“It’s complicated,” he said.
She just looked at him.
“Fine,” he said, his body humming with unwanted attraction. Maybe telling her the unvarnished truth would remind him why he shouldn’t want her so much. “My mom was a drunk. My dad left when I was still a baby and she didn’t deal well with being a single parent. I took the brunt of it.”
He heard Rhiannon’s soft murmur, felt her sympathy. But he didn’t want pity. His mother had been no mother at all, and his childhood a living hell of empty liquor bottles and bare cupboards. But all that was ancient history. He was over it a long time ago. Thanks to Fitz.
“In junior high I was always in trouble. Small stuff. Joyriding. Shoplifting. Graffiti. When I was fifteen I quit school. Short time later I got arrested for possession and was given the choice of getting straight and finding a job or doing jail time. Took me two months before I found anyone willing to take a chance on a mouthy, messed-up Paiute kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of Ship Rock.”
“Fitz.”
Redhawk nodded. “He gave me a job mucking stables, riding fences and shifting cattle. Offered me a bed in the bunkhouse and listened to me bellyache about the unfairness of the world, all the while teaching me about the ranch. When I won the bull-riding event at the Ganado Rodeo two years running, he told me I had talent and to go out there and grab some glory in the world.”
He chuckled, remembering that night. He’d been so shocked that anyone had said something positive about him, at first he’d thought Fitz was just looking for a reason to fire his ass. But then he’d realized his protector was always saying good things to him or about him.
“The next day I left Irish Heaven determined to make Fitz proud and return with a pot of money to buy the string of Irish Thoroughbreds he dreamed of raising.”
Hawk put the bottle to his lips and drank before he remembered it wasn’t his. He stretched it out to her. “Sorry.”
“No, go ahead. I’m not thirsty.”
He took another sip and fancied he could taste her on it, where she’d put it to her mouth, maybe touched it with her tongue. He closed his eyes against the unwilling rush in his groin.
“Things didn’t work out the way I planned,” he forced himself to say as a distraction.
“Your knee. You were injured riding.”
“Yep.”
“So you came back here.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re afraid I’ll take your place with Fitz.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her pale skin glowed, reflecting the rising moon behind him. Her nipples were hard and made small shadows on the fabric of her slip where they poked at it. It was no use. He still wanted her so badly he could taste it.
He took a steadying breath. “When I was young and he was drunk he sometimes talked about Janet, your mother. How she’d promised to come to Arizona. When I came back after getting hurt, he only mentioned her once. To say she’d died. He wrote you letters but he never expected you to come. I never expected you to come. He always said…”
He let the thought drift away and reached for the third bottle on the rail, twisting off the cap in two kinds of frustration.
They lay there soaking in the darkness together, and he willed his blood to calm. The stillness of the night was broken only by the muted lap of water against metal and a lone hoot of one of the barn’s resident owls. Good thing he wasn’t Navajo. The Navajo believed the call of an owl portended a coming death. Perhaps the death of a dream…
Finally Rhiannon spoke. “He expected my mother to come here, to Irish Heaven?”
Confused at first, Hawk suddenly realized while he was going through his own private agony, she’d forgotten all about him and was going through a quite different one herself.
“Yeah. I always thought—”
He stopped there. Best left unsaid what he thought. He wasn’t sure it was true, anyway.
She fell silent again. He liked that about her. That she didn’t feel the need to fill the warm night air with noise and chatter. That she appreciated the subtle living, breathing sense of quiet that was the desert. It was clean and uncomplicated. As he wished his life were.
“You expected to inherit Irish Heaven,” she murmured.
Not a question. Not a condemnation. Just a statement by one who knew that the facts he so desperately believed in were impossible.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “When I came back and decided to stay, he made me a promise. He said one day it would all be mine.”
“And then I showed up.”
“And then you showed up.” There wasn’t much more to say about that.
“He must have sent me the ticket because I wrote him my father had left the farm to my mother’s sister instead of to me.”
Hawk sat up. “What?” He’d heard about the farm, of course, and Jamie, Rhiannon’s jailed IRA terrorist father and Fitz’s brother, in countless stories Fitz had told about Ireland over the years. But the inheritance detail he’d left out. “When was this?”
“Last month.”
So recently. “Why did your father do that?”
“I have no idea,” she answered in an unsteady voice.
Damn. No wonder she wanted Irish Heaven. Now everything made more sense. Everything but Fitz’s betrayal of his word. Except, he couldn’t blame an old man rapidly losing his memory for failing to remember a promise made years ago. It was no betrayal. He’d simply forgotten. Rhiannon was family. Family inherited from family. That’s the way it worked. Those who had no family were just plain out of luck.
Far away to the west a coyote howled, answered by another in the cliffs to the east. A third joined in, closer by, somewhere on ranch land. His ranch land.
“Does he have a will?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“We should ask him. Settle this thing so both of us know where we stand.”
“No,” Redhawk said, shaking his head. “He’s got enough worries without bringing up dying, too.”
