Keegan's Lady (39 page)

"Sweetheart, would you relax?" he said softly. "No one is going to hurt the goddamned cat, I promise you."

That he was now referring to Lucky as "the goddamned cat" did little to ease Caitlin's mind.

"He meant no harm," she hastened to explain. "Honestly, he didn't. Ever since my father threw him against a wall, he's been dimwitted. He doesn't mean to do bad things. He just doesn't understand that they're wrong."

Ace turned the cat slightly to gaze into its badly crossed eyes. "Against a wall?"

Caitlin gulped. She hadn't meant to divulge that bit of information. She felt a scalding heat inch up her neck. "I tried to stop my father from hurting him. Really, I did. But he was drunk, and when I—" She broke off and wrung her hands. "He was so angry with Lucky, there was just no stopping him."

Ace's heart caught at the expression in Caitlin's blue eyes. She wasn't just embarrassed to admit what had happened to Lucky, but ashamed. As if she were somehow to blame. He tried to imagine her going toe-to-toe with Conor O'Shannessy when he was in a drunken rage. The top of her head barely cleared Ace's shoulder. He doubted she weighed a hundred and ten pounds, soaking wet. That she had tried to interfere with her father to protect a cat was beyond his comprehension. That she felt ashamed for having failed was even more befuddling.

"Caitlin, you aren't responsible for Lucky's retarded-ness."

"Yes."

That one word, uttered so faintly, made Ace ache for her.

"No," he said. "Nothing your father ever did was in any way your fault. Not his treatment of Lucky or anything else."

Ignoring the silent plea in her eyes, Ace kept hold of the cat. As difficult as it might be for her, she had to learn that he wasn't of her father's ilk. Lucky would not be thrown against a wall in this household, no matter what he did. Unfortunately, the only way Caitlin would ever be convinced of that was from experience.

Acutely aware of her trailing in his footsteps, Ace returned to the supper table and extended the bowl to Esa so he might transfer the ruined portion of roast onto it. Lucky, purring loudly, happily began to eat the minute Ace lowered him and his purloined supper to the floor. Resuming his seat at the head of the table, Ace pretended not to notice that Caitlin stood at his elbow, apparently ready to grab her cat and bolt. Giving each of his brothers a silent glare that spoke volumes, he picked up his fork.

For what seemed like an endless moment, Joseph sat staring down at the cat, his expression filled with distaste. Only when he finally began to eat again did Caitlin sit back down. It wasn't long before Ace noticed that his wife wasn't touching her food. He considered insisting she eat because he didn't want her to get sick again, then he decided she'd be better off left alone. Hopefully, she would begin to relax around him and his brothers soon. Time enough then to get some meat on her bones.

***

Bedtime. With building dread, Caitlin had anticipated its coming all day. By the time Ace's brothers retired to the barn that night and Ace began turning out the lanterns, she was a bundle of raw nerves. Last night, her husband had refrained from exercising his conjugal rights. She didn't expect him to be so generous again. A day at a time, he'd said. This was night number two.

Scurrying ahead of him to the bedroom, Caitlin made short work of dressing for bed, convinced that he would barge in on her at any moment and catch her half clothed. She was more than a little relieved when that did not prove to be the case. Climbing quickly into bed, she huddled in a ball and drew the quilt to her chin. Maybe, just maybe, he would leave her alone if she pretended to be asleep.

She had no sooner squeezed her eyes closed than a light knock came at the door. Startled, she lifted her lashes. Another light rap of male knuckles against wood made her start. She gnawed her lower lip. If she called out for him to enter, he would know she wasn't asleep.

Rolling over, Caitlin put her back to the door and jerked the quilt over her head. Tap, tap. She flinched with each report. Finally, the door creaked open.

"Caitlin, are you decent?"

She clenched her teeth, almost afraid to breathe. She heard the light thump of his footsteps as he crossed the room, the sole of one boot shuffling softly over the floorboards. The next second, his weight depressed the outer edge of the mattress and the support ropes groaned. She listened to the sounds he made as he divested himself of his clothing. Boots thumped. Cloth rustled. His holster thudded against the wood as he slung his gun belt over the bedpost.

Her eyes flew open when she heard pocket change chinking. Had he taken off his trousers? Her heart kicked violently against her ribs. The next instant, cool air struck her backside as he lifted the covers to slide in next to her. The mattress bucked under her as he bounced around to get comfortable, his greater weight forming a depression that threatened to swallow her. Caitlin squeezed her eyes closed again. Making fists in the sheet and the ticking beneath, she strained not to roll toward him.

