Irish Rebel

by Nora Roberts

  She opened, willing, wanting to be touched and tasted and taken. Even as he sensed her eagerness he led her slowly, patiently, thoroughly through the layers of sensations.

  He caressed, his fingertips, palms, light as the air, then lingering at some secret place that had her breath catching on little jolts of pleasure. His mouth cruised lazily over her skin, sliding her into warmth, then it would come back to hers again, with a hungry bite that shot her into the heat.

  Instinctively, avidly, she arched against him. He was murmuring to her, lovely, stirring words in the old tongue, each like a tender kiss on the soul. Her heart fluttered, wings spreading wide for flight. There were no nerves, no doubts as she raised herself to him, wrapped herself around him. When he slipped off her shirt, the breeze and his fingertips whispered over her. She felt beautiful.

  Her skin was white silk, her hair rich flame. Every tremble was a gift, every sigh a treasure. In his life he'd never held anything as lovely as Keeley discovering herself.

  She never shied when he undressed her, but embraced each new moment, welcomed each fresh sensation. Her curious hands moved over him, undressing him in turn. He'd never known how arousing it could be to be someone's first.

  Her heart hammered under his mouth, and the scent she'd dabbed on that fragile flesh swirled into his senses until they were as clouded as hers. He took more, just a little more, and she began to move under him in mindless invitation.

  So much. There was so much, was all she could think. Her body was flooded with sensations, her flesh quivering from them. She could hear her own moans, her own ragged breaths but could do nothing to control them. The very loss of control was thrilling.

  Everything inside her was tangled and straining. And desperate. Her nails bit into his back, her teeth found his shoulder. Then his hand closed over her.

  She cried out from the shock of it, all that pulsing, pumping pleasure, the sheer heat of it that washed in one huge wave that crashed over her, inside her, and left her shuddering. She reared up, eyes blind, her fingers diving into his hair.

  Then his mouth was on hers again, hotter now, hungrier, giving her no chance to catch her breath or her sanity.

  "Give yourself to me," he whispered, the blood pounding in his head as her eyes, heavy, stunned, looked into his. "Take me in."

  With her eyes on his, she opened and arched, and gave.

  It was like rising into the air, each stroke another beat of wings. Pleasure climbed higher and higher still, lifting through her body, sweeping through her mind. All she could see were his eyes, dark and green and focused on her, even as his body was focused on hers. Mated and matched and moving with her.

  Staggered by the beauty of it, she lifted a hand to his cheek, murmured his name.

  And he was lost. Love and passion, dreams and desire stabbed through his heart. Helpless, he buried his face in her hair and let himself go.

  With her eyes closed she absorbed the delights of being a well-loved woman. Her body felt gloriously heavy, her mind wonderfully muffled. There was no need to wonder or worry if she had given Brian the same pleasure. She had seen it in his face, and felt it as he lay over her with his heart still thundering.

  There was a change inside her, she thought. Awareness, understanding. And a soaring kind of triumph.

  Smiling to herself, she traced a finger down his back. "How are the ribs?"

  "What?"

  And didn't it feel grand to hear that sleepy slur in his voice? "Your ribs. That's still a nasty bruise you have there."

  "I can't feel anything." His head was still spinning. "What's this scent you've put on? It's devious."

  "Just one of my many secrets."

  He lifted his head, started to grin at her, then it swamped him again. The look of her, the love of her. Lowering his head he brought his lips to hers in a long, dreamy kiss that came out of his soul and stirred hers.

  Her hand slid limply to the mattress. "Brian."

  "I'm crushing you." He said it briskly. He'd terrified himself.

  He shifted away and shattered the moment. "There's not really very much of you." Suddenly aware that the breeze fluttering in the windows he left open was cold, he tugged at the bedspread until he could wrap it around her. "Are you all right then?"

  "I'm fabulous, thank you." Laughing, she sat up, without a shrug for modesty as the spread slid to her waist. She caught his face in her hands and gave him a quick, affectionate kiss. "Are you all right then?" she said, mimicking his brogue.

  "That I am, but I've had a bit of practice."

  "I'll bet. But let's not bring up all your conquests just now. I'd hate to be obliged to punch you when I'm feeling so friendly."

  "I wouldn't say they were conquests precisely. But we'll let that be."

  "Wise choice."

  "Let me close the windows. You're cold."

  She angled her head as he rose. "There's nurturing in that bruised body of yours, Donnelly."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I'd say it comes from the horses." She pursed her lips, considered while hethunked a window down and scowled. "You look after them, worry about them, make plans for them, see to their needs and their comfort—oh and their training, of course.

  Then if you don't watch yourself you start to do it with people, too."

  "I don't nurture people." He found the idea mildly insulting. "People can look after themselves. I don't even like people very much." He stalked over and shut the other window. "Present company excepted, as you're sitting naked in my bed and it would be rude to say otherwise."

  "You didn't phrase that quite right. You don't like very many people. Do you have a robe?"

