Sticks and Stone (8 page)

“No harm,” she whispered. She’d explained that tenet to
Dermot. Maybe the best way to test the temper of his intentions was to see
whether or not he was acting in accordance with her beliefs. Was he doing as he
wished, regardless of others, or would he first ensure his actions caused her
no harm?

When she looked at it that way, perhaps her haste to
ascribe the worst possible motive to him reflected poorly on her. “Cause no
harm,” she repeated.

Very well.
She would fly to
America and meet with him, to discuss the possibility of a talk show
appearance.

Her blood heated at the thought of seeing him again.
Although it had been two weeks, she could still taste his lips on hers, and
feel the imprint of his body. His lovemaking had transported her in a way she
hadn’t known was possible. She’d salved her pride by insisting it had been a
lingering effect of his encounter with the dryad, enhancing his appeal. He’d
certainly seemed less than appealing when he’d hurried away from her without a
by-your-leave, and all but ordered her to schedule another session of
lovemaking. In retrospect, she may have overreacted to his innate arrogance. He
was an American, after all, and a rich one. He was used to giving orders. It
didn’t mean he thought less of her, any more than her brogue meant she was a
fool.

Now that she’d found a way to soothe her conscience and
see him again, she eagerly anticipated finding out if it could be as good as
she remembered.

Humming softly to herself, Eileen turned to leave and
spotted a branch that had fallen from the dryad’s tree, and been half-buried in
the mud. She plucked the fallen branch from the ground,
then
knocked it against her leg to dislodge the dried mud clinging to the smooth
gray bark. She’d clean it up and bring it to America with her. The thought of
striking Dermot’s firmly muscled ass with the supple branch made her breath
quicken and wet heat build between her legs.

Swishing the
wych
elm stick
through the air, she trotted back to her cottage.

* * * * *

Dermot scanned the line of passengers coming from the
Aer
Lingus flight to the luggage area. He’d given Eileen
first class tickets, so she should have been one of the first people off the
plane. But that didn’t mean she’d be one of the first to reach the luggage
carousels. She might have gotten a slow line through customs.

He turned to his driver, Chris, looming behind him for
protection. “If I don’t tell you otherwise, take us to my apartment and cancel
Ms.
Daniells’s
reservation at the
Niko
.”

The driver couldn’t quite conceal his smirk. “And keep
the limo’s privacy screen up and the intercom off.
Yes, Mr.
Stone.
You’ve already given me thorough instructions.”

Struggling to control his rising impatience, Dermot
schooled his features to polite indifference and went back to searching the
crowd for Eileen. There! His breath caught in his throat. Still wearing the
cloak he remembered so well, she seemed to float down the corridor, a breath of
Irish breeze mysteriously finding only her among the crowd of passengers and
wafting through the soft curls of her honey gold hair.

Lifting his arm, he waved to her. “Eileen!”

Those incredible blue-green eyes focused on him, going
wide as she realized who had called her name. Then, like sunlight breaking
through a cloud-filled Irish sky, she smiled.

“Dermot.”

She stepped out of the flow of people, and crossed to
meet him.

At the sight of Dermot waiting for her, a warm glow of
contentment filled Eileen. He looked out of place in the crowded airport,
standing as still and unmoving as the stone he was named for while currents of
passengers broke and swirled around him.

Threading her way through openings in the crowd, she
crossed to his side.

“I didn’t expect you to meet me.”

“Officially, I sent my driver to meet you.” He nodded
his head to the side, directing her attention to the man in a charcoal gray
suit and mirrored sunglasses standing behind him to the left.

The man nodded.
“Ma’am.”

“Hello.” She smiled and nodded in return, then turned
back to Dermot.
“Unofficially?”

“Let’s get your luggage. We can talk in the limo.”

“Of course.
It’s a blue rolling
case, with a crescent moon appliqué.”

She wasn’t sure what reaction she’d expected from
Dermot, but it wasn’t this cold aloofness. He’d gone to a considerable amount
of trouble to get her here. And there’d been no disguising the pleasure on his
face when he’d spotted her in the crowd.

As they followed the driver—judging from his size and
attitude, Eileen suspected he was a bodyguard as well—through the crowd, she
turned and asked softly, “Are you happy to see me again?”

“More than you know. Seeing you pass through that
security gate was like seeing the sun after two weeks of rain.”

She felt her cheeks glowing, and glanced away, before
her eyes could reveal all her hopes and longings.

 
“It’s a weakness
I have for a finely tuned phrase,” she muttered.

Dermot chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

They reached the designated luggage carousel and fell
silent while they watched the various cases and bags circle past. She pointed
out her suitcase to the driver. He grabbed it,
then
carried it to the waiting limo.

Eileen frowned slightly. A long black car, its sleek
lines marred by the profusion of antennae sprouting from it, waited at the curb
for the two of them. It contrasted sharply with the crowded mini-sedan that had
carried her and five members of the Sullivan clan to the airport.

She’d appreciated the amenities of her first class seat
on the long flight to America. Rather than being equally appreciative of the
first class ground transportation, however, the luxurious automobile only
served to underscore the differences between her and Dermot.

Once again, she wondered how he could possibly be
interested in her. But she had resolved not to prejudge Dermot’s motives. She
would wait to hear whatever he had to say.

