by Ann Jacobs
He didn't speak for a moment. Then, "I was married once," he said softly. "And yes, I was in love."
"What happened?" A horrible thought occurred to her. "Oh, God. You're not still…"
"No." Even though he was still holding her, he felt like he had moved away. "She's dead," he said finally.
Laura caught her breath. "I'm sorry."
He gathered her closer to him, and now she knew he'd come back to her from whatever hell he'd retreated to. "It was a long time ago, love."
They were silent for a long time, just holding each other. Laura felt an emotion well up inside her, a tenderness so exquisite that she felt on the brink of tears. And then, before she realized what was happening, she was saying what she'd only been thinking.
"I'm in love with you, Declan," she whispered. "I've never been in love before." He didn't speak immediately, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. Oh, God, why had she said that? But now, it was too late.
She drew away from him and sat up in bed. The gloomy gray light of a rainy afternoon revealed her nudity. She didn't try to cover herself. She was naked, physically and emotionally, and she didn't care. "Declan, the things we've done. In the prison. Tonight. I've never been like that with anyone before. I couldn't be like that with just any man. I'm not asking you to tell me you love me. I don't expect that. But I just want you to know that…that I'm not just a horny novelist looking for a thrill. You mean more to me than that."
He gazed up at her from his lounging position on the bed, looking so sexy and delicious that it made her dizzy to look at him too long. His face was solemn, his eyes very blue. He reached out a hand and slid it slowly up her arm in a silky caress. She trembled at his touch, and the fires inside her began to smolder again.
"Thank you for telling me that," he whispered. "Come here."
And he gently nudged her back down on the bed. In one smooth motion, he rolled over, pinning her down. His skin, from belly to ankles, melded against hers. His penis, pressing against her flat belly, began to swell. He gazed into her eyes, then slowly, his mouth settled on hers, his tongue stealing inside, stroking, retreating, commanding. She gasped into his kiss, and lunged against him, aching to feel him inside her once again. Still kissing her, he nudged her legs apart with his knee, and then, in a hot blaze of sensuality, his cock plunged inside her to the hilt. Then motionless, anchored inside her, he imprisoned her head in his hands, his eyes locked with hers.
"Stay with me, Laura girl," he whispered. "Let's take a ride to the moon."
She nodded, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes gazed into hers as he rocked into her slowly and sensuously, bringing her higher and higher with each stroke.
Drawing out almost all the way, Declan paused. He stared down at her, and his hand slid between their warm bodies, moving down to her moist heat. He caressed her, watching her. She closed her eyes, her mouth parting in astonishment. So close…so close. She was at fever pitch.
He removed his hand and plunged into her. Sweet and slow. Tormenting, teasing. As his tempo quickened, she found herself moaning, urging him on.
"No…" he whispered, stopping in mid-thrust.
She squirmed, knowing he was right, but frustrated beyond belief. His hands tightened on her, holding her still. Finally, she regained control. Only then did he begin to move again, rocking against her, immediately igniting her blood. She knew she couldn't last much longer. It was too much. Twice more he thrust into her. She chewed on her lower lip, staring into his eyes.
"Please…" she whispered.
His eyes were turbulent. The restraint he'd shown so far had taken its toll on him, too. He needed no further insistence. He thrust deeply. Only his urgent mouth covering hers saved her from crying out. Laura's eyes widened, and she gasped as she reached her peak and cascaded into oblivion, shuddering with the earthquake that tremored inside her. As she trembled in his arms, Declan grew still, and with a soft groan, climaxed. After a long moment, he turned on his side, still imbedded inside her, weaving his hands through her hair, his eyes locked upon her startled gaze.
"Laura, you're a wee witch, you are," he whispered, as if astonished. "You take me places I've never been before."
Laura smiled, and still feeling his body cemented to hers, she drifted off to sleep. Only later, did she remember that he hadn't said a word about love.
