A Love by Any Measure (16 page)

Then he was flat on the ground, passed out cold.

Eric and Seamus rushed forth with a mighty chuckle, picking up the drunken Irishman from the floor. Rory emerged as well, hooking his arm under Owen’s and pulling him over himself with Seamus’ help.

“Owen never could put up a fight against whiskey,” Rory laughed.

“Yeah, and after a kiss like that, there wasn’t likely much blood left in his head!” A chorus of laughter followed Eric’s jibe.

Maeve was overwhelmed, fretting that she had been too scandalous, and there with her da in earshot. He seemed to pick up on her discomfort, however, and squashed it.

“Don’t you worry, just pub talk, and I’ve heard plenty. Seamus and I will take him home and take care of him ‘til morning. You go home. I’m sure Eric won’t mind walking you back.”

“Actually, Mr. O’Connor, I’ll be happy to escort her.”

His voice was soft as rain and as gentle as the mountain breeze. August stepped forward and offered Maeve his arm. Her da eyed him suspiciously, as did Seamus and Eric.

“My horse is tied up in a public stable near the bakery, and I must pass that way anyhow. It wouldn’t at all be inconvenient to walk her back and be certain that she arrives home safely, if you will give me leave.”

Rory hesitated, suspiciously eying the Englishman, then gave a wary but assenting nod. “Aye, go quickly and make sure you lock the gate behind you, Maeve. Thank you, Grayson, for your hospitality. I’m afraid Owen took of it a little too much.”

The last thing Maeve saw before emerging back on the street was Brocc kissing on some lad in the corner. Rory, Owen, and Seamus headed left, and August and Maeve departed right.

Maeve focused all her might on not stumbling. She wasn’t as gone as Owen, but she would surely be feeling the echoes of the alcohol in the morning.

“Your fiancé enjoys his whiskey,” August said matter-of-factly, breaking the silence at last.

“Aye, it’ll make us a well matched couple,” she retorted with a bit of a rogue tone.

“Is that what you want, then? Is that part of it ‘all’ — a drinking partner?”

She threw him a scalding look as she planted herself firmly and refused to take another step. The bakery was within sight now, and the view of her own stoop lent itself to her boldness, knowing she could make a dash for it if things got too heated.

“I thought I was perfectly clear about what I wanted, Lord Grayson. And you were perfectly clear that you didn’t want to give it to me.”

“I said I couldn’t, not that I didn’t want to,” he corrected with such soft-spoken sincerity that she was momentarily speechless.

As she leaned forward to poke him in the chest, her footing was lost, and August caught her in his embrace before she could fall to the street. His eyes locked unto her even more, his face mere inches away as he held her firmly to keep her from slipping.

“Maeve ... ” His focus shifted to her lips. “Maeve, I’ve wanted to ... ”

“See the books. Yes, I recall.”

He appeared crestfallen as she drew away in a blur, forcing herself to remain in control. She would not be seduced by his sweet gaze or his alluring voice. Maeve would keep her dignity here, where she had failed with him before.

“Wait, please. We need to talk, and not about the books.”

She quickened her pace all the more, the gate now just a few steps off.

“Maeve, I’ve missed you so much. Middle Lake is barren without you.”

The small gesture did the trick. Although she did not turn, her hand stopped upon the gate and she stood motionless.

“My cottage is gone, August. The only place I ever called home is gone.”

It came across as an accusation, leaving August scrambling to respond.

“I am sorry, but I needed the land. I had hoped that perhaps ... someday ... You ... ” He cast his eyes downward.

“I had hoped for certain somedays, too, August.”

As moonlight broke through the cloud cover above and lit the street, Maeve hoped it didn’t illuminate the tears threatening to break. In her chest, a swirl of every emotion she had ever felt in his presence overwhelmed her — hate, desperation, longing, confusion, compassion, dominance, love …

“What do you expect from me?” she began as her tone turned bitter. “You bring me to town, set me up at the bakery, and I somehow manage to take the powder keg you created and defuse it. I was able to abate gossip and still keep Owen unaware. Two months have passed, and I was finally beginning to convince myself that it was all a dream. Now you show up here, tonight of all nights, and make me remember that what I had with you ... You remind me that you and I ... ”

August had managed to close the distance between them. Standing now just an arm’s length from her, he held out his hand and tried to touch her. She pulled away just enough to deny him access.

“No, don’t,” she demanded, opening the gate. “You can’t use me anymore. You’ve destroyed my home; there’s nothing left for you to barter. I’m marrying Owen Murphy and you and I will never speak unless it’s directly regarding the bakery. Just accept it.”

“No.”

