Irish Rose

  No one had ever caused this hard fist of need to clench inside her so that she was willing to cede to him that right.

  Then she was naked, tumbling to the bed so that his body covered hers. His hands found her, sent her spiraling so that she arched against him even as the fear of the unknown began to brew. Her breath caught with the sensation of being pressed under him, vulnerable, dizzy with desire. Her own body seemed like a stranger's, filled with towering emotions and terrifying pleasures. She wanted a moment, just one moment of reassurance, one soft word, one tender touch. But she was beyond asking, and he beyond listening.

  Greedy, impatient, he took his lips over her as he wrestled out of his shirt. He wanted the feel of her flesh against his. How many times had he imagined them coming together this way, urgently, without questions? She was murmuring his name in a breathy, desperate whisper that had his passion snowballing out of control. He dragged at his clothes, swearing, hardly able to breathe himself and far beyond the capacity to think.

  Her body was like a furnace beneath his, and with each movement she stoked the flames higher. She dug her nails into his shoulders; he fused his mouth with hers. Past all reason, he plunged into her.

  She was curled away from him, trembling. Burke lay in the dark and tried to clear his head. Innocent. Dear God, he'd taken her with all passion and no care. And he was the first. He should have known. Yet from the first time he'd held her she'd been so ripe, so ready. There had been the strength, the hotheaded passion, the unquestioning response. It had never crossed his mind that she hadn't been with anyone else.

  He ran his hands over his face, rubbing hard. He hadn't seen because he was a fool. The innocence had been there in her eyes for any man to see who'd had the brains to look. He hadn't looked, perhaps because he hadn't wanted to see. Now he'd hurt her. However careless, however callous he had been with women in the past, he'd never hurt one. Because the women he'd chosen before had known the rules, Burke reminded himself. Not Erin. No one had ever taught them to her.

  Searching for a way to apologize, he touched her hair. Erin only drew herself closer together.

  She wouldn't cry. She squeezed her eyes tight and swore it. She was humiliated enough without tears. What a fool he must think her, sniffling like a baby. But how could she have known loving would be all heat and no heart?

  The hell of it was, he was lousy at words. Burke reached down to the foot of the bed and drew a cover over her. As he tried to sort through and pick the best ones, he continued to stroke her hair.

  "Erin, I'm sorry." By God, he was lousy with words if those were the pick of the litter.

  "Don't apologize. I can't bear it." She turned her face into the pillow and prayed he wouldn't do so again.

  "All right. I only want to say that I shouldn't have…" What? Wanted her? Taken her? "I shouldn't have been careless with you." That was beautiful, he thought, detesting himself. "I hadn't realized that you hadn't—that tonight was your first time. If I'd known, I would have…"

  "Run for cover?" she suggested, pushing herself up. Before she could climb out of the bed, he had her arm. He felt her withdrawal like a blade in the gut.

  "You've every right to be angry with me."

  "With you?" She turned her head and made herself look at him. He was hardly more than a silhouette in the dark. They had loved in the dark, she thought, unable to see, unable to share. Perhaps it was best it was dark still so that he couldn't see the devastation. "Why should I be angry with you? It's myself I'm angry with."

  "If you'd told me—"

  "Told you?" She sniffed again, but this time there was more than a little derision in it. "Of course. I should have told you, while we were rolling around on the bed naked as the day we were born, I might have said, 'Oh, by the way, Burke, you might be interested in knowing I've never done this before.' That would have put a cap on it."

  He was amazed to find himself smiling even as he reached for her hair again and she jerked her head away. "Maybe the timing could have been a bit better than that."

  "It's done, so there's no sense pining over it. I want to go home now before I humiliate myself again."

  "Don't."

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't go." That was a tough one. He hadn't known he'd had it in him to ask. "What happened wasn't wrong, it was just done badly. And that's my fault." He caught her chin in his hand as she started to turn away. "Look, I'm not good at asking, but I'd like you to let me make it up to you."

  "There's no need." She wasn't aware that it was the gentleness in his voice that was calming her. "I told you I'm not angry with you. It's true it was my first time, but I'm not a child. I came here of my own free will."

  "Now I'm asking you to stay." He took her hand and, turning it palm up, pressed his lips to the center. When he looked up at her again she was staring, her lips parted in surprise. He cursed himself again. "I'll draw you a bath."

  "You'll what?"

  "Draw you a bath," he said, snapping off the words. "You'll feel better."

