THE LAST REILLY STANDING

by Maureen Child

  He'd never experienced anything like this. Never known need that couldn't be satisfied, desire that couldn't be quenched. Even now, still buried inside her, his body stirred, eager for another bout. Another surging race through madness to completion.

  "That was—" Terry's head dropped to his shoulder "—amazing."

  He smiled into her wet hair, kissed her head and murmured, "And I don't do my best work standing up."

  "Could've fooled me." She lifted her head to look at him. Their gazes locked and he watched as new hunger lit up in her eyes, chasing away the shadows that had first intrigued him.

  She moved on him, lifting her hips slightly, only to lower herself again and his body reacted in a heartbeat.

  "Again?" she whispered, nibbling at his neck, tonguing his skin, leaving a damp, warm trail against already fevered flesh.

  "And again and again," Aidan promised, already moving toward the bed.

  One part of his tortured brain heard the howl and cry of the wind, the hammering of the rain. But he paid no attention.

  They were warm.

  They were safe.

  They were stranded.

  Here.

  Together.

  That was enough.

  He pulled free of her body long enough to lay her down on the crisp white sheets that smelled of lavender. He'd only uncoupled from her so that he could feel the rush of entering her again. Otherwise, he would have been happy to stay locked within her depths for the rest of eternity.

  She moved on the bed, scooting back, sliding her feet on the sheets until her knees lifted and her thighs parted. He looked his fill of her and knew it would never be enough. Reaching out, he touched her center, smoothing his fingertips over swollen, damp flesh, and watched her eyes—those incredible grass-green eyes—glaze over in a mindless daze.

  "Aidan … I want you again. Now."

  His heart quickened, drumming so loudly in his chest as to be deafening. Every nerve ending in his body sizzled in eager enthusiasm. But this time, he was in no rush. This time, he wanted to draw the experience out—for both of them.

  He slipped first one finger and then two inside her, playing with her, stroking her, exploring her. And he watched her move against him, lifting her hips, rocking into his hand while her own hands fisted on the sheet beneath her. Her head tossed from side to side. She licked dry lips and whispered broken, halfhearted pleas as he continued to stroke her body into a firestorm of need.

  And with every stroke of his fingers, his own body tightened until he felt rock-hard and aching for want of her. Seconds ticked past, and Aidan realized he wouldn't be able to draw this time out much longer than he had the first. Not when need crouched in his chest and hammered at him to bury himself inside her. Not when hunger roared through him and danced on each of her sighs.

  Levering himself over her, he slid his hands up, up, her body, over her curves, defining every line of her with fingertips careful as he would be while caressing fragile shards of crystal.

  Her back bowed as she arched into him and he dipped his head to taste her. He took first one pebbled nipple and then the other into his mouth, rolling his tongue across them, nibbling with the edges of his teeth. She lifted small hands and cupped the back of his head, holding him to her as he gently tormented her.

  "Feels so good," she whispered in a harshly strained voice.

  "Tastes even better," he assured her, smiling against her body as he suckled her, pulling on her flesh, trying to draw her essence inside him.

  "Aidan!"

  His name in a quiet cry of nerves, stretched tight, shuddered through him and he moved to cover her. To push himself home, deep within her. He knelt between her legs and as she parted her thighs in welcome and held her arms wide to draw him in, he slid into her heat again.

  Diving deep, he drove himself home with a hunger that grabbed him by the throat and wouldn't let go. He rocked wildly, furiously, in and out of her body, loving the slow slide to heaven enough to put up with having to leave her with every stroke.

  She moved with him, instinctively following his rhythm, then setting one of her own. Hands fisted, breaths mingled, sighs twisted in the still, jewel-colored air. She took him, all of him, and held him deeply.

  He looked into her eyes and felt himself falling into their depths and knew he didn't want to save himself. Everything he wanted, needed, was right here. In this bed in the middle of a storm that was tearing at the city.

  But he wanted to see her, too, so he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, astride him.

  She straddled him in the soft light and smiled down at him as she continued the rhythm he'd set, moving, rocking her hips, swiveling her body against his.

