Boldly she closed her hand over his. Then she did something she’d never been brave enough to do before. She guided his hand up her thigh towards her moist core.
Unerringly, he fingered her clit.
She jerked, already that close. Dear God. Now that she’d started it, she realised he’d finish it.
She reached for her coffee, clattering the fine china. “I’d love another cup,” she managed, praying she could hold back a gasp.
He smiled. He pinched her clit.
She gritted her teeth.
“I’ll have a refresh on my tea as well, my boy.”
He flipped Sinead’s skirt back into position then scooted his chair back from the table.
“You were telling me about the Banshee,” Sinead managed, struggling to focus on something other than her body’s insistent demands.
Catherine laced her hands on top of the table. “According to lore, you’re correct, the Banshee traditionally only follows certain families. But since Agnes’s curse, the Banshee also heralds death for the Quinns. That explains why the comb I found on my pillow has your family crest.”
“I’m confused,” Sinead admitted. And she was sure it had nothing to do with Jack’s proximity.
“You know the story of the Quinns and O’Malleys,” Catherine said.
“’Tis chronicled in the Annals of the Four Masters. And of course she knew her family’s side of the tale.
“The facts, aye,” Catherine agreed, “but not the details. Not the reasons.”
“Go on,” Sinead encouraged. “Please.” She wanted to hear the Quinn side of the tale.
“Our family raided your keep.”
This much, Sinead knew.
Catherine shuddered. “So much bloodshed, on both sides. So much anger, and could have been avoided.”
Jack reached across Sinead to top off his grandmother’s tea. Intentionally, Sinead was sure, he crowded her.
After Catherine added a healthy splash of milk to her cup and stirred it a dozen times more than needed, she continued, “Your family kept sheep, you know. And the Quinns were hungry. One of their children was near to starving, if the legend is true.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Aye. The child’s mother went right to the hold and begged for food.”
“And she was turned away?”
“She was afraid for her child, desperate for herself and her clansmen, I suppose. She tried to steal a lamb, but the O’Malleys forcibly took it back. Angered by the way she was treated, my Quinn ancestors led an attack on your keep. Unforgivable. Yet I understand no physical harm was intended. They decided to take all the sheep.”
Sinead slumped in her chair. She’d never heard this side of the story. Did not make it untrue, however.
“During the raid, your ancestor, the lovely Bridget, caught the eye of my relation. She was standing atop a hill, as legend has it. It was foggy, but her fiery red hair seemed to be alight. She was indignant, protecting her family. Even though she was a woman, she took up a sword to join the battle.”
A woman after Sinead’s own heart.
“The Quinns disarmed her, but they found they couldna hurt her. So they took her and refused to let her go.”
“They kidnapped her. Some things never change,” Sinead said. She levelled a look at Jack
“Right, then.”
Despite his grandmother being there, he shoved back his chair and. With deadly efficiency he yanked her from her seat, toppling the chair. He dragged her against him and claimed her mouth forcefully.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, demanding her submission; demanding contrition.
She told herself she didn’t want him or his domination. She didn’t want this. Didn’t.
Did.
Damn it.
He kept at it until she responded with the passion he wanted, mindless, it seemed, that his grandmother was sipping her tea.
“Now,” he said, ending the kiss, “unless you want me to turn you over my knee, here and now and blister your behind, you’ll mind your manners.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” His hands on her shoulders were tight, relentless, but not painful. “There’s a reason my relations kidnap yours. To shut you up.”
“I…” She started to protest, then thought better of it and shut her mouth.
“Better,” he approved. “Much better.”
Catherine regarded the two over the rim of her cup. Rather than chastising her ill-mannered grandson, she smiled.
Jack righted Sinead’s chair.
Sinead collapsed breathlessly back into it.
“Now then, where was I?” Catherine returned her cup and saucer to the table.
Sinead’s hand shook as she reached for her own cup. The man unnerved her. His grandmother seemed not to mind at all that her grandson was manhandling their guest. Sinead wanted to escape, but another, naughty part of her wanted to surrender completely. She’d never been more confused, more challenged, more aroused.
“Be a dear and refill my cup,” Catherine told Jack as if they were all watching a polite game of croquet. Then she continued. “As I was saying, our relation Cormac Quinn fell in love with Bridget. Instead of holding her for ransom like the family demanded, he decided to run away with her. Cormac’s father was furious with his youngest son and went after the pair. The elder Quinn took up his sword against Cormac.”
Jack topped up his grandmother’s tea. Catherine used the pause for dramatic effect before saying, “Bridget stepped in front of the sword.”
“She was killed?” Sinead asked.
“Aye. That she was. Cormac returned his beloved’s body to her family. Devastated by the loss of her youngest child, Bridget’s mother swore a curse on the Quinns, tying the fates of the two clans together.”
Sinead might not believe in curses, but the story was fascinating.
“Bridget’s mother wanted the Quinns to feel the same pain as she did. She wanted them to experience the same loss, the same devastation. There have been no spectacular relationships in our lineage for hundreds of years.”
