Page 90 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“If you are, then I’m just as mad. And so is Kade.” She smiled as she traced his jaw. “Maybe it’s the artist in me. Do you know how many paintings depict mystical things? I’ve always been of the opinion that those things have to exist for so many people to paint them. I’ve felt things myself, but have never seen them.” Although apparently she’d smelled his dead wife’s orange scent.
“Enough of this talk. I only told you because I thought you should know, not knowing you already did.”
She caressed the broad lines of his shoulders. This was another way he was telling her he’d let go of the past. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I’m glad you told me yourself. Be right back.”
Rushing from the main room into the kitchen, she pulled out the votive candles that she’d spied under the sink. The smell of citronella was subtle. “Hope you don’t care that our candles were designed to ward off mosquitos.”
“You mean midges, our tiny flies,” he said, coming up behind her as she stood up with the candles and shoved them at him. She turned to look for the matches, aware he was behind her.
“You know, the kitchen feels even smaller with you in it,” she said as she rummaged through the mess drawer. “Aha. I found them.”
Matches in hand, she nodded in the direction of the short hallway leading to her bedroom. His hand settled on her hip as they walked to the back.
“It’s not a big room,” she explained as he shut the door, threw some condoms on the bed, and stripped off his shirt. “Oh, my! I guess we’re getting right to it.”
“We can draw the next one out,” he said, unbuckling his pants and shucking off everything else.
“My God!” She fumbled the matches, and they spilled onto the floor. “You’re gorgeous. I mean, I knew you would be. But seriously…”
Her mind captured the image of him standing naked in her tiny room. The powerful lines of muscle. The broad shoulders and thick neck. The rock-solid abdomen leading down to the kind of cock she’d only seen depicted in paintings. Thick. Long. Full. And very aroused.
“Are you going to stare at me all night, Yank?” He gestured to his body. “Undress. I want to seeyou.”
She looked down at herself, seeing the parts of her that she thought were too full. “I’ll light the candles.”
Why had she thought they needed light? It was bright out until ten these days. She bent over for a match and grabbed the empty matchbox. His bare feet appeared in her vision.
“Is this about those curves you mentioned?” he asked, pulling her up gently.
She stood, clutching the things to her stomach. “Yes. I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious. Give me a moment. I’ll get over it.”
He only snorted, grabbing the match and matchbox and throwing it aside. “Later. Come on. Let me help you get over it.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook herself. “I’m over it.”
He pressed a large hand to her hip with intention, and she felt the answering heat between her legs. “I don’t believe you.”
When he pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, she moaned. If this is what he had planned, she could go along with it. “Try the other side. I might need all this help balanced out.”
His chuckle was dark as he reached for the hem of her sweater. She raised her hands and he tugged it up and off, throwing it across the room.
“You’re a messy kind of guy, right? The kind who doesn’t pick clothes up off the floor. The new me wants you to know that you can pick things up yourself.”
“Shut up, Yank,” he ordered, kneeling in front of her and unbuttoning her jeans and lowering them. “I didn’t tell you in the studio, but your breasts are masterpieces. If I could paint you, they would be a prominent feature in the painting. I’m about to find out what else I’d paint.”
He paused as the heat in her belly and between her legs grew. “Wait. I just found the other spot.”
His hand slipped between her legs, his fingers tracing the edge of her underwear. She widened her stance, giving him better access. That was all it took. He slipped off her underwear and her socks. His hands went around and removed her bra, tossing that aside too. Levering back on his knees, he studied her, his eyes a fiery ultramarine.
“Yank, you take my breath away.”
If she hadn’t believed him, she would have when he grabbed her bottom in his hands and pressed his mouth to her core. The feel of his tongue and lips had her coming in a rush.
“Oh, God, that was fast,” she said, panting. “I’ll slow down.”
He set her back on the edge of the bed, still on his knees. “I don’t want you to slow down. Not. One. Bit.”
Her body fired up at his words. “That’s the most dangerously delicious invitation I’ve ever had.”
