Fire of My Heart (9 page)

“Oh,” was
all she could manage.

Upon
entering the room, she leaned on the table for support then moved closer to the
tub. Steaming water sprinkled with rose petals filled it to the brim, ready to
welcome her tired body. Earthy and soothing, the fragrance filled her senses.

A tear
rolled down her cheek.

“Thank you,
Rowan.” She turned to reward him with a kiss. He was gone.

* *
* *

Rowan
watched, unnoticed, by the kitchen doorway as Ellen soaked in the scented hot
water. He felt awkward looking in on her, but couldn’t help it. At least he’d
waited until she’d submersed herself in the tub.

He promised
himself he wouldn’t stay long.

Mesmerized
by the sight before him, he stood transfixed as she raised a long leg upward
from the tub and squeezed a thick sponge full of water over it. The glistening
liquid trickled teasingly down her slender calf, leaving her smooth wet skin
shimmering like gold in the warm firelight.

The burning
consumed him, that driving need to connect with her.

Before
she’d arrived, he’d never been able to feel anything but hate and bitterness.
Heat. Cold. Joy. Sorrow. None of it. Neither sleep nor hunger had plagued
him--until now.

Only now, a
different kind of hunger ravaged his soul.

More relaxed than she could
ever remember, Ellen sat by the fire drying her long wet tresses, gazing into
the glowing embers. Unable to find any towels, she’d draped herself
a la
a
Greek statue in a wide piece of thick linen.

Perhaps all
this was just a dream.

No.

Her dreams
were very different. Ever since her arrival she’d seen things. Hunger, jetlag, lack
of sleep--none of them explained what was happening to her. Or poisoning and mental
illness. None of the symptoms matched. The more she’d tried to deny the
visions, the stronger the images became. Why?

Maybe all
the feelings she’d suppressed about Rowan and her own life had caused them. Yes.
Possibly. She’d heard of people’s insecurities about something manifesting
through dreams, or in her case, nightmares.

But hers
had been so damn real.

Perhaps now
that she’d faced some of her owns fears about relationships, the images would go
away. God, she hoped so. After all, what could she say? ‘Hey, I love you and,
by the way, I’m seeing ghosts and think I may be going mad’? Sure, that would
make for a great romantic conversation.

The soft
fragrance of lavender oil and rose drifted up from her warm skin. Breathing it
in, she closed her eyes, tried to push all negative thoughts from her mind.
Rowan had gone to so much trouble and she didn’t want to spoil it now with self
doubt--another of her least attractive assets.

In fact,
she’d been too enamored by the sight of the steaming tub to even consider just
how the hell he’d managed to do it all. What did it matter how he’d done it?
The bath had been incredible. Even her leg could move again. God, she felt
good.

Relaxed,
revived and ready for anything.

Even Rowan.

But was he
prepared for her? What if she’d been wrong and he was only being kind? She’d been
mistaken about men’s motives before. Her heart began to pound at the thought.
Could she risk showing him so soon how she felt?

She ran a
hand through her damp hair. Perhaps she could just thank him and see how it
went from there.

What a
coward.

Okay, maybe
just a friendly kiss.

Who was she
kidding? Throwing her hair forward to dry, she groaned, and shook her head. Just
thinking about Rowan, the day he was cutting wood in the kitchen, standing by
her bed looking at her as though she were the most important person in the
world to him. The way he’d held her tight to bring her to the bath…made her
stomach twist with desire. Damn. Where had she put the rest of that bottle of
red?

“Feeling
better, Ellen?”

Cripes. She
flung her hair back and patted down her wild locks, wishing desperately for a brush.
The man’s timing, as usual, was less than perfect. She’d no makeup on. No
decent clothes. She looked down at her attire, probably a tablecloth, and
blushed.

What the
hell. He’d seen her in less.

“Yes. Thank
you, Rowan.” Tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear, she smiled at him, for
once, lost for words. No one back home would ever have believed that. “It was very
kind of you to go to all that trouble. The soak did me the world of good.”

As he
walked toward her he appeared different in the candlelight, but she couldn’t
pick just what it was. He had always looked good, but this time he seemed…oh,
damn, she didn’t know.

