beautiful man with a beautiful mind and kind heart wanted her.

All of her life she'd dreamed of finding him. Now she had.

She stepped into the bedroom, and saw him. He'd put fresh linen on the bed and had laid one of her white flannel gowns at the foot of it. He stood now in jeans unsnapped and relaxed on his hips, with champagne bubbling in glasses and candlelight simmering in his eyes.

"I'm hoping you'll wear it," he said when she saw her gaze rest on the prim, old-fashioned nightgown. "I've imagined getting you out of it since that first night. I watched you come down the stairs, a candle in one hand, a wolfhound in the other, and my head went spinning."

She picked up a sleeve. How much she wished it was silk or lace or something that would make a man's blood heat. " 'Tisn't very alluring, I think."

"You think wrong."

Because she had nothing else, and it seemed to please him, she slipped the gown over her head, letting the towel fall away as the flannel slid down. His muffled groan had her smiling over uncertainly.

"Brianna, what a picture you are. Leave the towel," he murmured as she bent to retrieve it. "Come here. Please."

She stepped forward, that half smile on her face and nerves threatening to swallow her, to take the glass he held out. She sipped, discovered the frothy wine did nothing to ease her dry throat. He was looking at her, she thought, the way she imagined a tiger might look at a lamb just before he pounced.

"You haven't had dinner," she said.

"No." Don't frighten her, idiot, he warned himself and struggled back the urge to devour. He took a slow sample of champagne, watching her, wanting her. "I was just thinking I wanted it. Thinking we could eat up here, together. But now..." He reached out to curl a damp tendril of her hair around his finger. "Can you wait?"

So it was to be simple again, she thought. And again her choice. "I can wait for dinner." She could barely get the words passed the heat in her throat. "But not for you."

She stepped, quite naturally, into his arms.

Chapter Thirteen

An elbow in the ribs brought Brianna groggily out of sleep. Her first view of the morning after a night of love was floor. If Gray took up another inch of the bed, she'd be on it.

It took her only seconds, and a shiver in the chilly morning air, to realize she hadn't even the stingiest corner of sheet or blanket covering her.

Gray, on the other hand, was cozily wrapped beside her, like a contented moth in a cocoon.

Sprawled over the mattress, he slept like the dead. She wished she could have said his snuggled position, and the elbow lodged near her kidney, was loverlike, but it smacked plainly of greed. Her tentative pushes and tugs didn't budge him.

So that was the way of it, she thought. The man was obviously unaccustomed to sharing.

She might have stayed to tussle for her share-just on principle-but the sun was shining through the windows. And there were chores to do.

Her efforts to slip quietly from the bed so as not to disturb him proved unnecessary. The minute her feet were on the floor, he grunted, then shifted to lay claim to her small slice of mattress.

Still, the dregs of romance remained in the room. The candles had guttered out in their own wax sometime during the night. The champagne bottle was empty in its silver bucket, and flowers scented the air. The open curtain caught sunbeams, rather than moonbeams.

He'd made it perfect for her, she remembered. Had known how to make it perfect.

This morning business wasn't quite the way she'd imagined it. In sleep, he didn't look like an innocent boy dreaming, but like a man well satisfied with himself. There hadn't been any gentle caresses or murmured good mornings to acknowledge their first day together as lovers. Just a grunt and a shove to send her on her way.

The many moods of Grayson Thane, she mused. Perhaps she could write a book on that subject herself.

Amused, she tugged her discarded nightgown over her head and headed downstairs.

She could do with some tea, she decided, to get the blood moving again. And since the sky looked promising, she'd do a bit of wash and hang it out to catch the morning air.

She thought the house could do with an airing as well and tossed open windows as she walked. Through the one in the parlor, she spotted Murphy bent under the hood of her car.

She watched him a moment, her emotions tangling. Her anger with him warred with loyalty and affection. Anger was already losing as she walked outside and moved along the garden path.

"1 didn't expect to see you," she began.

"I said I'd have a look." He glanced back. She was standing in her nightgown, her hair tangled from the night, her feet bare. Unlike Gray, his blood didn't kindle. She was simply Brianna to him, and he took the moment to search out any sign of temper or forgiveness. He saw neither, so went back to his business.

"Your starter motor's in a bad way," he muttered.

"So I've been told."

"Your engine's sick as an old horse. I can get some parts, patch it back together. But it's good money after bad as I see it."

"If it could last me through the summer, into the autumn..." She trailed off as he cursed under his breath. She simply couldn't keep her heart cool from him. He'd been her friend as long as she remembered. And it was friendship, she knew, that had caused him to do what he'd done.

"Murphy, I'm sorry."

He straightened then, and turned to her, with everything he felt naked in his eyes. "So am I. I never meant to cause you hurt, Brie. God's witness."

"I know that." She took the step, crossing to him and slipping her arms around him. "I shouldn't have been so hard, Murphy. Not on you. Never on you."

