The Irish Devil (23 page)

She sighed at the picture he presented. She’d learned enough of the masculine physique, thanks to him, to recognize its sensual temptations.

She’d always thought him beautiful, and now she feasted her eyes on him, anticipating the evening’s frolics. The broad shoulders, strong arms, deft hands with their long nimble fingers. The strong chest, with its muscles and neat pelt of black hair above the clean ridges of his abdomen. His skin was milk-white except where the sun had kissed his throat, forearms, and hands.

Her breasts tightened at the sight.

Viola removed his clothing to the piano, then stood over him, arms akimbo as she pondered her next move. “You need to be rid of those boots,” she decided, and stooped down.

“As you wish, sweetheart.” He aided her as much as he could while remaining in the chair. Soon the offending footwear, including his wool socks, departed his feet.

She stood up to place his elegant Wellington boots alongside his other attire and caught a glimpse of the solid ridge behind his fly. He was breathing harder now and a faint sheen of sweat clung to his chest.

Viola choked as a blaze of lust scorched her. Her nipples were hard and urgent, and her pussy tightened as if to embrace him. Dew slipped down her thigh in welcome for this man.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t pounce on her. “Sweetheart, do you mean to stand for hours with my boots in your hand?” he drawled, his voice rich with carnal undercurrents. He must be enjoying her attentions.

“Of course not.” She brought herself back under control and took his socks and boots away. “Kneel on the floor please, before the piano.”

He came to his feet with the easy grace of a prowling mountain lion and strolled to the spot designated. Dear heavens, his back was magnificent with the smooth sweep of his spine bisecting those impressive muscles.

“Kneel, sweetheart?” he questioned.

“On all fours, if you would, after you unbutton your fly.”

“You are a constant surprise, sweetheart. Very well.” He unbuttoned his trousers very slowly until she trembled with hunger. She could see the hard length of his cock, and watched it stretch and fill with every movement as he deliberately teased her. She did so enjoy the sight of him.

She bit her lip until she drew blood, and somehow managed not to lunge at him. The silk was very damp between her legs.

He lowered himself easily to the floor, then looked up at her over his shoulder. “Now what?”

“You’re obviously overdressed for the occasion,” Viola observed huskily. She ran her fingers lightly down his spine, as if playing an arpeggio. He shuddered and arched into her touch.

She smiled more confidently and skimmed her hand over his shoulders in the lightest possible touch. “You are so beautiful, William.”

Her hand slipped inside his trousers. He gasped and lifted his hips toward her. Another tremor slid through him, and she knelt down beside him.

She fondled his hips and derrière, enjoying the contrast between soft skin and hard muscle, the hard line of his spine and the solid curve of his buttocks, his flat stomach and the roaring heat of his cock when it brushed her fingers.

She leaned closer to him and rubbed herself over him, savoring how her tunic’s silk barely shielded her skin from his shape and textures. She straddled his leg and rubbed her eager mound against his thigh. She pressed her nipples into his back and he jerked, rumbling a stream of Irish words as she teased him.

His thick black hair fell forward around his face. The golden lamplight caressed his skin until he seemed a god. His hands clenched into fists but he obeyed her requests.

Nothing in the world existed except this man and herself.

“Bloody hell,” he moaned, “now she starts enticing me of her own will. Sweet singing Jesus, how can I protest?”

“Then don’t, silly man.” She dropped a kiss on his shoulder as she cupped his balls, his crisp hairs tickling her fingers. “Just let me remove your pants. And drawers, too, of course.”

“Of course.” His voice was husky, almost rasping.

She drew the intruding cloth over his thighs, baring him to her avid gaze. She nuzzled his hip and licked him. “You have such a beautiful ass.”

“Dammit, woman,” he growled, his hips twisting and shifting.

“Did I use the wrong term for this portion of your anatomy, William?” Viola asked, straight-faced, then swept her tongue over him again.

He moaned again, louder, then choked out, “You used the correct word, sweetheart.”

“Excellent. On your stomach now, please.” She backed away slightly, reluctantly.

“What?” His head shot around to stare at her.

She lifted an eyebrow. “How long do you plan to delay?”

“Wretch,” he grumbled, but laughter sparked in his eyes. He obeyed, muttering something in Irish as he settled flat on the floor.

“Splendid,” Viola approved. Magnificent, in fact, or at least her pussy thought so, judging by how it wept in eagerness for him. An opinion seconded by her womb, which clenched hungrily for him, and her breasts, which throbbed as if they hadn’t felt his touch for weeks instead of the few hours since morning.

He turned his head to watch her but said nothing, his gaze fevered and intent upon her.

She sighed and reached up to undo her hair, closing her eyes against the distraction he offered. A few practiced movements later, her pale hair fell over her shoulders. She shook her head until her hair swirled around her.

William groaned something. She glanced at him, startled by his reaction since she hadn’t touched him. He closed his eyes, trembling, and his hips pulsed.

He liked her
hair
that much?

Viola trailed it over his back lightly. The lamplight reflected on the strands until her hair seemed part of the light.

He groaned again.

She could excite him with something as simple as brushing him with her hair. For the first time in her life, her body seemed an asset to catching a man’s attention.

She purred and repeated the caress, pouring her hair over every line and fold of him, enjoying how the lamplight blazing from it highlighted his powerful body.

He shuddered and moaned her name. His hands tightened on the rug. His hips began to rock rhythmically.

She kissed his spine and licked his shoulder, fanning her fingers over his arms to gather his heat into every pore of her body. Her skin burned for him until she thought she might explode.