“You seem
much better.” He stopped before her and picked up one of her hands. “I was worried
about you.”

At his
touch, her breath caught. A lump formed in her throat the size of a walnut and
almost as hard to swallow. His hands were warm. Really warm. For some reason,
she’d never noticed that about him before. And his smell. The scent of leather,
outdoors and man assailed her senses, sent white hot ripples of arousal
pulsating through her veins. It was as though she was just taking him in for
the first time.

Suddenly,
everything about him seemed new and exciting: the curve of his chin, the way
his hair fell on his broad shoulders and the molten-gold flecks in his emerald
eyes, which glinted with desire.

She prayed
to the heavens not to pass out this time.

Rowan
raised her hand to his lips and began slowly kissing the tip of each finger.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might leave her chest. Never in her
life had she thought something so simple could be so erotic. Every nerve was on
edge and her body tensed as she waited to be touched.

“Rowan…”
Her voice came as a whisper. “I…” He glanced across at her through his long lashes.
The dancing sparks of green fire in his eyes made her gasp.

Holding her
palm up against his, he closed his hand around hers as though it were made of glass,
and then pulled her toward him. Too lost in his gaze, she didn’t resist when he
wrapped his other arm around her waist.

He gently
brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, stroked her cheek, and like fire
on her skin, his touch scorched in a way she’d never dreamed. Cupping her chin,
he skimmed his thumb across her quivering lips. She wasn’t afraid, but the
anticipation was ready to send her to the floor, make her legs give way at any
moment. And why did her mouth have to go dry now?

The tiniest
hint of a smile curled at the edge of his mouth as he leaned in. Oh God. Just
above her lips, he paused, breathed in softly. He closed his eyes and rested
his forehead against hers.

“Ellen,” he
whispered, pulled back a little and again hesitated close to her lips. “
Tine
mo chroi
.”

The moment
his lips met hers, reality slid away. Through his kiss came emotion like she couldn’t
describe, as if only she could understand everything he was pouring into her.
Rage. Passion. Pain. A thousand images exploded in her mind. With every moment,
his mouth devoured hers with an insatiable hunger. Heated. Searching. Demanding
hers in return--and she gave it.

An
overwhelming wave of rapture flowed through her, sweeping the world around her
away. Only he existed.

And as she
gave her lips up to his, faces and images tumbled one after the other like an
old flickering movie. Not horrible faces, but none of it made any sense. He
nuzzled into her neck and she became dizzy, had to catch her breath. Her loins
clenched, and her stomach did its best to tie itself in knots.

Rowan had
relieved her of her ‘towel’, leaving her clinging naked in his heated embrace. Pulling
away from his lips, she looked up at him and smiled nervously. Desire smoldered
in his gaze, threatened to burst into flames at any moment.

Touching
down along his cheek to his neck, she breathed in, began loosening the ties on
his shirt. Such beautiful fabric, and she loved the way the ‘old styles’ looked
on him. The cut fit his shape to a tee. His broad shoulders filled out the
cambric cloth to perfection.

Holding
her, he stood there as she pushed the shirt up and over his head, let it fall
to the floor, glided her fingers back down his chest over his firm warm skin.
No. Not warm. Hot. Searing to the touch. She traced along each defined muscle
of his stomach, stopped where his pants began, and her mouth grew parched.

Magnificent.

But men
like Rowan just didn’t happen to her. She was ordinary, boring. Men like him
dated super models, not green thumbs with a penchant for collecting fungi.

In her
awkwardness, she swallowed and tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go,
and stared into her eyes. Need glittered in his gaze. She reached up and
wrapped her arms around his neck, twisted her fingers in his thick hair,
playing with it.

Taking a
deep breath, she looked at his lips, then into his eyes. “Do you want to be
with me, Rowan?”

A groan
escaped him. He lifted her up, claimed her mouth with his once more. Delicious,
salty-sweet, he tasted like the ocean, but they were hundreds of miles away.
She felt almost weightless in his arms as he carried her over to the kitchen
table and placed her on the sprawl of soft linen cloths there.

