Judith E French (21 page)

The third tie loosened, and Shane kissed the hollow between her breasts. She arched against him, reveling in the touch of his lips and fingers, wanting to be closer.

Then he reached down to tug at the hem of her gown, and she made no protest as he pulled it over her head, leaving her as bare as he was in the pale yellow moonlight.

“I want to kiss your breasts,” he said.

The thought made her bold, and she lifted one for his caress. No man had ever done that before. And no one had told her that the feel of his lips and tongue on her nipple would shatter her body with tremors of delight.

He kissed first one swollen bud and then the other, making her breath come in quick, deep shudders and her fingernails scrape the surface of his skin. He drew her nipple between his lips and suckled gently until the fire in her belly flared into a whipping flame.

“Darlin’,” he crooned as he moved one hand lower to trace the line of her hip with slow, warm fingertips and brush the nest of curls below her belly. Shamelessly she let him go on laving her nipples with his tongue, suckling and teasing, let him touch her in the secret places that churned with a white-hot passion she had not known she possessed.

“Shane …”

He pushed her back upon the pillows and rose on one knee to stare into her eyes. “Trust me, sweet. Trust me.”

She closed her eyes, cradling his head against her breast as he pressed lower with gentle, exploring fingers, rubbing slow, sensual circles on her skin.

Caitlin urged him on with small, quick gasps and the rhythmic motion of her body. “Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

“What do you want, woman? Do you want me to touch you here?” He cupped the mound between her thighs, and she moaned with desire as an unfamiliar moistness spilled onto his hand.

“Yes … yes.”

“You’re ready for me now, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes …” She waited for him to shift his weight on top of her, waited to feel the heat of his enlarged shaft drive into her woman’s sheath. To her shock, he lowered his head and brushed her nether lips with his tongue.

“Shane!”

“Sweet, sweet woman,” he whispered.

Brazenly she opened to him as his hard, hot tongue delved ever deeper into her damp folds.

It was wicked. It was wild. It was … wonderful. The spiral tightened, sending shock waves through her veins, turning her need to a raw hunger. Then, when she thought she would die from the sheer ecstasy, she cried aloud as her world exploded in multicolored, shimmering stars.

Clutching him, she rode the wave of utter release for seconds or minutes; she couldn’t tell. Finally, shaken, her body sheened with a film of perspiration, she drifted down to find herself cradled safely in Shane’s strong, protecting arms.

“Oh, Shane,” she murmured. “I … I … You didn’t …”

He kissed her mouth. “Not yet, I haven’t, darlin’. But we’ve time, plenty of time. The night’s young.”

“But I didn’t …” she began, not knowing what she meant to say.

“I think you did,” he teased, gently closing his lips over her lower lip and nibbling at it.

“I didn’t know,” she confessed. “I never felt like that before. Not the first time—” She broke off, suddenly shy with him. “Our wedding night,” she finished lamely.

“You were an innocent then, and in many ways you’re still an innocent now,” he whispered. “I wanted to give you pleasure tonight. Did I?”

“Oh, yes.” She sighed and snuggled close. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose and her chin; then he wound a lock of her hair around his finger and brushed it against his lips. “I know it’s not been easy for you here, but I promise to try to make things better.”

“And I will, too, Shane.”

“You will?”

“Of course, anything.”

“Well,” he murmured. “That little thing you did.”

“What thing?”

“When you touched me here.” He brought her hand to his chest and pressed her fingertips against his nipple. “That felt good.”

“I wanted it to,” she answered softly. In a way she felt as if she were still floating above the earth, still seeing pin wheels of color in the sky. She didn’t want to talk, not really. She just wanted to lie there, safe and contented, savoring the magic.

Shane cupped her breast, idly circling the nipple with a fingertip. And to her surprise, she felt a renewed stab of desire deep inside. “A husband likes to be touched as well,” Shane said. “Here.” He moved her hand lower. “And here.”

“Oh.”

She had never held a man before. His skin was smooth, the swollen flesh hard beneath her fingertips.
Curious, she brushed her fingers down the length of him and was rewarded by a moan of pleasure.

“Is that good?” she teased.

“It’s a start.”

