So Kara got snap-happy with the rest of the family, clicking and laughing and showing the children all the photos she was taking—making them stick out their tongues, pull their best crazy faces, joining in with them to cries of, ‘Again! Again!’ It seemed that she’d get tired of it long before they would.
A little later, when Declan approached his mum and she lifted her head to him and smiled, Kara clicked and caught a picture of them that, when she looked in the viewer, made her heart ache. From this angle, even though her face was in full view, the only thing that shone out was the deep love between the two of them. If only Mary could understand that everyone saw past her scars, and that the only person she was hiding from, really, was herself.
Suddenly Niamh grabbed the camera and Kara realised she was in the spotlight once again. ‘Wait. Let’s get one of the happy couple. Quick, Dec, get your arm around that lovely girl’s shoulder. That’s right. Great. Now smile.’
Happy couple. The idea thrilled inside Kara...and frightened her to death. Every instinct in her fought against being another half of something—something that might subsume her, something that would spiral out of control. And yet...
‘Come here, then.’
Declan wrapped his arm round her and looked down into her eyes. And she could feel herself falling and falling into his gaze and his smile and his heat. She tried to smile too, but the whirl of emotions running through her stretched her too far. She wanted him. Wanted this. Wanted to have the dream, have everything.
But the harsh reality of it was that she’d fallen so hard for someone before...the wrong someone. And her dream had shattered into a million pieces along with her life. She couldn’t do that again. Didn’t know if she had the strength to pick herself up at the end.
Because how the hell did you ever know who the right someone was?
* * *
The walk back to the cottage was filled with things unsaid. The memory of his hand on her thigh lingered, turning from an ache to a need. He was close now—so close she could smell him again, that rich, earthy scent that was just him, mixed with a decent slug of red wine and white chocolate. Irresistible.
And maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the fresh Irish air, but her guard and her sense seemed to leech from her with every step closer to the cottage.
As they reached her bedroom door he looked down at her with eyes that held a zillion promises. ‘You have everything you need?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’ Except you.
It was a pure physical ache. She wanted to pull him inside and drag him onto the bed again. But instead she demurely waited for him to invite himself in—it was his house after all. And she didn’t know the rules. What would it cost her to be able to give a little of herself for two nights with him? She didn’t want to think.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’
His head was close to hers now, his hand against the door. But he didn’t come in and close it as he had before. ‘You certainly bowled them over.’
‘Oh, you know...I have a gift.’
‘So do I.’
He ran a finger down her cheek, making her insides melt. Hot and needy. How could one touch make her ache with so much want?
‘Oh...’ She spoke through a dry throat, her hand on his chest feeling the sharp erratic rise and fall of his breath. ‘And what would that be?’
‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘Spoilsport.’
He came into the room and closed the door. She inhaled sharply. Declan. The bed. Night. Reality hit her like a tornado. ‘Are you...staying in here tonight?’
‘You know, you ask way too many questions.’
His mouth was on her neck, sending ripples of need through her.
‘Do you want me to?’
Yes. No. She didn’t know. She was scared. Scared about what would happen if she gave herself to him. Scared about what would happen if she didn’t.
‘Oh, God, that feels so good.’
‘You’re very tense. Here, relax.’ He sat her on the bed, knelt behind her and massaged her shoulders. Smoothly, slowly, rhythmically. Until she rocked under his hands, drifting from pleasure to some kind of daydream until she didn’t know which was which.
His breath was on her neck. Heating her. ‘I’m sorry, I know we can be a bit overwhelming. But the hard bit’s over now—they’ve met you and you’ve survived.’
‘It’s not them. It’s...this. I don’t know what we’re doing.’ She went for her trademark forthright and hoped she didn’t sound needy. She’d spent way too much time in her marriage trying to fathom out what was going on and never quite being able to work it out. From then on she’d determined never to be left in some kind of relationship darkness. ‘Declan, why am I here?’
‘Because you are very...very...lovely.’ His mouth was on that soft spot of her shoulder that made her curl into him, and it would have been so easy to let him carry on. So, so easy.
She pulled away. ‘No, really. That wasn’t what I was asking. I don’t want you to give me compliments. I want some truths. Really, why am I here?’
* * *
Declan’s hands dropped to his sides. His eyes closed for a beat. Two. Good question. God knew why she was here, save for the fact he’d wanted something else to think about during the birthday weekend.
He could hear the thud-thud of his heart echoing in his ears. He searched for words. Found himself wanting.
But she deserved some kind of explanation. ‘All my life I’ve worked to give them the things they want, that they deserve. The things my father didn’t. Everything I did was to provide security and a future. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. But being back here always feels so...tying. So claustrophobic. I can’t breathe.’
It wasn’t just the people, but the memories. Dark emotions filled his chest.
‘Sometimes London isn’t far away enough...but I thought if I brought you along we could have some fun. Lighten things up a bit. I really do want to show you the place.’
And put some sort of distance between himself and his family.
Her eyes widened and he wanted to jump deep into them and never resurface.
