She stopped her pacing at stared at him, aghast.
“That was a joke, wombat. Nothing more.”
“I won’t give up who I am, Jack.”
“Every business decision has negotiation.”
“I won’t negotiate.”
“Come here, lass.”
When he got that husky note in his voice, she was helpless to resist. She put her empty glass on the mantelpiece while he slid his onto an end table. She crossed to him. She wouldn’t marry him, but she couldn’t resist the tug of his sexual allure.
He grabbed her upper arms and dragged her on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips.
He was all man, muscled and tight. Their gazes met, locked. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Kiss?
It was one thing to fuck, another entirely to be intimate.
He claimed her mouth, and she tasted the burn of the alcohol. He intoxicated her. He gently met her tongue. He coaxed and tested rather than dominated.
Undone, she responded.
In him she’d met her match. He wasn’t intimidated by her. He knew how to read her. He knew what she wanted.
Emboldened, she dug her fingers into his dark hair, the locks curled from the humidity. A fine specimen, if she did say so. There could be worse things than bedding this Irishman.
His hand was on her cunt. Instead of pulling back, she leaned into him. She thrust her tongue into his mouth.
He stroked her clit, then teased it a bit harder. Even though he’d wrung multiple climaxes from her, she was on the edge again. “Jack, Sir—”
“Don’t,” he warned softly. “Don’t come.”
“But—”
“Fight it. Ride it.”
Her breaths were short little bursts.
“Not yet.”
“Then, don’t…dinna d—” She moaned. “You’ll have to…stop…” She was there, almost there, ready to explode—
“Take it. Take everything I offer.”
She rode his hand, grinding herself against him. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Since she’d met him, she’d clearly lost her mind. Clearly, totally, without question lost her mind.
“Come for me, Sinead.”
With a whimper, she shattered.
“You’re one hot woman,” he told her.
“There’s something about you…”
“About us,” he corrected. “Takes two.”
“Damn you, Jack.”
“Someday, you’ll remember to call me Sir.” He nipped her ear. “And one day, you’ll call me Master.”
Ordinarily she’d take that bet. But if he insisted on being called Master before he allowed her to come, she was afraid he’d win.
Chapter Ten
The music, she knew well. She should. She’d written the tune.
She blinked, bringing the world into awareness. She felt disoriented in the big bed, all alone. Having a man in her bed was unusual, so why did the absence of him feel strange, rather than comfortable?
It all returned in a series of snapshots.
Jack Quinn.
The island.
The beating.
Their time together.
Her exhaustion, mental and physical. She had a vague memory of him kissing her, giving her an orgasm then carrying her to bed.
The last few days, since she’d taken the stage in Denver, had been dizzying. A hurried transatlantic flight, meeting his grandmother, being bound and beaten, then stolen away to an uninhabited island, so close to the mainland, so close and an eternity away felt surreal, like stepping into an Andy Warhol painting. She was herself, who she’d always been, and yet she felt entirely different, as if she’d never again be the same.
Jack Quinn.
Hated enemy.
Lover.
She was losing her mind.
She still heard the pipes. That, at least, hadn’t been part of a dream.
This piece was sorrowful, the bagpipes mourning. It had a haunting melody that she hoped reminded people of Eire. She wanted the music to linger and tease. Much like the man she’d been thinking of when she’d composed it…a man she hadn’t known at the time, the man who now dominated her waking and sleeping hours.
The faint sound of bagpipes lured her from the covers.
Wrapping the ridiculously large robe over her naked body—of course he hadn’t allowed her to sleep in any clothes—she followed the siren’s song towards the front of the house.
She saw him in the living room, looking out the window, his back to her. Dusk was gathering. The rain had eased, but it hadn’t ceased.
He had her music playing on a CD.
He stared into the distance, probably seeing, as she was, the outline of Croagh Logan. What was he thinking? Of the future? Of his duties and responsibilities?
She was thinking of earlier, with him, with Logan. Memories filled her, making her pussy tingle.
Seeming to sense her presence, he turned.
“Home,” she whispered, looking into the distance.
“Aye. Yours and mine, Sinead.”
“Unforgivable, what our ancestors did to one another.”
“Castle Cairn had been in my family long years afore all this started. As my grandmother discussed, our fortunes have been seemingly linked. We lost Castle Cairn. According to history, it was a square tower castle, with stone walls and a moat. It was commanding in its day. Must have been formidable for the O’Malleys to even consider approaching. There’s not much left of it now. A lone pillar remains.”
“I’ve heard stones from the castle were used in some of the oldest buildings in Westport.”
“Could be true. We used some of the stones in re-building. And what of your home, Sinead?”
“Like you, we rebuilt from the ashes. We’ve held on through the years. I’ve turned our home into a bed-and-breakfast,
Radharc Na Mara
Manor, to help it pay its keep. I’ve added self-catering cottages.” She shrugged. “It’s a living.”
“Seaside Manor,” he translated, the words sexy on his tongue. “Ireland’s worth it, isn’t she? Any sacrifice, anything to hold onto the land, the history.”
A mist rolled in from the sea. “She’s worth it,” Sinead agreed.
“It seems both our families lost.”
“You’ve an interesting idea of what lost means, Quinn. Your home is still beautiful,” she said.
“Aye. We’re proud of our heritage, the greenhouses, the sheep we continue to raise, the linens we produce.”
