Irish Rebel (12 page)

 "Nearly did the first six months," Travis commented and earned a narrow-eyed stare from his wife.

 "Well, sure and the experience made you get a handle on that fancy grill outside, didn't it? The man was spoiled rotten. I wager you could even put a meal together for yourself, Brian."

 Idly he rubbed Sheamus—who was snoring under the table—with the side of his boot. "If I've no choice in the matter."

 Brian caught the lazy look Keeley sent him as she sipped her wine. Heat balled in his belly. In defense he turned to Travis. "I'm told you enjoy a hand or two of poker from time to time."

 "I've been known to."

 "The lads're talking about a game tomorrow night."

 "I might come down—I've heard you're a hard man to beat."

 "If you're going to play cards, you should ask Burke to join you," Adelia put in. "Then maybe Keeley, Erin and I can find something equally foolish to do with our evening."

 "Good idea. More wine, Brian?" Keeley lifted the bottle, cocked a brow. The purr in her voice was subtle, but he heard it. And suffered.

 "No, thanks. I've work yet."

 "I'll walk down with you when you're ready," Travis told him. "I'd like a look at that colicky mare."

 "The two of you go ahead. We'll see to the dishes."

 Travis grinned like a boy. "No KP?"

 "There's not that much to be done, and you can make up for it tomorrow." She got up to clear, and kissed his temple. "Go on, I know you've been worrying about her."

 "Thank you for the fine meal, Dee," Brian added when she angled her head.

 "And you're very welcome."

 "Good night, Keeley."

 "Good night, Brian. Thanks for the ride."

 Adelia waited until the men were out, then turned to her daughter. "Keeley, I never would've thought it of you. You're tormenting the poor man."

 "There's nothing poor about that man." Delighted with herself, Keeley broke off a piece of bread and crunched down on it. "And tormenting him is so rewarding."

 "Well, there's not a woman with blood in her could argue with that. Mind you don't hurt him, darling."

 "Hurt him?" Seriously shocked, Keeley rose to help with the dishes. "Of course I won't. I couldn't."

 "You never know what you will or you can do." Adelia patted her daughter's cheek. "You've a lot to learn yet. And however much you learn you'll never really understand everything that goes on inside a man."

 "I've good a pretty good idea about this one."

 Adelia opened her mouth, then shut it again. Some things, she knew, couldn't be explained. They had to be lived.

 Chapter Seven

 Contents
-
Prev
|
Next

 Brian came to know the roads leading from Maryland into West Virginia as well as he knew those in the county of Kerry. The highways where cars flashed by like little rockets, and the curving back roads where everything meandered were all part of his life now, and what some people would say led to a feeling of home.

 There were times the green of the hills, the rise of them, reminded him of Ireland. The pang he felt at those moments surprised him as he didn't consider himself a sentimental man. At others, he'd drive along a winding road that followed a winding creek and the land was all so very different with its thick woods and walls of rock. Almost exotic. Then he'd feel a sense of contentment that surprised him nearly as much.

 He didn't mind contentment. It just wasn't what he was looking for.

 He liked to move. To travel from place to place. It was all to the good that his position at Royal Meadows gave him that opportunity. He figured in a couple of years, he'd have seen a great deal of America—even if the oval was in the foreground of each view.

 He told himself he didn't think of Ireland as home—or Maryland as home, either. Home was the shedrow, wherever it might be.

 Still, he felt a sense of welcome and ease when he drove between the stone pillars at Royal Meadows. And he felt pleasure when he saw Keeley in her paddock with one of her classes. He stopped to watch as she took her group from trot to canter.

 It was a pretty sight, not despite the clumsiness and caution of some of the children, but because of it. This was no slick and choreographed competition but the first steps of a new adventure. Fun, she'd said, he remembered. They would learn, take responsibility, but she didn't forget they were children.

 And some of them had been hurt.