‘They’re a handful, all right. But isn’t that what families are like? Especially big ones like yours. Your mum deserves a medal to have had you all.’
‘She deserves more than that. The things she went through...’ It made his heart hurt and reinforced his determination never to get close to anyone.
So why he was sitting here, sharing this with Kara, he couldn’t fathom. Part of him wanted to tell her everything. The other half wanted to run a mile—away from this proximity, from this feeling that somehow she might fit. Seeing his mother so betrayed by love had made him try to harden his heart. Hell, he hadn’t had to try too hard. Watching his father walk away, refusing to turn to his wife’s pleas and his son’s desperate words, had cemented a block of ice in his chest.
He couldn’t let it melt now. Talking to her, sharing things like this with her, would open him up to the risk of being hurt again.
‘So tell me, Declan. What happened?’
Nonsensically, and the opposite of what he should have done, he silenced her with a kiss. The feel of her mouth underneath his sent spasms of need zipping through him. He wanted to erase the past, to create a new present that was just Kara and him. Wanted to fill his senses with her. She tasted sweet, like the cheesecake, hot as fire and soft. So soft beneath him. She smelt of freedom and heat and home and a foreign land he wanted to explore.
He pulled her close. When she opened her mouth he thought she was going to ask more questions. Whatever else happened, he was all out of talking. ‘No. Not now, Kara.’
‘Yes. Now.’ Her hands were on his chest, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt. And he realised, with a surge of heat in his gut, that s
he was not talking about the same thing he was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALMOST REVERENTLY HE peeled Kara’s clothes off. When she tried to unzip his jeans he stopped her hand. ‘No. You first.’
And this time there was no embarrassment, no chill, as his hands stroked her from shoulder to waist or when he stood apart from her and looked. Just looked, with such pure intensity that she believed his words. The lump returned to her throat.
‘My God, Kara, you are so beautiful. So, so beautiful.’
Then he was holding her close again, lips clamped to hers, and she feverishly tasted him, savoured him. She moaned when he dragged his mouth away. Moaned more when he pressed it against her neck. Her chest. Her nipple.
Silently he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Whatever doubts she’d had until this moment were forgotten. She would have him. Because she couldn’t not. This moment was meant to happen and she had no strength or desire to fight it. Her thoughts were muddled, but so clear. Bad idea. Good idea. All she knew was that she had to have him.
Her hands moved to his chest, ripping each button apart until she was feeling skin. Hot muscle under her fingers. She leant him back on the duvet and straddled him, relishing the hardness beneath her. Knowing that every single ache in her body was mirrored in his. Mirrored too in eyes that had lost their soulfulness, that were not teasing or playful but intense and dark and urgent.
‘Kara, we don’t have to—’
‘Yes, we do.’ She leant forward and kissed him again, arching against the hands now circling her bottom. Slowly, slowly his fingers trailed up and across her abdomen, making her catch her breath in short staggered gasps. Then his thumbs brushed her nipples, followed by his mouth. Hot and greedy, he licked as each bud hardened under his touch.
His jaw was stubbled and it burnt across her chest, and she enjoyed the raw feel of him, stoking a fierce need. Not listening any more to his resistance, she unzipped his jeans, shucked them to the floor and took him in her hand.
‘Wait. Kara, wait.’
‘I need you.’
She heard the words, heeded the emotion. Didn’t care. Didn’t care that she had opened herself to him in every way—to hurt, to pain. Because that would be some time in the future and this was now. He was now. And she didn’t want to think about the past or some time not yet happened. She wanted to live this moment.
‘God, Declan. I need you so much.’
Furious and fast, he sheathed, and then she was lowering herself onto him. His body was slick and hard. And she was ready for him. Had been ready for so long. As he entered her she gasped. Heat engulfed her, filled her.
Turning her onto her back, he murmured her name, thrusting deep and slow. Too slow. Too fast. Her mind was a chaotic whirl. Her body was responding to his scent, his touch. This was perfect. He was perfect.
And then he was harder, faster, and more perfect than she could even imagine, and she felt herself falling again. Falling deeper and deeper, and flying higher. Soaring. Until she was...he was...they were lost. Lost somewhere on the edge of forever. Somewhere deep in the core of her heart.
* * *
‘Now, here’s the gift I was telling you about last night.’ Declan brought out the large parcel he’d hidden in the bottom of his luggage and handed it to Kara in the farmyard.
The breeze had dropped and the early morning sun glinted off her hair, highlighting the gold. As she pulled her silver-grey cardigan around her and stamped her skinny-jean-wrapped legs he didn’t think he’d seen anything so breathtaking.
And yet...
Her eyebrows rose. And was that a flicker of uncertainty behind those eyes?
Definitely. The smile she gave him was hesitant. She fiddled again with the hem of her cardigan, as she’d done the evening they’d arrived. Forthright Kara seemed to have developed a little more vulnerability, and she wore it in the dusky smudges beneath her eyes.
This was new ground. Complicated and unsteady. And if she felt anything like he did, then, man, they were in trouble. Because he didn’t know the next step.