Jack picked up the thread. “Death, desertion, not marrying at all has plagued us. Because of Irish law, divorce has not been an option until recently, although I’m sure relations of mine have wished for the opportunity.”
“That happens in every family,” Sinead said.
Catherine nodded. “But there has rarely been more than one child born of any Quinn union. You’ll have to admit that’s unusual.”
Sinead nodded at that. “For the most part,” she conceded. “But the same is true of my family.”
“Indeed, we’re tied together, thanks to Bridget’s mother, Agnes. The few marriages that seemed blessed and lasted were virtually child-free. Too many marriages have been cut short by accidents, by war, by untimely death, far too many than can be rationally explained.”
Sinead believed there was a rational explanation for everything, or rather she had believed in rational explanations until Jack showed up and she found a silver comb in her Denver hotel room.
“According to legend, Agnes was a witch. When she swore out the curse, bones rattled in their graves, the sun went behind the clouds, darkness fell.”
“Probably an eclipse,” Jack said.
She couldn’t agree more.
Catherine scowled before continuing, “Agnes proclaimed that the curse could only be lifted by an O’Malley once again choosing a Quinn,” Catherine continued.
“We can leave this for future generations, then,” Sinead said. “Because I certainly am not choosing a Quinn.” She’d rather continue her tour, pouring her energies into replenishing the family coffers, and forgetting the orgasms Jack Quinn had given her. Surely there was another man out there who could give her what she wanted?
“You could make that choice and no one would blame you. Until I found the silver comb, I would have agreed with you. But I’m an old woman, Sinead. I too grew up despising your relatives. Bu
t I no longer see the point in continuing this nonsense. Until the curse is lifted, our families are joined together. Births, deaths, failed marriages. You two have a chance to end it once and for all, freeing your children.”
I’m sorry. I can’t help. I have no desire to marry. And if I did, I wouldn’t choose Jack.”
“Because he’s a brute?” Catherine asked.
Sinead sighed.
“You’re descended from the mighty Bridget,” Catherine told her. “What would you have from a man who is your equal? A simpleton, perhaps? Or mayhap a doormat? Or do you prefer a man who will accept you and your strengths? A man who will challenge you as much as you challenge him?”
Sinead thought back to Donal and to the other failed relationships in her life. None of them had given her a challenge. None had inflamed her blood. “I understand that you would want this,” she said. “Truly I do. But I want nothing to do with the Quinns. I’ve accepted your invitation. I’ve heard your story. And my answer is no. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Sinead…”
“I won’t run.” When she saw his brows draw together, she added, “I’ll let you or one of your people drive me home. It was a pleasure, ma’am,” she told Catherine. “I wish you health.”
He stood while she left the table.
He was such a contradiction. A masterful Dominant, an ill-mannered lout, and a solicitous lover.
“I’ll be up in ten minutes. Be prepared.”
Desire scorched her cheeks.
She shouldn’t want him. She should remain firm in her decision to leave. But, damn, this man made her respond in ways she never had before.
Chapter Eight
“Give her time,” Catherine advised.
“Keep her tied up is more like it.” He scowled. “She needs a good hiding and to be locked in a dungeon somewhere.”
“As I asked Sinead, what would you have, Garmhac?” she asked, calling him ‘grandson of the heart’. “There’s a reason you’ve not married.”
He remembered the loss, the anguish. He’d given his heart to her, imagined a future together. “Maeve’s betrayal.”
“Posh. More likely you haven’t found a woman who challenged you,” Catherine observed with surprising insight.
He could always count on his grandmother to tell the truth.
“No doubt you’re wary, as you have a right to be. But you’ve not got a hardened heart. You’ve had a host of women since Maeve. And honestly, my darling child, I think you and Maeve would have divorced afore now. You were smitten. But she ultimately wouldn’t have been what you wanted.”
He winced, not because she was brutal in her directness, but because she was probably right.
His grandmother was correct on another point as well. The O’Malley woman fascinated him. She tied him up just as surely as he’d bound her the night before. Her responses were passionate and uninhibited. He couldn’t think of much beyond shoving his cock inside her while she screamed his name. “If you’ll excuse me?” he said to his grandmother.
She placed her hand on his. “It could be that you’ll love this one, Jack. Take her away. See what happens.”
Banshees, curses and love were for others less fanciful than he. But all that aside, what harm would there be in joining the clans? From a pragmatic approach, his grandmother’s argument was solid enough. Their lands adjoined each other. Both families would benefit from joint ownership. And if there were no more bad blood, that was simply a bonus.
“Go to her,” Catherine told him. “Do not let her get away.”
He excused himself and headed upstairs.
He heard the water running in the shower, which meant she’d followed his order to be naked.
He moved towards the bathroom, realising she’d also left the door open.
His cock hardened. Having this woman obey him so completely affected him in a way he’d never experienced before.
He braced his shoulder against the doorjamb. Shamelessly he watched her. Even though the glass was wavy, she was a picture of loveliness.
She poured shampoo into her palm then lathered her hair.