She slid onto the gray leather seat, and stared at the
consoles before her. The bench seat faced two televisions, connected to a DVD
player and VCR, a computer hookup, a 12-CD stereo, and a fully stocked bar. A
silvered window made it difficult to see out the front of the vehicle. No doubt
the driver would be unable to see them at all.

Dermot slid onto the seat beside her. The driver closed
his door, sealing them together in the back of the limousine. A moment later,
the car rocked slightly as the driver stowed her suitcase in the trunk. Then he
took his own seat, his image blurred and darkened through the privacy screen.

Dermot pressed a small button amid the cluster of
controls on his door. “Midtown,” he ordered.

Another touch of a button, and soft music began playing,
some classical piece that was all violins and woodwinds, drowning out the faint
sounds of the people and traffic surrounding them. As the limo pulled away from
the curb, Dermot turned to face her.

“Now, we can talk.”

“If talking was all you were wanting, you could have
taken another trip to Ireland. You know where I live. Instead, you bought my
publisher.”

Dermot shrugged. “I didn’t buy it. I invested in it.
Pending their ability to implement improvements.”

A chill ghosted down her spine.
Her
appearances on talk shows.
Was Dermot buying her after all?

“And if you don’t invest?”

“Your publisher won’t go bankrupt, if that’s what you’re
concerned about. They were looking to expand. Without investment capital, they
won’t be able to grow as fast as they would otherwise, but the underlying
business is still sound.” He reached over and clasped her hands in his. “I
offered to get you talk show bookings because I know it’s something our
publicists could arrange, it would increase the value of Silver Moon’s assets,
and you’d make more money. You’d be a natural in front of the camera. That’s
true, even if you want nothing more to do with me.”

“But…?”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

His hands still held hers prisoner, and she was
strangely reluctant to break free of his grasp. Instead, she turned her head
and stared at the buildings and other cars moving past.

“Eileen, why didn’t you call me?” he asked again.

“What was there to say?” she countered. “We shared one
night together, but how many more could we share before our differences drove
us apart?”

“A relationship between us is doomed, so you don’t even
want to try?”

She shrugged, still not meeting his gaze.
“
Belike
.”

“I refuse to accept that.”

She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips.
“Arrogant American.”

That was one of the things she found desirable about
him. Not his arrogance, which infuriated her, but his calm assurance and
soul-deep dedication to a course of action.

She turned, to find him watching intently, waiting for
her answer. Tugging one of her hands free, she reached up and stroked the side
of his face. “You see extremely clearly for one not on the path.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

“I want you. And yes, I arranged all of this to get you
here where I could tell you that. But you didn’t have to come.”

He stroked his fingertips along her hairline, from her
forehead to her ear. Eileen shivered with desire. She wanted to turn to him,
capture his mouth with kisses, strip off her jeans and his slacks, and make
love to him on the wide leather seat.

“I’m here now. But wanting, having, and keeping are
three different fish.”

He cupped her cheek in his palm, splaying his fingers
into her hair while his thumb outlined her lips. With his other hand, he cupped
her breast, his thumb flicking the nipple.

She gasped, instantly wet as her body remembered the
lesson he’d taught her during their morning together. Her nipple beaded into a
tight, aching bud.

He flicked his thumb against it twice more, than pinched
it lightly. She moaned, arching into his touch.

“I see the wanting,” he whispered huskily. “And you can
be having as soon as you give the word. Let the keeping take care of itself.”

She opened her mouth, letting his thumb glide over her
lower lip. Eagerly, she sucked on it, sweeping his thumb with her tongue.

Dermot’s breath hitched,
then
he whispered, “Say the word, Eileen.”

 
“What word?”

“Yes.”

Dimly, the shreds of her common sense struggled to be
heard through the sensual haze of his hands caressing her body.

“And what question would I be answering ‘yes’ to?”

“Stay with me tonight and be my lover.”

She let out her breath on a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

He also released a shaky breath,
then
moved so that he was kneeling on the carpeting in front of her, his hands
braced at her hips.

“Let me love you, Eileen.
Now.”

“Yes,” she whispered again.

Slowly, he unsnapped her jeans and slid down the zipper.
He reached inside the waistband of her panties, skimming her stomach with his
thumbs, then caressed her hips, and finally shoved his hands inside the panties
to cup her ass.

Eileen moaned softly. His hands on her body felt so
right, as if this was where she’d always belonged, and just hadn’t known until
now.

Dermot kneaded and caressed her ass, lifting her from
the seat so that she sat on his hands. As he rocked her gently, his hands
slowly worked further under her panties, until she was balanced on his wrists,
then his forearms. His fingers stroked between her legs, light teasing brushes
that started at her ass cheeks and gradually approached her aching heat.

His fingertips dipped into her slick folds, and she
moaned again, flexing her hips. He circled his fingers at the edge of her
vagina and she lifted her hips again, urging him to press further inside.

“Like that?” he asked.

“Yes. Oh, yes,” she answered. That seemed the only thing
she could answer him.

In response, he stroked her clitoris with his thumb.
Eileen grabbed the leather seat with both hands and lifted her hips, tilting
them to allow him greater access.

Dermot pulled her jeans and panties down to her ankles.
Holding her by the hips, he scooted her to the very edge of the seat,
then
nudged her knees as far apart as they would go.

“Lean back,” he told her.

“Yes.” Her breathless answer had become almost
inaudible. She leaned her head back and cradled her neck on the buttery smooth
leather, tilting her hips to expose her sex to his sight and touch.