Guilty Pleasures (18 page)

“Is she a good Catholic girl?” Mrs. Flynn wanted to know.

“She’s an Anglican, and goes to St. Luke’s every Sunday morning,” Maureen said.

“Well, I suppose even if she is English she’s all right if she goes to church. I’ll ask your brother to inquire of Father Porter.”

“Are you having a good Christmas, Mum?” Maureen wanted to bring this conversation to a close as quickly as possible now.

“Oh, yes. Your brothers are all here, and what do you think? Michael’s gone and found himself a girl to marry.”

“That’s wonderful, Mum. Give him my congratulations. Do you know her?”

“Oh, yes. She’s a good local girl. Flora Bailey,” Mrs. Flynn responded.

“Of course. I knew her in school,” Maureen said. “Well, that’s surely a fine Christmas gift for you, Mum, isn’t it? Did you get the packages I sent?”

“You shouldn’t spend your money like that, Maureen,” her mother scolded. Then she relented a bit. “Everyone was delighted with your choices.”

“I’m glad you all had such a good Christmas. I’ll have to ring off now, Mum. It’s almost two o’clock here, and we’re having Christmas dinner. I’ll write you all about it.”

“Yes, do,” her mother said. “I read your letters to the family.”

“Merry Christmas again, Mum,” Maureen said.

“Go out with that young man, Maureen. You can’t be a nanny forever, living in someone else’s home instead of your own,” her mother advised. “Merry Christmas, my daughter, and God bless you.”

“You too, Mum,” Maureen said and rang off.

Toryn O’Donel called her the day after Christmas.

“How did you get my number?” Maureen demanded to know.

“Father Porter, who got it from your brother,” he said, laughing. “They’re quite a club, the priests are. Will you go out with me on New Year’s Eve?”

“I can’t. Mrs. Devlin and her husband are going to a party. I have to be in the house to babysit the children,” Maureen said with genuine regret.

“Do you think they would allow me to come over and keep you company?” he asked her. “What if I ask my uncle to speak with them and vouch for me as a respectable citizen who’ll not kidnap their wee ones or ravage their nanny?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “All right,” she heard herself saying. New Year’s Eve dates never came to anything anyway. And it wasn’t likely her employers were going to agree, priest or no.

But Emily Devlin did agree, much to Maureen’s surprise. “Father Porter spoke to Mick, and Essie says he’s a lovely young man. How can I say no? I write romance, for goodness’ sakes. Of course your young man may come and keep you company on New Year’s Eve, Maureen.”

“He’s not my young man, Mrs. Devlin,” Maureen said.

“But he wants to be,” Emily Devlin replied, laughing.

Maureen saw Toryn O’Donel at the IGA the next day when she stopped in to pick up some lamb chops. “My missus says you can come,” she told him. “But remember, the children come first.”

“I like children,” he said, smiling at her as he handed her the brown paper package of lamb chops. Their hands touched.

Maureen blushed, to her embarrassment, and her legs felt suddenly like jelly. Still, she managed to say, “Then I’ll see you New Year’s Eve. Don’t come before nine.”

The Devlins were just leaving as Toryn O’Donel arrived on New Year’s Eve. Maureen introduced him to her employers.

“You’re a Donegal man, Father Porter tells me,” Mick Devlin said, looking the young man up and down.

“I am, sir,” Toryn replied politely.

Mick Devlin nodded. “Have a good evening, then,” he said as he escorted his wife out to their car.

“Gracious,” Emily said to her husband as they pulled out of their drive. “He is one big handsome man, isn’t he?”

“We’re going to lose our nanny,” Mick said grimly.

“Oh, darling, don’t be silly,” Emily told him. “This is their first date.”

“He’s got a look in his eye that Irishmen only get when they decide it’s time to marry, angel face. I know that look. I had it when I met you.”

“Pinfeathers, Devlin,” his wife said. “You might have gotten it later on, but in the beginning, I just wanted to learn what real sex was all about, and you were more than ready to teach me. Besides, if they get married somewhere down the line, they wouldn’t go back to Ireland. They came to the States because the opportunities are better. He’s got a good job. The gossip, Essie tells me, is that when Karl retires the Irishman will be head butcher. And Maureen has been trained as a nanny. She won’t leave us.”