  She rode him with a quiet power and a tender fury. Flesh slapped against flesh. Heat burrowed into heat. He lifted his hands, covered her breasts with his palms and sucked in a frantic gulp of air when she covered his hands with her own.

  Terry looked down at him and felt herself drowning in eyes the color of a stormy sea. She felt the build in her body, knew a climax was shuddering close and felt the rush of expectation tingle through her.

  He pulled his hands out from under hers and let them slide down her body, fingertips dancing fluidly over her skin until she could have sworn she felt him touching her on the inside.

  She kept her hands on her own breasts, squeezing, tweaking her nipples, tugging at them, while he watched her and his eyes went gray and cloudy. A fierce smile curved her mouth as she rocked her hips against him, taking him in as deeply as she could.

  Then he dropped one hand to the spot where their bodies joined and touched the very core of her. That one supersensitive nubbin of flesh. He stroked her, once, twice—and her body exploded into a showery storm of brightly colored lights. Her head fell back as she screamed his name into the fury of the storm.

  Then he flipped her onto her back and before the last trembling shiver coursed through her body, he'd claimed his own release, whispering her name just before collapsing on top of her.

  * * *

  What could have been minutes—or hours—later, Aidan turned his head on the pillow and looked at the woman lying beside him. In the dim light, she looked like something mystical. Something not quite of this world.

  Even as he thought it, he smiled to himself, silently acknowledging that the Irish in him was coming out. With her fair hair and pale, smooth skin, she looked as though she'd been carved from alabaster by a talented, generous sculptor.

  But she was real—as he was here to testify.

  She turned her head on the pillow and her gaze met his. She smiled. "Well, I guess you've really lost that bet now."

  He winced, but couldn't bring himself to mind very much. "Guess you could say that. Man, my brothers will never let me hear the end of this."

  She rolled to her side and went up on one elbow to look at him. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you throw away the bet when you were so close to winning?"

  He thought about that for a moment. Didn't have to spend much time thinking about it now, as he'd done plenty of thinking about it earlier today. In fact, all of today, when he'd been away from her. When he'd had just a small taste of her and was still—as he was now—eager for another. Rolling to his right side, he, too, propped himself up on one elbow and watched her as he reached out to stroke a single fingertip across the tops of her breasts.

  She hissed in a breath and sighed it out.

  "Because," he said, still shaken by the knowledge, "I wanted you more than I wanted to win.'"

  "I think that's a compliment."

  "Damn straight," he said. "Believe me."

  She caught his hand in hers and folded their fingers together. "Why did you want to win that silly bet so badly anyway?"

  "To be the best," he answered, without hesitation. "To be the last Reilly standing."

  "And now?"

  He grinned. "Well, now … Liam will get the ten thousand bucks and he can start getting that new roof for the church." He paused a
nd listened to the still screaming wind and the battering fists of rain. "And judging by this storm, he's going to need a new one. Soon."

  "That's good, isn't it?"

  "Sure it's good. Hell, I was going to give him the money anyway," he admitted, and realized that she was the only person he'd confessed that small truth to. And he wondered why it was he felt comfortable talking to Terry about his life—his family—everything that was important to him. Then he pushed that question to the back of his mind to be examined later. Much later. "I just wanted to win."

  "Important, is it?"

  "In my family? Yeah."

  "But you gave it up." She rubbed the edge of her thumbnail against his palm and it was his turn to hiss in a breath.

  "And I would again," he assured her.

  "For an afternoon like this one," she said, "so would I."

  "Glad to hear it."

  She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that set up a reaction that swept through him, carrying new heat, new need.

  "Please," she said. "I'm sure you know just what a good time I had today."

  "Day's not over."

  "Glad to hear that," she said and inched a little closer to him. Tipping her head back, she confessed, "Today has been … special, I guess is the right word. I haven't been with anyone in a long time."

  He'd guessed that, but he was damn happy to hear it said aloud. He didn't want to think about Terry with anyone else. Also didn't want to think that in a couple of weeks she'd be gone from his life.