"You scared me, I'll admit it." His arms went tight around her. "I spent the night worrying over it-afraid you wouldn't forgive me, and not bake me scones anymore."

She laughed as he'd hoped. Shaking her head, she kissed him under the ear. "I was so angry at the thought of it all more than at you. I know you acted out of caring. And Maggie, too." Secure with her head on his shoulder, Brianna closed her eyes. "But my mother, Murphy, what did she act out of?" "I can't say, Brie."

"You wouldn't say," she murmured and eased back to study his face. Such a handsome one, she thought, with all that goodness inside. It wasn't right for her to ask him to condemn or defend her mother. And she wanted to see him smile again. "Tell me, did Rory hurt you very much?" Murphy made a sound of derision, purely male, Brianna thought. "Soft hands is what he had, and not a bit of style.

Wouldn't have laid the first one on me if I'd been expecting it."

She tucked her tongue in her cheek. "No, I'm sure of it. And did you bloody his nose for me, Murphy darling?"

"That and more. His nose was broke when I'd finished with him, and he'd lost a tooth or two."

"That's a hero for you." She kissed his lightly on both cheeks. "I'm sorry she used you that way."

He shrugged that off. "I'm glad I was the one who plowed a fist in his face, and that's the truth. Never liked the bastard."

"No," Brianna said softly. "You nor Maggie, either. It seems you both saw something I didn't, or I was seeing something that was never there."

"Don't worry at it now, Brie. It was years ago." He started to pat her and remembered the grease on his hands. "Get back now, you'll make yourself filthy. What are you doing out here in your bare feet?"

"Making up with you." She smiled, then looked toward the road at the sound of a car. When she spotted Maggie, Brianna folded her hands, lifted a brow. "Warned her, did you?" she muttered to Murphy.

"Well, I thought it best." And he thought it best now to step neatly back out of the line of fire.

"So." Maggie walked around the nodding columbine, her eyes on Brianna's face. "I thought you might want to talk to me."

"I do, yes. Did you think I had no right to know, Maggie?"

"It wasn't rights I was worried about. 'Twas you."

"I loved him." The long breath she took was part relief that the emotion was fully past tense. "I loved him longer than I would had I known the whole of it."

"Maybe that's true, and I'm sorry for it. I couldn't bear to tell you." To all three of their discomfort, Maggie's eyes filled. "I just couldn't. You were so hurt already, so sad and lost." Pressing her lips together, she struggled with the tears. "I didn't know what was best."

"It was both of our decision." Murphy ranged himself with Maggie. "There was no bringing him back for you, Brie."

"Do you think I would have wanted him back?" A shimmer of heat, and more of pride seeped through as she tossed back her hair. "Do you think so little of me? He believed what she told him. No, I'd not have had him back." She let out a quick huff of breath, drew in another more slowly. "And, I'm thinking, had it been me in your position, Margaret Mary, I might have done the same. I'd have loved you enough to have done the same."

She rubbed her hands together, then held one out. "Come inside, I'm going to make some tea. Have you had breakfast, Murphy?" "Nothing to speak of."

"I'll call you when it's ready then." With Maggie's hand in hers, she turned and saw Gray standing in the doorway. There was no way to stop the color that flooded her cheeks, a combination of pleasure and embarrassment, that sent her pulse scrambling. But her voice was steady enough, her nod of greeting easy. "Good morning to you, Grayson. I was about to start breakfast."

So, she wanted to play it cool and casual, Gray noted, and returned the nod. "Looks like I'll have company eating it. Morning, Maggie."

Maggie sized him up as she walked with Brianna to the house. "And to you, Gray. You look... rested."

"The Irish air agrees with me." He moved aside to let them through the door. "I'll see what Murphy's up to."

He strolled down the walk and stopped by the open hood of the car. "So, what's the verdict?"

Murphy leaned on the car and watched him. "You could say it's still out."

Understanding that neither of them were discussing engines, Gray tucked his thumbs in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Still looking out for her? Can't blame you for that, but I'm not Rory."

"Never thought you were." Murphy scratched his chin, considered. "She's a sturdy piece of work, our Brie, you know. But even sturdy women can be damaged if handled carelessly."

"I don't intend to be careless." He lifted a brow. "Thinking of beating me up, Murphy?"

"Not yet." And he smiled. "I like you, Grayson. I hope I won't be called upon to break any of your bones."

"That goes for both of us." Satisfied, Gray glanced toward the engine. "Are we going to give this thing a decent burial?"

Murphy's sigh was long and heartfelt. "If only we could."

In harmony they ducked under the hood together.

In the kitchen Maggie waited until coffee was scenting the air and Con was chomping happily at his breakfast. Brianna had dressed hastily and, with her apron in place, was busy slicing bacon.

"I've gotten a late start," Brianna began, "so there's no time for fresh muffins or buns. But I've plenty of bread."

