Hot Whispers of an Irishman (10 page)

He stopped in front of his daughter’s door and raised his fist to knock. He’d rather face down the legion of claimants and attorneys assembling in America than he would one unhappy girl.

He rapped on the door. “Meghan?”

No answer.

He gave one more try and with a louder call.

Still nothing.

Knowing he’d likely get his head bitten off for doing it, he swung open the door. The room was chaos—girl-style. Clothing and disemboweled CD cases lay on the floor like so many victims of adolescent angst. The creator of the mess sat on her unmade bed, headphones plugged into her ears and eyes closed as her head bounced to a tune playing loudly enough that headphones and all, he could hear it across the room.

“Meghan?” This time he’d nearly bellowed.

She opened her eyes. “You calling me?” Her voice was equally loud, competing with the music in her head.

“Take off the headphones,” he said while pantomiming the same.

His daughter gave him an eye roll, but did so.

“Headache’s improved, I see,” Liam commented.

The momentary blankness in her expression told him that she’d forgotten her excuse of the day, but she quickly recovered. “All better. I’ve been listening to music ever since Grandda got here with that other man.”

She was a poor liar, thank God.

“Right,” he said, but spared her another eavesdropping lecture. “I was thinking just a few minutes ago that for having been to Ireland four times now, you’ve seen precious little, except for the drive from the airport to here.”

She shrugged. “It all looks the same to me. Green and rainy and people in stupid clothes.”

She was testing him well, but Liam held fast to his temper. Someone had to be an adult in this room, and it was his poor job.

“Yes, well, it’s the weekend coming up, and I think we could both use some time away from Duncarraig. What do you say to a trip to Dublin the day after tomorrow? We could stop by that gold exhibit Vi was talking about—”

“Wow.” Her deadpan delivery was spot-on perfect, and Liam was almost amused.

“Fine, then, so museums aren’t your first choice. Would it help to know there’s fast food on Grafton Street and even some shopping malls to be found?”

She jumped from the bed, limbs quivering the way a hunting dog’s might when catching the scent of prey. “Malls?”

“Malls, though perhaps not as large as what you’re used to,” he affirmed, knowing he’d just consigned himself to shopping hell. “And all you have to do is go to school tomorrow and promise me that you’ll do the same every school day while you’re here.”

Meghan narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. “So, can I shop, or are you just going to let me look at stuff?”

“We’ll settle on a fair budget.”

“What kind of fast food?”

“I’m not so sure there’s a Taco Bell,” he said, naming her favorite. “But I’ve seen golden arches and fried chicken for certain.”

“So money and shopping and American food?”

“And a museum trip.”

“Cool, except the museum thing.” With that, she stuck on her headphones once again.

“The museum is non-negotiable,” he warned, and got a false smile and a “whatever” in response. He’d scarcely cleared her door when it slammed behind him.

Liam chose to take the encounter as a success, though a small one. He had one wee female lured and a far more complex redhead to go.

Friday morning, Vi was determined to stop drifting and actually get work done. She’d agreed to give Da a lift to Duncarraig again and earned sharp words from her mother for the effort. It seemed that Mam had grown accustomed to having Da home and didn’t appreciate having her errand-runner freed for the day. As for Vi, the sooner she had Nan’s belongings sorted, the sooner she could retreat to Ballymuir and reassemble her Mam-armor to the point where jabs about selfishness and such no longer hurt.

Soon after Da was dropped at James Rafferty’s house, Vi nipped into the work. Box after box of trash landed in the tip until the interior of Nan’s house was almost familiar again. Her painted furniture stood out bright and cheery in each room. Vi segregated random items still fine enough for charity but without any memory attached to them into the house’s small second bedroom. The rest—and there was much, for she was no expert at letting go—sat in the front room.

It was a cool enough day that Vi had started a fire in the fireplace, using as fuel a collection of scrap wood that Da’s friend had left behind. Bags of Nan’s financial records sat near the blaze, waiting to join those Vi had already consigned to the flames. She was, though, hanging onto all check registers and correspondence, for there she might find some proof of Nan’s timely inheritance…or gold-peddling.

Overheated, Vi moved from the hearth. She stripped off the worn men’s flannel shirt she’d filched from her brother Pat and pulled the damp fabric of the black silk camisole beneath it away from her skin. The camisole had been a gift from one of her lovers, lasting far longer than he had. She’d just reknotted her hair, cooling the nape of her neck, when a knock sounded at the door.

Roger moved from the fireplace and stood in the entry, tail wagging and bark sounding.

“Who’s there?” Vi called.

“It’s Liam.”

“Inconstant hound,” she said to her dog. “I thought you didn’t like the man.”

She glanced at her discarded shirt, still draped over a chair back, but decided against shrugging it on.

Last night, she’d done much thinking. She knew that Liam would seek the gold with or without her. She’d decided that in order to protect her interests, she must at all costs do two things: keep him off-balance and in sight.

Vi pulled open the door and took pleasure in watching him mask his surprise at her skimpy dress.

“I thought I’d told you I’d come find you when I was ready,” she said.

“I, ah…” He looked over her shoulder. “I see you have a fire burning. Might I come in?”

“Of course,” she said, ushering him over the threshold. She closed the door and smiled at the way he shot straight to the flames, not once glancing her way. Liam off-balance was proving a pitifully easy goal to achieve.

“Speaking of welcomes,” she said, “I’ve decided to let you walk Nan’s fields, though I’m not sure what good it will do you.”

“Grand,” he replied, then added in a casual sort of way, “It is warm in here, is it not?”