Then he kissed her again, and one touch led to another. Caitlin’s inhibitions fell away as Shane lured her farther and farther into a sensual world of taste and smell and sensation. His hands moved over her, painting her skin with sweet fire, and the need for fulfillment grew and grew in her until the moment that she cried aloud for him to ease her exquisite agony.

Shane parted her legs and knelt between them. “Are you ready for me?”

She could not speak, but her whimper of longing was enough. She felt the touch of his shaft on her wet folds, and she arched her hips to meet his thrust.

Shane entered with her name on his lips, and this time there was no pain for her, only a sense of glorious completion as he plunged deep inside her slick, tight passage.

“Yes!” she cried. “Oh, yes.”

Shane groaned between quick, hard breaths. “Caity,” he gasped.

“Ohhh.”

“Darlin’ …” He pulled back slowly and then drove again, filling her until she moaned with pleasure at the glorious sensation. Shane clung to her, sweeping her into the timeless rhythm of his movement, and she quickly matched his ardor with her own.

She’d thought that what she’d felt earlier was a miracle, but no words could describe this passionate coming together.

Together they rode the whirlwind to the top of the mountain and leaped headlong into space beyond. And when Caitlin felt the rush of his hot seed fill her, she
had no regrets. She felt only a bright rainbow of joy that for this one night they were not two separate souls, but one.

Late the following morning, Caitlin opened her eyes and stared sleepily at the unfamiliar surroundings. The spacious room smelled of saddle soap and fresh-mown hay. Shane’s room. She was alone in his bed, she realized. And she was as naked as an egg.

All that had happened the night before between her and her husband came rushing back, and she uttered a sleepy sigh of contentment and stretched. The sunshine was pleasantly warm on her face, and a fresh breeze drifted in through the open window. She had never felt more alive.

“Shane …” she whispered. Then she yawned.

In truth, neither of them had gotten much sleep … or had wanted any. Warm shivers of delight rose in her breast as she remembered the intense feelings and emotions induced by Shane’s glorious lovemaking.

She’d never imagined that sexual union could be so wonderful between a man and woman, or that she could be so devilishly wanton in her husband’s arms.

Caitlin pulled Shane’s pillow into her arms and curled around it. If every night were like the last one, how would she ever get any work done? She rubbed her eyes and wondered just how late it was.

Her hair was all a tangle, and her nightgown … 
Where had she left her nightgown? She couldn’t wander into the hall wrapped in a sheet; Justice or Mary might see her. Surely Derry was awake by now. She’d be—

The echo of footsteps on the stairs broke through her reverie. Shane pushed open the bedroom door.

Caitlin’s heart leaped at the sight of him, so tall and brawny. He wore a faded blue shirt she’d not seen before and brown pants that clung to his hips and legs like a second skin. He’d shaved and he’d slicked back his hair with water, but stray curls were already springing free around his face.

Last night she’d threaded her fingers through his silken hair. She moistened her lips as she remembered.

“Mary sent this up to you.” He smiled as he brandished a steaming tin mug.

She suddenly realized how much of her was exposed and snatched the sheet up to cover herself. “Good morning, Mr. McKenna.”

“No need to hide from me. I saw more than that last night, and I like you in the altogether.” He came to the bed and sat down beside her. “The least you could do is kiss me.”

“The least?”

“After last night. You wore me out, girl. Look at me. The sun standing at half past nine, and I’m not even out of the house.”

“Half past nine?” She sat up, holding the sheet and blanket over her breasts. “What about Derry? Is she—”

“Had her breakfast. Dressed and braided so tight, her eyes are beginning to look like Mary’s. The two of them are inspecting the papaw tree and digging wild ginger, or maybe it’s digging ground nuts. Mary’s English can be vague when she wants it to be.”

“Are you sure Derry will be safe?”

“As safe as she’d be with you. Mary’s taken a likin’ to your little colleen, in spite of herself.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Good mornin’, Mrs. McKenna.”

“Mmm,” Caitlin murmured. “Will you promise to wake me up every morning like this, husband? And tell me that’s tea I smell.” He handed her the cup, and she felt a rush of excitement as her fingers brushed his.

“Not likely to the first question, and I can’t say to the second,” Shane replied lazily in the quaint Missouri drawl that Caitlin found endearing. “Mary steeped the brew herself with some of your tea leaves and some of her own. She may be turnin’ you into a prairie skink for all I know.”

