Talking Sense (15 page)

Still, for some reason she felt disappointed. It was a reminder that this was only a brief fling. They were good friends who happened to be having sex, but they weren’t confidantes.

And yet he’d told her about his father, when he hadn’t told Juliet, whom he’d dated for several months. How strange.

Her thoughts were becoming disjointed now, though, because he was growing hard against the flat of her stomach and his hands had begun to wander over her body, stroking her breasts and tweaking her nipples. She decided she wasn’t going to dwell on anything but the moment. What was the point? Why should she delve into his past and uncover things that made him uncomfortable when they were only supposed to be a pleasant diversion for each other?

So she parted her legs and lifted until the tip of his erection pressed into her, and then lowered herself slowly onto him.

He groaned, and she raised her head to watch him, loving the way his eyelids slid to half-mast and his forehead creased with desire. God, it was exquisite, this feeling of him warm and young and alive inside her. She’d missed this so, the sensation of being one with another person, of giving and receiving pleasure. And she hadn’t received pleasure like this in, well, maybe ever. Even the one good lover she’d been with hadn’t paid attention to her like Colm did.

Now his hands were roaming over her, slow and lazy, fingers trailing like feathers across her skin from the nape of her neck to her hips. As they kissed and she moved slowly on top of him, he brushed down her back on either side of her spine and cupped her buttocks, holding her firmly as he thrust inside her. Then he stroked up her rib cage to her breasts, taking her softened nipples between his finger and thumb and tugging them until they tightened and stretched to peaks. 

He gave a low murmur of appreciation at her sighs, continuing his steady, relentless rhythm with his hips, and Mia began to spiral out of control. There was something about this man that made her heady, and it puzzled her even as it aroused her. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever dated or even fancied before—she’d always gone for overtly alpha types, apart from Ross, who’d been an aberration in a moment of desperate need. Usually she liked the stereotypical tall, dark and handsome type, arrogant and confident, although she had to admit they tended to drive her nuts as much as they aroused her. But she’d never been attracted to the studenty sort, with glasses, and patches on the elbows of their jackets, who couldn’t say boo to a duck, let alone a goose.

But then he wasn’t really like that, was he? There was something, as Freya had said, surprisingly
grrr
about Colm deep down, something forceful and
okay, I’ve pretended to let you boss me about enough, I’m going to take charge now,
that turned her on just thinking about it.

He demonstrated this forcefulness by pushing her up so he could take her nipples into his mouth, sucking with a firmness that made her gasp and clench her hands in the duvet. And then he moved her upright so she sat astride him, clearly enjoying the view as she arched her back and took him deep inside her.

He cupped her breasts and squeezed. “Tell me how to make you come. I want to watch you.”

“Ladies first?” she teased as she rocked her hips. “Always so polite, Mr. Molony.”

His eyes glinted. “You don’t want polite?”

Naughtiness surged through her. “What would you do if I said no, not this time?”

In reply, he sat up swiftly, making her squeal, tucked his hands under her butt and lifted her. “Bring your legs forward,” he demanded.

She did so, slightly breathless at his forcefulness and the newness of the position. When he lowered her again to sit on his lap, she found she could lean back on her hands and plant her feet on the mattress behind him. She could still control the movement, but it was only when he ran a hand up her thigh to between her legs that she realised he now had direct, unfettered access to her clit, and he was obviously going to make the most of it.

“Oh,” she said as he circled his thumb around the swollen button and watched where she slid up and down the glistening length of his erection. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, thrusting up as she lowered down, setting a firm and rhythmic pace with his fingers.

As her movements became quicker, her breathing more ragged, he slipped a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. The kiss was passionate, wet, tongues thrusting, breath coming fast and harsh, and she gasped as the force of his desire rolled over her in waves.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he said in a growly voice that made her shiver. “I could fuck you all night.” His hand was still buried in her hair, and he held her there while he kissed her again, plunging his tongue in and out of her mouth and mirroring his thrusts inside her.

“Jeez, Colm,” she panted when he finally lifted his lips. She’d pass out if he carried on talking like that. What had happened to the nice boy who’d made love to her so gently before?

He tightened his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so he could lace his tongue down her neck, and to her shock he fastened his mouth where her neck met her shoulder and sucked hard. She yelped and smacked him on the arm, and in reply he lifted his head and crushed her lips to his again, holding her there and refusing to let her go as her orgasm swept over her, cultivated by the mix of pain and pleasure and his demanding manner. It was as if he wanted to taste her climax, to swallow it down, and his groans mingled with her moans and sighs as they came together in a glorious swell of bliss.

Mia tipped back her head and panted until her breathing grew normal and her heart rate slowed down. The guy was unbelievable. She just thought she had him sussed and then he came out with something like that.

And then she realised. She lifted her head and stared at him. “Oh Christ,” she said.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “What?”

“We didn’t use a condom.”

Chapter Nineteen

She felt as if she’d swallowed an ice cube, cold sliding down right through her. “Colm, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”

His blue eyes were calm, although his smile had faded. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she said, panicking. He was going to think she was trying to trap him with a pregnancy or something. “It’s my fault and I got carried away. I really didn’t mean—”

“Mia,” he said gently, “it’s my responsibility, too.”

“I’m not trying to catch you out,” she whispered. For some reason, tears pricked her eyes. He was still inside her, so deliciously warm and firm, and it had been so perfect—she didn’t want to spoil it.

“I know.” He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her tightly to him. “We got caught up in the moment. It’s okay, it happens.”

She put her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I don’t want you to think badly of me.” A tear slid down her cheek. When had she turned into such a wuss? But the thought of him being angry with her made her go cold.

