HardWind (14 page)

The wind threw her words back at her as though it had asked the question of Star.

Standing there staring at the turbulent seas, Star realized that no matter what, she

would fight for possession of Dáire Cronin. The months apart from him had been sheer

torture, and had she known he was physically suffering during their separation, life

would have been far, far worse for her. As it was, she had forced herself to go out with

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HardWind

men who were nothing more than poor substitutes for the one she wanted—mere

shades of a bright sun that had become her world—in order to try to get over Dáire. She

now knew that was impossible. She was just as caught in Dáire’s web as was he.

Trudging back to her car through the wet sand, Star valiantly tried to put aside the

fears she had that something would happen to Dáire. Other women down through the

centuries had survived loving men of action, men whose jobs took them into the jaws of

danger. If those women could live with the potential loss of their men, Star could learn

to live with it too. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but the alternative—losing him to

another woman—wasn’t worth considering.

The drive back to the motel gave her time to decide the best course of action. Every

scenario she could imagine popped up to try her resolve, but in the end, the only thing

that mattered was that Dáire and she be together. As much as she hated the thought of

him being placed constantly in jeopardy, it was who he was, what he was, and in order

to be with him, she had to accept that, if not embrace it.

Quietly letting herself into their room, she could tell he was asleep. He was lying on

his stomach, his face turned toward her, his hands bunching the pillow beneath his

head. She eased the door shut and went to sit on the other bed, watching him as his

slow, even breathing signaled he was deep in slumber.

God, she thought as she looked at him, he was a gorgeous man. Long, thick brown

lashes fanned across his high cheekbones and his eyebrows were peaked in such a

sensuous way, she ached to trace them with her fingertips. Full, soft lips were parted

just a little, the bright whiteness of his teeth gleaming. His dark tan stood out on the

starched white sheets. The shiny dark curls tousled so adorably on the pillow made her

want to slide her fingers through the sleek thickness. One long, muscled leg crooked at

the knee lay outside the covers, and not for the first time did she think he had the most

beautiful feet of any man she’d ever known. The scars on his soles from the torture not

withstanding, they were gorgeous feet. Wiry swaths of hair matted his legs and chest

and arms—not so much that he was hirsute but enough that it beckoned a lover to run

her palm over it.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent of his cologne—Halston Z-12—and the smell

made her weak with lust. There was entirely too much temptation lying an arm’s length

away.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with those glorious brown eyes in

which a glint of amber shone. She knew passion could turn that glint to molten gold.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, and reached out a hand to her.

“How’s your head?” she questioned as she took his hand and let him pull her to his

bed.

“Better,” he replied. He scooted over so she could lie down beside him. “You smell

like the sea.”

“Egads, Cronin!” she groaned, lifting her arm. “Really?”

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“It’s a good smell.”

“Not rotting kelp, then?” she wanted clarified. “Or stinking fish?”

“More like the ocean in the early morning,” he told her, “when the wind is fresh

and there’s a tang of salt in the air.”

She nuzzled against his shoulder, her hand on his slightly damp chest. “It stopped

raining for a while, but it was starting up again when I got out of the car.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after six,” she answered.

“How long was I asleep?”

“I don’t know, baby,” she replied. “I was gone a few hours.”

“Deciding whether or not you were going to leave my ass?” he asked softly.

“Well, I can’t very well leave your ass if I take the rest of you, now can I?” she

asked.

Dáire stopped breathing for a moment. He turned his head on the pillow so that he

was looking into her eyes. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

The phone rang at that moment.

“Don’t answer it,” Dáire ordered.

They both were staring at the ringing phone. It continued to ring until Dáire threw

the covers aside, got up, grabbed the phone and yanked it from the wall outlet.

Winding the cord around the base, he walked over and put the phone on the dresser.

“Did you ever consider that might have been the hospital?” Star asked quietly.

He spun around. “Could it have been?”

She smiled. “They would have called me on my cell,” she answered.

His eyes shifted to the black pair of trousers he’d worn earlier. Almost as though by

magic, his cell phone began trilling.

“Oh, Dairy Crow, no!” Star said laughing. The ringtone for his phone was the old

Johnny Rivers song
Secret Agent Man
.

Dáire cocked one shoulder. “Seemed fitting. You should hear Jack Off’s if you think

mine’s bad.”

“No,” she said, drawing the word out. “You aren’t going to tell me…”

“Yep,” Dáire said. “The theme from
The Six Million Dollar Man
.”

Dáire’s incoming call had gone to his mailbox so the phone ceased ringing. He

plucked it from his pant pocket, looked at the caller ID and then turned the phone off.

“Was it her?”

“Whatever she has to say can damned well wait,” he mumbled, sticking the phone

back in his wet trousers.

Star sat up, drew her knees into the perimeter of her arms and watched him take a

drink of his now warm soda. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

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HardWind

“Are you going to leave me?” he asked, not looking at her.

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

“Sorta.”

He swung his gaze to her. “But you aren’t going to.”

“Someone has to keep you grounded,” she said. “Might as well be me.”

His smile was a little sad. He headed for the bathroom. “Come take a shower with

me, Starlight.”

“Only if you promise no hanky-panky,” she said, scooting off the bed and kicking

off her sandals.

“We know my promises aren’t worth much,” he said.

She stopped, and when he looked around at her, she drew in a long breath then

exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” she said, continuing on toward him. “That we do.”

He stripped off his shorts, kicked them in the general direction of the bed and then

reached behind the vinyl curtain to turn on the shower. As the hot water produced a

fine mist of steam, he stood watching Star undress, a slight smile on his face.