“I want to convert the carriage house into living quarters,” Mick said.

“Why, you clever man,” Emily said, approving her husband’s suggestion. “If we can offer them living quarters when they marry, we’ll certainly keep our nanny.”

“Until they want to have children of their own,” Mick replied.

“Children?” Maureen said. She and Toryn were settled in the den before a roaring fire. The children were all in bed, and the twins were sleeping through the night now. “Yes, I’d like children one day, but not as many as my mum.”

“How many did she have?” he asked her.

“Thirteen, all living. We’ve got a priest, a nun, one girl married, and a couple of farmers among the adults. The younger ones seem more interested in getting more education. Besides, there’s not enough land to support them all,” Maureen said.

“There’re six in my family,” Toryn told her. He put an arm about her, drawing her close. “Only one girl, poor thing, and she’s the eldest.”

“I don’t envy her,” Maureen replied. His arm about her shoulders felt very comforting, and she couldn’t help snuggling a little against him.

“So how many do you want?” he asked her.

“Two or three should do it for me,” Maureen told him.

“That’s fine with me,” Toryn told her. “I’m glad we’re in agreement about that.”

“There’s no agreement between us,” Maureen said, pulling away from him.

“There’s going to be,” he responded, drawing her back closer to his side. “You’re the girl I’m going to marry, Maureen Flynn. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you. I even told my uncle you were the one.”

“Did you indeed?” Maureen said. “You’re a bold man, you are, Toryn O’Donel!”

“I am that,” he agreed. Then, turning her slightly and tilting her face up to his, he gave her a long, slow kiss.

Maureen could have sworn her toes were curling. To her complete surprise, she melted into his embrace, slipping her arms about him and letting his kiss sweep her away. One big hand slipped beneath her sweater to unfasten her bra and cup a breast. The kiss deepened, and his tongue slid into her mouth to stroke her tongue as his thumb rubbed the nipple of the breast he was cupping. She should stop him. Yes, he was much too forward for a respectable girl, and she was a respectable girl. But, dear Lord, his kiss, his caresses felt so damned good. She was going to stop him. Just another moment or two and she would make him desist from this shameless behavior.

His head was spinning. The touch of her lips set off those odd flashbacks he sometimes got. He could see them in a bed of furs making very passionate love to each other. He knew he should not be so bold with her. No one, his priestly uncle and Mr. Devlin included, had to tell him that Maureen Flynn was a proper girl. But the fragrance that seemed to surround her, the softness of her skin, her sweet response seemed to be playing havoc with him. He was finding it absolutely impossible to cease his behavior, but finally, and with the greatest effort he had ever made, he broke off the kiss.

Maureen’s lips were swollen. Her green eyes gazing up at him were befuddled. “Wha-what just happened here?” she managed to say.

“God, you felt it too, didn’t you?” he answered her.

She nodded, realizing as she did that his big hand was still on her breast.

“Do you want me to go? I’ll go if you say it,” he told her.

Here was her escape, but instead she heard herself saying, “No. I don’t want you to go, Toryn O’Donel. Unless you want to go,” she added.

“I don’t want to go,” he replied. “I want to kiss you again, Maureen Flynn.” And he did, taking her lips in a furious kiss that seemed to awaken a fierce passion in them both. They devoured each other with their mouths, and then his hand was leaving her breast, slipping beneath her wool skirt, and sliding slowly, slowly up her leg. Reaching her thighs, he let his fingers gently stroke the soft interior flesh, his kisses moving across her face as he did.

Maureen had had sex once or twice in her life. It had been hurried and certainly nothing like this. She quivered as his finger brushed the curls of her mons, then ran along her slit. She could feel the moisture already beginning to rise. He found her mouth again and gave her a delicious, deep kiss, their tongues exploring each other as his finger slipped between her nether lips to begin stroking her clit.
The gods! The gods!
The voiceless words formed in her mind, and she moaned softly as the finger played with her. Maureen felt herself squirming against his hand, actually encouraging him, and she couldn’t help it. She shivered with a tiny orgasm.

