Talking Sense (13 page)

“Because we love you,” Grace said heatedly. “We don’t like to see you in pain. How do you think that makes us feel, to know you’re suffering and there’s nothing we can do?”

“Grace.” Ash put a warning hand on her arm. “Nate’s right, it’s Mia’s choice.”

“But she’s being an idiot,” Grace protested.

Mia got to her feet. “I think I’ll get going.”

Colm got up. “I’ll drive you home.”

“It’s okay, I’ll walk.”

He ignored her and went over to Ash and Grace as everyone stood, shook Ash’s hand and kissed Grace’s cheek. “I had a great time, thank you.” He said goodbye to Jodi, then to Freya and Nate, exchanging pleasantries.

Mia ignored everyone and went out to get her coat. Anger and resentment burned in her stomach, and her shoulders throbbed. Screw everyone. It was her choice—why did they all think they could tell her what to do?

And now she had to put up with Colm reprimanding her, she supposed. Well, she’d soon tell him where to get off.

He joined her by the door. “Are you going to say goodbye?” he said softly.

She hesitated, every muscle in her body burning to walk out of the door, and glared at him. He refused to be stared down, though, just surveyed her with eyes calm behind his glasses, and in the end she sighed and went back into the room. She gave them all a quick kiss, apologised and told them she’d call later.

She walked across the gravel drive to Colm’s car and slid in silently, a little sullenly. He got in beside her and started the engine, then glanced over at her. “Good girl.”

“You think you’re my father now? Don’t be so fucking patronising.”

She thought he might snap back or try and defend his comment, but he said nothing, steering the car down the drive and then onto the main road.

They said nothing all the way back to her house. She sank back into her seat, miserable and exhausted and slightly ashamed at her behaviour. She just wanted to get in and go to sleep.

He pulled up outside the row of Edwardian houses and before she could stop him, unclipped his seatbelt and got out of the car. She followed him angrily, slamming the car door and storming up the path.

“You can stop there,” she snapped. “You’re not coming in.”

He turned to face her. “Yes, I am.”

“Colm, unless it has escaped your notice, I’m not in the mood for sex. Thank you for giving me a lift. Now go home.”

He studied her patiently. “Actually, I think some gentle lovemaking and a couple of decent orgasms are exactly what you need. But we’ll start with the pills and maybe another massage and see where we go from there.”

“Stop telling me what to do!” 

His brow furrowed. “The pain’s coming off you in waves, Mia. Even your friends can feel it. You’re suffering because you feel guilty, and that’s okay, that’s something you have to work through, but even you can’t live like that all the time.”

“Fuck off!” she yelled.

But he didn’t fuck off. He studied her with pity, walked up to her and put his arms around her.

Chapter Sixteen

Mia tensed against him, wanting to push him away, but his hand stroked between her shoulder blades, and he murmured something soothing, and she couldn’t keep the tears back.

She buried her face in his shirt, and he kissed her ear.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

She clenched his shirt in her fists. She mustn’t keep taking consolation from him—it wasn’t fair. He was going to leave—she couldn’t start relying on him.

But his arms were tight around her, and he smelled lovely, of warm male and subtle aftershave and a slight hint of the chocolate chip cookie he’d had at Ash’s house. It was an enticing mix, and suddenly she couldn’t bear to let him go.

He took her keys off her, reached out and unlocked the door. Then, still with one arm around her, he took her inside and closed the door behind them.

He led her over to the sofa, took off her coat, and she sat, her face in her hands, unable to stop the tears flowing. She heard him moving around, putting on the lamp and lighting the gas fire, and for a moment his feet echoed down the corridor, either to the bathroom or to her bedroom. After a few minutes he went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He came back in and rustled around in her handbag, and then he was pushing the glass into her hand, along with a couple of the painkillers.

She took them because she was tired of the pain and didn’t have the energy to fight him any longer, and he stood there and waited until she’d swallowed them before taking the glass back off her and placing it on the table.

Then he sat next to her and pulled her into his arms.

