Born in Shame
Page 63

He woke her from a light doze just as the eastern sky was pearling. He was sorry to, for he’d loved watching her sleep, the way her lashes lay on her cheek with the light flush beneath them. And he wished there was time for him to love her once again as dawn broke.
But there were obligations and family waiting for him.
“Shannon.” Gently, he stroked her cheek, kissed it. “Darling, it’s nearly morning. The stars are going out.”
She stirred, whimpering, and clutched at his hand. “Why won’t you stay? Why? How could you come back to me only to leave again?”
“Ssh.” He drew her close, pressed his lips to her brow. “I’m here. Right here. ’Tis only a dream.”
“If you loved me enough, you wouldn’t go again.”
“I do love you. Open your eyes now. You’re dreaming.”
She followed the sound of his voice, opened her eyes as he’d asked. For a moment she was lost between two worlds, both of which seemed familiar and right.
Dawn, just before dawn, she thought hazily. And the smell of spring. The stones rising up, gray and cold in the waning dark and the feel of her lover’s arms hard around her.
“Your horse.” She looked around blankly. She should have heard the jingle of its bridle and the impatient stomp of hooves as it waited to ride.
“They’re stabled yet.” Firmly Murphy cupped her chin and turned her face back to his. “Where are you?”
“I . . .” She blinked and floated out of the dream. “Murphy?”
His eyes were narrowed on her face, with a hint of frustration in them. “Do you remember what happened then? What did I do to lose you?”
She shook her head. The sense of despair, and the fear, were waning. “I was dreaming, I guess. That’s all.”
“Tell me what I did.”
But she pressed her face to his shoulder, relieved to find it warm and solid. “Just a dream,” she insisted. “Is it morning?”
He started to argue, then backed off. “Nearly. I need to get you back to the inn.”
“Too soon.”
“I’d hold back the sun if I could.” He squeezed her once more, then rose to get their clothes.
Cuddled under the blanket, Shannon watched him and felt the little tingles of desire begin to spark again. She sat up, let the blanket pool to her waist. “Murphy?” When he glanced back, she had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes go dark and cloudy. “Make love with me.”
“There’s nothing I’d like better, but my family’s at the house, and there’s no telling when one of them . . .” He trailed off when she rose, slim and beautifully naked. The clothes slipped out of his hands as she walked toward him.
“Make love with me,” she said again and twined her arms around his neck. “Fast and desperate. Like it was the last time.”
There was a witch in her. He’d known it the first time he’d looked in her eyes. The power of it glowed out of them now, confident and challenging. Though her breath hissed out when he dragged her head back by her hair, the look never wavered.
“Like this then.” His voice was rough as he dragged her around. He braced her back against the king stone and, cupping her hips, lifted her off her feet.
She clamped herself around him, willing and eager. The power burst when he thrust into her, battering them both with the speed and desperation she’d demanded.
They were eye to eye, each violent stroke heating the gasping breaths they took. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her lips curved in triumph as their bodies convulsed together.
His legs went weak, and his palms had gone so damp he feared he’d lose his hold on her and drop her. He could hear his own breath panting out like a dog’s.
“Jesus.” He blinked stinging sweat out of his eyes. “Sweet Jesus Christ.”
Slumped against his shoulder she began to laugh. It bubbled up through her, full of joy and fascination. He could only struggle to get back his breath and balance her as she threw her arms into the air.
“Oh, I feel so alive.”
A grin tugged at his mouth as he managed to keep her from tumbling both of them. “You’re alive all right. But you damned near killed me.” He kissed her hard, then set her firmly on her feet. “Get your clothes on, woman, before you finish me off.”
“I wish we could go running buck naked through the fields.”
He blew out a breath and bent to pick up her bra. “Oh, my sainted mother would love that, if she happened to take a turn around the yard and look out.”
Amused, Shannon slipped into her bra and plucked her panties out of the grass. “I bet your sainted mother knows just what you’ve been up to, since you didn’t come home last night.”
“Knowing and getting a first-hand look’s two different matters.” He gave her bottom a friendly pat when she bent over to pick up her shirt. “You look sexy in men’s clothes. I meant to tell you.”
“Men’s look,” Shannon corrected, buttoning the oversize shirt.
“What’s the difference?” He sat on the grass to put on his shoes. “Would you go out with me tonight, Shannon, if I come calling for you?”
Baffled and pleased, she looked down at him. That the man could ask, so sweetly, when they’d barely finished going at each other like animals, charmed her. “Well, it may be I’d do that, Murphy Muldoon,” she said, giving her best shot at a west county brogue.
His eyes danced as he tossed her one of her shoes. “You still sound like a Yank. But I like it—’tis a darling accent.”
She snorted. “I have a darling accent. Right.” She reached down to pick up the blanket, but he stayed her hand.
“Leave them . . . if you will.”
Smiling, she turned her hand so that their fingers twined. “Yes. I will.”
“Then I’ll walk you to your door.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do have to.” He led her through the arch of stone and into the field where the light was just beginning to pearl the dewy grass. “And want to as well.”
Happy, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. In the east, morning was rising gently in pinks and golds, like a painting washed by a pastel-tipped brush. She heard the crow of the rooster and the cheerful song of a lark. When Murphy stopped to pick a wildflower with creamy white petals, she turned, smiling, so that he could slip it into her hair.