He chuckled. “Never, sweetheart.” He pulled back and studied her, then wiped her tear away. “And I’m sorry too—that’s never happened before. I’m usually more conscientious.” He kissed her. “You make me forget myself.”

A thrill shimmered through her, but she quelled it hastily. They’d got carried away. It didn’t mean anything.

“Come and give me a cuddle,” he said.

He lifted her off him and she moved to his side, conscious of the unfamiliar wetness between her legs. How could she have been so stupid? She’d never had sex without a condom before.

He pulled her into his arms and she curled up against him.

“I’ll see the doctor tomorrow and get the emergency contraceptive pill,” she said.

He didn’t say anything, and she suddenly remembered he was a Catholic.
Shit.
He’d said he didn’t practice anymore, but that didn’t mean his views would have changed.

“I’m really fucking this up, aren’t I?” she said.

He laughed at that. “Honey, it’s your body. You do whatever you think is best.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I’m really sorry to ruin the mood.”

“Mia, will you stop apologising?” He looked both amused and exasperated. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me for a long time. You’re warm and funny and great in bed, and I’m having a fantastic time. We made a mistake, with the emphasis on the ‘we’. It’s nothing we can’t deal with one way or another. I like you and I like being with you. And I’d like to be with you a bit more if that’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay with me,” she managed to mumble, unable to form a more coherent sentence after his passionate declaration.

“Good. Only I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come to the library with me tomorrow, help me do some research?”

Her head cleared. That she could cope with. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Cool.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now, I’d better get going.”

“Colm.” She hesitated. Was she really going to say this? Was it a good idea?

Maybe it wasn’t, but his warm words
, I like you and I like being with you
, made her glow, and she trusted her gut instinct. “Um, do you want to stay the night?”

He stared at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he smiled slowly and relief flooded through her.

“Sure,” was all he said, but he snuggled down, turned her so her back was against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

She felt him warm against her from shoulders to tailbone, his arm heavy around her waist, his fingers lacing with hers which somehow seemed more intimate than the fact they were lying naked together. He kissed her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but give a small smile.

He’s perfect.

The words filtered into her head and lingered there as she fell asleep.

The library was quiet and peaceful, and Colm tried to quell his happiness as he wandered along the stacks of art books, conscious of Mia sitting at a computer at the end of the aisle. He’d worried that she’d be bored in five minutes, but he’d forgotten she was a historian too, and research came naturally to her. They’d been there all day, stopping only for a light lunch halfway through before returning. While he pored over photographs of paintings looking for any reference to his father, Mia scoured the Internet, searching for some sign of the elusive Robert.

He found it strangely comforting having her there, helping him. He hadn’t been with many women—like Mia, he hadn’t yet reached double figures—but he could honestly say that out of all the girlfriends he’d had, he’d never felt so relaxed or attuned to a woman’s presence, and he’d only been out with her a handful of times. But he found her uplifting, in spite of her obvious deep unhappiness at times. She made him laugh, she was sexy as hell, and she liked history, for crying out loud. What was not to like?

His fingers smoothed across the glossy pages of the art book in his hands, but his gaze kept drifting across to her. She looked beautiful in a fitted silky black shirt and a pretty, flowing pink and black skirt that he itched to get his hands on. And under.

She’d looked so alarmed the night before when she’d realised they forgotten to use protection. He’d wanted to kiss the panic from her face, take her in his arms and tell her he hoped she
was
pregnant, because then it would force them to take action, maybe even prompt her to come back to Ireland with him.

But he knew he was dreaming. Mia had a whole life in Wellington, friends, job, family. She wasn’t going to want to go to the other side of the world for a guy she’d just met, baby or not. He missed his family terribly. And he had a job waiting for him when he got back after the exchange. He missed the old buildings of Dublin, the rolling green hills of Ireland, the Guinness and the accents and the familiarity of home. This was just temporary, and whether he found his father or not, at Christmas he was going back. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Mia looked up at him, saw him watching her and smiled. She beckoned him over.

He slid the art book back into place and walked to her. “Found something?”

“Maybe.” She looked excited, and his heart rate began to speed up. “I’ve been looking through watercolour landscapes by local artists. Te Papa has an extensive catalogue of paintings and they hold different exhibitions throughout the year. Apparently in 1859 a prominent Wellington family came to New Zealand from Ireland and they sponsored an exhibition on their hundred and fifty year anniversary in 2009—the museum displayed paintings of Irish landscapes by Kiwi artists who’d emigrated from Ireland over the last few hundred years. Their website lists all the paintings in the exhibition.”

She turned the screen to face him. “Look at this one.”

It was a painting of the Grand Canal in Dublin, lined by trees with houses in the distance, done some time around late spring, judging by the foliage on the trees. Colm knew the area well, had walked along the path by the canal many times. He’d once fallen in the water only a few hundred yards farther along when walking home with friends slightly the worse for wear after a night out.

Mia tapped the screen and he bent forward, conscious of the light, flowery scent of her perfume as he leaned over her.

The text at the bottom of the screen read, “Artist: Robert Green, 1981.”

“1981,” she said. “That would have been about the time he’d have come back here, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.” Exultation flooded him, although he couldn’t stifle a groan. “But, Green? Talk about a common surname. There must be thousands of Robert Greens in the phone book. Still, I suppose it’s a start.”

“Actually,” she said, “I was thinking that maybe we could see if Te Papa has the painting in its archives. If so, we could go and see it.”

He frowned. “I doubt it would have any other information on it apart from a signature, maybe. I don’t see how…”

“Are you being deliberately dense? Honey, you could touch it, couldn’t you? Use your mojo, see if it tells you anything else.”

That hadn’t crossed his mind. He stared at her, genuine shock making him speechless. She believed him. She really believed he could do it.