Truth be told, Hawk didn’t want to know. Not yet. If he knew, he’d be forced to act, one way or another. Give up the dream and hit the road, or live with the guilt of taking away yet another rightful inheritance from a woman he was growing to respect more by the minute…aside from wanting her so badly his whole body ached.
The whole situation sucked big-time. And there was no way to fix it.
Unless…
Toying with the beginnings of an idea, he studied the woman in front of him. In the moonlight she looked so beautiful and fragile, her white gown floating around her legs like a ghostly shroud, her red-gold hair falling over her shoulders in ringlets as it dried. He knew better; she was strong and used to hard work. She was feisty and gutsy, both traits that would serve her well in this harsh land.
And she was sexy as hell. Her curvy body had driven him crazy from the first time he’d clapped eyes on it. And he was hard as a fence post for want of her.
He could do a lot worse.
He reached over and took her hands from the rim of the trough where they lay, tugging her gently to sit up. He slid in closer, threading his legs under her knees then between her hips and the metal sides. Her feet skimmed past his waist as their bodies fit together in an ancient puzzle.
“What are you doing?”
She watched him warily but didn’t pull away. He liked that about her, too. She didn’t frighten easily.
He slipped his hand under her thick veil of damp hair and curled his fingers around the back of her neck, urging her face closer to his. “I’m getting creative.”
Her deep green eyes widened. “Wh-what?”
He tipped his head, angling his nose next to hers, stopping just short of touching her lips with his. “I’ve thought of a way to solve our problem.”
“Problem?” Uncertainty stampeded across her face. “What problem?”
Her wet-warm breasts brushed against his chest, tips beaded and begging for attention. His attention.
<
br /> “The one about who inherits Irish Heaven.”
“Oh?” She swallowed and made a weak attempt to draw away from him. He didn’t let her.
“Yeah.”
“How so?” Her hands fluttered over his ribs and up, then lightly touched down on his shoulders before taking flight again and finding his elbows. Safe? Her breath fanned his cheek, sweet and quick.
Not.
“We can both inherit.”
This would work. It had to.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple.” He eased out his tongue and drew it along her lower lip. Tasting paradise.
He felt her tremble. “It is?”
“Mmm-hmm. All we have to do is…”
The cool fabric of her slip tickled his inner thighs and he wished it were her fingers. Groaning softly, he put his free hand on the small of her back and held her still, savoring the tightness of anticipation in his throat at the thought of possessing this amazing woman.
“Is what?” she whispered.
And as he lowered his mouth to hers, he uttered the words he never thought to say in this lifetime.
“All we have to do,” he said, “is get married.”
Chapter 4
M arried?
Utterly gobsmacked, Rhiannon stared uncomprehendingly at the man who held her in his arms. Before she could respond, his mouth came down and he kissed her. His tongue teased as his lips moved erotically over hers, then it slipped deep into her, shocking her to the core.
But he tasted so good, felt so wonderful as he surrounded her in a tight embrace, she forgot completely what they were talking about. Something about—No, she must have misheard.
An unbidden sound of need escaped her, and she looped her arms around his neck, melting into his breathtaking kiss.
Oh, how she’d wanted to taste him! Ever since that first spark of sexual awareness about five seconds after they met. Why else would she have climbed so wantonly into his bath wearing nothing but a gossamer nightshift, except to experience exactly this? She’d even carefully counted the days since her last mense, and concluded she’d be safe even if things went further than she’d planned to go.
Lord, he was every bit as luscious as she’d imagined. His naked, virile body crushed into her, making water splash everywhere, his muscles bulging and rock hard beneath smooth, dusky skin. Perched on his lap, it was impossible to miss his arousal. Long and hard, he was silk on steel as he pressed between her legs. She was giddy with blossoming sensation. It had been so long.
His strong hands pulled her closer, kneading and roaming over her as his tongue ravished her mouth.
And it had never been like this.
She kissed him back, deeply, tasting him, smelling his musky scent, touching his strong, well-knit torso. Reveling in the feeling of being truly alive, at long last. All her life it seemed she’d been waiting for this very moment, to break free of her cotton-wool shell and really feel something—other than frustration and disappointment.
What she felt now was the warm desert breeze on her skin as Redhawk’s fingers found the row of small buttons on her slip and quickly got them open. He wrenched apart the bodice, exposing her breasts to his caress. His work-rough hands closed over them, and she gasped in pleasure, breaking their fevered kiss with a low moan.
Their eyes met, and with an expression dark as midnight he watched her, drawing his thumbs over the beaded tips, tightening the threads of desire within her so taut she bowed backward in a half-moon of need.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, and eased her back against his upraised knees. He cupped her breasts and closed his mouth over an aching nipple.
“Oh!” she cried, and his name tumbled from her lips in a low keen. “Hawk…”
“I’m right here, darlin’.”
He tugged her slip up and adjusted her on his lap until the ridge of his arousal pressed firmly against her center. She gasped his name again, as he held her hips and ground his iron length into her soft folds. His rough groan joined hers, turning to harsh breaths as he continued to rub her in erotic circles.
She threw her head back, and the stars winked at her from a black, spangled sky so vast it made her dizzy.