  "No." He wasn't sure if it was the truth in what she said, or her understanding of him that irked him.

  "Figures." She spied one of his work shirts tossed over a chair, and though it smelled of horses, slipped it on. "I'd say that tea's probably strong enough to hammer nails by now. Do you still want it?"

  She looked… interesting in his shirt. Interesting enough that his blood began to churn again. "What are my options?"

  "On my schedule, we have a cup of tea, a little conversation, then you get to seduce me back into bed and make love to me again before I go home."

  "That's not bad, but I think it bears improving."

  "Oh, and how's that?"

  "We cut out the tea and conversation."

  She ran her tongue over her top lip—his taste was still there—as he walked toward her. "That would take us straight to you seducing me? Correct?"

  "That's my plan."

  "I can be flexible."

  His grin flashed. "I'd like to test that out."

  They never got around to the tea.

  And when she'd left him, he stood at the door and watched her run along the path. Love-struck idiot, he told himself. You can't keep her. You've never kept anything in your life that you couldn't fit in the bag you toss over your shoulder.

  It was a bad turn of luck, that was all, that he would slip up and fall in love. It was bound to hurt like blazes before it was done. He'd get over it, of course. Over her and over this slippery feeling inside his heart. He wasn't so far gone as to believe this sort of madness lasted.

  So best to enjoy it, he decided, and turned away when Keeley disappeared in the dark.

  When he climbed into bed, her scent was on his pillow. For the first time in a week he slept deep and slept well.

  Chapter Eight

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  She missed him. It was the oddest thing to find herself thinking about Brian off and on during the day, and thinking of a dozen things she wanted to tell him, or show him when he got back from Saratoga.

  She wasn't the only one.

  During his next lesson Willy asked if Mr. Donnelly was coming so he could show off the fresh gap in his teeth. The man, Keeley mused, made an impression and made it fast.

  It wasn't as if she didn't have enough to occupy her mind or her time. She'd found
enough tuition students to add another class and was even now snaking her way through the maze of bureaucracy to arrange for three additional subsidized students.

  She'd had meetings with the psychologist, the social worker, the parents and the children. The paperwork alone was enough to, well, choke a horse, she admitted. But it would be worth it in the end.

  With some amusement, she flipped through the article inWashingtonian Magazine . She knew the exposure was responsible for netting her the new full tuition students. The photographs were gorgeous and the text made full use of her background, her Olympic medal and her social standing.

  No problem there, she decided, particularly since the academy was mentioned several times.

  She glanced at the phone with a little sigh as it rang. It hadn't stopped since the article had been published. The time was coming, Keeley thought, when she was going to have to break down and hire an assistant.

  But for now, the school was all hers.

  "Good morning, Royal Meadows Riding Academy." Her coolly professional tone warmed when she heard her cousin Maureen's voice.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was hanging up and shaking her head. It appeared she was going to dinner and the races that evening. She'd said no—at least Keeley was fairly certain she'd said no five or six times. But nobody held out against Mo for long. She just rolled over you.

  Keeley eyed the piles of paperwork on her desk, huffed out a breath when the phone rang again. Just do the first thing, she reminded herself, then do the second, and keep going until it was done.

  She'd done the first, the second and the third, when her father came in.

  He stopped in the doorway, held up a hand. "Wait, don't tell me. I know you.The face is very familiar." He narrowed his eyes as she rolled hers. "I'm sure I've seen you before, somewhere. Tibet? Mazetlan? At the dinner table a year or two ago."

  "It hasn't been more than a week." She reached up as he bent to kiss her. "But I've missed you, too. I've been swamped here."

  "So I've heard." He flipped open the magazine to her article. "Pretty girl. I bet her parents are proud of her."

  "I hope so." When the phone rang, she muffled a shriek, waved her hands. "Let the machine get it. It's been ringing off the hook since Sunday. Half the parents who call in to inquire about lessons haven't even asked their kids if they want to ride."

  She scooted her chair to the little fridge and took out two bottles of soda. "So thanks."

  "For?" Travis prompted as he took the soft drink.

  "For always asking."

  "Then you're welcome. I hear I'm escorting two lovely women to dinner tonight."

  "Mo caught you?"

  He chuckled before he tipped back the bottle to drink. " 'We haven't had an inter-family gathering in weeks'," he mimicked, " 'Don't you love me anymore?'"

  "She always pushes the right button." Keeley studied the toe of her oldest boots. "So… have you heard from Brendon?"

  "Late yesterday. They should be home tonight."

  "That's good." You'd think the man could have called her once, she thought, scowling at her boots. Sent a telegram, a damn smoke signal.

  "I imagine Brian's anxious to get back."

  Her head jerked up. "Really?"

  "Betty's making progress—as are several of the other yearlings. She's doing particularly well on the practice oval. She's ready for Brian to take her over full-time."

  "I caught one of her morning workouts. She looks strong."

  "We breed true at Royal Meadows." There was something wistful in his tone that had Keeley lifting her brows.