Born in Shame
Page 69

When the sun set and the moon began its rise, he found himself dragooned into a game of Uncle Wiggly with some of the children while Shannon was across the room having an intent discussion with his teenage niece about American music.
He saw his first clear shot when the children were being bundled up for bed. Moving fast, he grabbed Shannon’s hand. “We’ll go put the kettle on for tea.” Without breaking stride, he pulled her toward the kitchen, through it, and out the back door.
“The kettle—”
“The devil take the kettle,” he muttered and whirled her into his arms. Beside the coop where the hens brooded, he kissed her as though his life depended on it. “I never noticed how many people there are in my family.”
“Twenty-three,” she murmured, sliding into the next kiss. “Twenty-four with you. I counted.”
“And one of them’s bound to be poking out the kitchen window any second. Come on. We’re making a break for it.”
He pulled her past paddock and pen and up the first rise until she was breathless and laughing. “Murphy, slow down. They’re not going to set the dogs on us.”
“If we had dogs, they might.” But he shortened his stride a little. “I want you alone. Do you mind?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you.”
“We’ll talk all you like,” he promised. “After I show you what I’ve been thinking about doing to you all day and half the night.”
Heat balled, a solid, steaming weight in her stomach. “We should talk first. We haven’t really set up the guidelines. It’s important we both understand, well, where we stand, before we get any deeper into this.”
“Guidelines.” The word made him smile. “I think I can find my way without them.”
“I’m not talking about the physical aspect.” A thought intruded, and turned her voice cool and casual. “You didn’t ever have a physical aspect with Maggie, did you?”
His first reaction was to roar with laughter, but a twist of mischief made him hum in consideration. “Well, now that you mention it . . .” He let the sentence trail off as he pulled Shannon into the stone circle.
She was abruptly far from cool and batted his hands away as he tugged off her jacket. “Now that I mention it?” she repeated with steel in her voice.
“We had a bit of an aspect,” he said, ignoring her shoving hands as he worked at the buttons of her blouse. “I kissed her once, in a bit more than what you might be calling a brotherly fashion.” He grinned into Shannon’s eyes. “It was curious and it was sweet. I was fifteen if memory serves.”
“Oh.” The green-eyed monster was dwarfed by foolishness.
“I managed to sneak one in on Brie, too. But we ended up laughing at each other while our lips were still locked. It took the romance right out of it.”
“Oh,” she said again and pouted. “And that was it?”
“You needn’t worry. I never . . . crossed any borders with either of your sisters. So . . .”
His tongue dried up as he slid her blouse aside. She wore silk beneath tonight, dark, dangerous silk that dipped low and provocative at the curve of her br**sts, then draped down to shimmer beneath the waistband of her skirt.
“I want to see the rest,” he managed and tugged down the zipper.
A breeze teased her hair as she stood in the shifting moonlight. She’d worn it for him, had chosen it from her drawer that morning with the image in her mind of his face as he saw her in it. It was a short, deliberate seduction of silk and lace that clung to curves.
Dazzled by it, he skimmed a hand up her thigh and felt the tip of her stocking give way to warm flesh. And his mouth watered.
“It’s God’s grace I didn’t know what you had on under that little suit.” His voice was thick and ragged at the edges. “I’d never have made it through Mass.”
She’d wanted to talk to him. Needed to. But common sense was no defense against the hot spurt of lust. She reached out, tugged the sweater over his head.
“I knew what was under here. You can’t imagine what I was thinking of during the Offertory.”
His laugh was weak. “We’ll both do penance for it. Later.” He nudged a strap from her shoulder, then the other so that the bodice shifted, tenuously clung. “The goddess that guards the holy ground,” he murmured. “And the witch who came after.”
His words made her shiver, with fear and excitement. “I’m a woman, Murphy. Just a woman standing here, wanting you.” More than eager, she stepped forward into his arms. “Show me. Show me what you thought about doing to me.” She crushed her mouth to his, unbearably hungry. “Then do more.”
He could have eaten her alive, consumed her inch by inch, then howled at the moon like a rabid wolf.
So he showed her, savaging her mouth, letting his hands roam as urgently as they pleased. The sounds in her throat grew stronger, more feral. He felt her teeth nip and tug at his lip, took his own to her throat to devour the curving length of satin skin.
She was already wet when he cupped her. If he drove her up ruthlessly, if her moan shivered into something closer to a scream, he was too far over the line to stop himself.
Her legs simply buckled. She felt herself falling, felt the cushion of his body under her own, then the weight of it as he rolled.
His mouth was everywhere, gloriously suckling through silk, then under it. His hands were uncannily quick, slicking here, gripping there. Hers were no less urgent, seeking flesh, finding, exploiting.
She tore and tugged at the button of his trousers, muttering promises and pleas while they wrestled over the blanket.
Gasping for breath, she straddled him, then in a move so lightning quick it staggered his senses, took him deep.
While the stunning, violent glory of it streamed through him, he watched her bow back. Her body was sinuous and sleek, her hair a rainfall of silk, her face a carving of sheer triumph and carnal pleasures.
Spellbound, he reached out, found her br**sts, watched his hands close over them. He felt the weight, the hot press of her ni**les, the wild thunder of her heart.
His, he thought dimly while his body shuddered with unbearable need. This time, for all times, his.
She began to rock, slowly at first, like a dance. Clouds shifted over and around and passed the moon so that her face was shuttered, then revealed, then shuttered again like a dream he couldn’t quite capture.