Authors: Unknown
“They do not receive a salary?” She frowned as if such an idea had
never occurred to her.
“Journeymen and laborers are paid for the work they perform. They
aren’t house servants, who earn a wage no matter how many or few hours they
toil.”
“Oh.”
She looked so chastened that he almost told her not to worry—he
was paying the men for the whole day despite the loss. But regardless of the
twinge of guilt that crept through him, he remained silent.
Crossing to the small wooden table that held his papers and plans,
he leaned over and retrieved an inventory list written out in a neat hand.
“This will tell us what we’ve yet to find.”
He picked up an empty wooden toolbox and a pencil before stalking
her way. Gently, he urged her forward.
“Lead on, MacDuff.”
“Mac who?”
“MacDuff. It’s Shakespeare. Even a
common
fellow like me
knows that. Now take me to those tools.”
Jeannette huffed out a breath as she walked, O’Brien looming at
her back. She did her best to ignore him as she strolled across the verdant
lawn, late-summer grass plush beneath her slippers.
“Where do you expect me to begin?” she asked.
“Where did you start last night?”
She scanned the grounds. “I can’t recall for sure. Even with the
moon it was rather dark, it being night and all. But I believe I began at that
shrub over there.” She pointed toward a large mulberry bush. “Did your men
search beneath?”
O’Brien shrugged. “I can’t say, since we spread out to cover as
much ground as possible. Appears the best method will be to start the process
anew.”
She met his complacent expression with an alarmed one of her own.
“Surely you are not suggesting we search under every shrubbery and rock and bit
of tall grass in the place?”
“Aye, if you think there’s a chance we’ll find some tools hidden
there.” He tapped a finger against his list. “Until everything on here is
located, we’ll keep up the search.”
“But…but that could take
hours.
”
“You’re right, it could. So we’d best be on about it, hadn’t we
now?”
Dismay poured through her, together with the urge to tell him to
go to the devil. She quashed the feeling and waggled an imperious set of
fingers toward the bush. “Very well, look beneath and see if you find
anything.”
Instead of obeying, O’Brien shifted his stance and crossed his
arms.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she questioned.
“For you, my lady. Under the circumstances, it seems only right to
me you should be the one doing the searching.”
“You expect me to crawl under bushes? But my clothes…” she
protested.
“You didn’t worry about your clothes last night. You’ll be fine.
Now, you’d best get a move on.”
“But—”
“Don’t fret. I’ll be here to keep tally of whatever you find, and
I’ll carry the toolbox as well. I wouldn’t want a delicate lass like yourself
taking an injury, after all.”
“You’ll carry the toolbox?” she exclaimed, hearing her voice rise
to a high pitch. “Why…you…you…”
Breaking off, she felt herself quiver with indignation. Tears rose
up behind her lids but she blinked them away. She would not let him see her
cry, nor would she run. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to run, she did, but
knowing him, he would give chase, catch her and bring her back to finish the
task!
His blue eyes infinitely patient, he waited for her to proceed.
Aware he had her neatly boxed in, she mumbled an unintelligible curse, then
paced to the bush, pushed the foliage aside and bent at the waist to search
underneath.
And so it went, the pair of them moving from one location to the
next, Jeannette locating tools here and there for O’Brien to check off his
infernal list and place into the toolbox.
The sun was past its zenith, hot perspiration dampening Jeannette’s
face and dotting the fabric of her gown by the time she flung a final tool into
the box.
Back aching, she straightened, then pressed a forearm to her moist
brow. “There, that is all of them.”
O’Brien perused his list. “Says there’s one last wrench yet to be
found.”
This time she didn’t want to cry, she wanted to kill. She
restricted herself to a glare. “If you want that wrench found, find it
yourself. I’ve looked under my last shrub and I’m not looking further.”
Darragh hid a grin, realizing he’d pushed her as far as she could
possibly be pushed. To give her credit, she’d held up better than he’d ever
expected, throwing herself into the task with a martyred determination worthy
of a saint. Looking at her now, drooping and bedraggled, he imagined she had
more than learned her lesson. He seriously doubted she would ever hide another
tool in her life, even if she lived to be a hundred.