* * * * *
The next morning as Laura returned from the market, she saw Mrs. O'Neill sweeping the walk outside their building. From the way her sharp bird-like eyes watched her approach, Laura knew the elderly woman was in the mood for a chat. She held back a sigh, thinking about how warm her bed had been that morning-with Declan to share it.
Mrs. O'Neill waited until Laura was only a few feet away before speaking. "The Garda were here just a wee bit ago, love. Asking for you, they were."
Laura's heart skipped a beat. The Garda-the Irish Police! She could feel herself pale.
"I told them you would not be long, but they pounded at your door all the same. I guess your cousin has gone off for the day, as well?"
"Did you…tell them about him?" Laura asked, her throat dry.
Mrs. O'Neill gave a wry smile. "No, love. I never volunteer anything to the Garda. Me own family has had a spot of trouble now and again, and the police have never been our friends. Anyway, the constable gave me this card. Asked me to have you call him."
Laura took the card and thanked her. "Well, I'll see what they want." She tried to walk calmly as she climbed the stoop and into the building. But once out of Mrs. O'Neill's sight, she ran up the stairwell and fumbled to insert the key into the lock of her flat. She burst into the room to see Declan sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. He looked up, his blue eyes piercing, and as usual, she felt her body heat rise a degree. But this was no time to think about the pleasures of last night.
"Mrs. O'Neill said the Garda were here," she said, her voice terse.
He nodded and took a sip of coffee. "I know. They came to the door."
"Declan! You have to get out of here."
"What did your neighbor say?" he asked calmly.
Laura passed the card to him. "They gave her this. Told me to call them."
"Then do it."
Laura stared at him. "But Declan, what will I say?"
He shrugged. "You're a writer. Make up the dialogue as you go along. The main thing is to be cooperative. Convince them that you are a dead end."
Laura's hands trembled as she made the call, but by the time Constable McGuinness came on the line, an icy calm had taken over. She would do anything to keep Declan with her. The constable began to politely question her. Why had she been visiting the prisoner in the months before his escape? Laura explained about the novel and her research. When had she discovered he'd escaped? She told him about her last visit to Portlaoise. Thank God Declan had had the wisdom to insist she make that final trip to County Laoise. There was one final question. Had she had any contact with the prisoner since his escape?
"No, I have not," Laura said firmly. A moment later, she hung up the phone and turned to Declan. "We have to get out of this place. I'll look for a new flat this afternoon."
Declan's face remained placid. "No," he said. "That is exactly what they will be watching for."
* * * * *
Summer arrived in Ireland with unusually warm weather and sunny skies. Laura's near-completed novel gathered dust in a corner of her desk. In the days after Declan's arrival, she'd tried to write, but each attempt had been a dismal failure. His proximity distracted her. Since that first morning of intense lovemaking, she hadn't turned on the computer at all. It was real life she was living now. How could fiction possibly compare?
For the first time in her life, Laura had fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love. Declan occupied her every waking thought, and at night, he was the center of her dreams. And in the hours in between, he taught her about carnal pleasure. Laura couldn't believe this was really happening to her. Was thi
s sexual creature he had awakened the real Laura Danville? Had she always been this person, but just hadn't known? Before, it was her characters that had lived exciting lives and made passionate love with carefree abandon. Now, she was living the life of a fictional character, and sometimes, she felt like pinching herself, wondering if maybe she'd dreamed Declan up-that this was all a product of her healthy imagination. That he wasn't real at all.
But then, he would do something that she knew she would never have imagined, like perching her onto the kitchen counter and thrusting into her, fully dressed, or taking her up against the bedroom wall because the bed was just too damn far away. Any time, anywhere. And no matter when, she was ready for him. Growing wet at a certain look in his eye. If this was a dream, then she never wanted to wake up.