Maggie sat at the table, knowing her sister preferred that she stay out of the way. "Are you all right, Brianna?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Will you be wanting sausage, too?"

"Doesn't matter. Brie..." Maggie dragged a hand through her hair. "He was your first, wasn't he?" When Brianna set her slicing knife aside and said nothing, Maggie pushed away from the table. "Did you think I wouldn't know, just seeing you together? The way he looks at you." She rubbed her hands absently over her weighted belly as she paced. "The way you look."

"Have I a sign around my neck that says fallen woman?" Brianna said coolly.

"Damn it, you know that's not my meaning." Exasperated, Maggie stopped to face her. "Anyone with wit could see what was between you." And their mother had wit, Maggie thought grimly. Maeve would be back in a matter of days. "I'm not trying to interfere, or to give advice if advice isn't welcome. I just want to know... I need to know that you're all right."

Brianna smiled then and let her stiff shoulders relax. "I'm fine, Maggie. He was very good to me. Very kind and gentle. He's a kind and gentle man."

Maggie touched a hand to Brianna's cheek, brushed at her hair. "You're in love with him."

"Yes." "And he?"

"He's used to being on his own, to coming and going as he pleases, without ties."

Maggie tilted her head. "And you're after changing that?"

With a little hum in her throat, Brianna turned back to her cooking. "You don't think I can?"

"I think he's a fool if he doesn't love you. But changing a man's like walking through molasses. A lot of effort for little progress."

"Well, it's not so much changing him as letting him see what choices there are. I can make a home for him, Maggie, if he'll let me." Then she shook her head. "Oh, it's too soon to be thinking so far. He's made me happy. That's enough for now."

Maggie hoped that was true. "What will you do about Mother?"

"As far as Gray's concerned, I won't let her spoil it." Brianna's eyes frosted as she turned to add cubed potatoes to the pan. "As to the other, I haven't decided. But I will handle it myself, Maggie. You understand me?"

"I do." Giving in to eight months of pregnancy, she sat again. "We heard from the New York detective yesterday."

"You did? Did he find her?"

"It's a more complicated business than we might have thought. He found a brother-a retired policeman who still lives in New York."

"Well, that's a start then, isn't it?" Eager for more, Brianna began to whip up batter for griddle cakes.

"More of a stop, I'm afraid. The man refused to admit he even had a sister at first. When the detective pressed- he had copies of Amanda's birth certificate and such-this Dennis Dougherty said he hadn't seen nor heard from Amanda in more than twenty-five years. That she was no sister to him and so forth as she'd gotten herself in trouble and run off. He didn't know where, or care to know."

"That's sad for him, isn't it?" Brianna murmured. "And her parents? Amanda's parents?"

"Dead, both of them. The mother only last year. There's a sister as well, married and living out in the West of the States. He's talked to her as well, Rogan's man, and though she seems softer of heart, she hasn't been any real help."

"But she must know," Brianna protested. "Surely she'd know how to find her own sister."

"That doesn't seem to be true. It appears there was a family ruckus when Amanda announced she was pregnant, and she wouldn't name the father." Maggie paused, pressed her lips together. "I don't know if she was protecting Da, or herself, or the child if it comes to it. But according to the sister, there were bitter words on all sides. They were lace-curtain Irish and saw a pregnant unwed daughter as a smear on the family name. They wanted her to go away, have the child, and give it up. It seems she refused and simply went away altogether. If she contacted her parents again, the brother isn't saying, and the sister isn't aware of it."

"So we have nothing."

"Next to it. He did find out-the detective-that she'd visited Ireland all those years ago with a woman friend. He's working now on tracking her down."

"Then we'll be patient." She brought a pot of tea to the table and frowned at her sister. "You look pale."

"I'm just tired. Sleeping's not as easy as it once was."

"When do you see the doctor again?"

"This very afternoon." Maggie drummed up a smile as she poured herself a cup.

"Then I'll take you. You shouldn't be driving."

Maggie sighed. "You sound like Rogan. He's coming all the way back from the gallery to take me himself."

"Good. And you're staying right here with me until he comes to get you." More concerned than pleased when she got no argument, Brianna went to call the men to breakfast.

She spent the day happily enough, fussing over Maggie, welcoming an American couple who had stayed at her inn two years earlier. Gray had gone off with Murphy to look for car parts. The sky stayed clear, the air warm. Once she had seen Maggie safely off with Rogan, Brianna settled down for an hour of gardening in her herb bed.

Freshly washed linens were billowing on the line, music was trilling out through the open windows, her guests were enjoying tea cakes in her parlor, and her dog was snoozing in a patch of sunlight beside her. She couldn't have been happier.

The dog's ears pricked, and her own head came up when she heard the sound of cars. "That's Murphy's truck," she said to Con, and indeed, the dog was already up, tail wagging. "The other I don't recognize. Do you think we have another guest?"