She curled up beside him, trying to concentrate on nothing more than drinking in the comfort and security he somehow seemed to radiate.

He stretched out his long legs and made himself comfortable, and kissed the top of her head. “Just for ten minutes,” he said softly. “Until the pills start working.”

They didn’t speak for a while, but sat quietly, listening to the clock tick in the corner, enjoying the warmth from the fire. Mia gradually relaxed against him, reassured by the gentle stroking of his hand on her back, the occasional touch of his lips on her hair. She didn’t feel the need to make conversation, and somehow the silence calmed her, the fact that he was comfortable just holding her.

The tears continued to trickle out of her eyes occasionally, even though she put no effort into crying. She hated herself for them, but the self-pity just wouldn’t go away.

After the ten minutes had passed, Colm stirred and said, “Come on. Stage two of the ‘let’s make Mia feel better campaign’.”

She wiped her face and pushed herself upright. The pain between her shoulder blades had lessened a little, but she didn’t protest when he took her hand and led her toward the bedroom. The thought of his warm, strong hands on her was too attractive to resist.

He’d put the heater on so it was nice and warm, and he’d lit the aromatherapy burner she kept beside the bed, and the room was cast in an orange glow.

Slowly he undressed her, lifting her top over her head carefully, unbuttoning her skirt so it fell to the floor, then placing his arms around her and squeezing the catch of her bra so it popped open. She looked up and caught his gaze as he did it and he gave her a wry smile, but turned her and pushed her toward the bed and said, “Lie down on your front.”

She pulled the duvet aside and did so, pressing her face into the cool pillow as he moved about the room. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, but he didn’t strip. He took off his glasses and placed them on the bedside table. Then he found a small bottle of baby oil and she watched as he selected a few of the bottles of aromatherapy oils she kept beside the burner and added a couple of drops of each to the oil in his hands.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Ginger warms and relaxes, lavender’s an analgesic, and rosemary’s great for muscle problems,” he said. “Aromatherapy oils are one of the best things to use in massages.”

She said nothing, but his knowledge impressed her and proved to her that he really did know what he was talking about.

He warmed the oil in his hands and then smoothed it across her back. She sighed, enjoying the slow, gentle strokes from her shoulders down either side of her spine to her hips, finding comfort from the feel of his skin on hers, his tender, caring touch.

First he spent a while warming up her muscles, then he progressed to smaller circular patterns with firmer strokes before moving finally to a pressure-point technique that almost made her groan as he really got deep into her muscles. He steered clear of the area where her scar was, but her pain began to lessen as the rest of her back relaxed.

He worked for about fifteen minutes, also working on her arms, before reverting to a slower, gentler massage, ending with almost feather-light strokes along her skin that made her shiver in her dreamlike state.

When he’d finished, he wiped off the excess oil from her back with a towel and dried his hands. She lay half-dozing as he removed his shirt and pants, leaving on his boxers, then slid into bed next to her. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, drew the covers over her, and kissed her shoulder before snuggling down.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She felt not so much tired as dreamily relaxed.

“You are very welcome. How does it feel?”

“Good. Much better.”

“I’m glad.”

She lay there feeling comfortable and cared for, conscious of the rise and fall of his chest behind her, his breath warm on her ear, his arm heavy around her rib cage beneath her breasts. Although he’d undressed, he seemed content to just hold her. How delectable.

She’d grown used to being in bed alone. It was so much nicer having someone with her, though. She’d told herself she was happy on her own and that she didn’t need a man to make her complete, but she didn’t realise how lonely she’d been until that moment.

He hadn’t made a move to touch her intimately, but as she relaxed, gradually she became conscious of his body, his warmth and strength and lovely masculine smell.

Mmm.

He’d pushed the duvet between their hips before he’d pulled her against him. Wriggling, she lifted the duvet so she could press her bottom against his crotch.

“Goodness,” she said. “Did you bring a cucumber into bed with you or are you pleased to see me?”