Unfettered, he took another step toward her, bringing his lips ever so closely to hers. Walking backward, Maeve climbed a few more steps to reestablish the space between them.

“I’m getting the dream. The one you didn’t want to give me, so please, just leave.”

He erased the distance again, causing Maeve to start their slow tandem ascension of the stairs.

“I fully intended to stay away, and I didn’t come here with any plots in mind. But now, in this moonlight, and maybe with a little help of the whiskey ... Maeve, Lord help me, how could I let such a beautiful creature go?”

“I’m more than a pretty face. I’m to be someone’s wife, and eventually a mother.”

The image ransacked her mind before she could stop it: a Christmas tree tall as the ceiling, three children gathered around her lap with their new clothes perfectly pressed, their eyes full of delight and anticipation as each tore at a pretty-papered package. As day passed to night, her eyes looking lovingly out as August pulled her into their private chamber, kissing gently down her jaw to her neck, pushing her trembling frame away before slowly removing her night coat ...

They had reached the stoop outside her door. She used her whole body to try and wedge the oaken frame open. The first volley only brought a moan of resistance from the wood. Without turning, but in a voice mixed heavily with desperation and resignation, she begged, “Please leave.”

“Only if you tell me you love him.”

She was done for.

“Love will grow,” Maeve said over her shoulder. “It needs only time. I will love Owen someday, as he loves me now. Besides, who marries for love?”

He winced. It was obvious he had no intention of leaving until his piece — whatever that may be — was said. Maeve turned around slowly, dropping her arms in surrender and pressing her back against the door. She needed to get in, needed to leave him outside. If he saw in, anything she was about to tell him would be all too obvious a lie.

“So you admit you do not love him.”

“How could I deny it? I barely know him.”

August’s head cocked to the side. “Do you know him any less than you know me?”

“No.”

“Not much to build a future on, Miss O’Connor.”

Her cheeks must have burned as she felt the heat tickle her nerves. “What I am building a future on is his good name and mine. A good name, I’ll remind you, that you nearly succeeded in dragging through the mud.”

The words bore no fruit in repelling him. Instead, his form pressed into hers, backing Maeve against the door, leaving no route of escape except inward, against that very door that would not budge.

“And what of our prospects? Can you take no future from that?”

She scoffed, feeling every Judas nerve calling to seek out his lips, his eyes trying to draw her further into his web.

“You are English. What worth are you in Ireland?”

“You are Irish, what worth are you in England?”

August angled his chin and leaned in, seeking her kiss. In a last ditch effort to deny her desire, Maeve tried to pull back from him, but there was nowhere to go. Instead, her head slammed back, and their combined weights finally forced the door to yield. The wood upon wood friction made a terrible cry as Maeve fell inward, landing hard on the floorboards, August’s body landing right atop hers. His head picked up, looking not at her, but across the room with wonder the likes of a child.

Silence.

Except for the steady tick of one previously-owned Comtoise clock, the very one August had cast off at auction only a few weeks before.

“Maeve, my clock?”

“Yes, our clock.”

A Moment Stolen

W
herein so bitter August had found the constant tick of the clock that he had sold it off, now each moment it measured a victory.

Maeve’s arms encircled his neck and pulled him closer as his lips took from hers every portion of warmth they were able to offer.

“How?” he asked breathlessly, flashing his eyes to the clock and back again to her flushed visage. Even with a manager’s salary, the purchase of such an opulent item would be nearly impossible.

“I’m afraid you’ll discover when you go over the books.”

His lips returned to hers but were left unsatisfied. August simply couldn’t kiss her hard or fast enough to be convinced that she understood his rapture.

“August, the door ... ”

It was quite chilly and the air was causing the flat — and Maeve — to lose heat. August nodded, begrudgingly withdrew, and rose to his feet. The heavy door refused to completely close until he used the weight of his whole body to press it into place. When at last he succeeded, he found her spot on the floor empty.

His eyes searched the room. Across the way, Maeve’s silhouette ghosted through the darkness. Soon, a soft glow filled the room, throwing amber highlights about. August smiled coyly as he slipped off his overcoat and let it fall to the floor. Maeve had abandoned her cloak as well.

“I’m drunk,” she said through a half-smirk.

“Me too.”

Her eyes turned devilishly delighted as he reached her, pulling her back to him. She set the lamp on top of the nearby mantle and twisted her fingers through his hair.

“Last time I was drunk I tried to seduce Owen, but he was too good a man to take advantage of me.”

He placed light, wet kisses along her neck just where her hair cascaded behind.

“Good thing I’m an English bastard with no morals.”