  So he smiled. "Well, it's been awhile for me, too."

  "Poor baby."

  "Sarcasm from a naked woman. I like it."

  He shifted position, rolling her onto her back and dipping his head to kiss her middle. His tongue dipped in and out of her belly button and slid lower.

  She combed her fingers through his short hair, her long nails gently scraping against his skull.

  "The reason I told you that it had been a long time for me was that I wanted you to know that I'm not usually this kind of woman."

  "What kind is that?"

  "You know," she said, sighing as his breath dusted her skin and his tongue swept warm, damp caresses across her abdomen. "The fling type. I'm … more complicated than that." She paused. "Although, after today, you might not believe it."

  He laughed against her flat belly. "Babe, believe me, I already knew you were complicated. But thanks for the warning."

  Thunder crackled overhead and the wind slammed against the board covered windows. Terry jerked beneath Aidan and he used his hands and mouth to soothe her.

  After a minute or two, she started talking again. "There've only been three men in my life. One I loved … one I thought I loved, which is pretty much the same thing." She paused. "And then there's you."

  He stilled, even his heartbeat went soft and quiet. Outside, the storm blasted at the windows and doors, searching for a way in. But here in this room, another storm raged. This one in Aidan's heart. Love? Who'd said anything about love?

  She laughed. "Don't look so panicked, Aidan. I wasn't proposing."

  He gave her a smile he didn't feel.

  "I'm just saying," she continued, pushing pillows beneath her head so she could see him clearly, "That this … means something to me."

  He lifted his head to meet her gaze. And in all honesty, he could say, "It means something to me, too. I don't know what, Terry. Can't tell you that. But it means something."

  "Thanks."

  "For what?"

  "For not trying to lie your way out of a tricky situation. For not pretending to be the love of my life. For respecting me enough to give me the truth."

  "I'll always give you that, babe."

  She smiled. "You know, it's interesting. I'm starting to like hearing you call me that."

  "Happy to oblige." He kissed her belly again and moved a little lower.

  She sighed. "I'm not looking for love anyway, Aidan. Not again."

  That caught his attention. The sorrow, the pain in her voice and he knew that if he looked into her eyes, he'd see those shadows again. The ones that had haunted him from the moment they met.

  And he couldn't help himself. He looked.

  Saw the pain and ached for her. "Who was he?"

  She sighed again and this simple release of pent-up breath rattled him right down to his soul. "His name was Eric."

  Aidan hated him already. No doubt tall, muscle-bound and too stupid to know what he'd had when he'd had it. "What happened to him?"

  She closed her eyes. "He died."

  Damn. Empathy welled up inside him. "God, Terry. I'm sorry."

  "It was a long time ago."

  "How long?" he wondered, because the shadows in her eyes looked fresh enough to have been born the day before. The pain was obviously still sharp.

  She glanced at him and ran her fingertips along the side of his face. "Twelve years."

  He blinked. She couldn't be more than thirty now. "You were a kid."

  "Not for long." She moved beneath him, arching her body up to his as if to remind him that he'd been kissing her a minute or two ago and she wouldn't mind having him start back up. "I don't want to talk about it now, okay?"

  "Sure. Okay," he said, mind spinning, even while his body urged him back to the business at hand.

  He dipped his head again, trailing his lips and tongue across her belly, lower, lower, until just above the triangle of soft blond curls, he noticed the thin sliver of an old scar.

  He ran his finger across the faint, silvery line and kept his voice even, as he asked a question he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to. "What's this?"

  She closed her eyes, let her hand fall from his head and said, "I had an operation."

  "Yeah I get that. What kind?"

  She blew out a breath. "Caesarean section."

  "You had a baby."

  "Yes."

  "When you were a kid."

  "Yes."

  "Eric," he said, feeling his heart sink for her.

  "Yes. Eric. My son." Terry's eyes filled with tears and she blinked frantically, trying to keep them at bay. Stupid. She shouldn't have started talking. Opening up a conversation that would inevitably lead them down this path.