The effort proved absolutely futile. A hard, muscular arm hooked her around the waist. A broad, well-padded chest pressed hotly against her back. The quilt drew away from her face, and the heavy blackness that pressed against her eyelids told her he had doused the light. She tried to ignore the various parts of his body as they connected with hers. Thighs roped with steely tendons. Wide, bony knees. A hairy shin bone brushing against the heel of her foot. Oh, God.

She assured herself that, short of rape itself, this would be the worst of it. He couldn't possibly subject her to any more indignities than he already was. And then he settled a large hand over her midriff, his long, blunt fingers nestling familiarly against the underside of her right breast. His touch seared through her chemise and nightgown as though they didn't exist. Despite her resolve to pretend she was sleeping, she jerked. She couldn't help it. To be touched there . . . well, it was so unnerving, she simply couldn't control her reaction.

"You're awake," he murmured against her nape, his breath tickling the fine hair there. "I figured you probably were."

"Mmm," was her response.

He settled his hand more snugly beneath her breast, nearly making her heart stop. Memories flashed through her mind—of how it felt to be held down by someone stronger than she, how terrifying it had been to be explored by rough hands, helpless to stop the pain, suffering humiliation beyond bearing. There would be little she could do to protect herself, not against strength such as Ace Keegan's. A lump of dread rose in her throat.

"Why didn't you answer when I knocked?"

Surely he already knew the answer. If she tried to concoct a lie, he would see right through it. "I, um . . ." She couldn't stand his touch. Grabbing his hand, she dug in with all five fingernails. "I was hoping—maybe—that you wouldn't—well, you know—if I was asleep."

He shifted his weight. To her dismay, he managed to hunch his broad shoulders around her, cocooning the back of her torso in a blanket of warm, resilient flesh that reminded her of velvet over steel. "I see."

She waited for him to say more. When nothing else seemed forthcoming, she lay in an agony of waiting. He suddenly wiggled his trapped fingers. "You're cutting off the circulation."

She relaxed her hold on his hand a little, pleasantly surprised when he didn't move it. She swallowed. She hoped he couldn't feel her shaking. Fat chance. He hadn't left enough space between their bodies for a flea to wiggle.

"Caitlin . . ."

"Wh-what?"

He lay silent for a moment. Then he rubbed his nose against her hair, which, for hurry's sake, she'd left braided in a coronet atop her head. So much for its usual hundred strokes.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you under the gross misconception that you are controlling my hand by hanging onto it like that?"

She realized she was squeezing the life out of his fingers again. Forcing herself to once again relax her grip, she replied in a humiliatingly squeaky voice, "Of course not."

"Good," he murmured against her nape, his escaping breath raising goose bumps on her skin. "Because the truth is, if I wanted to touch your breast, you wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of stopping me."

The words hung between them like icicles from eaves. Caitlin's mouth felt as dry as jerky. "Are you g-going to?"

"Am I going to what?"

"T-touch me there."

"Not unless you'd like me to."

She stifled an hysterical urge to laugh, the sensation quickly becoming an ache inside her chest. "Like you to?" she finally managed to say.

She felt his shoulders jerk. On the tail end of a low chuckle, he said, "I assure you, Caitlin, it will happen one day. Up to your neck in melted chocolate, remember? I can be an irresistible fellow when I set my mind to it."

He said nothing more. Just held her close, his body warming hers. After a few minutes, Caitlin heard his breathing deepen and grow raspy.

Was he asleep? She couldn't believe it. Yet when she moved his hand, it was limp. He was asleep. Sound asleep. She nearly wept with relief.

For a long while, she lay rigid, half afraid to so much as wiggle a toe. Then she finally started to relax. Moonlight slanted through the window, gathering like pools of silver on the rumpled quilt. Caitlin gazed at it for a long while.

It was a very long time before she drifted into slumber.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ace awoke to a heavy, breathless feeling and a tickling sensation under his nose. Cracking open one eye, he discovered that a cat was standing on his chest, its golden rump mere inches from his face, the tip of its tail occasionally flicking his nostrils.

Lucky. Ace gave the cat a gentle nudge to get its posterior out of his face, whereupon four feet, weighed down by what felt like a hundred pounds, went tromping down his belly. Claws dug in, prickling his skin with every gut-jarring step. Only then did Ace realize he'd shoved off the quilt during the night and lay covered by only the thin cotton of his underdrawers and the linen sheet.