 Seeing her with them, looking at what she'd built herself when she could have spent her days exactly as he'd once imagined she did, brought him more than respect for what she was. It brought admiration that was a little too bright for comfort.

 He could hear the squeals, and Keeley's calm, firm voice—a pretty sight and a pretty sound. He climbed out of the truck and walked over for a closer view.

 There were grins miles wide, and eyes big as platters. There were giggles and there were gasps. As far as Brian could see, the mood ran from screaming nerves to wild delight. Through it all, Keeley gave orders, instruction, encouragement, and used each child's name.

 Her long fire-fall of hair was roped back again. Her jeans were faded to a soft blue-gray like the many-pocketed vest she topped over it. Under that she wore a slim sweater the color of spring daffodils. She liked her bright tones, Keeley did, Brian mused. And her glitters as well, he mused as the light caught the dangle of little stones at her ears.

 She'd be wearing perfume. She always had some cagey female scent about her. Sometimes just a drift that you had to get right up beside her to catch. And other times it was a siren call that beckoned you from a distance.

 Never knowing which it would be was enough to drive a man mad.

 He should stay away from her, Brian told himself. God knew he should stay away from her. And he figured he had as much chance of doing so as one of her riding hacks had of winning the Breeder's Cup.

 She knew he was there. The ripple of heat over her skin told her so. She couldn't afford to be distracted with six children depending on her full attention. But oh, the awareness of him, of herself and that quick trip of the pulse, was a glorious sensation.

 She began to understand why women so often made fools of themselves for men.

 When she ordered the class to switch back to a trot, there were a few groans of disappointment. She had them change directions, then took them through all their paces, and back down to walk. Brian waited until she instructed them to stop, then applauded.

 "Nicely done," he said. "Anyone here looking for a job, you just come see me."

 "We have an audience today. This is Mr. Donnelly. He's head trainer at Royal Meadows. He's in charge of the racehorses."

 "Indeed I am, and I've always got my eyes open for a new jockey."

 "He talks pretty," one of the girls whispered, but Brian's ears were keen. He shot her a grin and had her blushing like a rosebud.

 "Do you think so?"

 "Mr. Donnelly's from Ireland," Keeley explained. Amazing, she thought, he even makes ten-year-old girls moon.

 "Miss Keeley's mother's from Ireland. She talks pretty, too."

 Brian glanced up and saw the boy he remembered as Willy studying him. "No one talks prettier than those from Ireland, lad. It's because we've all been kissed by the fairies."

 "You're supposed to get money from the Tooth Fairy when you loose a tooth, but I never did."

 "That's just your mother." The girl behind Willy rolled her eyes. "There aren't real fairies."

 "Maybe they don't live here in America, but we've plenty where I come from. I'll put a word in for you, Willy, next time you loose a tooth."

 His eyes rounded. "How did you know my name?"

 "A fairy must've told me."

 Keeley struggled to compose her features as Willy goggled. "Class. Dismount. Cool and water your mounts."

 There was a great deal of chatter and movement now. Though Willy dismounted, he stood, holding the reins and studying Brian. Too cautious a look for one so young, Brian thought. And it tugged at his heart.

 Willy took a breath, seemed to hold it. "I have one that's loose. A tooth."

 "Do you?" Unable to resist, Brian climbed over the fence, hunched down. "Let's have a look."

 Willy obliged by baring his teeth and poking his tongue against a wobbly incisor. "That's a good one. You'll be able to spit through where that was in a day or two."

 "You're not supposed to spit." Willy slanted a look up at Brian as he began to walk.

 "Who says?"

 "Ladies." Bobby added a shrug. "They don't like you to burp, either."

 "Ladies can be fussy about certain things. It's best to spit and burp among the men, I suppose."

 "You're not supposed to run like a wild animal, either." Peeking around to make certain Keeley wasn't frowning in his direction, Willy shoved up the sleeve of his shirt. "This is from running like a wild animal on the playground at school. I skidded forever and scraped lots of skin right off so it got really bloody."

