HardWind (11 page)

and footboards under a graceful arch and below the boxed-in scrolls were six widely

spaced curved spindles that bore a strong resemblance to serpents slithering up from

the floor.

“A very wicked bed,” Star had observed as the bed was being assembled. Her eyes

had danced with delight when the two thick visco-foam mattresses had been brought in

to lie atop the slats.

Many a wondrous night had been spent in Dáire’s sumptuous bed. Beneath cool

ice-blue satin sheets and a duvet in rich black suede, she had lost herself to his questing

hands and demanding body over and over again.

Dáire’s lips were sliding along the valley between her breasts. “You’re thinking

about the bed again,” he accused.

Star smiled. “I love you only for your bed, Cronin,” she told him.

“Let’s see if I can give you something else to occupy your wandering mind,” he

whispered.

Trailing nibbling kisses down her chest, her belly and into the curly thatch that

rested at the top of her long legs, he slid farther down the bed. Crawling over her left

leg, he positioned himself in the spread V of her limbs and lowered his lips to the wet

heat that beckoned him.

Although Star had not been a virgin when she had first lain in Dáire’s arms, she had

never experienced the true delights an experienced man intent on giving his partner

pleasure could bestow. This man was content to spend as much time as needed in

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

foreplay in order to bring his woman to the very peak of aching release before allowing

her to plummet to the depths of satiation. He was an expert at the very thing he was

now doing to her body and could turn her into a mass of writhing, moaning jelly as his

tongue, teeth and lips went into overdrive.

She released her grip on the spindles then tightened it again as his tongue slid

slowly along the folds of her vagina—first up one side then down the other, lapping at

her moist flesh as though she were an ice-cream cone. The heat of his breath against her

sensitive skin sent shivers racing along her spine and made her womb clench with need.

He swirled the tip of his soft weapon over and around her clit, stabbed at that

hardening root, then drew the prepuce—that delicate fold of skin covering her clitoris—

into the warmth of his mouth, suckling it, tasting it, turning her insides to mush as his

teeth grazed her.

Twisting beneath his tender assault, Star bit her lip to keep from crying out. She

knew from experience that one groan, one moan, one tiny squeak of sound would

prolong the exquisite torment he was intent on delivering. Her heart was pounding in

her chest—the blood rushing through her veins to pool in a heated lake in her nether

regions.

Dáire slid his hands beneath her hips and lifted her up so he could have better

access. He dragged the broad plain of his tongue over her vaginal lips from just above

her anus to the spiky growth of hair above her clitoral hood. Once. Twice. Three times

until she bucked in his grip, thrusting her hips up in offering, in pleading.

Outside the storm had reached the shore and lightning was flaring almost

constantly. Shrill shrieks across the sky were followed by booming thunder, but Dáire

doubted Star was aware of the violence of the gale lashing at the bedroom windows.

Though rain hammered against the panes and a strobe-like flash came every few

seconds, he knew she was now lost in the needs her body insisted she fulfill.

Sliding his body over hers, he slanted his mouth across her lips and claimed her. It

was a demanding kiss—one filled with possession. She could taste her essence on his

tongue, could smell her spice on his lips, and her body shuddered with want. She put

her arms around him, brought her legs up to wrap around his hips as he arched against

her, thrusting unerringly into her channel, going deep—deeper still—until he was

seated as far as his large member would be allowed to go inside her.

With their mouths fused, their bodies linked, Dáire began a long, hard pumping

into her core. He was as hard as broadsword steel and her velvet sheath clung to him

with intense warmth and slickness. Sliding in and out of her luscious body, he strove to

touch her innermost being with the tip of his cock. He drove into her with increasing

rhythm and depth until she was clinging to him, riding him with every stroke, every

push and every well-timed thrust. His fingers were digging into her buttocks, welding

her to him as he pushed into her sleek moistness. He could feel her nails scoring the

flesh of his back but the minute pain only spurred him on.

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As the first tiny squeezes began along the length of him—milking him as Star’s

inner muscles fluttered—Dáire broke away from her greedy mouth and buried his face

along her neck, gasping for breath as he felt his own climax hovering within his reach.

Star stiffened and her legs grasped him tightly as her release spread over her in

waves of pulsing delight. She ground her lower body against him in an effort to scratch

the itch that was consuming her. His cock was huge, hard, pressing almost painfully

against her center. She felt every spasm that flexed his staff when he came. Every tug,

every jump, every little ripple as his cum spurted deep inside her, prolonging her own

contractions, extending the tremors of passionate delight that rocked through her lower

body. She quivered, her entire body nothing more than a mass of putty in his proficient

hands. Limbless, she melted into the bed, arms thrown wide as though she were a

virginal sacrifice, her legs limp, lying alongside his as she collapsed in fulfillment.

Dáire lay upon her, no energy left to heave himself up, roll himself off her sweaty

body. He was as drained as he could never remember being with no strength left to

move. His full weight was upon her and the realization of that hit him at last. He started

to slide off her, but she would not allow it, instead, throwing her arms around him to

hold him to her.

“I’ll squish you,” he whispered.

“I love the feel of you on me,” she said. “I love your weight pressing me down.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

She allowed him to shift just a little so that his entire heaviness was not crushing

her beneath him. He still lay between her legs, his groin against hers, the side of his face

pressed to her shoulder. She was stroking his damp hair with one hand while the

fingers of her other hand dragged in lazy spirals along the biceps of his left arm.

While thunder boomed now in the distance as the storm moved farther inland, they

lay quietly—each lost in their own thoughts—until sleep gently reached up to lure them

back.