Maeve tilted her head back, exposing her throat, and August tasted every inch, using his arms to pull her closer all the while. Her hands reached up to his dress coat and tugged at the sleeves. He was all too happy to oblige her and removed the needless garment, surrendering it to a pile on the floor that was soon joined by his shirt and vest, her blouse, and then her skirt. The sight of the petticoat and camisole he had gifted her underneath sent his spirit soaring.

Their hands acted only as utilities of undressing, but even now as they both stood only in their undergarments, August was surprised when Maeve’s fingers began skirting down his sides, over his hip, and reached around to grab the hem of his drawers, tugging at them.

“Maeve ... ” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Are you certain?”

“I’m standing in front of our clock, August,” she answered as she began to slip the cotton fabric down, revealing his hardened manhood without the further hindrance of cloth. “What I do here is for your pleasure.”

The drawers fell to the floor and Maeve’s hands circled forward, both beginning to stroke the exposed and ready instrument. His eyes rolled back. He had touched her from nearly head to toe, but had recalled the only instance of her soft hand upon him so intimately with longing since it had happened. Still, a bit of his gentlemanly upbringing would not allow her to press forward unwarned.

“Maeve, the first time for a woman ... There can be pain. It may hurt ... And, I don’t ... Oh, Maeve, yes ... Are you certain that ... Ungh, May ... ”

The anticipation August had felt since first they struck their deal in the stable was coming to a head. Maeve’s hands had grown so strong from working dough in the bakery — a consequence he had never considered when giving her the position, but one he was surely benefiting from now. Her fingers united in their grip and worked the embrace of her hands up and down his shaft. His release would not be long in coming, and he wasn’t sure what her reaction would be. Even now, his mind raced to know how she had figured out how to do what she was so masterfully doing.

As though his eyes had put into words this very query, she looked up at his ever-contorting features. “Brocc talks.”

He nodded, understanding that the girl’s reputation must have been well earned. Maeve loosed her left hand as her right journeyed lower, cupping the sac beneath and nearly undoing his control.

With breaths heated and fast, he growled, “Maeve ... Please, you’re going to make me ... Oh, my ... May... I’m .... Imma ... ”

With the force of a raging river, he arrived. As her hand took the evidence of his climax, she didn’t seem the least bit surprised, only somewhat intrigued and entertained.

“Did I make such a mess?” she laughed, as she wiped her hand across her cotton camisole.

August smirked down at her. She was not disturbed at all, and that fact relieved his tension. This, paired with the physical relaxation that was now cascading over his body, and August drew face to face with her yet again, before leading her towards the floor.

Maeve’s joviality gave way to a renewed hue of lust. She bit her bottom lip as. August’s hands rose first to her arms and clasped for a moment the tender, soft flesh. Then he moved his attentions around front and began unlacing the camisole’s ribbons. Maeve said nothing, using only her eyes and the twitching of her mouth to make him aware of her acceptance. The lacing undone, August pulled back the camisole and took in the miraculous sight of her naked breasts.

Slowly, tenderly, he palmed one, then the other, making light circular motions over the hardening peaks. Maeve gasped as her back arched. August felt more than impulse; he felt it vital to his mortal existence to draw her to him. His hands abandoned their labors and wrapped around her back in an effort to close the remaining distance. Her soft form slammed into his as their lips found each other’s in the new proximity. Be it instinct or good fortune, Maeve crumbled in his arms, and soon he found himself covering her body with his own.

Tick, tock, tick, tock ...

His tongue explored the taste of her chin, her ear, her lips. Again, the strength of an otherwise so gentle set of hands laid claim to his hips, pulling him down on her. He had already resurfaced from his release, sensing an opportunity for another so close. Only one piece of clothing remained between them, and one irrevocable decision to be made.

But the decision had been made, and the consequences be damned. It had been made long ago on a late summer’s day, when a pretty Irish lass had found a confused and lost English boy, running away from the crushing reality of his own immovable fate. It had been affirmed when that boy returned to her shores, a man, to run away once again, and certified the moment she committed herself to five seconds at his side despite obligations that would have her do otherwise.

August pulled back and stroked her cheek slowly, his eyes falling to her swollen lips. He would afford her this last opportunity to decline, he thought. After that, he wasn’t sure he would retain enough control to be able to stop. She answered with a kiss so pure he knew she shared his desire. Pulling himself back, August sat back on the balls of his feet and bent down to slip his hands under the hem of her petticoat.

Achingly slowly, he pulled the garment down the length of her strong, slender legs and past her ankles, the fabric catching on her smallest toe as he pulled it away. Completely undressed before him, August saw her whole body trembling under his stare. If she felt an anxiety at their compromised state, there was no indication of it. Rather, she seemed to quiver in anticipation. For a few moments, he relished the angelic vision before him. Her pale ivory skin glowed under the lamp light that fell down over them both. He could see the glisten of sweat upon her chest and brow, and the glint of wetness below that taunted him.

