Ginny returned to the parlor wearing a yellow blouse and a brown skirt, her hair all loose on her shoulders. “Millie says dinner’s ready to be served, if you’ll step in.”
He followed her to the dining room, a narrow but pleasant chamber with a high ceiling. Casually elegant, it made him acknowledge the distance between them. She came from money, he from struggling immigrants.
Yet the way she looked at him made nothing of that. Nor did her smile when she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. But I should have given you a chance to wash up first. Floyd, please see Sergeant Fagan to the water closet.”
He came back a few minutes later with hands and face scrubbed, hair wetted down, and having shed his uniform jacket.
“Thank you, Miss Landry. That’s better.”
“Ginny. You’re supposed to call me Ginny.”
“Aye.”
She inspected him minutely from across the table as one of the steam units began ladling soup. “So can you tell me what happened back there?”
“Not sure.” He went for his glass and hesitated when he saw it held only water.
“Floyd, please bring Sergeant Fagan whiskey, if there’s any left. Me too.”
One of the units hurried off. “Thank you,” Brendan said with real gratitude.
“You’re off duty. And you need it; we both do.”
“Aye. As for just what happened back there and why—it seems like an act of pure aggression.”
“Planned or spontaneous?”
“Must have been planned for so many units to be in the same place at the same time. I spoke with Pat Kelly, who’s more or less orchestrating the Automaton Liberation movement. He says he had nothing to do with this, and I believe him. This was a rogue action.”
“Troubling.”
“I should say so. If this sort of violence happens again, the city may spin out of control.”
She stirred her soup but didn’t sip any. “If there are riots, you could get hurt.”
Their gazes met across the table. “As you very nearly did,” he returned.
“Brendan, it was so awful.” She laid her spoon aside. “The woman next to me had a little baby. He screamed and screamed.”
“Aye.”
“And in the aisle right next to us was that big steam unit I told you about. I thought he was going to fall on us. But he ended up helping us instead.”
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“A few bruises, that’s all.”
“Do you need to see a doctor?”
“I’m the daughter of a doctor. I know what to do for bruises.”
They fell silent. Brendan concentrated on eating his soup.
Eventually Ginny said, “I’ve never been in the middle of anything like that. When I was very small there were sometimes troubles on the reservation. But nothing so…personal.”
“Indians, you mean?” he asked with interest. Oh, the life she’d led!
“Yes. My father married a Sioux woman. My stepmother’s been very good to me.”
“Only imagine.” Brendan laid down his spoon. One of the steamies whisked his bowl away and replaced it with a platter overflowing with food. “You have good staff.”
“Yes I do.” Ginny smiled at the nearest unit. “I value them highly.”
“I always wanted to get my ma a steamie to help with the backbreaking labor of keeping a big family. Now that I might be able to afford it, there’s less need. All but two of us are moved out on our own. Och, but”—he shook his head—“that woman worked hard. My da, too.”
“They taught you to work hard. I admire that.”
Did she mean she admired him? Or did she just make conversation while she pushed her food around on her plate, not tasting a morsel?
“Look, Ginny, you’re exhausted. I should leave.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. I really wish…”
He waited for her to finish the thought, but she gestured at the steam units and let it trail away.
“Eat something,” he advised the way his ma might.
“I don’t think I can.”
“You’ll be sorry if you don’t. You’ve had a shock.” He desisted as she lifted the glass of whiskey Floyd had brought and drank deep.
“This is what I need.”
Brendan frowned.
“Don’t look at me that way, Sergeant. I’m s-safe in my own home.” She hesitated over that word, perhaps wondering if she really was.
Brendan applied himself to finishing his meal. The steamie offered dessert, which he refused, and Ginny towed him off to the parlor, where she once more moved into his arms.
“Stay the night.”
Everything within him flared—protectiveness and desire in equal measures. “I cannot. Better not.”
“Please.”
“You’re tired, and I…”
She kissed him, not the kiss of a woman teetering on the edge of exhaustion. This kiss contained dominance and pleading all wrapped up in dizzying passion. He could taste the whiskey on her tongue, and a whole lot of woman.
“Ginny, I…”
“Stop talking. Can’t you come up with a better use for those lips?”
“Several.” Enough to last a whole night. “But I don’t suppose you’re thinking too clearly right now. And I don’t have my potato sack with me.”
“Oh. There may be one in the kitchen. Or I think—I really do think I’m growing accustomed to your distressingly extreme handsomeness. I truly believe I could overlook it for one night.”
The last three words came accompanied by kisses feathered over his lips.
Oh, hell.
“There’s a bed waiting upstairs. And I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for a man.”
“You should really rest tonight. You should—”
“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She shivered. “Brendan, I don’t.”
Fecking hell. What to do now? Here she stood, warm and willing in his arms, so willing it felt as if she might just crawl up him. He threaded his hands through her hair, drew her head back, and kissed her—really kissed her, the kind of kiss that made no secret of his desire. When it ended he said, “It’s probably a mistake. A travesty. A terrible blunder.” He knew that going in.