Star was so meticulous with her clothes. She unbuttoned her slacks, stepped out of

them and neatly folded them before laying them aside. Her blouse was next and

handled with the same care. She was the only woman he’d ever known who never

unhooked her bra, just pulled it over her head when she took it off. She folded the lacy

cups together and laid it aside.

“Why do you do that?” he’d once asked. “Remove your bra like that?”

“My rotator cup gives me hell now and again,” she’d answered. “It’s just easier this

way and I don’t have to try to hook it up again when I put it back on.”

He felt his cock stir as he stared at her lush breasts. She had beautiful breasts and

with her waist-length hair tumbled about her shoulders to hide the rosy peaks, she was

like Aphrodite rising naked from the sea on her scallop shell.

“Foam born,” he whispered.

Star’s eyebrows drew together. “What?” she asked, her thumbs hook in the

waistband of her lacy panties.

“Aphrodite was born of the sea’s foam,” he said.

“You’re comparing me to that hussy Aphrodite?!”

His eyes had turned a molten gold color that signaled to her he was having

lascivious thoughts. “She was the mistress of Ares, the god of war, and bore him two

sons Phobos and Deimos, and a daughter named—”

“Harmonia,” Star concluded for him.

“You know your Greeks,” he complimented as he unwrapped a bar of soap from

the vanity.

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“Aphrodite was married to Hephaestus when she took Ares as her lover.” She

pushed her panties down her longs legs and stepped out of them. “She also had affairs

with Hermes, Poseidon and Dionysus and bore children to each of them. She was a

nymphomaniac.”

“I beg to differ,” he said as he held the curtain aside for her. His gaze was locked at

the juncture of her thighs. “She just made a lot of guys very happy.”

“Humph,” Star commented as she climbed into the tub. “And do you know what

happened to the son she bore to Dionysus?”

He got in behind her. “Can’t say that I do.”

“His name was Priapus and because Hera disapproved of Aphrodite’s promiscuity,

she gave the child huge genitals. There was a famous painting on a wall in Pompeii of

Priapus weighing his large penis.”

“Hera was a bitch,” Dáire stated. He put his arms to either side of Star to wet the

soap and begin lathering it.

“Some women don’t take kindly to having their men look at other women,” she

said, leaning back against him. “Some of us get downright pissy about it.”

He used his lathered hands holding the soap to bathe her arms, sliding his palms

up and down her flesh. “Are you one of those women who gets her panties in a wad

over your man ogling other women?”

“I don’t mind the looking, per se,” she replied. “It’s the touching that I object to.

Touching might earn my man a whittled-down portion of his anatomy.”

“That couldn’t be good for his anatomy,” Dáire said. His hands slid from her arms

to her back.

“Fersure, he’d have a few shortcomings,” Star asserted with a little Valley mixed in.

He lathered her from shoulders to waist, running the soap lovingly across her flesh.

“Let’s continue that discussion after our shower,” he suggested. “You can sit on my lap

and we’ll talk about whatever pops up.”

Star pivoted toward him, his hands dragging over her hips. “Wouldn’t seem like

we’d get much talking done that way, Dairy Crow.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He slid his hands up from her hips to her sides then molded

them to her breasts, gently massaging the heavy globes. “It might be hard, but I think

we could work something into the conversation.”

Star shut her eyes as he kneaded her breasts. “A hard man is good to find,” she

responded.

“That’s what you always say,” he stated.

His thumbs were stroking her nipples into hard little pebbles as he stared down

into her eyes. Another part of him was lifting its head to gain her attention. Star looked

down at the persistent fellow.

“You seem to have a problem there, Cronin.”

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HardWind

He arched his hips toward her, the head of his cock grazing the tight curls at her

thighs. “He’s only got one eye so you might have to lead him where he needs to go.”

“Excuses, excuses,” she said. Wrapping her hand around his shaft, she massaged

him. “I’m all for helping the handicapped though.”

Dáire eased out of her hold then squatted down in front of her so he could lather

her hips and legs, insinuating his hands along her inner thighs, dragging the mushy

soap along her skin.

“I always knew I’d get you on your knees before me eventually,” she teased, her

hands smoothing through his dark curls.

“In a worshipful position, my lady fair,” he agreed, and bent forward to put a kiss

on each thigh. He slid his mouth to the apex of her thighs and flicked out his tongue to

taste her.

“Wicked, wicked knight,” she breathed, allowing her head to fall back, her eyes to

close as he worked his intense magic on her velvety lips.

He held his right hand under the water until it was free of suds. “Horny, horny

knight,” he corrected then slipped a finger deep inside her. He twisted it gently, looking

up at her.

Star lowered her head as he withdrew his finger and opened her eyes in time to see

him put the finger in his mouth and suck on it. “God, you know what that does to me,

Cronin!” she breathed.

He grinned. “And that’s wrong because…?”

“Screw you, Dairy Crow,” she said, breathing hard.

He was off his knees in a shot and grabbing her around her waist. He lifted her

against him with ease and grunted as she brought her legs up and wrapped them

around his hips. He took a step, pushed her up against the wall and slid his cock

unerringly into the wet heaven of her channel. Pistoning his hips like a well-oiled

machine, he pounded into her, moving her up and down against the tiled wall as he

thrust. “No, baby,” he said, his lips pressed to the hollow of her throat. “I’m gonna

screw you.”

Her fingernails were digging into his shoulders, her arms lashed tightly around his

neck as he drove into her with abandon. The steel of his rod was sheer pleasure as he

pushed deep—probing so far inside her, she could feel him touching her womb. She

was tight around him, her muscles gripping him, milking him as he moved in and out

in a frenzy of need. The pounding of their bodies slapping together was loud in the