Page 9 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Chapter Three
If anyone had told Betsy O’Hanlon that she would be having coffee with a sexy sheep farmer every day of the week, and at sixty years of age, no less, she would have laughed herself off the closest chair.
When her Bruce had died after thirty years of marriage, she’d resigned herself to that part of her life being over. Mostly. She had three grown sons, one of whom still lived with her. Despite Liam being twenty-five, she was happy for the company in the large O’Hanlon manor house. She had great friends. Business concerns. What did she need a man for, really?
As Donal O’Dwyer kicked out his long legs, reeking of earthy masculinity, she had to admit there were plenty of reasons to want a man around. Particularly a clever and handsome one like him, whom a woman could depend on as much for weeding in the garden as for a hearty laugh.
Donal’s thick silver hair reminded her of the puffy clouds in pewter and white in the sky outside her windows, and she was always tempted to run her hands through it. Of course, she wanted to run her hands over other parts too. His broad shoulders and chest were tantalizingly displayed by the simple navy work shirt he had on. He might be sixty-three, but he was somehow more vital and masculine than a younger man. Downright yummy. Could a woman her age sayyummy?
Or hell, maybe her eyesight was going along with her marbles. He had her so hot she couldn’t see straight. She kept losing the keys to her red Mini Cooper after seeing him—one set last week and the other this week. For the past three infernal days, she’d looked everywhere, as had her friends. Of course, they all thought it a good laugh that she was so horny she was losing things. Talk about embarrassing.
When her son had suggested purchasing ginkgo biloba capsules to improve her memory, she’d had to admit to her boy that she wasn’t losing it. She was distracted by Donal O’Dwyer.
The infernal man.
He fixed his deep-set green eyes on her, the strong planes of his face knotting as he worked up to a question—one she’d been waiting for.
“When are you planning on agreeing to go away with me?” he finally asked as she took her first sip of coffee.
Hotcoffee that scalded her mouth. “Ouch!”
“Let me see your burn,” he said, cupping her chin. “I might have some salve for that in my car.”
“I’m not a sheep,” she said, wishing he’d said something about massage oil instead because that was what she’d prefer he use on her.
She opened up her fridge for some ice. But the ice in her ice trays was melted, and the other frozen items were dripping.
“Dammit! The fridge is on the fritz again.”
“I’ll look at it after my coffee,” Donal said as she strode back to the table. “Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?”
Yeah, she kind of did. She leaned forward, and he kissed her—light as a snowflake. He could make her swoon with a kiss like that. Man alive, shewashorny and no amount of alone time together was helping. Being together offered a wonderful sort of companionship, but their relationship wasn’t only about holding hands, drinking coffee, and going out to dinner. No, they were too hot for each other for that. They needed to have sex,the hot, sweaty, until dawnkind.
She fingered the petals of the Love’s Magic roses in the white vase in the center of the table, doing her best to remember she was an adult, not some young woman ruled by her urges. She’d had fun before meeting Bruce and more funwithhim. Then they’d married, and things had changed between them. Having the boys had taken a further toll on their sex life. Same with growing older.
She wondered how Donal’s relationship with his Margaret had gone. Should they talk about it? Damn, but it was weird to be in such uncharted territory. All of her friends still had their husbands. There was no one she could talk to about dating later in life. Deep down, she knew there was only one person to talk to about it. And he was patiently waiting for her response.
“I know what you’re really asking me. About going away.” Good Lord, she sounded like a young schoolgirl. Felt like one too, when she remembered what he’d said about going away to Paris. Oh, to go there with Donal and stroll along the Seine…
He took her hand away from the rose and simply held it. “Do you now?”
“You’re asking when I want to go to bed with you.” There, she’d said it out loud and in a stronger voice. “Truth is, I haven’t decided. Once we start, you’ll be over here all the time.”
“Damn right I will be, since I expect you’ll prefer we use your bed,” he volleyed back, clearly amused. “But take your time. Once that horse bolts, there will be no getting it back. I want you to be ready for me.”
Inside, she agreed with him. Shedidneed to be ready for this next step. Even so, she appreciated his patience. He’d been courting her for months and had never once rushed her.
The thing was, she hadn’t been with anyone other than Bruce in thirty-two years. Her body had changed, but so had her heart. She liked to think it was wiser now. Truthfully, it wanted more fun and freedom. She wasn’t sure both were possible with a man. Marriage, while wonderful, had a way of tying a person down, even when you loved someone.
And she and Donal did love each other.
“Are you still wanting to get married?” she asked boldly.
He laughed heartily, a sound as warming as the smell of baking bread. “Maybe we should have sex first and hang around together more. I need to see if you hog the covers or snore. You need to let go of your fear that all I want you for is to cook and clean.”
“I didn’t say itexactlylike that,” she said, trying her coffee again.
“You said and I quote, ‘You know how you Irishmen are.’ Like we wear furs and carry around clubs in our jeeps.”