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Are you so regimented you’ve never followed an impulse?”
“Ah, now, don’t start all that again.” He’d show her regimented. Did she think he couldn’t throw caution to the wind and make her plead?
She smiled, and mischief flooded her eyes. Just as if she could read his mind, she whispered, “Show me.”
Carrying her up the stairs, he never hesitated.
Chapter Eighteen
“Take off your shirt.” Ginny barely recognized her own voice. She sounded drunk even though she’d had only half a whiskey. Could a woman get drunk on a man?
Brendan had deposited her on her bed and now stood gazing down at her. He smiled crookedly. “I can do that, sure.”
He pulled his shirt from his uniform trousers and unbuttoned it.
All the breath left Ginny’s body. She groaned, “Oh, sweet lord. Sweet leaping Jesus dancing on a tree stump!”
He laughed, tossed away the shirt billowing like a sail, and sketched a rough bow. “Glad you like what you see.”
“Like?” A broad chest well-sprinkled with reddish hair. A well-muscled stomach leading the eye down to…
Mercy, she might not survive if he shed his trousers. Might not want to survive. Dying here and now seemed a good bet.
His hands moved to his belt. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”
“Hush.”
“Not that I don’t want it. I want it fine.” He gestured to himself. “I expect you can see that. But I don’t think…”
“Hush, for God’s sake.”
“Ginny.” He put one knee on the bed. She reached out like a woman going down for the third time, snagged his be
lt, and pulled him closer.
“Are you going to make me beg?”
The smile in his impossibly blue eyes deepened. “Now, that might be interesting. Would you?”
“Maybe.”
“The strong and independent Virginia Landry on her knees. Just imagine.”
“Oh, I am imagining.”
“As am I.”
“You’re not a cruel man.”
“I am not.”
Her lips curled. “Maybe before the night ends you’ll be on your knees to me.”
“Maybe I will, at that.”
“Meanwhile, I’m about to explode here without you.”
“Now, that would be a dirty shame.”
She tugged him still closer; he knelt on the bed. She unfastened the belt and the buttons beneath—a challenge, given the bulge straining them from within. The trousers came open.
“My God.”
“That’s what I like, a woman who prays in bed. What else do you do, Ginny?”
Anything he asked. But she couldn’t tell him that. “Why don’t you try and find out?”
“Not so fast.”
Her gaze met his again—hanging, pleading, demanding.
“What about your clothing?” he challenged.
“Take it off.”
Oh, how she wanted to feel those hands of his on her—broad hands, strong hands. Everywhere. The very thought made her shiver.
He raised an eyebrow. “You giving me orders?”
“Yes. No. Do you want me to?” she asked hopefully.
He laughed again and reached for the buttons on her blouse. One undone. Two. Three. Ginny forgot to breathe.
Please. This time she didn’t say it aloud. He probably already had a big enough head, handsome as he was.
He parted the wings of her blouse. She wore nothing beneath but skin. He half knelt there, devouring her with his eyes while heat stole through her from the roots outward.
She unfastened her own skirt, shucked it and the bloomers beneath, all while she watched him watching her. She wanted so desperately to be naked for him, she couldn’t think.
“By God, lass, you’re beautiful. Every inch of you.”
“You going to do something about it?”
“So long as you’re sure…”
“Say that again and I’ll scream this house down.”
This time the smile turned wicked. He kicked his trousers off and came all the way onto the bed, all six-feet-plus of him. Their mouths met, clung, and meshed with a hunger that very nearly tumbled Ginny over the edge.
She moaned, the only available form of communication. He understood and positioned himself between her thighs. Hot, so hot. She wanted to devour him, wanted him to devour her.
But this time, this first time, they couldn’t wait. Their bodies fused as their mouths had, hungrily, blindly, wordlessly. Pure bliss flooded Ginny from her fingertips to her toes, accompanied by searing heat. Stabbed through with aching pleasure, she was burning up and loved it.
She climaxed quickly, strongly, shatteringly, and didn’t at first realize he’d withdrawn before finding his own release. They held each other, breathing deeply of one another’s scents, Ginny’s heart hammering out of her chest.
“Why didn’t you stay inside me?”
“Do you want my bairn?”
Maybe. The unspoken answer shocked her. She wanted everything about this man. Each drop of him.
“Anyway”—he kissed one corner of her mouth—“that was just for starters.”
“Good.”
“I did not even get to taste these lovely buds on your breasts. I’m meaning to spend a powerful length of time over them.”
“Yes?”
“As well as this gorgeous neck of yours.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss just beneath her jaw. Ginny’s pulse accelerated alarmingly.
She might not survive this night. Thanks be to heaven.
“Promises, promises, Sergeant Fagan.”