When there appeared to be no sign of the Garda's watchful presence, they ventured out into Dublin's city-center, enjoying afternoon walks through St. Stephen's Green, sometimes strolling hand-in-hand down Grafton Street in the early mornings before it became crowded with tourists. Occasionally, they stopped for tea at Bewley's, hands clasped across the table, oblivious to the people around them. When she looked into Declan's blue eyes and he gave her his wry, secretive smile, she melted. And all she wanted to do was race back to the flat and undress him, then map out his naked body with her lips. But it wasn't just his passion in lovemaking that mesmerized her; it was his passion for his beliefs.
He would talk in a low fervent voice about his desire to see the Six Counties of Northern Ireland reunited with the south. Armed rebellion, he insisted, was the only way his dream would ever be realized. Laura heard his words, but reacted to his passion. Intellectually, she knew he advocated violence, but she found herself pushing that fact to the back of her mind. In his soft urgent voice, he told her that he, along with other volunteers, was fighting a war. His country, he said, was under occupation by a foreign force. Like Patrick Pearse and Robert Emmett before him, his goal was to see his country given back to his people.
Captivated by his fiery eloquence in the mornings and beguiled by his thorough love making in the afternoons and evenings, Laura passed each day in a lovely mist, refusing to think forward or back.
One night Declan took her to a Sinn Fein meeting near Parnell Square where Gerry Adams, the president, was speaking. At the door, Declan was met by smiling Irishmen, eager to shake his hand and welcome him back into their fold.
Laura found Adams a gifted speaker once she became used to his thick Belfast accent. In a soft-spoken voice, he condemned the censorship policy of the British against Sinn Fein and its members. He praised the memory of a member who'd been shot dead by Unionist sympathizers in the previous weeks of violence. To Laura, he didn't seem at all like the leader of an organization who advocated violence to achieve their aims.
Declan was in a buoyant mood on the way back to the flat, and so was Laura because she was looking forward to another session of lovemaking. "Isn't the man a treasure?" he was saying about Adams. "If only the people in the 26 Counties could see that. With a leader like Adams, Ireland could turn herself around." Almost as an after-thought as she slid the key into her door, he added, "Oh, love. Hope you don't mind, but I've invited a few of the lads over."
Her heart fell. So much for the long, sensuous night with him. But she knew she was being selfish. She couldn't keep Declan to herself forever, much as she wanted to.
"A few of the lads" turned out to be five of them. With Declan, they gathered around Laura's computer table, drinking whiskey and talking late into the night. Laura went to bed at midnight, but it was impossible to sleep. The low rumble of conversation and the occasional burst of drunken laughter kept her on edge. In the bedroom, she tossed and turned, her body aching for Declan, and her mind railing against the intruders.
With the entry of these unsavory characters into her flat had come a feeling of foreboding. They were so unlike Declan-more how she'd imagined members of an illegal organization to be. As she lay stiffly in bed, wishing Declan's guests would leave and wanting nothing more than to be enclosed in his arms, she made a promise to herself that this wouldn't happen again. If Declan wanted to see his IRA pals, he'd just have to do it elsewhere. Vowing to tell him exactly that the next morning, she finally fell into a restless sleep.
She waited until he'd poured his morning coffee and sat down at the small table opposite her before bringing it up. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to meet with your friends here," she said, trying to keep her voice conversational.
His cup paused in mid-air, his eyes narrowing on hers. His face was expressionless, as remote and bleak as a gray slab of rock in the Burren in Ireland's southwest. Laura suppressed a shiver. The man sitting across from her was no longer her tender lover, but the IRA man who'd smuggled several tons of weapons into the Republic.
"It's just that…" Laura stammered. "I don't think it's wise, that's all. The Garda may still be watching me. Besides…your friends make me nervous. They're not like you, Declan. They're hard, ruthless…"
His blue eyes had frozen over, become two glaring crystal blue icebergs, and a pinched white look had crept over his face. He carefully placed his coffee cup on the table and without a word, pushed back his chair and stood. Turning, he walked out of the kitchen into the bedroom. Laura stared after him, her heart giving a sickening lurch.
After a stunned moment, she stood and hurried after him. She found him gathering up his meager possessions.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her heart hammering.