Without saying more, he pulled off the creamy-colored turtleneck he’d been wearing, then tossed it to the chair that held her shirt. Before turning back to her, he pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and placed it atop his shirt. When he’d finished, Vi was presented a view she’d not had in years. That, she supposed, was her punishment for being smug. And a fine punishment it was.

Liam was a man grown, not the lean boy/man who lingered in her memory. He was sun-kissed, muscled, glorious…and he knew it. She hungered to set her mouth against the warm skin at the base of his throat and to let her fingertips trace the unfamiliar scar that now ran along his left bicep. And after that, she’d trail her hand across his chest and then follow the thin line of dark hair arrowing to his navel…which of course would lead her even further down to the wonderfully gripping fit of his denims.

Liam was equally occupied looking at her, and she knew the changes were marked. She was no longer a girl of seventeen, but had a woman’s breasts and rich curves.

“I had two thoughts,” he said quite calmly, as though they weren’t busy cataloguing each other’s bodies.

“Ah, a good day for you, then,” she replied, at least letting her words nip at him.

He raised a brow as if inquiring about her need to spar. “The first thought was that this house isn’t the original,” he said, prowling closer.

She didn’t back down, and never would.

He ran one index finger along the camisole’s black ribbon strap, and she shivered beneath his touch.

“In fact, I’d wager the original house didn’t even stand here, or someone would have reused at least part of it,” he said, then followed the lace curve of the black fabric to the V between her breasts.

Fine game, indeed, she thought. It had been madness to underestimate Liam Rafferty. Her nipples were rising even before a direct caress.

“Really?” she commented, also ignoring the heat between her legs, for it was beginning to make her too aware of how long it had been since her body had accepted a man.

“I’m almost certain.” He lightly pressed his fingertips against one plump curve.

“So you’re looking in the field for the original house because you think the treasure might be beneath it?” she asked, knowing the question was shallow at best, as was her breathing.

He withdrew his fingers and brushed his nails against each of her raised nipples. “Aye, and if I don’t find the remnants of a house beneath ground, a cistern or other hiding place would surprise me none.”

Vi’s limbs were growing languorous and her will wobbly, but she was not quite ready to cede victory.

“Interesting,” she said, then permitted her hand to move as she’d imagined. It was a slow journey, his muscles tightening beneath her touch. His skin was hot—wonderfully so. She watched as his eyes grew darker and the set of his mouth more tense. He wore no belt, and when she reached the closure to his denims, she worked the top snap without ever letting her gaze break from his. Only his quick intake of breath gave evidence of his surprise.

“Quite interesting,” he agreed, still sounding dry as a professor giving a mathematics lecture.

“I’ll let you look,” she said, winnowing two fingers beneath the loosened fabric, “but only if you promise to share. What you learn, that is,” she added. Pulling off an innocent smile was dicey, indeed, but she managed.

“Generous,” he replied, then swallowed hard as she withdrew her fingers only to trace them over the outline of what was a finely burgeoning erection. She had to stop after a moment, though, for she feared she was losing her control before he would lose his.

“You’ll share, then?” she asked.

“For a bit of gold, I can be persuaded,” Liam said in a voice that had grown raspy. He came closer yet and moved his hands behind her head, freeing her hair from its knot. To Vi, the sound of her hairclip hitting the tile floor was as loud as if Nan’s iron pot had tumbled to the hearth. She didn’t let herself jump, though.

“You’re kissed with it among all this fire,” he finished, drawing her hair forward over her shoulders, then weaving his fingers through it where it flowed to her breasts.

“Gold’s a fine sight,” she agreed. In truth she didn’t care what shades he might find in her hair, so long as he kept touching her.

“Glorious,” he said, his blue eyes intent with the same passion that was making her tremble. He ran his thumbs across her cheekbones, then cupped the back of her head, tilting his own as though regarding a painting. “The most beautiful ever.”

He was stealing the moment from her, and she was glad he was a thief.

“I want to know all your secrets, Vi,” he said low into her ear.

Her breath hitched. “My secrets?”

His smile was slow and seductive as a lazy summer day. “If you’re hiding more gold, of course.”

She relaxed, which was no great feat with Liam’s touch to distract her. “Ah, of course. And where do you think I might be hiding it?”

“I’ve some ideas,” he said, toying with the button at the top of her khakis.

“Any good ones?” She’d have said
decent ones,
except her own thoughts were far from pure.

“One or two,” he replied, then let his hand move from the button he’d opened to trace the V of her camisole again.

Aye, he was a master at brinksmanship. Vi couldn’t bear the anticipation, so she ran her hands up then down his arms…once…twice, but it wasn’t enough. She moved closer—so close that her breasts were brushing against him. It was moments like this that she especially loved her height. She was not to be ignored, not to be denied. She reached around and settled her hands on the firm cheeks of his bum.

He leaned his forehead against hers, and it was damp with perspiration. “So shall I search?”

“If you must,” she said, then inhaled a shaky breath and moved her arms round his neck as he returned the favor of cupping her bum and pushing against her in a slow rhythm that flayed her self-control. She’d not felt anything so incredible in ages.

She was ready to be done with the layers of clothing between them, that much was certain. But she’d not be the one to capitulate. Using one hand, he pushed her hair aside and nipped the top of her shoulder. Vi could scarcely hold in her cry.

Then, finally—when she was sure she could bear no more, he slowly worked down the zipper on her khakis and slipped his hand beneath the elastic top of her low-cut panties. He touched her once, and she gasped, realizing how very close she was to coming apart.

“Liam, I—”

He cut off her words with his own. “Let me.”

Before she could explain that letting him was the least of her issues, his cell phone began to ring.

Liam hesitated.