Wild Angel (33 page)

"I-I’m not afraid. I’d just rather wait for our
wedding night if it’s all the same to you. To—to see you, I mean."

"Then I’ll honor your request."

She heard a splash, spinning half around to see Ronan
wading past the horses toward her. He was still wearing his trousers, which
were now soaked past his thighs and sticking to him like a second skin.

"It’s a fine soft day for swimming, wouldn’t you
say?" she asked rather lamely, finding that she was still nervous just at
the sight of his magnificent chest. The water was up to his hips now, which
drew her gaze to his honed belly and that fascinating trail of hair descending
from his navel.

"See something that interests you?"

She sucked in her breath, meeting his eyes. She saw
humor there, gaze laced, too, with a heat she’d glimpsed before. "I . . .
I was thinking you’re . . . well, very fit."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same of you."
He dove before she could sputter a reply, resurfacing only inches away from
her. Shaking the water from his hair, he added roguishly as he tread water, "Funny,
too, Triona, that you didn’t at least wear your shirt. But mayhap you don’t
mind that I’m seeing you before our wedding night."

His deep laughter rang out as she splashed him,
then
dove to get as far away from him as she could.

If she’d known her tactic had given him a fine view of
her bare bottom she probably would have swum away, but she wasn’t thinking too
clearly anymore. Suddenly she felt very much like the little fish with a very
big fish eyeing her for its supper. Resurfacing briefly, she looked for
someplace to hide.

She dove
again,
swimming
underwater with an agility borne from long hours spent enjoying the loughs of
Imaal. She kept going until she thought her lungs might burst, right through
the wild tumult of current and foam created by the waterfall.

When she finally broke through the surface, gasping for
air, she was right where she wanted to be. Hoisting herself onto a rock ledge,
she looked around her at the dripping cavern formed from centuries of cascading
water. She had been in such places before but none as lofty as this one. As
white water crashed in front of her, cool spray stinging her face, she shielded
her eyes and looked out over the lough.

She saw Ronan at once, diving again and again in a
manner that could only be described as frantic.

With a pang of guilt, she suddenly realized he must be
very worried about her. Jesu,
Mary
and Joseph, perhaps
even thinking the worse—that she might have drowned. But before she could try
shouting to him, he just as suddenly began swimming toward the waterfall with
furious strokes. Triona’s heart pounded almost as fast as she watched him. She
had no sooner retreated to the back of the cavern where the tumbling water didn’t
seem half so loud when Ronan launched himself onto the ledge, his relief plain
to see.

"Damnit, woman, are you trying to age me
overnight?"

"I’m sorry, Ronan. I wasn’t thinking . . ."
Her voice trailed away as his gaze swept her. She wished then she had worn her
shirt. Yet it made little sense that he should make her feel so nervous. Ninny,
he was soon to be her husband! But she jumped all the same when he straightened
and came toward her, her reaction causing him to stop just within arm’s reach.

"Triona, you’ve nothing to fear—"

"I’m not afraid!" she cut in, though Ronan
didn’t appear convinced.

"Then come to me," he dared her, stepping
closer so she wouldn’t have that far to go although he kept his hands to his
sides.

Triona was shivering, and it wasn’t just because the
air in the cavern was cool. With her arms crossed over her breasts, she took a
small step, then another, until she and Ronan were standing only inches apart.
Yet still his eyes beckoned to her. With a ragged sigh, she slowly dropped her
arms to her sides.

His hands were waiting for hers, so warm and sure,
their fingers lacing together. Without touching her anywhere else, he bent his
head to her ear.

"I love you, Triona O’Toole. I would never do
anything to hurt you. Never."

She felt chills plummet all the way to her toes, and
when he drew back to look into her eyes, she knew she had found the moment.

"And I love you, Ronan O’Byrne. More than you’ll
ever know."

She saw tears cloud his eyes, felt him shudder as he
clasped her hands all the harder, but still he seemed to be waiting. Unlacing
her fingers, she reached up and cradled his face with her hands, standing on
tiptoe as she pressed her mouth tenderly to his.