“A skink?”

“Sort of a lizard.”

“Great.” Caitlin flashed him a mischievous smile and took a sip from the cup. “Ummm, whatever it is, it’s good. Flavored with honey.” She held the mug out to him. “Taste.”

Shane shook his head. “I’m gun-shy. Mary made me a potion to break a fever once, and it tasted worse than polecat stew. I stick to coffee when I can get it, and chicory when I can’t.”

“I’ve seen you enjoy a cup of tea.”

“Aye, proper Irish tea, not Mary’s Indian roots and sumac lemonade.” He took the mug from her and held it out of harm’s way while he kissed her again.

Caitlin closed her eyes and savored the touch and scent of him. For an instant she thought that Shane was going to make love to her again. But when he retreated and skimmed a callused thumb across her lower lip, she opened her eyes and stared at him.

His expression was pensive. “You are a rare woman,” he said as he fumbled in his shirt pocket and produced
a thin, silver Celtic cross on a chain. “I’ve never given you a wedding ring,” he continued almost brusquely. “I don’t have one now to give you, but this cross was my great-great-grandmother’s. Her name was Regan O’Driscoll, and ’twas told in our family that she risked death from the English to wear it. My own grandmother, Ciannait McKenna, gave it to me when she was on her deathbed, and I took a beatin’ from my da for hidin’ it and not tellin’ him where it was. I know you’re not a Catholic, and I’ll not hold it against you if—”

“You want me to wear it?” Shane’s being Catholic when her family was Church of England had been one of the things her father held most against him, but it had never been a big obstacle to her.

Shane’s lips tightened and he nodded.

“I’d be honored to wear your grandmother’s cross, Shane.”

“You would?” A smile began at the corner of his mouth and then spread like sunshine over his rugged features.

“It’s the most precious gift anyone’s ever given me,” she replied. “Thank you.” She leaned forward so that he could fasten the chain around her neck.

“My fingers aren’t made for this,” he grumbled as he pushed the hair at the back of her head aside. Then he lowered his head and kissed the nape of her neck.

A tremor of joy flashed through her. “Thank you,” she repeated.

After a few tries he managed to hook the tiny silver clasp. “There,” he said as he stood back and admired the cross hanging between her breasts.

“It has a good feel.”

Shane nodded. “My grandmother said it had special powers to protect the wearer.”

“I’ll cherish the cross always.”

“Now I want you to get dressed, have some breakfast, and come outside. I’m goin’ to teach you to shoot a gun.”

“But I don’t want to learn,” she protested. “I hate guns. I’m afraid of them, and—”

“I asked you to wear the cross, but I’m tellin’ you this. It’s an order, Caity girl. I want you to—”

“I said
no.”
The room had suddenly become cold. “I’ve seen enough of death and dying. I’ll not argue with your ways, but I’ll thank you to respect mine.”

His jaw hardened, and a stubborn gleam flashed in the depths of his stony gray eyes. “Roses, you may have, woman. You can paint my walls and line the tables with teapots, but your safety is my concern. Earl Thompson’s wife might be alive today if she’d had a rifle to fight off her attackers. This is not County Clare. There are bad men out here, and I’ll not lose you to them if I can help it.”

She sighed impatiently. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to—”

“An hour, Caity. Meet me near the creek in an hour. And wear something beside silk and lace.” With that, he turned and left the room.

She stared after him, annoyed and puzzled. What had happened to the tender words and the sweet feel of his mouth against hers? An order, he’d said. She didn’t know if she was ready to take orders from a man, even if that man was her husband. But short of throwing a temper tantrum or outright rebellion, she didn’t know what to do.

“I won’t,” she muttered. “I’ll not give in about his guns.” But her argument sounded weak in her own ears. This was something Shane seemed to want badly. Was it worth antagonizing him over? She fingered the silver cross thoughtfully.

“Pick your battles,” her grandmother had always said. “Fight when you must, Caitlin, but use your head first.”

She wondered if this was one of those times when discretion was better than insisting on having her own way.

“You never make things easy, do you, Shane McKenna?” she declared into the empty room. She set her teacup aside without finishing it, and slid out of Shane’s bed.