  When he disappeared into the adjoining room, Erin simply continued to stare after him. What in the world had gotten into him? she wondered. She gathered the blanket around her and stood as Burke came back in. He was wearing a robe tied loosely at the waist. The light from the bath angled out onto the floor. She could hear the sound of water running and sensed—but surely she was mistaken—a hesitation in him.

  "Go ahead in and relax. Do you want something. Tea?"

  Mutely she shook her head.

  "Take your time, then. I'll be back in a few minutes."

  Not a little baffled, Erin walked in and lowered herself into the tub. The water was steaming so that she felt the tension and the ache begin to diminish almost immediately. Sinking down, she closed her eyes.

  She wished she had another woman to talk to, another woman to ask if this was all there was to lovemaking. She wished there was someone she could talk to about her feelings. She loved Burke, yet she felt no fulfillment after being with him. It had been exciting. The way he had touched her, the way his body had felt against hers, made her tremble and ache. But there had been no glorious glow, no beautiful colors, no feeling of lightness and contentment.

  She was probably a fool for imagining there would be. After all, it was the poets and dreamers who promised more. Pretty words, pretty images. She was a practical woman, after all.

  But Burke had been right. The bath had made her feel better. There was no reason for humiliation or for regret. If she was no longer innocent, she had brought about the change herself, willingly. One thing her parents had always told her was to follow what was in your heart and to blame no one.

  Steadier, she stepped from the bath. She would face Burke now. No tears, no blushes, no recriminations.

  Seeing no other cover, she wrapped the towel securely around her and stepped into the bedroom.

  He'd lighted candles. Dozens of them. Erin stood in the doorway, staring at the soft light. There was music, too, something quiet and romantic that seemed to heighten the scent of wax and flowers. The sheets on the bed were fresh and neatly turned down. Erin stared at them as all the confidence she'd newly built up began to crumble.

  He saw her glance at the bed and saw the quick, unmistakable flash of panic that went with the look. It brought him guilt and a determination to erase it. There were other ways, better ways. Tonight he would show both of them. Rising, he went to her and offered a rose he'd just picked in the solarium.

  "Feel better?"

  "Aye." Erin took the rose, but her fingers nearly bit through the stem.

  "You said you didn't want tea, so I brought up some wine."

  "That's nice, but I—" The words jammed in her throat as he lifted her into his arms. "Burke."

  "Relax." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I won't hurt you." He carried her to the bed and laid her against the pillows. Taking two glasses already filled with pale wine, he offered her one. "Happy St. Patrick's Day." With a half smile, he touched his glas
s to hers. Erin managed a nod before she sipped.

  "This is a fine room…" she began lamely. "I didn't notice… before."

  "It was dark." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and settled back even as she tensed.

  "Aye. I've, ah, wondered what the other rooms were like."

  "You could have looked."

  "I didn't want to pry." She sipped a little more wine and unconsciously brushed the rose over her cheek. Its petals were soft and just on the verge of opening. "It seems like a big place for one man."

  "I only use one room at a time."

  She moistened her lips. What was this music? she wondered. Cullen would know. It was so lovely and romantic. "I heard Double Bluff won his last race. Travis said he beat Durnam's colt by a length. Everybody's talking about the Kentucky Derby already and how your horse is favored." When she realized her head was resting against his shoulder, she cleared her throat. She would have shifted away, but he was stroking her hair. "You must be pleased."

  "It's hard not to be pleased when you're winning."

  "And tonight at the party, Lloyd told me that Bluff was the horse to beat."

  "I didn't tell you how wonderful you looked tonight."

  "The dress. Dee gave it to me."

  "It made my heart stop."

  She was able to chuckle at that. "What blarney."

  "Then again, you managed to stop it wearing overalls."

  She slanted a look up at him. "Aye, now I'm sure there's some Irish in you."

  "I discovered I had a weakness for women taking in the wash."

  "I'd say it's more a matter of a weakness for women in general."

  "Has been. But just lately I've preferred them with freckles."

  Erin rubbed rueful fingers over her nose. "If you're trying to flirt with me, you ought to be able to do better."

  "Works both ways." Lifting the hand that still held the rose, he kissed her fingers. "You could say something nice about me."

  Erin caught her lip between her teeth and waited until he glanced up. "I'm thinking," she said, then laughed when his teeth nipped her knuckle. "Well, I suppose I like your face well enough."

  "I'm overwhelmed."