Or maybe it was the first glimmer of climax. “Please. Don’t stop,” she sobbed.
“Never,” he gritted out, and took her over the throbbing edge of exquisite pleasure.
His lips briefly found hers again and then she was lifted, his arms banded around her waist. His eyes captured hers and for one breathless moment he held her there, poised above the hot, blunt tip of him. Seeking entrance.
“Yes,” she whispered, and instantly he was inside her.
She shuddered, all the way to her soul. She felt filled. Complete. Safe.
Absurd, a little voice murmured in her heart. He isn’t safe. He was the very opposite. Dangerous. That’s what Redhawk Jackson was.
And yet, when he held her tight and began to move within her, she didn’t listen to the voice. She put her mouth to his and urged him on. Deeper. Faster. Now! Until she shattered and he shouted and everything around them whirled into a spinning kaleidoscope of pleasure.
Long moments later Redhawk eased back to lean against his end of the trough, carrying Rhiannon with him. They were still joined, still catching their breath. Still holding each other tight.
She had never felt this good in her life.
“Oh, darlin’,” he groaned.
“You were brilliant,” she sighed, filled with contentment. “Ta.”
He stirred under her and she glanced up to see his amused expression. “I’ve been called a lot of things before, but I don’t believe brilliant was ever one of them,” he said with a wry smile.
She chuckled. “An expression. Meaning wonderful, marvelous and amazing.”
“You were pretty amazing, yourself, babe. Are all Irish women so responsive? I’m sure I counted three…”
She felt her face go warm. “Yes, well, it’s been a while.” She laid her cheek on his shoulder and eased her body down, the warm water covering her like a blanket. “But honestly, are all American men so skilled? And, how shall I say…well endowed?”
A low rumble sifted through his chest, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Keep talkin’, woman. Flattery will get you just about anything you want. As long as it’s not money or the ranch.”
The ranch. Suddenly a chilly shiver went through her as she recalled their earlier conversation.
By the saints, what had she done? The man was out to take away the only place she had left in the world. By allowing him to make love to her, she had granted him power over her—over her body and her emotions. He might also get a notion to try controlling her in other ways.
She must be mad.
“So, shall we set a date?” he asked, settling his arms more firmly about her. “I think the sooner the better.”
She blinked. “Date?”
“To get married.”
The words whirled through her troubled mind like a North Sea storm. She froze. “Surely, you weren’t serious,” she said.
“Hell, yeah. It’s the perfect solution to who gets the ranch. We both will. And being a couple obviously won’t be too much of a hardship on either of us.” His callused hand smoothed over her backside to curve intimately between her thighs.
His hand felt so good, and he made the idea sound so logical Rhiannon was almost tempted to go along with it. Almost. However, even if marriage were the most rational and reasonable answer to their situation—and to be sure, she wasn’t convinced it was—there was one big difficulty.
“But, Hawk…”
Extracting herself carefully from his embrace, she sat up, knees bent. Which she quickly realized wasn’t the brightest move. The feel of his hard, naked body beneath her made her nether regions tingle with delighted recollection of the past hour. The full moonlight shone off the burnished-copper skin of his broad chest, catching the red glow of the sandstone cliffs around them. He r
eally was the most magnificent example of masculinity she’d ever encountered. She had to close her eyes against the overwhelming temptation of belonging to this man.
He sighed, and when she opened her eyes he was gazing at her with displeasure.
“But what?” he said, his voice cool.
“We hardly know each other.” His brows rose and she grimaced. “Having sex doesn’t count. I freely admit I’m attracted to you. More than attracted. But where I come from, marriage is forever. I want to be in love with the man I marry.”
“Where I come from, when a woman makes love to a man who’s just proposed marriage, it generally means yes.”
“I honestly didn’t think—Hawk, getting married just because it’s convenient would be wrong. For both of us.”
His mouth thinned. Grasping her hips, he sat up and set her away from him, on the other end of the trough. “In other words, you want the ranch all for yourself.” He exhaled angrily, swung out of the water and onto the ground so quickly she had to shield herself from the splash.
“No, that’s not—”
“Save it. I’m not interested in your philosophy of love and marriage. I get that you don’t want to share. Anything.” He leaned into her face. “But make no mistake. Irish Heaven is everything to me, and I’ve worked my ass off for it. Try to take it away, and you’re in for one hell of a fight.”
Her jaw dropped. How the man could be so tender and warm one moment, then cold as ice the next? He grabbed his clean clothes and stomped off, and she snapped her jaw shut. Rhiannon might be a newcomer to this land, but she was no stranger to hard work. And she was Fitz’s flesh and blood. Irish Heaven was her second chance at a new beginning, and she didn’t mean to lose it.
Fine. If it was a fight Mr. Redhawk Jackson wanted, then a fight was exactly what he’d get.
Stupid.
Really, really stupid.
What had possessed him to make love to that woman? Or worse, propose marriage?
Hawk zipped up his jeans, threw his boots onto the porch and slammed the screen door behind him. Marching to the middle of the kitchen floor—the annoyingly immaculate kitchen floor—he stopped and forced himself to take several deep breaths.
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