Page 37 of Irish Rose
“I’m tired of playing games.” He had her across the room and into the hall before she found the breath to speak.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re leaving. Where’s your coat?”
“I’m not going anywhere, and I—”
He merely stripped off his jacket and tossed it over her shoulders before he yanked her outside. “Get in the car.”
“Go to hell.”
He grabbed her then, hard and fast. “There’ll be little doubt of that after tonight.” When his mouth came down on hers, her first reaction was to fight free, for this was a man to fear. But that reaction was so quickly buried under desire that she moved to him.
“Get in the car, Erin.”
She stood at the base of the steps a moment, knowing no matter how strong, how determined he was, the choice would be hers. She opened the door herself and got in without looking back.
Chapter Seven
Had she lost her mind? Erin sat in Burke’s car, watching his headlights cut through the night, and heard nothing but the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. She must be mad to have thrown all caution, all sense, any pretense of propriety to the winds. Why had no one ever told her that madness felt like freedom?
She’d never been self-destructive. Or had she? she asked herself, almost giddy from the speed and the night and the man beside her. Perhaps that was one more thing he’d recognized in her. A need to take risks and damn the consequences. If that wasn’t true, why didn’t she tell him to stop, to turn back?
Erin gripped her fingers together until the knuckles turned white. She wasn’t at all sure he’d listen, but that wasn’t the reason she didn’t speak. No, the reason she didn’t speak was that she’d lost more than her mind. Her heart was lost as well.
Perhaps one was the same as the other, Erin thought. Surely it was a kind of madness to love him. But love him she did, in a way she’d never imagined she could love anyone. There was a ferocity to it, an edgy sort of desperation that didn’t swell the heart so much as tighten it. Indeed, it felt like a hard, hot lump beneath her breast even now.
Was this the way love should feel? Shouldn’t she know? There should be a warmth, a comfort, a sweetness—not this wild combination of power and terror. Though she searched, she could find no tenderness in her feelings. Perhaps they were a reflection of his. At a glance she could see no gentleness in the man beside her. His hands gripped the wheel tightly and he looked nowhere but straight ahead.
Erin pressed her lips together and told herself not to be a romantic fool. Love didn’t have to be gentle to be real. Hadn’t she known all along that her emotions when it came to Burke would never be ordinary or simple? She didn’t want them to be. Still, she would have liked to have laid a hand over his, to have offered some word to show him how deep her feelings went and how much she was willing to give. But more than her heart was involved. There was pride and spirit as well. She had to be realistic enough to understand that just because she loved didn’t mean he loved in return.
So she said nothing as they drove under the sign and onto his land.
Why did he feel as though his life had just changed irrevocably? Burke saw the lights of his house in the distance and tensed as though readying for a blow. He wanted her, and if the need was stronger than he wanted to admit, at least tonight it would be assuaged. She hadn’t said a word. His nerves neared the breaking point as he rounded the first curve in the drive. Did it mean so little to her, could she take what was happening between them so casually that she sat in silence?
He didn’t want this. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
What was she feeling? Damn it, what was going on inside her? Couldn’t she see that every day, every hour he’d spent with her had driven him closer and closer to the brink? Of what? Burke demanded of himself. What line was he teetering on that he’d never crossed before? What would his life and hers be like once he’d stepped over it?
The hell with it. Burke braked at the base of the steps and without sparing her a glance, slammed the door and got out of the car.
Legs trembling, Erin got out and started up the steps, The door looked bigger somehow, like a portal to another world. With one long breath, she passed through.
Was it always so silent and angry when lovers came together? she wondered as she started up the staircase. Her hand on the banister was dry—dry and cold. She wished he’d reached for it, held it, warmed it in his own. That was nonsense, she told herself. She wasn’t a child to be coddled and soothed, but a woman.
He walked into the bedroom ahead of her, waiting for her to smile, to offer her hand, to give him some sign that she was happy to be with him. But when the door closed at her back she simply stood, chin up, eyes defiant.
The hell with it, he thought again. She didn’t need sweetness and neither did he. They were both adults, both aware and willing. He should have been glad she didn’t want coaxing and candlelight and the promises that were so rarely kept.
So he pulled her against him. Their eyes met once, acknowledging. Then his mouth was on hers and the chance for quiet words and gentle caresses was past.
This was enough, Erin told herself as the heat rose like glory. This had to be enough, because she would never have more from him. Accepting, she pressed against him, offering her mind and body along with her heart he didn’t know was already his. There was no hesitation now as her lips parted, as their tongues met in a hot, greedy kiss. When his hands roamed over her back, pressed into her hips, she only strained closer. She was prepared to trust him to show her the art of intimacy. She was prepared to risk self-destruction as long as he was part of the gamble.
Her fingers trembled only slightly as they dug into his arms. The strength was there, an almost brutal kind of strength that had her heart racing and her body yearning.
Good God, no woman had ever taken him so close to desperation so quickly. It only took a touch, a taste. When she kissed him avidly for one sweet moment he could almost believe he was the only one. That was its own kind of madness. A sane man would think of just this one night, but like a drug she was seeping into his system, making his heart race and his mind swirl.
He tugged on her dress and she moved against him, murmuring. He recognized the excitement, the tremble of anticipation, but not the modesty. When her flesh was freed for him he took, with rough hands that incited both desire and panic. No one had ever touched her like this, as if he had a right to every part of her. No one had ever caused this hard fist of need to clench inside her so that she was willing to cede to him that right.
