Irish Linen (8 page)

It was late. The house was dark, and the rain beat softly against the window glass in a rhythmic sound that normally Meghan would have found soothing, but not this night. She lay in bed, staring up at the white tester of the bed, her thoughts on the man in the next room.

I’m an engaged woman. Why can’t I forget him?

Because no man had ever made her feel so special, so physically and emotionally aware of him.

She rolled onto her stomach and cradled her chin on her hands. What would have happened if they’d met under different circumstances? In Ireland, by chance … would Lucas have been as intent to bed her?

A mental image of him in bed in the next room flushed her with heat. Several times she’d fought the urge to go to the door and take a peek, but each time common sense had kept her away.

The last thing she needed was to carry the actual memory with her. How could she marry and live with Rafferty if she kept remembering Lucas … the way his golden hair fell on his forehead and curled about his ears … the way he occasionally rubbed his temple when he was deep in thought?

Gasping with desire, she flung herself onto her back. Dear God, she wanted to feel his hands on her … to
experience his kisses and to know the full force of his unleashed passion. But would Lucas allow himself to let go? He was a careful man; could a woman ever make him lose control?

Lord in heaven! What was she thinking? She was a betrothed woman with Catholic beliefs. She had no business having such sinful thoughts!

“Our Father …
“she prayed, “…
forgive me my temptation … and deliver me from evil.”

Evil, she thought. How could sharing the man’s bed be evil?

“ ‘Tis a sin outside of marriage, me girl,” an inner voice said.

“Aye,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Aye, but I want him anyway.”

A sound at the connecting door made Meghan freeze. She heard it again—the gentle turn of the doorknob.

It was difficult to pretend she was sleeping as she heard the
click
and realized that Lucas had opened the door. She forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly. She couldn’t control her body’s reactions as his footsteps creaked on the wooden floor before they were muffled when Lucas reached the carpet.

She sensed him near the bed, and her heart pounded so loudly she thought he surely must hear it. But he said nothing, so she continued to feign sleep and waited for him to leave.

A long moment passed, and he still hadn’t moved. Meghan prayed harder for him to go as she fought the urge to confront him, to throw back the covers and invite him to join her …

Rafferty.
She was engaged. She silently said another prayer and waited.

“Meghan?” Lucas’s whisper affected her like a shot in the dark.

She opened her eyes wide. “Lucas!”

He wasn’t as near as she’d first thought. He stood near the edge of the bed table, studying her where she lay.

She lifted herself to her elbows as he moved closer and stepped into the soft light that drifted past the open curtains of her room. He wore nothing but a pair of trousers that hugged his thighs and calves. Inhaling sharply, her gaze fastened on his sleek, muscled chest. His skin gleamed in the faint light. Meghan’s fingers tingled with the itch to touch him.

She sat, clutching the sheet to her breasts, and met his dark gaze. “Lucas, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His deep voice sent ripples of pleasure down the length of her spine. “Is it the rain?” she asked.

He shrugged. His eyes glowed in the darkness. “I thought I’d pilfer something from Anne’s pantry.” He suddenly looked like a little boy, confessing a transgression he’d yet to commit. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said softly. “I was just …” His voice trailed off without finishing.

She sat straighter. “What were ye going to say?”

Her heart pumped as she waited for his answer. She could see his features enough to watch the play of emotion. She felt strange … wildly exhilarated and anticipatory, yet scared, too, of her newly awakening feelings.

“Lucas?”

“Would you like to come?”

Meghan blinked. He wanted her to help him steal some food! It was the last thing she’d expected him to ask her, especially after his previous, bold pursuit of her. She had anticipated a renewal of his offer to bed her … to feed and clothe her … and give her
a home. Not a home with him, but somewhere close by.

His kept woman.

Instead, he acted like a young boy begging a friend to be his accomplice in mischief. The idea lightened her mood and appealed to her.

Meghan grinned. “Aye,” she said. Lucas and the Pattersons were friends; she didn’t think the innkeepers would mind them helping themselves from their larder.

She started to get up, only to stop, suddenly self-conscious of her state of dress. She wore only her threadworn shift, that was thin and too transparent.

