Killian's Passion

by Barbara Mccauley

  His hands clenched into fists at his sides when she pressed her lips to his chest, but he stayed still. She moved her mouth down, and the masculine, salty taste of his skin aroused her even more. She forced her mind to concentrate on giving pleasure rather than receiving, but the two were so intertwined it was impossible to stop the fire racing through her blood.

  He had scars on his chest, she noted with curiosity. Several, in fact, giving the warrior illusion more substance than fantasy. She wouldn’t ask. At least, not now. Whatever he’d done before, whatever had happened, she didn’t want to know. There was only now, right now, and the two of them.

  He squirmed when she kissed a long, jagged scar beside his navel. With her tongue she followed the line of his scar like a one-way road. To her delight, the scar continued below his waistband. She unbuttoned his slacks with every intention of exploring the path to its final destination, but when she tugged his zipper down over the hard ridge of his manhood, he gave a low growl, and suddenly it was she who was on her back.

  She barely had time to catch her breath before his shirt was off, his shoes, then his pants, until he stood gloriously and magnificently naked. She was a tall woman, but she’d never felt so small, so vulnerable. Her heart jumped at the sight of him, pounded furiously in her chest.

  He moved over her, slid his hands all the way up her legs to the top of her stockings, then slowly rolled each one down. His lips followed the path of his fingers, and he kissed the inside of each thigh, her knees, her calves, then back up again, until she writhed frantically under him.

  His mouth ascended her body, tasting the curve of her hip, the flat hollow of her stomach, the underside of her breast. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out, bu when he covered the hardened peak of her nipple with his mouth, she did cry out, arching upward at the jolt of intense pleasure that surged through her. His tongue was hot and wet; he drew her into his mouth and feasted hungrily on her. An ache spread through her body and centered betweei her legs, a pleasure that bordered on pain.

  He moved to her other breast, gave equal attention then while he smoothed his palm over her hip, then her belly. His hand slipped under the lace of her panties, caressed the triangle of curls there before he slid one finger deeper, into the sensitive folds of her body, stroking her gently at the same time he took her breast into his mouth.

  The assault on her body was more than she could bear. She moved urgently against him, raked his shoulders witl her fingernails. “Ian,” she gasped. “Please.”

  He needed no more encouragement. He slipped her panties off, then spread her legs as he moved over her. Hi: entry was hard and fast, and she took him fully, lifting he hips to meet his. He made a sound, a deep, animallike sound and moved inside her. She wound her legs tightly around him, wanting him closer still.

  The climax hit her like an explosion, and she nearly screamed from the force of it. She shuddered over and over, and he lifted her hips higher still while he thrust wildly. On a low, guttural groan, he shuddered, too, and she held on while they rode the intense waves together.

  When he collapsed on top of her, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding, she smiled and gently slid her arms around his neck.

  He had no idea what to say. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Never had he felt so out of control, so completely lost, so completely satisfied. In his entire life, nothing had even come close.

  He started to rise, to ease his weight off her, but she wound her arms tightly around his neck and held him still.

  “Don’t move,” she whispered.

  “That’s what you said before,” he teased, “and look what happened.”

  There was a sparkle in her eyes when she looked up at him. “I know.”

  “You’re an evil woman, Cara Sinclair. You frighten me.”

  She smiled at him. “Good.”

  She did frighten him, Ian thought suddenly. Like no woman ever had before. A strange sense of uneasiness came over him, but he shrugged it off and concentrated instead on the woman lying underneath him.

  Moonlight edged her face in silver, and her hair spread out on his pillow like a silk fan. Her eyes were still heavy with passion, her lips swollen from his kisses. He brushed his mouth over hers lightly, gently nipped her bottom lip.

  He knew he was too heavy for her, that she could barely breathe with him on top of her, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the intimacy with her yet. Was afraid that if he did, nothing would seem real. And he needed this to be real. He needed her to be real.

  He compromised by rolling to his back and bringing her with him. With a startled gasp, she hung on, then frowned at him while she raked her hair back away from her face. “You could have warned me.”

  “Just testing your reflexes.”

  “I’ll have you know that I have excellent reflexes, as well as a keen sense of observation and an uncanny eye for details.” She arched one brow and frowned at him. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”

  “Paying attention to what?”

  She tweaked a chest hair, and he grabbed her hand. “Okay, okay.” He rubbed at his chest. “You’ve got great reflexes. Not to mention great legs, great arms, a great rear end—” His gaze dropped to her breasts. “And you’ve got terrific—”

  “I get the picture.” She folded her arms on his chest and covered the objects of his attention. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Yeah?” He put his hands behind his head and gave her a cocky grin. “Like what?”

  “Well,” she murmured, resting her chin on top of her arms, “you have a nice nose.”

  That wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “A nice nose?”

  “And cute ears.”

  “You make me sound like a puppy.” He frowned at her. “That’s the best you can do?”

  She raised her eyes upward, as if she were thinking. With a low growl, he flipped her onto her back again. Laughing, she went with him easily.