He laughed low and husky before he lifted his head and their gazes met. “You will learn about me, Ginny. I always make good on my promises.”
“Prove it.”
He laughed again, and Ginny’s arousal spiked, fierce. “Aye, but first—I need a towel or somewhat, to clear away the evidence.”
“Just a moment.” Very deliberately, she ran a finger over her own abdomen, where he’d released himself, and placed it in her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Delicious.”
His gaze kindled. “Ginny, by God…”
“Here, use this.” She fished for and found her bloomers. “Don’t take too long.”
****
“I love the way your hair smells.” Brendan’s face had come to rest among those fragrant tresses after the last time they made love. Now Ginny lay cuddled close against him, with his head on her pillow. He’d never done this with a woman before. Never.
Usually he got straight up, put on his clothes, and got out of there before things became complicated. Now, though, he couldn’t think about that, only about touching her, kissing her, tasting her.
What a wild woman she was when aroused. She’d been all over him from stem to stern and not ashamed of how she enjoyed it, either.
A woman in a thousand.
“Umm?” Half asleep, she stirred. He should let her rest but didn’t know if he could.
He told her, “And you taste good too, some places more than others.”
“As do you. I’ve never had Irish before.”
That set him to wondering about the men she had been with. He didn’t like the idea. He’d never been possessive about women, but now he heard himself growl, “A variety, was it?”
“You know it was. I never tried to hide that.”
He frowned. The room had gone dark, the candle guttered long ago. He spread his fingers across her breast and played with the nipple.
“God,” she whispered. “God, it seems I’m not done praying.” She kissed him hard and fierce. “All you have to do is touch me and I want to explode. No, all you have to do is look at me.”
Good enough. The past was the past. Now was now.
“Not tired of me yet?” he half teased.
“Not hardly. I haven’t yet seen you on your knees.”
“That’s only because the candle went out. It happened a while back.” He ran his fingers down to the damp curls between her legs. “Remember?”
“That’s eternally seared on my memory.”
He hoped so.
“Not but”—her voice hitched as he slid one finger inside her—“I wouldn’t like to experience it again.”
“Imagine that.” He kissed his way down her body, and she opened for him with a frank eagerness that had him enflamed. A lot of women didn’t permit this. It happened to be his personal favorite.
Sated as she was, it took a measure of time for her to quicken—he had a wondrous long while to indulge himself, relishing the scent and flavor of her before she convulsed around his tongue. He could have let her rest then, but she made it clear she wanted him inside her, so he slid into her silken heat. Mouths joined, they swallowed one another’s gasps.
“I think,” she said raggedly then, “I think I may be getting over my prejudice against handsome men.”
“Cured you, have I?”
“I seem to be on the mend. No doubt I’ll need a few more treatments.”
“You think so, do you?”
“At least once a night for the next week.” She stretched her body against his like a cat.
“And what after that, lass?”
“After that, I’ll probably be able to get back to Dakota.”
Brendan froze.
She shifted a little. “I can’t wait to get shed of this city.”
Did she truly mean to walk away as if this meant nothing? As if they meant nothing? Fecking hell.
“Uh,” he stammered, “Buffalo’s not so bad. Good place to bring up a family.” And what had him thinking such a thing? He’d never done that before, either.
“Aye, I can see how your experience today—yesterday—would make you say that. But by and large…”
“I’m no city girl. I’m used to wide open spaces. I’m anxious to see my father and stepmother, and all my friends.”
Brendan swallowed what felt like a knot of pain. “Do you have a special fella out there?” Of course she would. A woman this beautiful and passionate would have those rustic westerners all over her. Frontiersmen, probably. With rifles.
But she answered, “No. I tend not to take these things seriously.”
Ah, God! Fine that—now she had him praying.
This was no doubt the punishment his ma had oft predicted for what she commonly called his philandering. Not that any of the women with whom he consorted ever complained. Of course, that was probably what Ginny thought about him—that he was fine with a casual physical relationship. No strings.
For the next week. Until she left for good.
What man in his right mind wouldn’t jump at that? Him. Him!
There had to be some way he could get her to stay.
He cleared his throat. “Aye, but surely you’ll settle one day.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman? Brendan, ‘settling’ implies—well, settling. Accepting what you can get because you can’t get better. I won’t do that.”
“And nor should you.” But was he second best? He liked that idea even less than the thought of all the other men.
He stirred in the bed. “Where’s me uniform jacket?”
“Downstairs, I think.” She stretched luxuriantly. “You’re not leaving already, are you?”
“I need to work, come morning.”
“Damn.”
He kissed her, something for her to remember.
“Umm,” she purred appreciatively. “You’ll come back later tonight, won’t you?”
He said nothing. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
“Brendan?”
He wanted her to beg again. Not proud of it, but there it was. “What, lass?”
“You’ll come back? Please?”
“Well, since you ask so nicely.” Feck, he was lost.
“What time does your shift end?”
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