Bowed but clearly unbent, she thrust her chin in the air. “If you
are done torturing me, I should like to leave now.”
“Aye, you should be going on inside before you’re missed. But
first you ought to tidy up a bit. You’ve mud on your cheek.”
Without considering the streaks of dirt on her hands, she wiped at
the spot.
He hid a smile. “Now you have more.”
Setting down the toolbox, he reached inside his pocket and
withdrew a linen handkerchief. “Here now, let me see to that for you.”
He rubbed the cloth against her skin, and although it cleaned away
some of the dirt, it didn’t remove it all. Glancing at the ornamental pond only
feet away, he urged her across with him, then bent down to wet the
handkerchief.
“Let’s try this again.”
Jeannette knew she should have taken the cloth from him and wiped
her own face clean. Instead she stood quiescent and let him do the work,
vividly aware of his strong yet gentle fingers as they stroked the linen across
her skin. She held steady and fought the urge to tremble, assuring herself the
need came from weariness and nothing more. After everything he’d put her
through today, how could she feel anything except outrage?
Yet she did not pull away when he finished cleaning her cheek. Nor
when his hand stilled, his eyelids drooping as a lambent gleam of desire caught
fire in his vibrant eyes.
Time slowed, the world narrowing until it seemed nothing existed
save the two of them.
Then his mouth was upon her own, his lips taking hers in a series
of gentle seductive kisses that left her unable to catch a satisfactory breath.
A tiny voice in her brain whispered against him, warned her to resist and pull away.
But he tasted too delicious. Smelled too good, the warm, earthy, masculine
scent of him muddling her judgment and devastating her senses.
There ought to be a law against such pleasure, she mused in a
dreamy haze. No man should have the right to turn a woman as gooey and pliant
as melted chocolate with nothing more substantial than a touch. Certainly not a
man like Darragh O’Brien. A rogue and scoundrel who seemed to delight in
tormenting and teasing her. A man who only minutes before had been marching her
around her cousins’ estate like some prisoner, forcing her to labor in ways no
lady ought to be forced to endure.
Yet here she was, letting him kiss her, and enjoying it to boot!
Suddenly her thoughts pierced through the haze of pleasure ensnaring her,
brutally reminding her where she was and precisely what it was she was doing.
“No!” She panted, mustering the strength to wrench her lips from
his.
He stared down at her, his features sharp and hungry with passion.
Eyelids lowering once more to half staff, he bent to feast yet again upon her
mouth.
She forestalled him with a hand. “No.”
He paused. “Why not, when I can tell you’re as keen for it as I
am?”
She stiffened. “I am not
keen
for it,” she lied,
deliberately wiping a hand across her lips. “I didn’t like it at all. It’s
just…just that you took me by surprise.”
“If you’d been surprised, you’d have let out a protest at the
start. Or are you in the habit of letting a man kiss you senseless before
deciding to push him aside like a tease?”
Her hand flashed upward to strike but he caught her wrist before
she could land a blow.
“There’ll be none of that now,” he chastened. “Admit the truth,
since both of us know you like my kisses.”
She twisted in his hold.
He held her steady. “Come on, lass, just say the words. I’m
waiting.”
“And you’ll go on waiting. For an eternity would be my guess.”
“I see I’ll have to wring a confession from you, then.”
Before she could utter a sound, he swooped, taking her mouth in a
lush, fevered claiming that held nothing back. Crushing her against his rugged
body, he plundered her lips with dizzying skill and a determination that sent
her reeling out of control.
Jeannette tried her best not to respond this time, holding her
body stiff and uncompromising within his arms. She would not give in to his
kisses, she told herself. She would not yield, no matter how infinitely sweet
his touch. But merciful heavens, he had a way about him that was all but
impossible to resist. He was the very devil sent to earth to plague and beguile
her.
So despite the cool dictates of her mind, her body began to burn,
quickening with an ardor that turned her knees to jelly, her blood to molten
lava sizzling through her veins.
