“I’ll tell Tony we’re having a dinner party on that date, so he will be certain to have the right flowers on hand,” Byrnes said. “You know how the flowers tend to go in August, so he’ll need to nurse certain blooms along.”
Ashley took the last bite of her English muffin, and then swallowed down the rest of her cranberry juice. She stood up from the table. “I’d better get ready to leave as soon as he gets here,” she said, and walked from the breakfast room. “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Martha Byrnes said softly. “She’s making an arranged marriage, Martin. It’s a real shame she can’t be allowed to fall in love like any other girl, but then, Miss Ashley isn’t just any girl, is she?”
“No,” he agreed, “she isn’t.”
“Well, if the lawyers have checked this young man out, then I suppose it’s all right,” Martha replied with a sigh. “Still, it makes me sad. I wonder what he’s like.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” her husband said. Then he stood up and straightened his tie. “I hear a car coming up the drive. That will be our guest, Martha. Run up to Mrs. Kramer and make certain the Washington bedroom is ready for him.” Brynes hurried out to get the front door, peeping through the sidelights to see a vintage Jag pull up. Its driver climbed out, reaching behind him for a small overnight bag. Byrnes flung wide the front door. “Good morning, Mr. Mulcahy. I’ll take your bag for you. You’ll find Miss Ashley out on the porch. Can you find your way, sir?”
“Yes, thanks,” Ryan said. Having a butler, or whatever Byrnes was, was going to take some getting used to, he decided as he made his way to the porch.
“Good morning, Ryan.” Ashley came forward to greet him. “I can only stay with you a minute. My help at the shop is nonexistent today, and Saturday is always busy.” And then to her surprise he reached out, drew her forward, and kissed her on both of her cheeks. “Oh, my,” Ashley exclaimed as he set her back. “That was very…”
“Italian,” he supplied the word for her with a smile. “I thought we had best get used to some form of kissing, since we’re getting married.”
“Yes,” she agreed, thoughtful. “You’ll have to kiss me on the lips at the wedding, won’t you? People might talk otherwise. Well, kissing is a harmless enough sport.”
“You’ve done a lot of it?” he asked.
“Again I remind you of my age,” Ashley said.
“I like kissing,” he allowed, his brown eyes twinkling.
“I’ve got to go,” Ashley told him. The conversation was beginning to make her a little uncomfortable. Their relationship was a business one, and people in business didn’t—or at least shouldn’t—get intimate. “Byrnes will take care of you. I’ll be home a little after four. He’ll answer any questions you may have about the house.” She managed to get past him. “Have a good day, Ryan.” And she hurried off.
He made himself comfortable on the porch looking out at the blue bay sparkling in the bright June morning. He had made her nervous. Despite her misadventures she was obviously a very proper lady. Interesting. She was past thirty, a businesswoman, and had, in her own words, some small experience with men, but she was basically shy. Was it the situation in which they found themselves? Or was Ashley good at what she did, but clueless where relationships were concerned? He was one to talk, Ryan thought wryly. A discreet cough caused him to look up and find Byrnes standing there.
“Mrs. Byrnes thought that you had probably not had breakfast before you departed town this morning, sir. She’s prepared you a small repast. If you will follow me to the breakfast room I’ll bring it to you.”
“Why, that’s most kind,” Ryan said, standing up and trailing after Byrnes. A breakfast room, no less, he thought as he entered the small room with its cheerful bright yellow-and-white striped walls. He allowed Byrnes to seat him, and then smiled as a plump woman appeared to put a plate before him. This, he concluded, was Mrs. Byrnes. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “It looks most delicious.”
“I gave you some of my fresh-baked blueberry muffins,” she replied.
He looked up at her with a smile. “They smell wonderful, Mrs. Byrnes, but there was no need to go to such trouble for me. I would have been happy with a bowl of Apple Jacks,” Ryan told her.
“Not in this house!” Martha Byrnes said emphatically. “In my kitchen we cook. Breakfast, sometimes lunch, and always dinner. Now, you eat up while it’s hot.”