 Understanding his role, Brian pursed his lips, nodded. "That's very impressive, that is."

 "I've got an even better one on my knee. Have you got any?"

 "I've got a pretty good bruise." To play the game properly, Brian glanced around first, then tugged his shirt up to display the yellowing bruise on his ribs.

 "Wow! That musta really hurt. Did you cry?"

 "I couldn't. Miss Keeley was watching. Here she comes," he added in a conspirator's whisper and pulled his shirt down, whistled idly.

 "Willy, you need to water Teddy."

 "Yes, ma'am. I had a dream about Teddy last night."

 "You tell me about it when we're grooming him, okay?"

 "Okay. Bye, mister."

 "Now that's a taking little creature," Brian murmured as Willy led his horse out to the water trough.

 "Yes, he is. What were you talking about?"

 "Man business." Brian hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "I've got to get down to the shedrow or I'd help you with the grooming. I could send you up a hand if you like."

 "Thanks, but it's not necessary."

 "Just ring down if you change your mind." He needed to go, let them both get on with work. But it was so nice to stand here and smell her. Today, the scent was subtle, just a hint of heat. "They looked good at the canter."

 "They'll look better in a few weeks." It was time to get the horses inside, start the grooming session. But… What would another minute hurt? "I heard you took a few pots in the poker game last night."

 "I came away about fifty ahead. Your cousin Burke's a slick one. I'd say he whistled home with double that."

 "And my father?"

 Brian's grin flashed. "I like thinking that's where I got the fifty. I told him he's better off sticking with the horses."

 Keeley's brow rose. "And his response to that?"

 "Isn't something I can repeat in polite company."

 She laughed. "That's what I thought. I've got to get the horses inside. Parents will be trickling along soon."

 "Don't they ever come to watch?"

 "Sometimes. Actually I've asked them to give us a few weeks so the kids aren't distracted or tempted to show off. You were a good test audience."

 "Keeley." He touched her arm as she turned away. "The little boy. Willy. He's got a tooth he'll be losing in a couple of days. It'd be nice if someone remembered to put a coin under his pillow."

 Her heart, which had leaped at his touch, quieted. Melted. "He's with a very good foster family right now. Very nice and caring people. They won't forget."

 "All right then."

 "Brian." This time it was her hand on his arm. Despite the curious eyes of her students, she rose to her toes to brush her lips over his cheek. "I have a soft spot for a man who believes in fairies," she murmured, then walked away to gather her students.

 A very soft spot, she thought, for a man with a cocky grin and a kind heart. She opened the terrace doors of her room, stepped out into the night. There was a chill in the air, and a sky so clear the stars flamed like torches. She could smell the flowers, the spice of the first mums, the poignancy of the last of the roses.

 A breeze had the leaves whispering.

 The three-quarter moon was pale gold, shedding light that gilded the gardens and shimmered over the fields. It seemed she could cup her hands, let that light pour into them and drink it like wine.

 How could anyone sleep on so perfect a night?

 Slowly she shifted and looked toward Brian's quarters. Light gleamed in his windows. And her pulse fluttered in her throat.

 She told herself if his lights were off, she would close the doors again and try to sleep. But there they were, bright against dark, beckoning.

 She closed her eyes on a shiver of anticipation and nerves. She'd prepared herself for this step, this change in her life, in her body. It wasn't an impulse, it wasn't reckless. But she felt impulsive. She felt reckless.

 She was a grown woman, and the decision was hers.

 Quietly she stepped back and closed the doors.

 Brian closed the condition book, pressed his fingers to his tired eyes. Like Paddy, he wasn't quite sure he trusted the computer, but he was willing to fiddle with it a bit. Three times a week he spent an hour trying to figure the damn thing out with the notion that eventually he could use it to generate his charts.

 Graphics, they called it, he thought, shifting to give the machine a suspicious glare. Timesaving and efficient, if you believed all the hype. Well, tonight he was too damn tired to spend an hour trying to be timesaving and efficient.