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Chapter Six

“I always go over to Pensacola on Sundays to see Jillian,” Star told him the next

morning as she dried herself off in the shower. “Do you think maybe we can spend the

night over there tonight?”

Dáire leaned over the sink and spit a mouthful of foamy toothpaste into the bowl.

“Sure,” he said, scooping water up in his hand to rinse his mouth. He dried his lips on

the hand towel hanging beside the sink.

“I need to call Del and let him know I won’t be in tomorrow,” she said then paused

in drying her arms. “Or the day after.” She looked at him. “I really don’t know how

long we’ll be gone.”

“Did they say how long it would take to do the donation?” he asked.

“A couple of days of recuperation if all goes well,” she said. “You’re in good health,

aren’t you?”

“Far as I know,” he replied. He had yet to call Gentry, and he knew if he told her

about the bone marrow donation all hell would break loose. His body wasn’t his own—

it belonged to The Cumberland Group. There was a chance they could try to prevent

him from giving his daughter the bone marrow.

Star stepped out of the shower—leaving the water on for him—then wrapped the

towel around her. “You didn’t catch anything when you were on your last assignment,

did you?”

“Nothing that wasn’t cured while I was in Paris,” he answered. He padded over to

the shower, bumped her with his hip before climbing inside. “Unless you count the bad

case of depression I brought back with me.”

Star swiveled her head around to watch him as he bathed. She enjoyed looking at

his taut, well-developed muscles and as he soaped himself down, she felt another

stirring of lust pool in her body.

“I’m going to go back to my place and pack a few days’ worth of clothing,” she

called out to him, knowing if she stayed, she’d jump him as soon as he came out of his

bath. “See you in about thirty minutes?”

“Okay,” he said, pouring shampoo into his cupped palm. “I’ve got to pack too so

make it forty-five minutes.”

“Sure thing.”

As soon as he washed the suds from his hair, Dáire hurriedly finished his shower.

He had a phone call to make and very little time in which to get it done if he wanted to

speak with Gentry without Star there to listen in.

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The connection went through on the very first ring and he had an uneasy feeling

she’d been waiting for the call, sitting there in expectation of hearing from him.

“So what’s it to be, Cronin?” were the first words out of Gentry’s mouth.

“We’re back together again,” he told her.

“Figures.” The word sounded like a curse on the older woman’s lips.

“How’s Jackson?” he asked in a bid to change the subject.

“Since you are going to be out of commission for at least six weeks, there is nothing

to be gained by giving you any information regarding Jackson,” Gentry snapped.

“What do you mean?” Dáire asked.

“Do you really think I don’t know about the child’s problem, Cronin?” Gentry

queried. “I know all about the possible donation.” She was silent for a long moment

then her next words sounded ominous. “We could stop you if we were so inclined.”

“She’s my daughter,” he said.

“Unfortunately for her, she is,” Gentry said. “Call when you get out of the hospital

and have fully recovered and we will discuss your next assignment.”

She paused as though waiting for him to say something and when he didn’t, she

hung up.

* * * * *

“You’re being awful quiet,” Star said. She glanced at him as they drove along

Interstate 10, the top down on her spiffy little BMW 645Ci convertible. The powerful

engine of the sleek silver car purred along at eighty mph, passing most everything else

on the slab.

Daire’s thick hair was disheveled, blowing in the wind, but that only added to his

predatory male beauty. With the dark Ray-Bans snug over his eyes, the front of his

white shirt billowing against his deep tan, his bare feet braced on the dashboard, those

female drivers they passed never failed to do a double take at the man in Star’s

passenger seat.

“I’ve got a headache,” he said.

“Want me to put the top up?”

“No.”

Star looked at him again and her body melted. She was no more immune to him

than the woman in the other lane who was gawking so hard at him she almost swerved

off the road. His right hand was resting on his right knee, his fingers tapping out a

rhythm of their own. He was staring straight ahead, and in profile, he looked like a

statue of a Greek god.

“How ‘bout stopping in Milton and letting me get a drink?” he asked.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Star understood he didn’t mean liquor. It was the Southern way of expressing a

desire for soda and to Dáire’s way of thinking there was only one brand of soda that

would do.

They had just crossed the county line into Santa Rosa County and it would be a few

miles before the next turnoff for a convenient store. She knew he was aware of how far

they’d have to travel before he could get something to help his headache.

“You got some aspirin in that suitcase you call a purse?”

“Excedrin Migraine,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, and laid his head back on the headrest.

Star was passing a car full of teenage girls and she jumped when the young driver

laid on her horn and the shrill voices of adolescent lust yelled out to Dáire.

“Hey, baby!”

“Hubba, hubba, dude!”

The teenagers sped up, keeping pace with Star’s car.

“Looking good, stud!”

Star saw Dáire turn his head toward them and lower his Ray-Bans down his nose a

bit. He must have either winked or smiled at the girls for they were making more

catcalls, one going so far as to lean out the back window and pull up her T-shirt for him

to get a view of her naked, young breasts.

“Nice!” Star heard him compliment as she slammed her foot down on the

accelerator before he caused an accident. With expert handling, she maneuvered the

sports car past a semi and a truck towing a trailer, wanting to put as much distance as

possible between her and the randy teenagers.

Dáire looked over at her and grinned, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose.

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Starlight.”

Star snorted. “What of?” she countered. “Jail bait?”

“Gotta start somewhere,” he chuckled.

Star checked her rearview mirror—half expecting to see the girls speeding toward