  “Maybe your powers of observation and attention to details aren’t as keen as you think,” he said huskily and slowly slid into her. “Maybe we need to test them.”

  “A test?” She kept her gaze on his as she drew in a slow, trembling breath. “Essay or multiple choice?”

  He smiled slowly, eased himself out, then back in again. “Definitely multiple,” he said, and buried himself deep inside her.

  It was still dark when she woke, though according to the clock on the nightstand, the morning was quickly approaching. She stretched, then reached out and found the bed empty beside her, the rumpled sheets cold. A brief, though sharp, sliver of dread pricked the back of her neck, then she saw Ian’s open suitcase lying on the floor, filled with his clothes, and she relaxed.

  He hadn’t left. At least, not yet.

  Yawning, she sat and pulled her hands through her tousled hair. She’d had very little sleep last night. Sleep hadn’t been on her mind or Ian’s. She’d never experienced anything like last night in her entire life. Not even close. And she knew she never would again. She knew that once they said goodbye, once she’d gone back to Philadelphia and he’d gone back to Washington, they would never see each other again. He’d made it clear what he thought of commitment and relationships. And when it came to Ian, Cara knew she could never settle for less.

  What a fool she was to fall in love with Killian Shawnessy. A hopeless, stupid fool. She’d not only failed Margaret, Cara thought miserably, she’d also managed to break her own heart.

  She was glad her brothers couldn’t see her now. They’d all feel sorry for her, hug and fuss over her, and then they’d beat Ian up.

  That thought actually cheered her up.

  She dressed quickly, slipping on a pair of jeans and a white button-up shirt and boots, then went looking for him.

  The cabin was empty. She looked out the window, saw the truck parked in front of the cabin, then spotted him down by the lake, standing at the water’s edge.

  She moved onto the porch, watched hi
m from the railing. The sun was no more than a sliver of orange as it peeked out from the eastern ridge of mountains. The air was cool, filled with the fresh, clean scent of a mountain morning. She was going to miss this, she realized. The quiet, the peace, the sense that everything was right with the world, even when it wasn’t.

  He turned then, as if he knew she’d be there. His expression was somber as their eyes met. She waited, breath held, afraid that if he turned away from her she would fall apart right here.

  He lifted his hand and reached out to her.

  Relief poured through her. She walked to him, slipped into the arm he held out for her. He pulled her tightly to him, nearly lifted her off the ground as he kissed her long and deep. It was a goodbye kiss, she knew that, and she kissed him back with all the love and passion she felt for him.

  His eyes were dark and narrowed when he pulled away and stared down at her, his jaw tight. She touched his cheek and smiled softly, wanted to talk about anything but what they were both thinking.

  “Tell me how you ended up in the County Home for Boys,” she said softly.

  Her unexpected question softened the tension between them, which was exactly what she’d intended. He sighed, then tucked her into the crook of his arm and stared out at the lake.

  “I punched out Hank Thompson, my seventh-grade history teacher,” he said quietly. “The man had a big mouth, a little brain, and he couldn’t keep his hands off his female students.”

  “Didn’t the girls complain?”

  “He was always careful who he preyed on. The weaker, shyer girls could be bullied into keeping quiet. A couple of the other teachers knew about it, but looked the other way rather than subject themselves to a lawsuit.”

  She thought of the young, frightened girls and felt sick to her stomach. “What happened?”

  “I had to stay late one day, not an unusual occurrence. Some of my teachers felt that I exercised my individual right of expression more often than I should.”

  “You mean you had a bad attitude.”

  He smiled. “Something like that. Anyway,” he went on and his smile faded, “that particular day I was getting my books out of my locker and I heard something, some kind of noise coming from Thompson’s classroom. I wasn’t even sure what it was, but I had a bad feeling. He’d locked the door, so I went into the classroom beside his which had a connecting door. It was unlocked.”

  He paused, and she could feel the anger tighten his body as he remembered.

  “He had Mary Cook, another seventh-grader, pinned against the wall, his hands under her blouse. She had her eyes closed and there were tears on her pale cheeks. Thompson never saw me coming.” Ian smiled tightly. “They told me later I broke his nose and jaw.”

  “You beat up an adult when you were in the seventh grade?” she asked incredulously.

  “I was always big for my age. Plus I was mad as hell. That gave me an edge, too.”

  “But why did they send you to the County Home for Boys?” she asked. “Surely Mary and her family would have stood up for you.”

  Ian shrugged. “Mary begged me not to tell anyone the truth. She was too humiliated. And the only family she had was a drunk father who would have probably blamed her for Thompson coming on to her, then beaten her for it.”

  Cara closed her eyes and shook her head. “So you never said a word? You just let them send you away?”

  “It didn’t matter to me. The foster home I was in at the time was happy to see me gone, and besides, the Home is where I hooked up with Lucas and Nick, so something good did come out of it.”

  At that moment Cara realized how much she’d taken her family for granted. She realized that there were countless children and people who had no one they could turn to when they needed help. Or love.