  "Oh, I'm picky, I am, so you should be flattered. And though you haven't Travis's build, I'm partial to the wiry type."

  "Does Dee know you've had your eye on her husband?"

  Erin laughed into her glass. "Surely there's no harm in looking."

  "Then look here." Tilting her face up to his, he kissed her. His lips lingered softly, more a whisper than a shout.

  "There's the way you do that, too," she murmured.

  "Do what?"

  "Make my insides curl all up."

  With his lips still hovering over hers, he took the glass from her and set it aside. "Is that good?"

  "I don't know. But I'd like you to do it again."

  With a hand to her cheek, he nuzzled. Drawing on a tenderness he hadn't known he possessed, wailing for her lips to warm and soften beneath his. She hesitantly touched a hand to his shoulder. She knew his strength now, what it was capable of, and yet… and yet his mouth was so patient, so sweet, so beautifully gentle. When he increased the pressure, her fingers tensed. Immediately he drew back to nibble again until he felt her begin to relax.

  He wanted to take care, and not just for her, he realized, but for himself. He wanted to savor, to explore, to open doors for both of them. He'd never been a man to bother with candlelight and music, had never looked for the romance of it. Now he found himself as soothed and seduced by it as she was.

  The scent of her bath was on her skin, fresh, clean. On her his soap seemed feminine, somehow mysterious. Her skin was smooth but not frail. Beneath it were firm muscles, honed by an unpampered life. He would never have found frailty as appealing. Still, he could feel the nerves jangle inside her. Now he would treat her as though she'd never been touched. Where there was innocence there should be compassion. Where there was trust there should be respect.

  And somehow, wonderingly, he felt as though it was his own initiation.

  She heard the rustle of the sheets as he shifted. Her body hammered with need even while her fears held her back. It was natural, she reminded herself. And now that she wasn't expecting, she wouldn't be disappointed. Then her breath caught as a new thrill coursed over her skin. Confused, she brought a hand to his chest.

  "I won't hurt you again." He drew away from her to brush the hair from her face. His fingers weren't steady. God, he had to be steady now, he warned himself. He couldn't afford to lose control, to lose himself a second time. "I promise I won't hurt you."

  She didn't believe him. Even as she opened her arms in acceptance, he saw she didn't believe him. So he lowered his mouth to hers again and thought only of Erin.

  He'd never been a selfish lover, but he'd never been a selfless one, either. Now he found himself ignoring his own needs for hers. When he touched her, it wasn't to fulfill his own desire but to bring her whatever passion he was able. He felt the change in her start slowly, a gradual relaxation of the limbs, a dreamy murmuring of his name.

  She'd waited, braced, for the speed, the pressure, the pain. Instead he gave her languidness, indulgence and pure pleasure. He moved his hands over her freely, as he had before, but this time there was a difference. He stroked, caressed, lingered until she felt as though she was floating. The sensation of vulnerability returned, but without the panic. Light and sweet, he brought his mouth to her breast to nibble and suckle so that she felt the response deep inside, a pull, a tug, a warmth that spread to her fingertips.

  With a moan she wrapped her arms around him, no longer simply accepting but welcoming.

  My God, she was sweet. With his lips rubbing over her skin he discovered she had a taste like no other, a taste he would never be able to do without again. Her body was so completely responsive under his that he knew he could have her now and satisfy them both. But he was greedy in a different way this time. Greedy to give.

  Reaching for her hand, he linked his fingers with hers. Even that, just that, was the most intimate gesture he'd ever made. In the candlelight he saw her face glow with pleasure, the soft, silky kind that could last for hours.

  So he came back to her mouth to give them both time.

  She tasted the wine, just a hint of it, on his tongue.

  Then she felt his lips move against hers with words she heard only in her heart.

  Here was the glow she'd once imagined, and all the bright, beautiful colors the poets had promised. Here was music flowing gently and light soft as heaven. Here was everything a woman who'd given her heart could ask in return.

  She'd loved him before. But now, experiencing the compassion, the completeness, she fell deeper.

  Slowly, carefully, he began to show her more, finding all the pleasure he could want from her response. Her body shuddered and strained toward him without hesitation, without restrictions. When he nudged her over the first peak, he saw her eyes fly open with shock and dark delight.

  Breathless, she clung to him. It felt as though her mind was racing to keep pace with her body. And still he urged her on in ways she'd never dreamed existed. The next wave struck with a force that had her rearing up. There couldn't be more. The colors were almost too bright to bear now, and need and pleasure had mixed to a point that was both sharp and sweet.