Like most men, when Ace first woke up of a morning, he usually had an erection. Today was no exception, the only difference being that this time Lucky had a front row seat for the performance. When the sheet began to wiggle, as sheets tend to do at such a time, the cat launched itself forward and brutally attacked.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Ace grabbed his crotch, pitched sideways, and hit the floor on all fours. "Son of a bitch!”

"What?" Caitlin bounded from the bed, bloomers flashing beneath the uplifted hem of her nightgown. She whirled to search the room, then turned back to him, clearly bewildered. "What! What is it?"

"That goddamned cat!" Ace clenched his teeth. "He attacked me!"

When Ace straightened with both hands thrust between his thighs, her eyes went as round as supper plates. Her horrified gaze dropped. "Oh, Ace, I'm so sorry. Did he hurt you?" She glanced frantically around the room again, this time in search of her cat. "I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. I wiggle the tip of my finger under the sheet for him sometimes. He must have thought—" She jerked her gaze back to his lower portions. "Oh, my. He must have thought you were playing mouse."

Playing mouse? Ace set his teeth. Mice were pathetic, inconsequential little creatures.

The door crashed open, and Joseph ran in. He came reeling to a stop, holding his gun in one hand, looking ready to start shooting at anything that moved. After glancing around the room, he fixed a questioning gaze on Ace. "What the hell happened? Where is the son of a bitch?"

Caitlin threw herself between Joseph and the bed. "I won't let you shoot him. You'll have to shoot me first!"

Bewildered, Joseph glanced past her. "He's hiding under the bed? The miserable coward."

Ace was slowly beginning to realize that his manhood was still intact. Feeling foolish, he jerked his hands from between his thighs and sat back on his heels, acutely aware that his wife was staring at his brother as if he'd sprouted horns and a third eye.

"It isn't Patrick, Joseph. The cat attacked me, that's all."

"The cat?" Joseph repeated incredulously. "You scared the living shit right out of me! I thought O'Shannessy had sneaked in here."

"I'm sorry. Lucky took me by surprise, that's all. I hollered without thinking."

Caitlin wrung her hands. "He didn't mean to hurt anyone. Truly, he didn't. I'm sure he thought Ace was playing mouse with him. Lucky and I do that a lot."

Joseph shot a glance in the general direction of Ace's lap. His entire face turned an amazing shade of crimson. He slowly holstered his gun. "I see," he said in an oddly light voice.

"I'm all right," Ace managed to say in equally strained tones. "I think so, anyway."

From the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of yellow shoot from under the bed and disappear out the bedroom doorway. Lucky was smarter than Caitlin thought. He knew enough to run like hell.

Ace pushed to his feet and raked his fingers through his hair. "Go on. Get out of here," he told his brother. "We'll be out as soon as we get dressed."

When Joseph had exited the room and closed the door behind him, Ace went to take his wife by her shoulders. She looked adorable in her rumpled nightgown, her hair straggling in unruly bunches of curls to her shoulders. "I'm sorry for roaring that way. I kind of—" He broke off, his gaze fixed on her flushed face. Unless he missed his guess, she was trying her damnedest not to laugh. "Is something funny, Mrs. Keegan?"

She gave her head a brisk shake, curls bobbing. "Not at all," she said thinly. "I hope that, um, Lucky didn't do you any permanent damage?"

"Is that a hopeful note I hear in your voice?"

A high-pitched giggle escaped her. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide above her tightly clenched fingers.

"You know," he told her in a teasingly gruff tone, "laughing at me under the present circumstances probably isn't the smartest move you've ever made."

Her mirth instantly evaporated. The delightful twinkle in her eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden darkness that reminded him of storm clouds drifting across a summer sky. Ace wanted to kick himself for spoiling the moment.

Brushing her hand aside, he caught hold of her small chin and lifted her face. "Honey, I'm teasing you."

"You are?"

Ace yearned to kiss the suddenly tremulous corners of her mouth. "Of course, I am. It didn't seem all that funny when it happened, but I have to admit it does in retrospect."

He bent to press a light kiss to her forehead. "Get dressed, Mrs. Keegan. I think I smell breakfast cooking.

Joseph's eggs are bad enough when they're piping hot. We probably won't be able to choke them down if we let them get cold."

Turning away from her, Ace grabbed his trousers from the chair. To his consternation, the black cloth was covered with yellow cat hair, irrefutable evidence that Lucky had slept on his clothes most of the night. Biting back a curse, he gave his pants a shake and batted at them with his hand. Hair flew, tickling his nostrils.