Her movements were graceful and erotic in their innocence.
He could think of nothing but bending her over the bed, tying her hands behind her back and taking her from behind.
After she rinsed her hair, she looked over at him.
To her credit, she didn’t change what she was doing. She soaped her body then used the handheld showerhead to rinse.
Steam billowed over the top of the door and fogged the edges of the mirror. It gave the small room an even greater air of intimacy.
“Shave your pussy,” he told her. “I want you smooth and bare. Always.”
He watched, aroused, as she did.
When she turned off the water, he grabbed a towel from the rack. She slid open the glass door and stepped onto a mat.
“Allow me,” he offered.
She moistened her lower lip but stood still.
His grandmother was right about one thing. He did want a woman who challenged him. And one who alternately challenged and surrendered was irresistible.
He towel-dried her hair then gently wiped her face and neck.
“Jack…”
“Sir,” he corrected her. “Or Master, if you prefer.”
“I don’t.”
“I do. And I’ll have you calling me Master as you come.”
She didn’t answer. Maybe she was smart enough not to argue.
He moved the towel across her chest.
Her nipples pebbled, whether from his touch or from the chill of cooling water, he had no idea.
He wiped the moisture from her breasts. Then he moved lower, across her ribs, the alluring swell of her belly. “Spread your legs.” She followed his orders. He dried her bare cunt, then the inside of her toned thighs. He knelt in front of her to dry her lower legs. And since he was there, he placed a kiss on her pubis.
“Jack…”
“Tell me what you want. Be specific. Be graphic.”
“I want…”
“Tell me.”
“Lick my pussy.”
“How?”
She dug her hands into his hair. “What do you mean?”
“Lick me gently, Sir. Lick me hard, please, Sir,” he coached. “Lick me gently until I start to come then bite my swollen clit. Or maybe slap my cunt as hard as you can then suck my clit until I scream.”
“—lick,” she said.
“Tell me within three seconds, wench, or you can get dressed.”
He saw the rapid rise and fall of her ribcage.
“No embarrassment,” he reminded her.
She looked down at him. He held her gaze captive.
The woman might refuse to marry him, might say she didn’t want anything to do with him, but her body betrayed her. As for him, he was simply a man, a Dom. No matter what existed between them, he couldn’t not give her what she craved, what they both craved.
“I shouldn’t…”
On his knees, one palm pressed to the small of her back, he waited, allowing the seconds to pass. He wouldn’t force her, but he knew she wanted this as much as he did.
She swallowed hard before saying, “Lick me gently, then slap my cunt, then suck my clit until I come.”
His cock tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears. Having her be so responsive thrilled him. “Sir,” he added.
“Sir,” she repeated.
His cock demanded immediate release. Her voice, low and sultry, inflamed his ardour.
He swept her from the floor and carried her into the next room where he placed her on the edge of the bed. “Stay where you are and lie back. Keep your legs apart.” When he had her positioned as he wanted, knees spread, he told her, “Place your hands beneath the small of your back. If you can’t control yourself, if you try to shield your pussy from my slaps, you’ll be tied. Unless you want to be tied?”
She shook her head.
“I beg your pardon?”
He knelt before her and placed his hands on her inner thighs to keep her legs apart. Then he gently tongued the length of her pussy. He carefully watched her reactions to know where, exactly, he elicited the sweetest response.
He gently laved her clit and noticed that she thrashed her head back and forth. He grinned.
He increased the pressure and the tempo then pulled back to spank her cunt.
Shockingly, she screamed out an orgasm.
He’d been prepared to play with her, torment her for long minutes, but the perfect little sub had shattered in only seconds, and from a simple slap. He waited.
“Thank you, Sir,” she managed.
He considered giving her more. But he liked her a little needy. “Your pussy is beautifully red and swollen,” he said. “Put on a skirt and your T-shirt and a pair of shoes and socks. Nothing more.”
She struggled into a sitting position.
“You’ve been kidnapped,” he reminded her. “If you think I’m letting you go that easily, you’re wrong.”
“You’re going to forcefully keep me here?” she demanded.
Her eyes were a curious mixture of heat and anger. And if he didn’t keep control of himself, he’d sink his dick in her to the hilt. “I’m going to try and convince you to willingly marry me.”
“Really? What’s to stop you grabbing me by the hair and dragging me down the aisle?”
He stood. “Nothing at all. We have a family chapel and a priest. Would you like me to do that?”
“Gobshite.”
“I’ll take that insult as a rejection of my proposal.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle.
“We’ll be leaving in my car,” he informed her. “Liam packed your bag while we had breakfast. Now, it’s your choice of how you get in my car. Fully dressed and willing. Or I can carry you naked. While he was here, Liam left us a gag if you choose the second option.” He crossed the room, took her case from the wardrobe, and picked up the gag that Liam had left with it.
“You—”
“Would,” he countered, making a show of pocketing the gag. “With my grandmother’s blessing.”
In the end, unfortunately, she chose to wear clothes and walk to the car of her own free will while he dealt with their cases.
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