 He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a week. Which had nothing to do with his job, he admitted. And everything to do with his boss's daughter.

 It was a good thing he had that trip to Saratoga coming up, he decided as he pushed away from his desk and rose. A little distance was just what was needed. He didn't care for this unsteady sensation or this worrying ache around the heart.

 He wasn't the type to fret over a woman, he thought. He enjoyed them, and was happy for them to enjoy him, then each moved on without regrets.

 Moving on was always the end plan.

 New York, he remembered, was a fair distance away. It should be far enough. As for tonight, he was going to have a shot of whiskey in his tea to help smooth out the edges. Then by God, he was going to sleep if he had to bash himself over the head to accomplish it.

 And he wasn't going to give Keeley another thought.

 The knock on the door had him cursing under his breath. Though she'd been doing well, his first worry was that the mare with bronchitis had taken a bad turn. He was already reaching for the boots he'd shed when he called out.

 "Come in, it's open. Is it Lucy then?"

 "No, it's Keeley." One brow lifted, she stood framed in the door. "But if you're expecting Lucy, I can go."

 The boots dangled from his fingertips, and those fingertips had gone numb. "Lucy's a horse," he managed to say. "She doesn't often come knocking on my door."

 "Ah, the bronchitis. I thought she was better."

 "She is. Considerably." She'd gone and let her hair loose, he thought. Why did she have to do that? It made his hands hurt, actually hurt with wanting to slide into it.

 "That's good." She stepped in, shut the door. And because it seemed too perfect not to, audibly flipped the lock. Seeing a muscle twitch in his jaw was incredibly satisfying.

 He was a drowning man, and had just gone under the first time. "Keeley, I've had a long day here. I was just about to—"

 "Have a nightcap," she finished. She'd spotted the teapot and the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. "I wouldn't mind one myself." She breezed past him to flip off the burner under the now sputtering kettle.

 She'd put on different perfume, he thought viciously. Put it on fresh, too, just to torment him. He was damn sure of it. It snagged his libido like a fishhook.

 "I'm not really fixed for company just now."

 "I don't think I qualify as company." Competently she warmed the pot, measured out the tea and poured the boiling water in. "I certainly won't be after we're lovers."

 He went under the second time without even the chance to gulp in air. "We're not lovers."

 "That's about to change." She set the lid on the pot, turned. "How long do you like it to steep?"

 "I like it strong, so it'll take some time. You should go on home now."

 "I like it strong, too." Amazing, she thought, she didn't feel nervous at all. "And if it's going to take some time, we can have it afterward."

 "This isn't the way for this." He said it more to himself than her. "This is backward, or twisted. I can't get my mind around it. No, just stay back over there and let me think a minute."

 But she was already moving toward him, a siren's smile on her lips. "If you'd rather seduce me, go ahead."

 "That's exactly what I'm not going to do." Though the night was cool and his windows were open to it, he felt sweat slither down his back. "If I'd known the way things were, I'd never have started this."

 That mouth of his, she thought. She really had to have that mouth. "Now we both know the way things are, and I intend to finish it. It's my choice."

 His blood was already swimming. Hot and fast.

 "You don't know anything, which is the whole flaming problem."

 "Are you afraid of innocence?"

 "Damn right."

 "It doesn't stop you from wanting me. Put your hands on me, Brian." She took his wrist, pressed his hand to her breast. "I want your hands on me."

 The boots clattered to the floor as he went under for the third time. "It's a mistake."

 "I don't think so. Touch me."

 His hand closed over her. She was small, delicate, and through some momentary miracle, his. "Doesn't matter if it's a mistake," he said, giving up entirely.

 "We won't let it be one." Her head fell back as his hands began to move.

 "Doesn't matter. But I'll be careful with you."

 Her eyes were blue and brilliant as she lifted her arms, slid her hands into his wildly waving hair. "Not too careful, I hope."