He grinned at her and obeyed her directive. It was almost like having Angelina around, he thought. And then he realized that if the Byrneses were this caring of a stranger, then Ashley certainly hadn’t suffered growing up. It was reassuring.
Ashley had sped into the village and parked her car behind Lacy Nothings. It was almost nine thirty. From the traffic on Main Street she could see it would be a busy day, and it was. From the moment she had opened the shop for business the little bell over the front door hadn’t stopped ringing. By twelve thirty things had slowed down, and she was just drawing a sigh of relief when she heard the jangle of the bell again. Turning, she saw Ryan entering the shop with a small basket.
“Mrs. B. thought we might enjoy having a bit of lunch together,” he said. “Where should we eat?”
“We can go back into my office, if you don’t mind,” Ashley replied. “I don’t like to leave the shop even for lunch. A lot of people shop during that hour.” She led the way into the tiny office, taking the basket from him to set it upon her desk. “Sit.” She pointed to the chair behind her desk, seating herself in the chair opposite the desk. “It’s easier for me to get out if the bell rings,” she explained. Also my desk chair is bigger, and you’re a pretty big guy.”
All over
, he thought wickedly as he folded himself into her chair. Now, what the hell made him think that? he wondered. Why was he getting sexual thoughts about Ashley? But he was. From underneath his dark eyelashes he was considering how she would look in a fuchsia lace bra and bikini bottom, like the one on the plastic dummy in her shop window. That rich purple-pink on her pale skin would be dynamite.
“Chicken salad,” Ashley said, handing him a sandwich on a paper plate. “Mrs. B. already likes you. She doesn’t do her chicken salad for just anyone.”
He had gained a glimpse of her full breasts when she had bent over to hand him the sandwich. She appeared to be wearing a plain white silk bra, but nonetheless it was so sexy that he had wanted to lean forward and lick her skin. He closed his eyes briefly. He had just met this girl yesterday, and he was behaving like a damned pervert. Ryan Mulcahy couldn’t remember a time when he had had such a strong reaction to a woman. Her fragrance had drifted up briefly from between her breasts. It was elusive, sensual, and clean-smelling. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Nice perfume,” he said casually. “What is it?”
“Do you like it? It’s Vent Vert by Balmain. I’ve always loved it. It was my first real French
parfum
. My brother, Ben, bought it for me the summer we were in Europe. He was based in Germany, and got leave to meet Grandfather and me in Paris. It was the last time we were all together. He was killed the following year in Iraq during Desert Storm. I always think of him when I spritz it on,” Ashley said sadly.
“Then why wear it?” he asked her practically.
“Because I like it,” she told him. “And not wearing it won’t bring Ben back.”
“Mrs. B. makes a great chicken salad sandwich,” Ryan said, changing the subject. He had seen the glint of tears in her eyes, and was touched by the love she still bore her late brother. He couldn’t have cared less if his five older sisters were blown off the face of the earth. Now, Frankie was different, but the rest of them could be gone and he wouldn’t have missed one of them.
“I’ve told the Byrneses that we’re getting married, and why,” Ashley said. “I know everyone was worried that they might think badly of us, even while understanding the dilemma that I—that we—face. They know there is no other choice for either of us. I’ll need help redoing Grandfather’s rooms for us, and I have to plan a wedding, don’t I?”
“Frankie, my little sister, is a decorator. She works for Evelyn Claire,” Ryan said. “She would probably help you if you asked. In fact, she’d die to help you. And she’d take her fee in your lingerie.” He chuckled. “She’s one of your big catalog customers.”
Ashley laughed. “Hey, I’m amenable to a barter system,” she said. “Give me her number and I’ll call her.”
“Done,” he agreed. “I spoke to my mother.”
“And?” She bit into her sandwich.
“She likes the fact that you aren’t anorexic and enjoy your food,” he answered. “She wants you to come to dinner in two weeks. Is that okay?”
Ashley nodded. “I’d like that.”
They actually managed to finish their lunch without interruption, and when they had, Ryan gathered up the basket and they walked out together to the front of the shop.