"I love you, Ronan—"

His arms closing around her fiercely stole her breath,
but she wound hers around him just as tightly, clinging to him as he kissed her
with a passion as fervent as his embrace. She couldn’t say how long they stood
there, nor did she care, her nervousness blessedly vanished.

She wasn’t chilled anymore, either, his powerful body
hotter than flame. It was the first time she’d ever felt his bare skin next to
hers, her nipples rubbing against his chest, and she found herself craving more
of the wondrous sensation. She blushed furiously when he pulled away to search
her eyes, the scorching heat reflected in his gaze telling her that their
thoughts were one and the same.

"I want
you,
woman, but
this time the choice must be yours. If it is your desire to wait until our
wedding, I’ll honor—"

He was silenced by her kiss, Triona in that moment
feeling altogether brazen and bold. She wanted him as badly, and just to show
him, she ran her tongue teasingly over his lips, her wanton gesture rewarded by
a groan.

But she didn’t stop there, darting her tongue inside
his mouth while she ran her fingernails up his back . . . startling him,
startling even
herself
, as if she knew instinctively
how to please him.

"I always knew you were a wild one, Triona O’Toole,"
came
his husky voice against her lips. "But let’s
see if you’d go so far as to undress me."

Her eyes flared in surprise, but seeing his taunting
smile, she eagerly accepted the challenge. Yet she also began to tremble as she
slid her hands over his flat brown nipples and down his chest, her palms
lingering to explore the rock hard contours of his abdomen before straying to
the leather cord at his waist. She glanced up to see that he wasn’t smiling any
longer,
his eyes burning into hers, the intent look on
his face making her fingers shake twice as badly.

"I . . . I can’t get the damned thing untied,"
she finally said after a moment’s flustered fumbling. Ronan’s hands replaced
hers to see the matter quickly done.

"Dare you finish the job?" he taunted, taking
another moment to seize her and ravage her lips before allowing her to answer.

Triona felt as if her head were spinning after that
kiss, but somehow she managed to nod. And that wasn’t all she managed, hooking
her fingers inside the waist of his trousers and then tugging the sodden
garment downward over his lean hips . . . yet slowly just to tease him.

"Woman . . ."

"Sshh," she bade him, dropping to one knee as
she continued to tug.

Her heart began to slam against her breast as more and
more of that seductive line of hair was revealed, and she couldn’t resist
leaning forward and tracing it with her tongue. At once Ronan caught her by the
shoulders, his voice gone hoarse.

"Enough, Triona. I will finish the undressing."

"Why?" she asked honestly, surprised that he’d
made her stop. "Have I displeased you?"

He groaned, shaking his head as he looked down at her. "You
please me too much. Your boldness—"

"Is a thing of love,
Ronan.
"
Suddenly very much aware of her seductive hold upon him, Triona gave another
small tug to his trousers. "You challenged me to a task, did you not?"

"Aye."

"Then I would like to finish it."

He exhaled brokenly, but offered no further resistance
as Triona resumed stripping the wet garment from his body although in truth,
her face couldn’t have been burning any hotter. Especially when that tempting
streak of hair became a midnight thatch, her breath jamming in her throat when his
thick swollen flesh finally sprang free.

"Triona . . ."

Again Ronan took her by the shoulders, his hands
shaking as she instinctively reached out to stroke him.

Her hands were trembling, too, a flush racing from her
scalp to her toes that she could be so daring, but nonetheless she wrapped her
fingers around the full-grown silken length of him. Ronan’s sharp intake of
breath told her that he liked very much what she was doing, yet something told
her there was another way she could please him.

Her heartbeat hammering like thunder in her ears, she
brushed her lips to him first, then swirled her tongue around his hot smooth
flesh . . . once, twice, tasting a pungent wetness. Yet she had no sooner drawn
him more fully into her mouth and begun to caress him with her tongue, her
lips, when Ronan’s wild groan filled the cavern.

The next thing she knew he had pulled her back up
against him, freeing her only an instant to kick off his trousers before
locking her once more within his arms. Now Triona felt all of him pressing
against her, his chest, his lean belly, his hips, his hard thighs flush with
her own. And pushing at that sensitive place between her legs, that fascinating
part of him which she’d so eagerly caressed . . .