She made one last muffled murmur of protest before her mind melted
too, whimpering when he swept his nimble tongue between her lips to stroke her
teeth and tongue, to caress the sensitive flesh of her smooth, inner cheeks.
She quivered and went under like a storm-tossed ship at sea.
Abandoned to the power and pleasure of his embrace, she moaned and
arched against him, sliding her hands up to cling tighter to his wide,
resilient shoulders. She kissed him back for all she was worth, seeking his
tongue as it retreated from her touch, wanting to play with him the way he was
playing with her. Their kiss went on for a breathless, impossible span of time
before he set her from him, breaking the kiss with a startling, shattering
abruptness.
Winded and weak, she peered up into his face, her passion-dazed
senses clearing abruptly when she read the mocking I-told-you-so in his
expression, the gleam of undisguised satisfaction for a lesson well taught.
Too late she understood. Too late she realized just how splendidly
she had been baited into his trap. How, all the while she had been melting
against him, he had been in full control and command. How, like a bee lured
into a bottle of sugar water, she had been neatly caught. Her stomach
somersaulted but not from desire this time, reawakened hurt curdling like sour
milk in her belly.
Yet she knew he wasn’t immune to her touch either, not immune by a
long shot. His pupils were dilated, large and black as a moonless night,
surrounded by narrow rings of bright, bright blue. His color was high in his
fair cheeks, his breath ragged.
“Well now, still claiming you don’t care for my touch?” he
taunted. “Or will you be needing a few more kisses to prove the point?”
She wished she had the time and the place to turn the tables.
Wished she could teach him the lesson he so rightly deserved. If she applied
herself, she knew she could make him beg for her kisses, despite her propensity
to lose her head at his touch. But that sort of revenge would have to wait for
another day. Right now she would have to settle for other means of wiping the
impudent self-satisfaction off his face.
“Maybe I’d like a few more kisses and maybe I wouldn’t,” she
purred in a silky tone that made his eyes light in surprise. Stepping forward,
she subtly encouraged him to take a step back.
She raked the tip of one manicured fingernail down his chest. “But
I do know one thing I would love for sure.”
He quirked a skeptical, yet nevertheless amused brow, letting her
coax him back yet another step. “And what would that be, lass?”
“This!”
Using the flat of her hands, she shoved at his chest with every
ounce of strength she possessed. Normally she’d have been no match for him, but
offended pride and the element of surprise worked in her favor. Back he went,
his boot heels sinking into the soft soil around the pond’s edge.
Leaping out of reach as he careened backward, she watched him
frantically try to catch his balance. He flailed his long arms in wide arcs,
feet shuffling, a comical look of shock decorating his bold features as he
tried desperately to save himself. Seconds later he hit the water, a loud,
messy splash arcing upward before he sank beneath the murky surface.
He came up sputtering, spitting out water and a stream of Gaelic
curses she didn’t understand but got the gist of well enough. Wiping his wet
face, he shot her a fulminating glower, then slicked his hands over his
dripping hair.
She chuckled when he discovered a clump of slimy pond weeds
sticking to his forehead. He plucked them off and cast the plants back into the
pond with total disgust. Seated chest deep in the water, he paused suddenly
before shifting from hip to hip. Dipping in a hand, he yanked out a wrench.
At the sight, she doubled over and giggled with unrestrained
hilarity. “Why, you’ve found the missing wrench. How lucky. Shall I retrieve
your list and check it off?”
He shot her a glare. “I’ve a better idea. Come over here so you
can give me a hand out.”
She shook her head. “You mean a hand
in,
don’t you? I’m
on to you this time, Darragh O’Brien, so keep your distance.”
“And what if I don’t?” he growled, rising slowly to his feet,
water sluicing like a falls along his impressive frame.
Deciding she had better escape while the opportunity still availed
itself, she hurried toward the house.
“That’s right, girl,” he called. “You’d better run, else I catch
you and carry you back.”
Jeannette laughed again and raced on, knowing it wouldn’t take
much to encourage him to come after her, half worried she might not really
mind.