Caitlin scurried to the dressing room, which didn't yet have a door. From the corner of his eye, Ace saw her peek around the wall at him, then she disappeared from sight. Judging by the sounds that drifted out, Ace guessed she was pouring water from the pitcher into the wash basin. Surprised that she trusted him enough to dare wash up before donning her clothing, he shot an amazed look at the yawning doorway.

He froze with one foot stuffed into a trouser leg. The mirror. Special ordered from Montgomery Ward and Company, it was a full-length dressing mirror, positioned handily beside the closet. Unbeknownst to Caitlin, who stood at an angle across from it, she was reflected in the glass from head to toe.

Ace knew he should look away. He tried to look away, but his baser instincts were momentarily in full reign. His wife had stripped off her soiled chemise, which according to his calculations, she'd been wearing for three days running, to change into a fresh one. Before donning it, she was bathing her upper torso with a moist cloth. Clearly in a hurry for fear that he might intrude upon her privacy, she took rough swipes at her armpits and jiggled her breasts up and down with jerky scrubbing motions.

Ace had seen his share of breasts. Maybe more than his fair share. But never a set as lovely as hers. Shaped like succulent little melons, they were flawless ivory veined faintly with blue, their crests an incredibly delicate rose that put him in mind of cream pinkened slightly with strawberry juice. Stimulated by the brisk rubbing, the tips had sprung to a tantalizing erectness that made his mouth salivate.

He forced his gaze away, ashamed of himself for breaking her trust. Someday—soon, he hoped—she'd stand before him in all her naked splendor. When she did, he could look his fill. And touch her. And taste the sweetness of her. But not until she came to him willingly.

His manhood throbbing, Ace jerked his trousers on.

***

When Caitlin emerged from the bedroom a while later, she found all the men in her new family, including her husband, gathered around the breakfast table. Ace's black shirt was still lightly covered with cat hair. Beside Joseph on the bench, Lucky sat preening, an empty bowl beside him. Esa, his mouth edged in white, plunked his milk glass down on the table.

"Your cat likes hot sauce on his scrambled eggs. Can you believe it?"

What Caitlin had difficulty believing was that their seating arrangements had evidently been changed to make room for Lucky on the bench. As she circled behind Ace, who sat at the head of the table, she cast Joseph a bewildered look.

He flashed her a broad grin and winked. "Anybody who manages to get Ace by the balls is my friend for life."

Ace threw his napkin down in the middle of his half finished plate of food. "Jesus H. Christ, Joseph, I can't believe the things that come out of your mouth."

David and Esa both snickered. Caitlin flipped around and went into the kitchen. It was that or burst out laughing. So far, Ace had been a good sport about Lucky's attack on his unmentionable parts, but his magnanimous attitude might go the way of the wind if he became the target of too much teasing. For Lucky's sake, she hoped the incident would soon be forgotten.

"Just help yourself," Joseph called to her. "Everything's in skillets on the stove." In a lower voice she could only assume she wasn't meant to hear, he added jokingly, "Hopefully no mouse will jump out from under the stove at her. Not without Lucky in there to protect her. Dangerous little buggers, those mice."

Caitlin heard a bench scrape the floor. She had just lifted the lid off the skillet of scrambled eggs when Ace walked up behind her, and settled his large hands warmly on her waist. She gave a startled squeak and nearly dropped her plate. He chuckled and bent to nibble her ear.

After what seemed an unbearably long while, he finally ceased the nibbling and said in a throbbing whisper, "After a meal, a man always likes a little dessert, you know. There's nothing I'd rather have than a taste of you."

Caitlin stood stock still. Her new husband clearly saw her as a delectable dish he meant to sample. Her only question was, how long might he wait before digging in?

Nuzzling the curve of her neck, which set nerve-endings to tingling that she hadn't realized she possessed, he murmured, "God, you do smell sweet."

"You must be afflicted with a chronic case of catarrh. In truth, I'm in desperate need of a bath."

"I'll bring in the tub. The boys'll be out most of the morning doing chores."

The boys weren't Caitlin's main concern. Evading her husband's searching mouth, she gave him a look over her shoulder. His dark face, illuminated on one side by a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, was so handsome her heart caught. Pitch black hair trailed in loose waves over his high forehead. A burnished glint defined the slightly crooked bridge of his nose. His eyes were the color of hot fudge, and his full yet firm lips shimmered like silk.