  This was how Ian had been raised; his only family were two men who’d shared the same misfortune of being alone, without family. So they became family. They were all he knew, all he trusted. All he would ever let himself trust.

  She loved him more than she would have thought it possible for one person to love another. But he didn’t love her back. He didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone else in his life.

  She wanted to curse at him, at the universe for playing such a cruel trick. She wanted to cry, to beg, to rant and rave and stomp her feet. Instead, she brought his face to hers and kissed him gently.

  “What about Thompson?” she asked. “Was he ever caught?”

  Ian nodded. “One of the parents found out what he’d been doing and a lynch mob showed up at the school one afternoon. Thompson was arrested, convicted on molestation, then sent to jail. They never admitted they made a mistake, but the courts released me from the Home the following week.”

  “Thank God there’s some justice in this world,” she said firmly. “I hope that man rots in jail for the rest of his life.”

  The shriek of a hawk echoed in the still of the morning, and they both watched the bird glide over the lake, searching for breakfast.

  “We need to get ready to go,” he said quietly. “Walt will be waiting for you to pick up your car.”

  She sighed, then nodded slowly, slipped an arm around his waist as they turned and headed for the cabin.

  He stopped halfway there, lifted his head as he searched the area.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He listened. “Just a feeling, but I’m not—”

  The cabin exploded, cutting off Ian’s words, and Cara felt as if an angry giant had backhanded her to the ground. She heard Ian shout her name as he covered her body with his, felt the sharp sting of fiery sparks on her face and hands. He dragged them both behind the truck, held her in his arms until the downpour of wood and debris settled into a light rain of ash and dust. The cabin was in flames, and the sound of fire eating wood replaced the quiet of only moments ago.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, still holding her tightly.

  “I—I think so.” The world was spinning around her. Dazed, she put a shaking hand to one temple and sat. Her stomach clenched at the sight of blood on Ian’s forehead. “You’re hurt.”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  She brushed his hair away from his face, needing to touch him as much as she needed to reassure herself he was all right. The cut was superficial, but no doubt it would leave another scar.

  What an odd thought, she mused. She’d nearly been killed and yet here she sat, contemplating the number of scars Ian had.

  Her knees were shaking as they rose together and stared at the cabin. Black smoke billowed upward from the dancing flames. Ian’s face was hard as granite as he stared at what should have been the end of both of their lives. There was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. Something cold and ruthless. Violent. She shivered at the icy chill slithering up her spine.

  “Well, darlin’,” he said tightly as he glanced at her. “Looks like you’re twenty dollars richer.”

  Her head was still reeling from the blast, her ears ringing. “What are you talking about?”

  He turned back to the cabin, and his dark eyes narrowed to angry slits. “We’re going to Philadelphia.”

  Ten

  Ian sat in the black sedan he’d rented at the airport and stared across the street at Margaret Muldoon’s three-story brownstone. Thick maples lined the wealthy residential street; historic wrought iron lampposts now fitted with electric lights, rather than gas, brightened the dark sidewalks. Tidy, numbered mailboxes sat empty, waiting to be filled with the next day’s mail.

  Wolf River was a world away from here, lan thought. A lifetime.

  Cara slept curled up on the seat beside him. Considering the day they’d had—not to mention the night before, he thought with a smile—he was impressed she’d lasted this long, even though it was only eight o’clock. The father and son fishing up at the lake had reported the explosion to the fire department, and a fire truck had arrived within minutes to put out the flames. The department’s
initial report had been a faulty water heater.

  Ian knew better, he’d sorted through the rubble himself and found the detonator for the bomb. But he’d pocketed the device and said nothing. He wanted to get himself and Cara out of Texas as quickly as possible, and if the sheriff were involved, it might slow them down. Ian had called Lucas, told him that he and Cara were all right and not to worry, then promised that he’d explain everything in a day or two.

  The explosion had changed everything for Ian. There had been no way he could let her go home without him after that, no way he would let her out of his sight. He’d had to be sure she got home safely, had to know that she was all right.

  He was certain that whoever was after Cara would follow her back here from Wolf River. Computers could trace every flight from Dallas to Philadelphia, starting from the day Cara flew into Dallas to the day she flew out. All he had to do was find a link, then a match. When you had friends in high places, it could be done, and if all went well, Ian expected he’d find his man within a day or two and still get back to Washington in time for his briefing.

  Cara whimpered softly in her sleep, and he leaned over to brush her hair off her face. His jaw clenched at the sight of the scratch on her cheek. He told himself that when he found the bastard responsible, he’d rip him apart with his bare hands.

  He sighed heavily, gently rubbed a strand of her silky hair between his fingers. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that Cara had been right when she’d told him he didn’t want anyone to matter to him, that it was easier not to care about someone. Safer.

  But now he did care. About her. He cared like he never had for any woman before.

  And he’d been wrong when he’d told her that making love wouldn’t change anything. It had. She’d touched a part of him no other woman ever had. His heart, and his soul. No matter what happened, she would always be a part of him.