  She held him, moaning out his name. There couldn't be more.

  But he filled her and showed her there was.

  She was trembling again, but she wasn't curled away from him. This time she was turned to him, her face pressed against his shoulder, her arms holding tight. Because he was more than a little dazed himself, he kept her close and said nothing.

  He was no novice at this game, Burke reminded himself. So why did he feel as though someone had just changed the rules? The candlelight flickered its shadows around the room so that he shook his head. It looked as if he'd changed them himself. Soft light, soft music, soft words. That wasn't his style. But i
t felt so damn right.

  He was used to living hard, loving hard and moving on. Win, lose or draw. Now he felt as though he could go happily to the grave if he never moved beyond this spot. As long as Erin stayed with him.

  That thought had several small shock waves moving through him. Stayed with him? Since when had he started thinking along those lines? Since he'd laid eyes on her, he realized, and let out a long, none-too-steady breath. Good God, he was in love with her. He'd gone through his life without taking more than a passing interest in any woman. Then someone had opened the chute, and he'd fallen face first in love with a woman who hadn't had time to test the waters.

  He didn't have time for this. His life was unsettled, the way he wanted it. His days, his decisions, his moves were his own. He had plans, places to go. He had… nothing, he thought. Absolutely nothing without her.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to talk himself out of it.

  It was crazy, he was crazy. How did he know what it meant to love someone? There had only been one person he'd loved in his life, and that was long ago. He was a drifter, a hustler. If he'd stayed in one place a little too long, it was only because…because there hadn't been a better game, that was all. But he knew it was a lie.

  He should do them both a favor and take that trip to Monte Carlo. He should leave first thing in the morning. The hell with the farm, the responsibilities. He'd just pick up and go, the way he always had. Nothing was keeping him.

  But her hand was resting on his heart.

  He wasn't going anywhere. But maybe it was time he upped the stakes and played out his hand.

  "You okay?" he asked her.

  Erin nodded, then lifted her face to look into his. "I feel… You'll think I'm foolish."

  "Probably. How do you feel?"

  "Beautiful." Then she laughed and threw her arms around his neck. "I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world."

  "You'll do," he murmured, and knew in that moment that no matter how hard he struggled he was already caught.

  "I never want to feel any different than this." She drew him closer to press kisses along his jawline and throat.

  "You will, but there's no reason you can't feel like this as often as possible. We'll bring your things over tomorrow."

  "What things?" Still smiling, her arms still around his neck, she drew back.

  "Whatever things you have. There's no reason to bother moving tonight. Tomorrow's soon enough."

  "Moving?" Slowly she unwound her arms. "Burke, I told you once before I won't live here with you."

  "Things have changed," he said simply, reaching for the wine. He wished it was whiskey.

  "Aye, but that hasn't. What happened tonight…" Had been beautiful, the most beautiful experience of her life, and she didn't want it spoiled by talk of sharing a life with him that wouldn't be a true one. "I want to remember it. I'd like to think that there may be a time when we might—when we might love each other this way again, but that doesn't mean I'll toss my beliefs aside and move in as your mistress."

  "Lover."

  "The label doesn't really matter." She started to move away, but he grabbed her shoulders. The glass tilted to the floor and shattered.

  "I want you, damn it, don't you understand? Not just once. I don't want to have to drag you away from the Grants every time I want an hour with you."

  "You'll drag me nowhere." The afterglow of love was replaced by angry pride. "Do you think I'll move in here so it'll be convenient for you when you have an urge to wrestle in bed? Well, I won't be a convenience to you or any man. The hell with you, Burke Logan."

  She pushed away and had swung her legs off the bed when she went tumbling backward to find herself pinned under him. "I'm getting tired of you wishing me to hell."

  "Well, get used to it. Now take your hands off me. I'm going home."

  "No, you're not."

  Her eyes narrowed. "You'll not keep me here."

  "Whatever it takes." Then she twisted under him. Before he realized her intent, her teeth were sunk into his hand. He swore, and they rolled from one end of the bed to the other before he managed to pin her again.

  "I'll draw blood next time, I swear it. Now let me go."

  "Shut up, you crazy Irish hothead."

  "Name-calling, is it?" Erin sucked the breath between her teeth. The words she uttered now were Gaelic.

  This was hardly the time to be amused, he reminded himself. But there was no