He didn't look in her direction. "What does it look like? I'm leaving. If the lads are not welcome here, then neither am I."
Laura felt as if a large cold hand had clamped around her throat. "Declan…"
He turned and met her gaze. "Besides, I have imposed on you long enough." His blue eyes were somber. All trace of the ruthlessness of the moment before had disappeared. Instead, his face looked heart achingly vulnerable. "Thanks, Laura. I'll never forget you, girl."
A wave of dizziness swept over her as the realization hit her. He was serious about leaving! Panic curled in her stomach. She threw herself against him, clutching at his cotton shirt. "Declan, you can't go! I love you." Tears streamed down her face. "Please! You can have anyone you want over here. I only said that because I want you to myself. I love you so much I don't want to share you with anyone."
His hands clutched her upper arms. "Aye, girl. I know what you mean. I feel the same way about you. But I cannot let it get in the way of my mission. You understand that, do you not?"
She nodded, breathing in his heather scent, relieved to feel his arms holding her close. His finger nudged her chin upward and his mouth covered hers in a soul-stirring kiss. She slid her hand down his hard, muscular chest, and then down lower, pressing her palm intimately against his cock. Through the denim of his jeans, she felt it harden immediately. She stroked him, pressing her head against his chest. Beneath his sweater, she heard the rapid thud of his heart. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall in defeat. "Ah, Laura, girl. What are ya doin' to me? I cannot think when you touch me like this."
"Then don't…"Laura whispered, her mouth nuzzling the vee of his sweater where springy black hairs curled up from his chest. "Don't think. Just love me."
He moved then, like a poisonous snake lashing out to strike. He untied her robe, and in one abrupt movement, slid it off her shoulders. She stood naked in front of him, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. He grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around, pressing her against the wall. His mouth crushed down on hers, his tongue plunging and seeking. She felt his hand fumble at his zipper, and a moment later, his erect cock pressed against her stomach. His hands encircled her buttocks and hoisted her up. Her legs curled around his haunches.
"Yes," she cried out, her eyes closed in exultation. "Yes, Declan!"
He plunged into her, and it was like a hot, hard blade cleaving into her, burning her, imprinting himself upon her. He s
troked her ruthlessly, and she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as tears streamed down her face. His own rhythmic moans mingled with hers, until finally, they exploded simultaneously, and dropped, satiated to the carpeted floor, arms and legs entwined. They held each other, and Laura felt his own tears on his face, and gently, she licked them away. She held him, rocking him as if he were a young boy.
"Don't leave me, Declan," Laura said breathlessly. "Don't ever leave me. I don't know what I'd do…"
He didn't answer, but just held her tighter, his face buried in her hair.
Only one thing rang clear in Laura's numbed mind as she lay in the warmth of Declan's arms.
God help her, she was in love with this IRA man, and she didn't care if it was right or wrong.
* * * * *
Declan stared up at the ceiling, his lips tight. Christ, how he wished he could come clean with Laura. He was desperate to do so, but common sense told him he couldn't risk it. He hadn't intended falling in love with this American woman. He still wasn't sure why she moved him so. She wasn't like the other women he'd been attracted to. She was plain, almost, yet, when her brown eyes glowed with desire, she was so beautiful it made his heart melt. And beneath her shy, librarian-like demeanor burned a core of passion that turned him into putty. After the first time he'd made her come, he knew he couldn't get enough of her. But still, he hadn't counted on falling in love.
It complicated matters. He'd brought Laura into a dangerous situation, and the only way to protect her was to keep lying to her. Because the truth could get them both killed.
* * * * *
In the weeks that followed, Laura closed her mind to what was happening at the meetings in her flat. Declan and his friends were planning an operation, but she had no idea what it was about, and didn't want to know. Her only concern was for Declan. What if he were arrested and sent back to prison? Or worse still, what if he was shot during the operation? But when this thought entered her mind, she pushed it away. Losing Declan was simply unthinkable.