Friends? Lovers now? What? He’d never wanted any woman so deeply, or taken anyone with such need and intensity. Or wanted to stay and leave at the same time. No, he’d never wanted to stay before, and that was what spooked him the most. But he’d brought her here and he had to give her a good time for what was left of the weekend.
‘Well, thank you, Declan. You mean you really do have a gift? I thought you were referring to...those other things.’
‘Well, I know you have a passion for these kind of things, and I imagine you haven’t got anything quite like them. But, believe me, you’re going to need them.’
Confusion ran behind those green eyes as she ripped open the box and then tipped back her head and laughed. ‘Gumboots? Leprechaun gumboots?’ She held them up and turned them around and around as she took in the little grinning green men on the boots. ‘Will I go all diddly-diddly now?’
‘God forbid. The world is not ready for that. Please, stay a diddly-free zone.’ He helped her take off her very unsuitable black patent pumps and steadied her as she slid her legs into her new rubber boots. ‘Wellies. Topboots. Waterboots. Not a gum in sight.’
‘I love them. But for...?’
She gave him a twirl, kicked up one foot then the other. Pretty damned hot. And since when had he ever thought a woman in wellies could be hot?
‘Milking. You don’t get to come on a farm weekend for free, you know. There’s something needed in return.’
Dark eyes blinked. ‘You mean last night wasn’t enough?’
‘Last night was...more than enough.’
It had left something indelibly etched on his heart. Something he couldn’t shake. Something he wanted to shake—because if he didn’t he wasn’t sure how he’d get out whole.
Without encouraging any more conversation along that line, he led her into a shed and climbed onto a dirt-splattered motorbike. The only way he knew how to clear his head. Then he pointed to the back, small as it was. ‘Your chariot, my lady. I’ll give you a backie down the field. We herd them up, bring them to the milking shed, then take them down again. Then we come back and hose the shed out.’
She looked at the bike, a little disappointed. ‘This is nothing like the one in London. That is big and black and shiny and there’s room for two. This is...shabby.’
‘It is a bit grubby, I guess. But it’s a nippy little fella. Come on—hold on tight.’
‘There’s no space.’
‘Squeeze on. You’ll be fine.’ He pushed himself as far forward as he dared, and she slid right where he liked her best: hugging tight against his body, her legs wrapped round him, this time with no helmets, her hair flowing free in the wind.
With a roar he took her over the rough terrain, through divets and dips to the highest point of the hill and the deepest part of the valley. Fast. And he heard her squeal and screech, and he felt her arms tighten around his waist as the early morning chill bit into his cheeks.
When they reached the bottom of the hill she climbed off and dragged in a breath, pushing that silky blonde hair behind her ears. ‘My God, that was wild.’
‘You can drive on the way back if you like.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
‘It’s okay. I’ll show you. It’s not difficult.’ Focus on something else. Anything to exorcise the confusion swirling in his gut right now. He took hold of the handlebar. ‘Hop back on.’
Her eyes were sharp as she watched him. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I think I might be better as a passenger.’
‘I taught the girls before—you’ll be fine. Give it a go.’ He twisted the key and started the bike up. ‘This side is the clutch and gears. The right side is brake and accelerator.’
He showed her
a couple of times, until she got the hang of moving forward in first gear and quickly changing up to second.
‘Go.’
Off she flew with a scream, stuttering and bunny-hopping, legs flapping out at the sides, then came to a juddering halt. ‘Help!’
‘Squeeze gently and slowly—there. See? You’re getting the hang of it.’
He watched the flurry of hair, the cosmopolitan dressed form buzzing round the field—his life in London and his life in Ireland suddenly melding into one.
His heart jerked.
She had derailed him. Totally. His body knew how to react, but his brain was definitely, seriously spooked.
When she came back over the hill and drew to a halt her back wheel skidded in an arc. Mud churned like his thoughts, spraying him in dirt. ‘Hey! Watch it.’
‘Oops. Sorry!’
Not sorry at all, she clambered off, her hand over her laughing mouth, head tipped back. He watched the gentle curve of her neck, the movement of her delicate throat as she spoke.
‘Told you I’d be rubbish.’
‘No, you didn’t. And you’re not. You’re a natural... Well, with a little practice.’
For a second their eyes caught, lost in the fun, lost in the moment. The urge to kiss her again was almost unbearable. He wanted to taste her, touch her. To put his mouth on those places he’d explored last night. To wake up with her again. But this time he wanted that waking to be joy-filled, not loaded with confusion.
As her laughter died on her lips questions formed in her eyes. Questions he couldn’t answer. Questions he didn’t want to be asked. And he knew that when they got back to real life nothing would be the same again.
‘Okay.’ He found his voice. ‘So, let’s get on with the milking. Everyone’ll be waiting for us back at the house.’
Pushing all other thoughts aside, he instructed her in the best way to deal with the cows up close, but he was trying to keep a distance. Trying to keep a goddamned distance between friendship and something beyond intense.
200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick Page 13