“Bloody hell, Viola, do you mean to burn away my wits with excitement?” His rough, broken voice stoked the fire deep in her core. She was flushed, aching with arousal.

She rolled away and fumbled to remove her clothing. Undoing the tunic’s frogs would take far too long, so she concentrated on the pants’ drawstring. Finally, they came untied and she stood up to strip off the offending silk.

She was attired only in the silk tunic now, with her bare legs gleaming below and her hair streaming over her shoulders. She was available for anything, in heady contrast to the tunic’s rich cloth, and too excited to be embarrassed by her dishabille.

“Dear God in heaven.”

She stopped and looked back down at him. William had rolled over and lay at her feet, outlined against the rich oriental rug like an exotic delicacy. His brilliant blue eyes blazed as bright as a smelter’s fires, his skin was gilded by the lamplight, and his cock was fiercely crimson in its rearing impatience, its color deepened by the delicate film of his seed slipping over it.

He closed his eyes as another tremor racked him. “Viola, sweetheart, fetch me a condom from the sideboard before I forget myself and grab you.”

Viola threw her pants onto the pile of his clothes and did as he bid. He remained on the floor and slipped it on quickly, tying it with clumsy fingers.

She crouched beside him and unconsciously licked her lips as she watched. Those thin sheaths that prevented pregnancy seemed a waste of precious time, compared to her urgency to claim him.

He laid his head back and closed his eyes, as his hands fell away to his sides. “Do you mean to do something other than watch, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” Viola whispered. She reached out to run a delicate finger over his hip. He was magical like this, a creature of earthly strength and carnal fires that made her very bones melt.

He shivered and arched, fingers clawing at the rug.

Compelled by an instinct older than time, Viola swung her leg over his hip, seized his cock, and mounted him. She sank home, her pussy welcoming him like a violin coming alive for its bow. His hips bucked to meet her.

“Yes, oh yes, William,” she moaned.

She shifted slightly, delighting in how her intimate folds nestled against his balls. She purred as she arched her back and discovered new places deep inside where his cock could delight her.

“Bloody hell, Viola, you will make me lose my mind.” He caressed her sides and played with her nipples in just the way she liked. She leaned forward to encourage him.

“Ride me like your favorite horse, sweetheart,” he bit out, and arched under her.

Instinctively, she rocked her hips. She moved on him more and more, in response to his hands’ clever urging of her breasts and his hips’ steady motion. Soon she was plunging up and down on his cock, riding him like the reckless horsewoman she’d once been.

She threw back her head and trembled with the sheer delight of life. An eager beat built in her loins and spine, reached out into her blood. His gasps and groans were pure counterpoint, a fugue building to a crescendo.

Fire built with every motion, every wet slap of skin against skin, every gasp and shudder. Soon she could no longer remember why she waited, only that this man was wonderful beyond all others. His rough finger slipped between them and pressed her throbbing clit.

Viola sobbed aloud as rapture burst through her veins. She came again and again, shattering into pieces in a world where the only thing of importance was William’s explosive climax.

She collapsed on him afterwards, too spent to do more than cuddle as she slid into sleep.

William’s face was calm as he dressed in the predawn darkness by a single candle. Viola watched him as she brushed her hair, desperately aware that Lennox could attack as soon as the supply train left. He should be warned.

“Lennox arranged the riot yesterday at the depot,” she said abruptly.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “Probably the same way you do. He was entirely too smug when he watched me fight the O’Flahertys.”

Viola nodded agreement. But William needed to know everything possible of Lennox’s villainy, so he could be fully prepared. “He killed Edward personally. He ran him through with that sword stick of his.”

“Good God.” He came to her and gently took her by the shoulders. “Are you certain? For a man to court a woman whose husband he killed is unbelievable, even for Lennox.”

She nodded. “He told me so himself.”

“The murdering bastard.” William’s face was taut with suppressed violence before he calmed himself. He leaned down to kiss her and the Colt belted at his hip nudged her elbow.

“I’m sorry you had to face that loss alone, sweetheart.”

She clutched his shoulders, feeling his warm life flow into her cold fingers.

He nuzzled her forehead. “Steady now, sweetheart. That villain will not catch me by surprise nor harm you, I swear.” He straightened up and slid a long slender knife into the sheath on his right wrist, then buttoned his cuffs. He seemed a warrior angel, ready for battle at any time. He deserved so much more than she could give him.

“I should go to Lennox and tell him I’ll marry him.”

William suddenly spun away from the dresser and dragged her up against him. She stared up at him, her heart racing at the look on his face.

“No. Hell, no,” he snarled. “You promised me three months and I swore to protect you. By Mary and all the saints, you’ll not leave me until that time is up.”

“It’s not worth seeing you killed.” Her throat was so tight she had difficulty getting the words out.

William shrugged impatiently. “He tried to shoot Morgan the other day but failed. There’ll be no peace in this town until one of us is dead, no matter whose house you live in. So you’ll stay with me, where you’re safe, even if I have to lock you in.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she protested.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Of course I would.”

Viola searched his face in the flickering light, all shadows and occasional flashes of insight. His expression was calm and inflexible. She sighed and yielded. If Lennox had attacked Evans, then there truly would be fighting even if she went to Lennox. “Very well, I’ll stay with you.”
And I’ll pray,
she added silently.

“Good girl.” He kissed her quickly, then turned away to shrug into his coat.

She wished she could help him somehow, do something to ease him. Perhaps something carnal.

“William.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”