“Look,” he said when they had reached the door, “I know this is probably going to sound crazy, but I need to do this.” He pulled her to him, and his mouth met her surprised mouth in a kiss. It wasn’t a quick kiss. It was definitely an
I want to see where this goes
kiss. If it was going to go anywhere. And from the distinct tightening in his groin, it was going to go somewhere if they wanted. He had surprised her, but she didn’t pull away, or even protest. Her breasts crushed against his chest, and he could feel her nipples hardening against him. The mouth beneath his was soft, sweet. Her lips parted beneath his, and their tongues touched. Slowly he broke off the embrace. “I’ll see you later,” he said, hoping she hadn’t been put off by the fact that he had developed an enormous hard-on. Fortunately his car was at the curb in front of her shop.
“’Kay” Ashley managed to reply, and closed the door to her shop, grabbing at the counter to steady herself before she fell down. Boy, could he kiss! she thought. When their tongues had touched briefly she thought she was going to faint dead away. And he was obviously attracted to her, because she had given him one whale of a hard-on. He had practically limped to his car. But it wasn’t love. They were both in lust.
Marriage of convenience. No sex. Well, she reconsidered, maybe not. Did either of them seriously believe they could sleep in the same bed and remain celibate for two years? She could go back on the pill. There didn’t have to be any babies. But from the fire they were igniting in each other it was obvious that they were eventually going to have sex. Why not? Then Ashley shook her head. What was she thinking? This was to be a business arrangement, and here she was thinking with her cunt and not her brain. Still, Ryan Finbar Mulcahy was some kisser! And he was probably something else in bed.
He apologized after dinner, but Ashley would have none of it. “We’re crazy to think we can do this with no sex,” she told him. “You left me weak-kneed, and I gave you a hard-on. We’re attracted to each other, much to my surprise. We only just met, Ryan, but there is definitely something there.”
“It’s lust,” he said.
“I know,” she agreed, “but what’s wrong with a little lust between two consenting adults? We’re getting married, after all. Unless there is someone else.”
“There is no one,” he said. “What if you got pregnant?”
“I’ll go back on the pill,” Ashley replied. “You may be a Catholic, but I suspect you don’t object to the pill.”
“You’d do that?” The brown eyes he turned on her were making her hot.
“Sure. I’ll call Dr. Sam on Monday. I suspect you’re like all the macho men—you don’t like condoms. If we both get a clean bill of health, and you abide by my rules, then we can’t rule sex out of the equation.”
“Rules?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Look, all I ask is that if you’re screwing me, you don’t do other women. Okay? I certainly won’t be doing other men.”
Except, of course, my two boys on the Channel, but that’s not really real so it doesn’t matter,
Ashley thought.
And maybe I won’t need them if you’re as good as I think you’re going to be.
“Seems reasonable,” he agreed.
“And I’d like to hold off until the wedding,” Ashley said. “Or at least until we’ve both been given a clean bill of health.”
“That’s fair,” he murmured, “but we could play a little, couldn’t we?”
They were on the porch, and he was sitting on a wicker settee while she paced back and forth in the half-light. Reaching up, he pulled her into his lap.
“Hey!” Ashley said, surprised.
“I can’t seem to help myself,” he admitted. “All my life I had this picture in my head of the ideal woman for me. She would be petite. Blond. Helpless, and I would be her savior. You don’t quite fit the bill, do you?”
“I guess I don’t,” Ashley agreed.
“But one look into those big green eyes of yours, and all I could think of was getting into your pants,” he said. “I feel like a lecher, but damn it, you excite me!” His hand fumbled at the back of her shirt, seeking her bra snap.
“It’s in the front,” Ashley said, reaching to undo the bra herself. “Well, I don’t know what I was expecting, but a guy six feet and a hundred inches tall, with a face like a model, wasn’t on the agenda. You excite me too. And there’s nothing wrong with good old-fashioned lust, Ryan Mulcahy. Just so long as we understand each other.” She undid the top two buttons on her shirt.