He chuckled. “I tucked the duvet there so it wouldn’t disturb you.”

“I like being disturbed.” She continued to wiggle her hips a little so his erection nestled between the cheeks of her bottom.

He kissed her shoulder. “I didn’t want to assume. I’m happy just to cuddle.”

“I thought you said an orgasm would help relax me?”

“I’m sure it would.” He sounded amused.

She shifted onto her back to look up at him. He lay looking relaxed and gorgeous, his head propped on a hand, his brown hair ruffled. He smiled as she reached up and brushed her fingers against his bristles.

“Hello,” he said, and winked at her.

“Hello.” To her surprise, her face warmed. Why? She’d always prided herself on the fact that she never blushed.

“I’m sorry I bullied you.” He turned his head and kissed her hand.

She said nothing for a moment, not wanting him to think she liked being bossed about, but the truth was that she loved the fact that he cared enough about her to be firm and commanding. Very few men had known how to handle her in the past—they knew she was feisty and tended to either try to match her aggressive manner or back down completely, neither of which was likely to work. Colm’s gentle encouragement and determination was like baby bear’s porridge—just right.

Because she couldn’t think what to say, she slid her hand into his hair and pulled his head down to kiss him.

He returned the kiss happily, leisurely, stroking his tongue across her bottom lip until she opened her mouth, then deepening the kiss until she arched against him, desperate for his hands on her body and breasts.

“This wall’s an exterior one,” she pointed out when he lifted his head. “So it doesn’t matter if the headboard bangs against it.”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“No?” She pouted as disappointment swept through her. Didn’t he want to make love to her? His erection suggested otherwise.

He kissed her nose. “No to the headboard banging, not no to the sex. Tonight we’re going to take it slow.” He traced a finger down her breastbone and circled it around her breasts.

“We are?” The disappointment flared into excitement.

“Yes.” He cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumb across her nipple. “You’ve had a tough time and I want it to make it last for you.”

“Oh.” She’d never met a man who appeared more concerned about her pleasure than his own.

“And for me,” he said, confirming that her pleasure wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

“Well, of course.”

“I want to make the most of you while I’ve got you.”

She met his gaze, tensing a little at the thought that this was temporary, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d be returning to Ireland to meet up with some pretty Irish girl with flaming red hair.

The thought of him loving someone else stung, though, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. He was here now with her, and as he’d said, they had to make the most of each other while they were together.

So she let him make love to her slowly, enjoying the change of pace as he aroused her with calm, unhurried precision. He took her nipples in his mouth, groaning as they turned from soft peaks to hard buttons beneath his tongue. Sighing and closing her eyes, she ran her fingers over his back and shoulders, admiring his physique and thinking again how surprised she was at his muscles. She’d assumed he’d be skinny and slightly wimpy beneath the corduroy, but instead he was so…manly.

He moved his hand between her legs and slid his fingers into her so easily that she knew she was ready for him. And she knew it turned him on because his erection grew even harder, if that were possible. He plunged his tongue into her mouth as he moved his fingers inside her, and she moaned as he returned them to her clit to arouse her until her breathing grew erratic and she begged him to enter her.

“Roll over,” he murmured, pushing her shoulder gently.

She turned onto her front, relieved to feel only a dull ache in her back, her heart pounding as he moved behind her. “Ooh,” she said, breathless. “From behind, yum.”

He chuckled. “We did my favourite position—it only seems polite to do one of yours.”

He slid on a condom, then leaned over her, supporting himself on his strong, muscular arms, and bent and nuzzled her ear. “Are you comfortable? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “You won’t.” And she knew for a fact that he wouldn’t. He was so tender with her, so careful. And she knew he’d be gentle until he was sure she was relaxed.

How could she be so sure? She’d only slept with him once. And yet she knew. He’d take care of her.

Jeez, what the fuck was wrong with her? She wasn’t going to get all starry-eyed over a quick screw.

She parted her thighs wide, wiggling her butt as he pressed his erection between her legs. “Come on,” she begged. “I’m desperate.”