Damn, she is passionate,
Toryn thought,
and we are going to make beautiful babies. I want to fuck her so badly, but I can’t tonight. She wants it now, but tomorrow she’ll be furious with herself, and especially with me, but she needs release.
He pushed a single finger into her vagina and began to frig her.

Maureen moaned with undisguised pleasure.
“More!”
she pleaded with him, and cried with pleasure as the one finger became two, which moved faster and faster, harder and deeper, until she released a sobbing climax, the walls of her vagina spasming around his hand as she rode it. And when it was over, she turned to hide her face in his sweater.

“No,” he said. “Don’t turn away from me, little one.”

Maureen stiffened at those two words on his lips. Her fantasy Celtic warrior, Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures, called her that.

“I don’t want you ashamed of what just happened between us. I told you we’re going to marry. Hard as it may be to believe, little one, I love you. You’ve haunted my dreams for years, and when we met a few weeks back, I couldn’t believe my luck to have found you, little one.” He caressed her hair.

“Crazy as it sounds, I’ve dreamed of you too,” Maureen admitted to him. She could keep silent, push him away, and continue to live in a fantasy world every Saturday night. Or she could have the flesh-and-blood reality of her fantasy and a happily ever after just like in one of Mrs. Devlin’s novels. She sat up, touching his face. “You were lovely to pleasure me, Toryn O’Donel, but what of yourself?” Reaching out, she touched the hard ridge in his slacks, stroking it gently.

His warm hand covered her hand. “I’ll live. Hey, look at the clock on the mantel. It’s almost midnight, Maureen Flynn. Let’s turn on the telly and watch all those crazy people down in Times Square.”

“Mrs. Devlin left us a little split of champagne in the fridge,” she said. “I’ll get it, and we’ll toast in the New Year in a proper fashion.”

Several minutes later they counted down the seconds with everyone else, shared a quick kiss, and raised their glasses to celebrate the New Year.

“It’s a new beginning for us both,” Toryn O’Donel said to her.

Maureen nodded. “I know,” she agreed.

On Valentine’s Day he gave her a small engagement ring, which she accepted. They planned their wedding for March 17, which was a Saturday. Their lust for each other was just too great. Maureen feared she would be pregnant if they didn’t marry quickly. They had decided to refrain from the final act of sex until they were married. Neither was a virgin, but they didn’t discuss the past. It was their future together that they were interested in.

“I knew we were going to lose our nanny,” Mick Devlin said when Emily told him of the engagement.

“We’re not losing Maureen,” his wife told him, laughing.

“Have you seen how that butcher boy looks at her? She’ll be pregnant on her wedding night—I guarantee it.”

“No, she won’t,” Emily said.

“They’re both good Catholics of the old school, for God’s sake,” Mick grumbled.

“They’re not in Ireland anymore, and Maureen has seen Dr. Sam. They both want children, but they also want to wait a bit and put some money aside. When will the carriage house be finished for them?”

“Beginning of March,” Mick answered her. “All you women have everything nicely in hand, angel face, don’t you?”

“Yep,” Emily answered him. “And not only that, I’ve done about a third of the new book. You can tell J.P. when you two have your weekly sparring session at the editorial meeting that I’m right on schedule.”

“I’ll tell her whatever you want as long as we don’t lose our nanny. Are they honeymooning, and for how long?”

“You are such a selfish pig, Devlin,” she accused. “And yes, they’ll be off for a week at Disney World in Florida. Maureen and I already have her temporary replacement lined up. Annie Marshall is letting us have Nanny Violet for a few days. She won’t be sleeping over, but she’ll be here during the day.”

“I am not a selfish pig, angel face. I’ve just grown used to having my wife back,” Mick Devlin said. “I’ll bet the twins decide to walk when Maureen’s away, and with four toddlers, there’ll be merry hell to pay. Nanny Violet will have her work cut out for her.”