He seemed to understand. “I’ll wait for you in the hall.”

She nodded, and once he’d closed her door, she hastened to pull on her gown.

Lucas was standing in the hallway, a few feet from the door, when Meghan exited the room. He gave her a conspiratorial grin, which she returned. An oil lamp had been left burning with lowered wick to gently light up the corridor.

Meghan was startled to see the light. She flashed Lucas a look that questioned.

“Anne leaves a light burning when there are guests,” he whispered.

But the expense
, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

Again, Lucas seemed to read her mind. “It’s barely burning. John will come at dawn to extinguish it.”

They snuck, like two children, down the curving staircase to the foyer below where there was another burning wall sconce.

Lucas knew where the pantry was located, and he led the way as if he’d made the trip a hundred times in the past.

“Ye’ve done this before,” she whispered.

He froze, turned, and held his finger to his lips. “The Pattersons,” he mouthed, while he pointed to the door of a room. Meghan’s eyes widened.

Lucas’s head tilted as he listened for sound, and then he waved her to follow him through the door to the kitchen and to the back of the work area until they came to the pantry.

They found bread, a plate of cookies, and a bowl of apples. Lucas grabbed some cookies and shoved them into Meghan’s hands. Then, he picked out two large, shiny apples and tucked them in his left arm. Next, he selected two glasses from a top cabinet. With his arms full, he slipped past Meghan, and with a nod of his head, instructed her to follow him once again. He stopped in the common room, shifting his burden, to take a bottle of wine from a cellarette.

Soon, they were climbing the steps to the second floor, and Meghan listened for sounds that they’d been discovered. She released a pent-up breath once they’d reached the safety of her room without waking their generous hosts.

Lucas set down the glasses, apples, and bottle of wine on her bed. He pulled the wing chair nearer to the bed and then cleared off the bed table by the headboard and moved it between the edge of the bed and the chair. “Sit down, Meghan,” he coaxed softly, “and we’ll share.”

She gave a soft, nervous laugh, before she sat on the bed while he took the chair, the food on the bed table between them.

The cookies were delicious with a lemon flavor. The apple was juicy, succulent, and sweet. It was a new experience for Meghan, sharing food with a man in the middle of the night… and she decided that she liked it.

Lucas grabbed the bottle and opened it. “Wine?” he offered.

“Won’t Anne and John miss that?” she asked breathlessly. She felt tingly and off balance in Lucas’s presence. Dare she risk drinking a glass of wine?

His smile was sensual and most decidedly male. “The Pattersons usually leave a bottle in my room.”

She was surprised. “You stay here often?”

He nodded. “Since I first stopped here five years ago, I’ve found it hard to stay away.” Without waiting for her consent, he poured her, and then himself, a half glass of the dark liquid. “Sometimes I just stop for dinner on my way through. Other times—more often than necessary, I’ll admit—I spend the night.”

Had he shared stolen meals in the middle of the night with other women? she wondered. The notion bothered her.

Then, Meghan noted how his lips curved in a soft smile as he stared at some point beyond her shoulder. “Beth loves the place, too,” he said, and her stomach muscles tightened. He met her gaze. “Beth is my sister.”

Her stomach unclenched, and she smiled back.

“Here.” He picked up a glass and held it over the table. His eyes gleamed as their gazes held while she accepted the wine.

Her skin tingled at his look. Her blood flowed, spreading warmth and a prickling sensation. She took a tentative sip from the glass and found she liked the wine’s taste. Meghan swallowed a second and then a third, and felt heat slide down her throat with each disappearing mouthful. She closed her eyes as she fought the effects of the wine and her attraction to the man seated across from her.

“Are you all right?” Lucas asked.

She opened her eyes and nodded. “The wine,” she said, her Irish brogue thickening, “it’s vera good.”

A glimmer of amusement brightened his ebony eyes. “I’m glad you like it.”

She jerked her head
yes
and experienced a swimming sensation that made her set down her glass and grip the table edge.

“Meghan—”

She heard Lucas’s concern. “I’m fine.” For some strange reason, she felt light-headed and weak all of a sudden. A reaction to the wine?