Maeve held her arms out and curled her hands, gesturing him to come. He lowered over her again and felt himself align perfectly with her entrance. He distracted her from the initial entry with a heart-stopping kiss as he pushed himself in halfway. The instinctual reluctance began to ease as her body recognized the natural consummation of the lover and his mate. August pulled back, and then again pushed forward, still locked in a kiss that had become more important than the need for transient elements like air. This was the air, the water, the fire.

As he sank completely into her, Maeve gave a yelp. His concerned gaze shot to her face, evaluating her expression. She smiled after a few moments’ pause and raised her hips in invitation. Their bodies flowed like water, slipping over each other, under, through, around ... together. As his rhythm established itself, Maeve’s gestures and reactions mirrored his, complementing his sex. Their kisses were hard and deep, leaving both dizzy. August became so enraptured with the feeling of multiple sensations that he didn’t notice when their bodies exchanged positions. Maeve straddled him, allowing him deeper access and freeing his hands to explore the swell of her breasts, to feel the flex and release of her muscles as he pulled her body back and forth over him, to place his hands on her hips and lead her in a meter that pulled every essence of pleasure forth from the farthest reaches of their bodies and souls.

August worked her sense of push and pull at a quickening pace, her overflowing wetness making his efforts easily rewarded. A gentle moan brought his attention from the apex of their joining to her face. Had he hurt her? Another moan, this one deeper and louder, soon followed and was accompanied by a tightening of her walls around him.

He realized that she was beginning to break her zenith. It excited him beyond measure. August doubled the pace by insistence of his grip upon the curvature of her hips. The increase in the friction matriculated in the impending release of his own climax. He became vaguely conscious that Maeve was saying something ... actual words, and focused only long enough to learn that she was in fact invoking his name.

“August!” she called feverishly.

“Maeve!” he growled, his stomach clenching. August called out to her in Irish through the wave of pleasure breaking from every corner of his being. “Mo shearc, mo Maeve. You’re so beautiful. “

Her hands leaned forward and steadied her body on his chest as her noises manifested as screams of his name. Maeve’s body shuddered and collapsed just as August felt himself release into her. Her hair stuck to his sweat-gleaming front as her head found relief on his shoulder, their bodies still maintaining connection. He kissed her forehead before falling silent. When she shivered, he feared for her comfort. Gingerly, August maneuvered the sated creature into his arms and carried her to her bed. Once she was situated under her blankets, Maeve reached up without speaking, inviting August into her embrace.

Eventually, she rolled off and lay at his side. August turned on his side, too, their eyes locking and each smiling through post-coital bliss. Maeve began to drift off to sleep, her eyes still flickering open every few minutes to look at his. Though weary, August forced himself to remain awake, frightened that Puck would find them in their slumber and enchant their hearts away from each other.

August slid his hand down to take hers in turn and felt his fingertips graze over the ring — the sole piece of foreign attire left on her body. He recalled the words of the man whom had made binding his contract by way of this ring just a short time ago, said through a drunken stupor. Yet, even this near stranger could look at August in a moment and see that he was incomplete. August needed his complement, his other half.

No, more than half. He had been empty before — a mere container for the flesh and bone of which his parents’ tragic coupling had resulted. Maeve made him whole. This ring upon her finger threatened to take her away, however. He would be left again without purpose or pride. He would be a fallow field.

“May?” he whispered softly.

Her eyelids, heavy with the effects of whiskey and weariness, flickered open, the wetness of her eyes twinkling under the lamp light. She smiled in the way that only a satisfied woman could.

“August?” Her eyes closed again.

“Don’t marry him.”

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked aghast. “What do you mean? Everyone is expecting ... If you think I can ... ”

He stopped her words with a kiss planted firmly on her soft lips, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her to him. Maeve rolled over on her back and he followed, feeling the stirring of desire take hold again. Maeve’s body reawakened too, her legs wrapping around him and pulling herself to meet his interests.

“Don’t marry him,” August said as he slipped into her once again. “You can’t marry him.”

He thrust harder and harder, building them both again to a rapid climax.

“Don’t you see, May?”

She began to twitch and quiver on the edge of release. He sped up, willing her body to echo his desire reaching fruition.

Maeve pulsed beneath him, her heart pounding. He had lost his grasp on reason, his caution in giving everything he could to her, though the danger of their act was well known to them both.

“See what?” she gasped.

“I love you,” he cried as he felt himself give over to her once more. “Lord help me, May, I love you too much to let you go.”