Sitting on
the edge of the table, she shivered, but not from cold. In fact, she’d never
felt so hot in her life. Every part of her was on fire, every molecule
threatened to explode. Ripples of goose bumps littered her body like tiny
aftershocks as Rowan slowly ran his fingertips down her back, exploring,
touching and driving her wild.

One hand
behind her back, he kissed from her neck down to her stomach as he lowered her upon
the table. She sighed as the soft hair on his chest brushed seductively against
her breast. Arching as he kissed one breast, she gasped with pleasure. Then he
took the nipple in his mouth, teased the sensitive nub between his teeth.

Rowan. Like
a chant his name repeated itself over and over again, and her body responded, seeking
the excitement of his weight, his touch--his manhood.

He answered
her little thrusts by running his hands along her frame, then clasping her buttocks
firmly in his hands. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she cried out, and
pure male satisfaction oozed from him with his smile.

And she
loved it. She loved him. No man had ever touched her like this, made her feel
so desirable, so sensual.

Her legs
dangled over the edge of the table. He reached around her thighs, gently pulled
her against him, and she watched, almost shy as he pushed the edge of his pants
down, revealing the rampant arousal she’d felt straining against her.

A gasp
escaped her before she could stop herself. Having had a few boyfriends already,
she thought she’d seen it all. Boy, was she wrong. Parting her thighs, he
nestled between her legs. The heat of his toned hips seared the cool flesh of
her thighs. Anticipation near killing her, she closed her eyes, struggled to
keep control. The coiling mass inside her tightened with his every caress as stroking
her thighs, he reached under them, brought her legs upward and wrapped them
around his waist, exposing her womanhood to his touch. Her breathing became
heavy as he ran a hand down along one thigh and into the heat of her realm.

He brushed
his fingers over the sensitive nub there, and the moisture of her own
excitement cooled in the evening air. In a haze of pleasure she opened her eyes
and met his heated gaze. He appeared enraptured by her, as if in his arms, she
was precious.

With every
whimper that escaped her lips, his eyes glistened, watched her intently. Her
back arched sharply as he stroked her toward a dizzying climax, feeding a deep,
almost frantic need building within. She needed release.

The tip of
his sex nudged hers. Hot, heavy and hard it teased her, making her moan for
more.

Grasping
her hips, he sank into her without restraint. She cried out and clutched the
cloths surrounding her. Mind and body flung into chaos, she accepted him and he
fulfilled her completely. Panting, she looked up at him. His powerful body
glistened in the firelight. He’d closed his eyes, and etched on his face was an
incredible expression of pain and pleasure. Yes.

As she
lifted her hips and moved against him, he clasped her thigh tight to his chest,
let out a deep groan.

“Ellen,” he
said in a hoarse whisper. She raised her hips again, only this time he pulled
back then thrust into her, drawing her buttocks against him to take him in even
deeper.

With every
withdrawal, every thrust, her head spun more. She licked her parched lips, moaning
as his devastating rhythm catapulted her toward a sweet oblivion. He moved
harder.

Faster. And with every
penetrating stroke her heart raced and lungs struggled to keep up, like she breathed
in a vacuum. But she didn’t need air--he was her oxygen.

Leaning
forward, he cupped her breast, increasing the pressure within, rolled her
hardened nipple between his fingertips.

Damn that
was incredible. Yes!

The intense
expression on his face heightened her thrill, made her smile, not want to miss a
thing. God, he made her feel good. Ecstasy had been too long denied in her
life, and she never wanted to let him go. She raised her groin to meet him,
tightened herself around him. He shuddered and dropped over her, panting, his
muscular arms splayed either side of her.

She smiled
and ran her tongue over her lips, inviting him to accept. And he did, snatching
a brief, scorching, ruthless kiss. Then he straightened, held her ankle up by
his shoulder and the pressure within her became indescribable, the heavy old
table shunted against the floor with the force of his movement.

Like an
invading force hell bent on conquering, again and again he lunged forward into
her.

And she was
on her knees in surrender. The room around her melted into a swirl of color and
light. A thousand tiny speckles danced before her eyes.

Wrapping an
arm around her waist, he lifted her so her leg rested now on his hip. Head
buried in her neck, he pushed hard once, twice, and the hot tight coil inside
her let go, sending her over the edge into oblivion.