“Not so bad, that.”
“Unless there’s no one to bequeath it to. A millennium of struggle for…what? Do you wonder? If you have no children, what will happen to your family’s remaining lands?”
“There are cousins.”
He propped a hip on the window sill. “You’ll struggle and sacrifice for others to inherit?”
She shrugged. “That’s the way of it. What of you, Jack?”
“I will have children.”
She had a sudden image of him with a smiling wife and adoring children. Her jaw tightened. She didn’t want him. Why should she care if someone else did?
“And the woman you were with?”
“Maeve? Beautiful as a sunrise. Unfaithful as a cur.” He folded his arms across his chest. “After I found out, we argued. She ran away from me.”
She winced. His words were unemotional, but she sensed the anguish behind them. And no wonder he had such issues when she fled. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s history.”
“Is it?”
“I lost Maeve and the future I thought we were going to have. But I’ll not lose my future and I will see my grandmother’s mind at ease.”
His voice was tight.
This man was deeper than the North Sea. She’d seen him as single minded and determined in a way that made him nothing more than a pain in her rear. She understood him better now, his commitment. The way he loved his grandmother was remarkable.
“
What of you, Sinead?”
“There’s nothing to say, honestly. I was nearly engaged. But he wanted to control me, babies and boring sex. He wanted me to give up my music, my dancing, even composing.”
“That would have been a loss.”
She shook her head. “It couldn’t have happened. My music is part of me. I couldn’t give it up. It’d be like cutting out a piece of my soul. I cannot give up who I am for anyone else. I learned that the hard way.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to give up your music.”
“I love to tour. There’s no way you’d allow your wife to be on tour for months at a time.”
He didn’t respond.
Allowing her to compose was one thing, allowing her to fly off was another. “And what if we had children, what then? You and I, we’ve reached an impasse, Jack. When the weather clears, you’ll be wanting to take me back to the mainland.”
“We’ll be seeing about that, lass.”
“No matter how many times you ask, the answer will be ‘no’.”
* * * *
Jack was not going to play fair.
He was going to spend the rest of his life with this woman. He wanted her bound to him, but he wasn’t a fool. A marriage certificate, ring, vows, meant little. They lacked the substance he demanded. He wanted her so tied to him by the time they left the island that she’d be powerless to walk away from him or his grandmother’s wish.
She was right that her career would cause problems, but there was nothing they couldn’t work out. The challenge would be in convincing her.
He planned to use the remaining time to pleasure Sinead in ways she’d never imagined. The man she’d nearly married had provided boring sex, in her words. Jack sure as hell could do better than that. “Back to the bedroom.”
Her beautiful eyes widened. “Did you hear a word I said?”
“Do you see the fog rolling in? We’re going nowhere until tomorrow. I’ve no intention of playing checkers while I could be fucking you.”
She parted her mouth.
“It’s your choice. Walk or crawl.”
“Your way or your way?” she challenged.
He changed his tone, making it rough and commanding. “Move, sub, or I’ll have you over my knee.”
She lowered her gaze.
The moment he’d taken that tone, she’d responded. How could she not see how perfect she was for him? “I’ve changed my mind. Drop that robe this instant and crawl.”
Still keeping her gaze downcast, she unbelted the robe and shrugged off the material.
Without him prompting her a second time, she lowered herself to the floor and crawled to the bedroom.
“On all fours on the bed,” he told her.
Her motions were undeniably graceful. She was a fast learner. “I’ve decided not to wait for Logan’s return,” he told her. “I’ll be the first one to have you up the arse.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for you to take me up the—”
“I don’t recall offering you a choice.” He noticed her breaths were shallow. From fear? “You’ve had a plug up there. That’ll help, but we’ll still need patience.” He stripped off his clothes and tossed them on the end of the bed.
He tore a condom free from its packet and sheathed himself in it. After he squirted lube onto his hand, he teased her clit. Then he spread the lube down the length of his hard, throbbing cock. He wanted her so badly, his balls were swollen with need. “You’re so wet.”
“We could just do this traditionally, like regular missionary sex.”
“We could,” he agreed. “But we’re not going to. No boring sex here, Sinead.” He placed the tip of his cock at the entrance to her tightest hole and pushed just a little before backing off again. “You’re lubed. You’ve been stretched. You’re ready.”
“Jack—”
“Sir,” he corrected, with a sharp slap to her right flank.
She nodded slightly.
He moved in behind her again and pressed his cockhead against her hole.
She jerked way from him.
He swatted her ass, pinched her clit, fucked her pussy with two fingers then told her, “Keep still.”
“I’ll try,” she promised.
He imprisoned her hips. “Remember to breathe.”
“It—”
Her word was lost as he bore down. “Breathe,” he instructed. Damn. But he had no idea how much more restraint he could show. He needed to be in her, needed to feel his balls slap her pussy as he impaled her.
He yanked back on her hips as he surged forward with his dick. With a final, hard push, he was there. He exhaled a shaky breath of his own. Taking an anal virgin was total satisfaction. “We’re there.”
“I can’t do this! We need to stop. You need to get out of me!”
“We’re there,” he said again. “Be still a moment.”
“It burns.”
“
M
uirnín
,
” he murmured. “Be still.” He fisted his hand in her hair, then skimmed his touch lightly across her back.