 When he swept her up in his arms she let out a shuddering sigh. "Oh, I was hoping you'd do that." Thrilled, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck. "I was really hoping you'd do that."

 He turned his face into her hair, drew in the scent, held it inside him. "You've only to tell me what you like."

 She tipped her head back to look at him as he carried her into the bedroom. "Show me what I like."

 With moonlight and cool breezes shimmering through the open windows, he laid her on the bed. There had been moonlight the first time he'd kissed her, soft fingers of it then, as there were now. He'd never forget the look of it, or of her.

 There had been few gifts in his life that had mattered, that had stayed in him, in his heart and memory. She would, he knew. She was a gift he would cherish.

 "This," he murmured, nibbling at her lips till they parted for him.

 She opened, willing, wanting to be touched and tasted and taken. Even as he sensed her eagerness he led her slowly, patiently, thoroughly through the layers of sensations.

 He caressed, his fingertips, palms, light as the air, then lingering at some secret place that had her breath catching on little jolts of pleasure. His mouth cruised lazily over her skin, sliding her into warmth, then it would come back to hers again, with a hungry bite that shot her into the heat.

 Instinctively, avidly, she arched against him. He was murmuring to her, lovely, stirring words in the old tongue, each like a tender kiss on the soul. Her heart fluttered, wings spreading wide for flight. There were no nerves, no doubts as she raised herself to him, wrapped herself around him. When he slipped off her shirt, the breeze and his fingertips whispered over her. She felt beautiful.

 Her skin was white silk, her hair rich flame. Every tremble was a gift, every sigh a treasure. In his life he'd never held anything as lovely as Keeley discovering herself.

 She never shied when he undressed her, but embraced each new moment, welcomed each fresh sensation. Her curious hands moved over him, undressing him in turn. He'd never known how arousing it could be to be someone's first.

 Her heart hammered under his mouth, and the scent she'd dabbed on that fragile flesh swirled into his senses until they were as clouded as hers. He took more, just a little more, and she began to move under him in mindless invitation.

 So much. There was so much, was all she could think. Her body was flooded with sensations, her flesh quivering from them. She could hear her own moans, her own ragged breaths but could do nothing to control them. The very loss of control was thrilling.

 Everything inside her was tangled and straining. And desperate. Her nails bit into his back, her teeth found his shoulder. Then his hand closed over her.

 She cried out from the shock of it, all that pulsing, pumping pleasure, the sheer heat of it that washed in one huge wave that crashed over her, inside her, and left her shuddering. She reared up, eyes blind, her fingers diving into his hair.

 Then his mouth was on hers again, hotter now, hungrier, giving her no chance to catch her breath or her sanity.

 "Give yourself to me," he whispered, the blood pounding in his head as her eyes, heavy, stunned, looked into his. "Take me in."

 With her eyes on his, she opened and arched, and gave.

 It was like rising into the air, each stroke another beat of wings. Pleasure climbed higher and higher still, lifting through her body, sweeping through her mind. All she could see were his eyes, dark and green and focused on her, even as his body was focused on hers. Mated and matched and moving with her.

 Staggered by the beauty of it, she lifted a hand to his cheek, murmured his name.

 And he was lost. Love and passion, dreams and desire stabbed through his heart. Helpless, he buried his face in her hair and let himself go.

 With her eyes closed she absorbed the delights of being a well-loved woman. Her body felt gloriously heavy, her mind wonderfully muffled. There was no need to wonder or worry if she had given Brian the same pleasure. She had seen it in his face, and felt it as he lay over her with his heart still thundering.

 There was a change inside her, she thought. Awareness, understanding. And a soaring kind of triumph.

 Smiling to herself, she traced a finger down his back. "How are the ribs?"

 "What?"

 And didn't it feel grand to hear that sleepy slur in his voice? "Your ribs. That's still a nasty bruise you have there."