Frowning, Lucas set down his glass, rose, and came around the small table. “Perhaps you’d better lie down.”

His hands gripped her shoulders and gently swung her to lie down. She could detect about him a wonderful, wildly intoxicating woodsy fragrance mingling with the faint odor of wine on his breath. But most of all, she loved the scent that was entirely male, pleasant, and instantly recognizable to her as belonging to him alone … a scent that stirred her emotions as well as her physical desire for him.

Meghan felt the effects of the wine and Lucas’s nearness drugging her senses. She eyed him from beneath lowered lashes as he straightened and moved the table back to its original position beside the bed. Seeing his intention, she fought back panic.

“You’re exhausted,” he said, turning to face her. “I’ll leave you to sleep.”

She didn’t want him to go. “No! Please, I—” She gazed at him, appalled by her entreaty, but unable to conceal her need.

He froze, his gaze glittering, his jaw taut, as he stared down at her on the bed. “Meghan—”

“Sit here a minute, Lucas, will ye?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She padded the edge of the bed be-
side her, knowing that she was playing with fire, but uncaring of the danger. She waited with held breath for his decision.

He hesitated before lowering himself to the bed. “This is crazy,” he breathed, lifting a hand to touch her hair.

“Aye,” she said, unable to deny it. But they weren’t doing anything wrong, she reminded herself. Merely talking … as friends.

But when Lucas tangled his fingers in her hair and twirled the silky strands before tucking them behind her ear, she didn’t feel like merely his friend. She closed her eyes on a silent sigh of pleasure as he continued to stroke and caress her scalp.

His touch was soothing. There was nothing sexual in his actions … only comfort … until Meghan opened her eyes and saw him leaning down to kiss her lips.

Her niggle of guilt disappeared as his mouth brushed hers in a contact so quick and innocent that the kiss could have been exchanged by friends.

“Good night, Meghan.” He started to rise. She grabbed his arm.

“Lucas,” she whispered, aching.

He groaned and then lowered his head a second time, capturing her mouth in a kiss wild with desperation and need.

When he straightened, Meghan gasped and caught him back to her, this time taking the initiative. She kissed him with abandon, her fingers entangling in his hair as she clutched his head. Lucas responded with a shudder, deepening the kiss with the invasion of his tongue.

Meghan’s world spun; her body pulsed and vibrated with never before sensations. Lucas filled her
senses … his touch … his taste … his scent … and the ravaging glory of his mouth.

With gasping breath, Lucas gazed into her eyes before lowering his mouth to her neck. He trailed kisses beneath the collar edge of her gown, while he cupped and fondled a feminine breast burgeoning to life.

“Meghan,” he murmured, his voice thick with passion.

“Aye,” she said. She couldn’t help herself from wanting him, although somewhere in the back of her hazy mind she knew that to want this man was wrong.

Driven by a pulsing need so great he wanted to possess her quickly, Lucas captured a cloth-covered nipple, wetting and tugging on her breast hotly. He was hard, never before had he been this hard or this desperate to bury himself in a woman’s warmth. The blood had gathered between his legs, making him uncomfortably anxious to take her. Meghan’s little whimpers and cries drove him higher up the pinnacle of desire, and he lowered his head, trailing his mouth down her fabric-clad belly.

He was driven to explore further, lower to the place where he knew her gown shielded her moistening femininity. He spanned her hips with his hands and held her while he gently nuzzled her sensitive area.

“Lucas,” she gasped, moving beneath his hands.

“I know,” he said hoarsely in understanding.

He ran his hands up her sides to her breasts, palming and rubbing the tips, before he moved to the buttons of her gown. Meghan was wild and sweet under his hands as he unfastened her garment and helped her to slip it from her shoulders. She wore a shift that revealed more than concealed, and he could see her swollen, pink nipples ripe from his attention.

“God, Meghan,” he whispered, “have you any idea how lovely you are?”

She stared at him, and he saw the way her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m not beautiful,” she began.

He nodded. “Yes, you are,” he said, while he lowered the collar edge of her chemise to expose one tight-budded breast. “How can you think you—this—is not beautiful?” he asked in a thick voice.