  "What happened?" Aidan asked and a part of her was surprised that she could hear his soft, low-pitched voice at all, over the freight train of sound just outside the house.

  Staring up at the ceiling, she concentrated on the colored shadows tossed from the stained-glass lamp. "Why do you want to know?"

  He slid back up the length of her body, flesh brushing against flesh, hard to soft, warmth to warmth and she was so damned grateful for that connection, her eyes filled again. It had been a long time since she'd felt connected to anyone. And that she would find such a feeling in the middle of a hurricane with a virtual stranger, was like a gift.

  When his face was directly over hers, his mouth just a kiss away from hers, he looked into her eyes and said, "Because I see shadows in your pretty eyes, Terry." He kissed her. "Have from the first time I saw you. And I want to know what caused them." He dropped another brief, gentle kiss on her lips.

  Nodding, she stared up into his deep blue eyes and fell into memory. Fell into the past that she kept too close and yet at a distance.

  Running one hand idly up and down his rib cage, she spoke softly, quietly, words tumbling from her in a rush, as if they'd been banked up inside her for too long. "My family's rich. Really rich."

  "Okay…"

  "My older brother was the heir apparent. I was the princess. The debutante, the good girl who did everything right."

  He kissed her again as encouragement.

  "Until I was seventeen. I fell in love. With the son of my father's friend."

  "You got pregnant."

  "I did." And she clearly remembered the panic. The fear. The excitement and terror of knowing that she carried a child. Mistakes like unplanned pregnancies just didn't happen in the Evans family. There, everything was planned,
thought out, arranged. Babies were neither expected nor wanted.

  "The baby's father was scared."

  "And you weren't?"

  She smiled and patted his back in thanks for his solidarity. "Terrified," she assured him. "When I told my parents, they hit the eighteen-foot ceilings. They told me that I was a disappointment, but that they would take care of this 'episode' for me so no one would know."

  Amazing, but her heart could still ache over that long-ago night. Scared, she'd faced her parents, knowing they'd be upset, but secretly hoping for support. Understanding.

  She'd received neither.

  "They arranged for an abortion. They couldn't have an unwed teenage mother in the family and they didn't want me to marry Randolph."

  He snorted. "Randolph. Weenie name."

  She laughed, surprising herself. "Randolph was a weenie. Didn't mean to be. But he'd been bred to it. And, he was young, too. Anyway…" She shook her head, jostling herself back on track. "I refused the abortion so they agreed to send me to Paris. To stay with my aunt until the baby was born. Then I would give him up for adoption."

  "But you couldn't."

  A single tear spilled from the corner of her eyes. "I couldn't. He was born and he came out and looked at me as if he knew me. He smiled. And he was mine."

  Aidan kissed her again and swiped that tear from her cheek with his thumb.

  "I told my parents that I was keeping him. They told me I couldn't come home. So I stayed. In Paris with my aunt for a while, then I used my inheritance from my grandmother. Got an apartment and loved my son."

  They were heady days. Filled with love and laughter and a sprinkle of fear for the future. But she wouldn't have traded a moment with Eric. Not one second. He was love. More love than she'd ever known before. She hadn't realized that she could feel so deeply, so profoundly.

  Eric was a tiny, helpless package of love who touched her in ways she had never known existed before him. He was her world. Until…

  "Terry?" His voice came, a murmur of sympathy and comfort, whispered close by her ear. "What happened?"

  She closed her eyes, steeling herself against the memory, but closing her eyes only made the pictures stronger, sharper. "He was five months old. One morning, he didn't wake me up. I slept until nine and woke up thinking, Great. He's finally sleeping through the night. Won't this make life easier?" She bit down hard on her bottom lip, looked him in the eyes again and said, "I went in and said 'Good morning, sleepy boy' and I touched him." She was back in that sun-washed apartment. She could feel the soft breeze slipping in through the partially opened window in Eric's nursery. She heard the gentle tinkle of the wind chimes she'd hung on the terrace. She saw her baby. "He didn't move. Didn't stir."