by Nora Roberts
The cot was hard and narrow, but might have been a bed of rose petals as they lay on it. The air was chill, still damp from the storm, but she felt only warmth when his body covered hers.
Here. At last.
He knew his hands were big, the palms rough and calloused from his work, and very often careless. He would not be careless with her, would not rush through the moment they offered each other. So he touched her, gently, giving himself the pleasure of the body he'd sketched. Long limbs, long bones, and soft white skin. Her sigh was like music, the song his name.
She tugged off his sweater, sighing again when flesh met flesh, and again murmuring his name against the pulse of his own throat. With only that, she gave him the sweetness he'd denied himself. Whatever he had of that simple gift inside him, he offered back.
Under him she lifted and moved as if they'd danced this dance together for a lifetime. Flowed with and against him, now fluid, now strong. And the quickening pulse that rose in her was like his own.
Her scent was soap, her taste fresh as rain.
He watched her glide up, the faerie again, soaring on one long spread of wings. As she crested, her eyes opened, met his. And she smiled.
No one had brought her so much, or shown her how much she had to offer. Her body quivered from the thrill of it, and in her heart was the boundless joy of finding home.
She arched up, opened so he would fill her. As he slid inside her, the beauty dazzled, and the power hummed.
While they took each other, neither noticed the star carved in silver, glowing blue as flame.
She lay over him now, snug under his arm with her cheek upon his chest. It was lovely to hear how his heart still pounded. A kind of rage, she thought, though he'd been the most tender of lovers.
No one could have shown her that kind of caring if there wasn't caring inside.
And that, she thought, closing her eyes, was enough.
"You're cold," he murmured.
"Am not." She snuggled against him and would have frozen to the bone before she let him move. But she lifted her head so she could grin at him.
"Allena Kennedy." His fingers trailed lightly down the back of her neck. "You look smug."
"I feel smug. Do you mind?"
"I would be a foolish man to mind."
She bent down to kiss his chin, a sweet and casual gesture that moved him.
"And Conal O'Neil is not a foolish man. Or is he?" She angled her head. "If we can't go beyond a certain point and walk to the village, wouldn't it follow that no one from the village can come here?"
"I suppose it would."
"Then let's do something foolish. Let's go swim naked in the sea."
"You want to swim naked in the sea?"
"I've always wanted to. I just realized it this minute." She rolled off the cot and tugged at his hand. "Come be foolish with me,
Conal."
"Leannan, the first wave'll flatten you."
"Will not." Leannan. She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded tender, and made her want to dance. She raked both hands through her hair, then the light of challenge lighted her eyes. "Race you."
She darted off like a rabbit and had him scrambling up. "Wait. Damn it, the seas are too rough for you."
Bird bones, he thought, snatching up the blanket on his way. She would crack half a dozen of them in minutes.
No, she didn't run like a rabbit, he realized. She ran like a bloody gazelle, with long, loping strides that had her nearly at the foaming surf. He called out her name, rushing after her. His heart simply stopped when she raced into the water and dived under its towering wall.
"Sweet Jesus."
He'd gotten no farther than the beach when she surfaced, laughing. "Oh, it's cold!" She struggled to the shallows, slicking her hair back, lifted her face, her arms. For the second time his heart stopped, but now it had nothing to do with alarm.
"You're a vision, Allena."
"No one's ever said that to me before." She held out a hand.
"No one's ever looked at me the way you do. Ride the sea with me."
It had been, he decided, much too long since he'd been foolish. "Hold on, then."
It tossed them up, a rush of power. It sucked them down into a blind, thundering world. The tumult of it was freedom, a cocky dare to fate. Wrapped around each other, they spun as the waves rolled over them.
Breathless, they surfaced, only to plunge in again. Her scream wasn't one of fear, but a cry of victory as, latched around him, she was swept into the air again.
"You'll drown us both!" he shouted, but his eyes were lit with wicked humor.
"I won't. I can't. Nothing but wonders today. Once more." She locked her arms around his neck. "Let's go under just once more."
To her shrieking delight, he snatched her off her feet and dived into the cresting wave with her.
When they stumbled out, panting, their hands were linked.
"Your teeth are chattering."
"I know. I loved it." But she snuggled into the blanket he wrapped around them both. "I've never done anything like that. I guess you've done it dozens of times."
"Not with the likes of you."
It was, she thought, the perfect thing to say. She held the words to her for a moment even as she held him. Hard against her heart.
"What does leannan mean?"
"Hmm?" Her head was on his shoulder, her arms linked around his waist. Everything inside him was completely at peace.
"Leannan. You said that to me, I wondered what it means."
His hand paused in midstroke on her hair. "It's a casual term," he said carefully. "A bit of an endearment, is all. 'Sweetheart' would be the closest."
"I like it."
He closed his eyes. "Allena, you ask for too little."
And hope for everything, she thought. "You shouldn't worry, Conal. I'm not. Now, before we both turn blue out here, I'll make fresh tea, and you'll build up the fire." She kissed him. "Right after I pick up some of these shells."
She wiggled away, leaving him holding the blanket and shaking his head. Most of the shells that littered the beach had been broken by the waves, but that didn't appear to bother her. He left her to it and went into the studio to tug on his jeans.
She had a pile of shells when he came back, offering her his sweater and her pendant.
"I won't wear it if it bothers you."
"It's yours." Deliberately, as if challenging the fates, he slipped it around her neck. "Here, put this on before you freeze."
She bundled into it, then crouched to put the shells into the blanket.
"I love you, Conal, whether I'm wearing it or not. And since loving you makes me happy, it shouldn't worry you."
She rose. "Don't spoil it," she murmured. "Let's just take today, then see about tomorrow."
"All right." He took her hand, brought it to his lips. "I'll give you a promise after all."
"I'll take it."
"Today will always be precious to me, and so will you."
Chapter 7
She dug out an ancient pair of Conal's jeans, found a hunk of frayed rope, and went to work with scissors. As a fashion statement the chopped jeans, rough belt, and baggy sweater said Island Shipwreck, but they did the job.
As he insisted on making the tea this time around, she busied herself hanging the wash. And dreaming.
It could be just this way, she thought. Long, wonderful days together. Conal would work in his studio, and she'd tend the house, the gardens and, oh, the children when they came along.
She would paint the shutters and the little back porch. She'd put an arbor in front, plant roses the only roses she would have so that they'd climb up and twine and ramble and it would be like walking through a fairy tale every time she went into the house.
And it would be her fairy tale, ever after.
They would need to add rooms, of course, for those children. A second floor, she imagined, with dormer windows.
Another bath, a bigger kitchen, but not
hing that would take away from the lovely cottage-by-the-sea feeling.
She'd make wonderful meals, keep the windows sparkling, sew curtains that would flutter in the breeze.
She stopped, pegging a sheet that flapped wetly. Her mother would be appalled. Household chores were something you hired other people to do because you had a career. You were a professional something.
Of course, it was all just fantasy, she told herself as she moved down the clothesline. She had to make a living somehow. But she'd worry about that later. For now, she was going to enjoy the moment, the thrilling rush of being in love, the jittery ache of waiting to be loved in return.
They would have today, and their tomorrow. Whatever happened after, she'd have no regrets.
With the last of the laundry hung, she stepped back, lifted the basket to rest it on her hip. She saw Hugh prancing down the hill.
"Well, so you decided to come home. What have you got there?" Her eyes widened as she recognized the brown bulk he carried in his mouth. "My bag!"