"Did I meet your challenge?" she somehow
managed when he bent his head to nuzzle at her throat, the heat of his palm
easily rousing her nipple to a tingling nub.

"Aye, woman, but now it’s my turn to please you—"

"But you already have," she broke
in,
her breath catching as he gently bit her shoulder, then
soothed the place with his tongue. In truth, the aching pressure between her
thighs was already stoked to such heights that she thought she might burst from
wanting him so much.

"No, Triona, not enough yet to make amends for. .
." He didn’t finish, dropping to his knees in front of her and taking
first one hardened nipple into his mouth and then the other, massaging and
squeezing her breasts by turns.

The feel of his hot tongue flicking at her flesh was so
delicious that she leaned into him, tunneling her fingers through his wet hair.
Yet nothing could have prepared her for the path he chose next, his hands
grasping her bottom to hold her close as he mimicked what she had done to him
only moments ago.

His tongue forged a scorching trail to her navel only
to linger there to dip and play,
then
traveled down
her belly to the tuft of copper curls nestled at the crown of her thighs.

"Ronan . . ." Already she was shaking, but
when he kissed her there, burying his face, then his tongue in her female-scented
depths, she thought for certain she would die. Soon she learned that exquisite
pleasure could be like pain, too. She moaned wildly when his tongue speared
into her again and again, savoring, exploring, until she felt her knees
collapse from under her.

"Ronan!"

He caught her so suddenly that she gasped, Ronan
carrying her with him as he rose again to his full height.

"Hold me, Triona. Wrap your legs around me!"
came
his hoarse command, and she obeyed him, crying out in
surprise as she sank onto hard flesh poised to meet her.

But her cry became breathless whimpers at the power of
his thrusts, her back pressed to the cold cavern wall while the front of her
body was on fire. Her lips were on fire, too, his kiss impassioned, their
tongu6 entwined, their hips fused as if each were desperately striving to
become part of the other.

And they did finally at the same moment, their shared
climax so shattering that neither moved at the end for the throbbing spasms
washing over them. A climax so intense that when it was done, Ronan collapsed
with her against the cavern wall, his face buried in her hair as he fought to
catch his breath.

To his amazement Triona began to giggle, brokenly at
first as she labored for breath, but with that wonderful huskiness he so loved.

"I’m . . . I’m beginning to think you and I have
little use for a bed, Ronan O’Byrne."

He laughed, too, hugging her fiercely as he sent a
prayer of thanks to the merciful God who’d seen fit to bring him and this
incomparable woman together. Longing all the more for that moment when he and
Triona would become husband and wife, Ronan noticed that the cavern was growing
dark. Regretfully, he eased his body from Triona’s and set her down, though he
still held her very close.

"The day is closing around us, Triona. We should
get back to the stronghold."

"Oh no, let’s stay," she murmured, brushing
the sweetest kiss against his lips. "We’re alone . . . no one can find us .
. . no one."

"Mayhap, woman, but this wet cavern won’t seem so
pleasant when the night air grows cooler." He playfully smacked her
bottom. "And you’ve not a stitch with you to keep you warm."

"Ah, but you’d keep me warm, Ronan. I know it."

Though sorely tempted, he shook his head, not quite the
romantic that his wild angel appeared to be. "We can come back, I promise
you. But I’m sure Niall has ordered a feast, called for the wine casks to be
tapped, assembled my clansmen—"

"All right, all right," Triona murmured,
disappointed that their interlude should end so soon yet eager to share her
wonderful news with Aud, aye, and Maire, her sister-to-be. "But first
another kiss, Ronan, that hopefully will last me until the priest comes."

"You’ll be getting kisses aplenty, woman, whether
the priest arrives in Glenmalure tomorrow or no. That, too, I promise you."

She giggled again, her languid feeling returning as
Ronan captured her lips in a kiss that drove the breath from her body. But to
her dismay, it hardly lasted long enough. With another good smack on her
bottom, Ronan steered her toward the waterfall, the cascading tumult bringing a
sly smile to her lips.