Chapter Four

Venn put the kettle on the stove, watching Gwyn from the corner of his eye. She wandered through his apartment, studying his musical instruments, his artwork, the cracks in the bare, brick walls—everything but him.

“What’s this?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her question. She’d picked up one of the instruments and held it gingerly.

“Uilleann pipes, luv. The Irish version of bagpipes.”

“You…you must be very talented if you play all these.” Her wide-flung gesture took in the baby grand piano, the violins, guitars, harp, and various flutes and drums.

“Aye. I s’pose I am.”

“But you play on the street.”

He bristled at her insinuation. “’Tis no shame in that, girl.” Turning his back, he concentrated on preparing tea though he really wanted a tall glass of dark ale or better yet, a bottle of good Irish whiskey. Bringing Gwyn here was a bad idea.

Venn startled at the soft touch to his back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snobbish. I just…” She chuckled—a shy, self-deprecating sound. “I have no talent. For anything.” She swallowed nervously and retreated a bit as he handed her a mug. “Would you play for me?”

Tilting his head, he studied her. She certainly wasn’t what he’d come to expect from the nobs. Her expression, while tentative, was open, her eyes showing interest. He tossed a shrug with one shoulder. “What would you like me to play?”

A faint smile teased the corner of her mouth. “Would it be too trite if I asked for something traditionally Irish?”

Despite the curve of her lips, her blue eyes clouded with worry. She watched him warily, and his heart lurched. What sort of monster was she marrying that the asking of something so trivial had her tied up in such knots?

“Sure, luv.” He picked up the pipes, arranged the instrument in his lap, and played. He started with “The Road to Lisdoonvarna,” a spritely tune then segued into the haunting “Innisfree.” When he stopped playing, the last sad note echoed in his loft. Tears shimmered in Gwyn’s eyes.

“That was beautiful.” She sighed and sniffled. Her cheeks suffused with color beneath his gaze.

Venn smiled and set aside the pipes. He moved the stool to sit behind the harp, watching her through hooded lids. With elegant fingers, he plucked the strings. Gwyn leaned forward in anticipation as he plucked the opening notes. Within a few measures, he began to sing.

Goosebumps rose on Gwyn’s arms, and she rubbed them absently. Venn’s voice mesmerized her, tugging at her subconscious, swirling around and teasing her with kitten-paw touches. He seemed to glow as he sang, eyes unfocused, lost in his love song. Two lovers, the man deemed unworthy of his beloved. He watched his lady love fade away, only to return to him in a dream, promising they would be together even though she was dead.

This was truly the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing she’d ever heard. Soul mates. Destined to be together. Her heart swelled when she realized she knew him. Had always known him. Focused on Venn, she swore a swirl of rainbow glitter danced around him. Magic. His voice was pure magic.

Venn stood and walked to her. Slow. Determined. Hungry. Sure. Wanting. Hurt radiated in the depths of his eyes, and she wanted to scratch out the eyes of the woman who had scarred his gentle soul, leaving such terrible pain behind. Lost in his gaze, she moved into his arms as he joined her on the couch.

His breath feathered across her cheek and ruffled her hair. A delicate shiver tiptoed through her as her eyes drifted shut. Her hands burrowed into his mane of soft hair and her lips parted in a sigh as his kisses trailed down her throat. His tongue teased her collarbone then stopped, much to her disappointment. Venn shifted slightly, and her breath caught as he took her mouth in a kiss full of fire and demand. His lips claimed hers. His tongue conquered hers, thrusting inside and tasting her fully. She arched against him, his hands scorching her skin as they burrowed beneath her sweater.

“Oh my lord,” she breathed.

He chuckled, his lips vibrating against hers. His hand caressed her tummy, one finger dipping below the waistband of her slacks, and the one was soon joined by his whole hand. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she stiffened as he explored farther, his fingertips teasing the soft curls hiding between her thighs.

She pulled her hands away from the silken mass of his hair, and they formed fists without her command. Gwyn pushed against his chest and turned her head to break the kiss.

Venn leaned away from her, studying her expression as if he could read her innermost thoughts. “Do you want me to stop, cailín?”

“Yes. No.” Her breathless voice sounded hollow to her ears. “I don’t know.”

Something hard glinted in his hazel eyes, a flash of gold beneath the green flecked with brown that was hidden as he lowered his lids. He looked lazy and negligent, his mouth a sardonic slash as he stood and moved back to the kitchen, leaving her chilled and unsure.

“I’ll not force m’self on any woman.” His jaw clenched as he spit the words.

Gwyn drew her knees to her chest, arms wrapping around them. She tilted her head and rested her cheek atop one knee. Guilt flooded her. Had she led him on? Sumner complained she lacked passion, so how could she have teased Venn? Thinking of Sumner sent ice knifing into her heart. She’d been warm just moments ago. Now frost seeped into her very bones.

“I’m sorry. I’m…Sumner…”

“Sumner what?” Disgust dripped off his words.

“Sumner says I’m frigid.”

Venn roared with laughter. He closed the distance between them in a blink. Grabbing her hand, he forced her to cup the front of his jeans. His erection filled her palm and spilled over. “Frigid? No cold-blooded witch can do this to me, luv.”

Gulping at his crass gesture, she stared at her hand, willing it to let go and return to her control. Her hand ignored her, laughing at her foolish wishes. She did manage to raise her eyes, to look at his face. Cocky and arrogant, he grinned down at her.

She blushed, color flooding her face before she dropped her eyes. Venn watched her fight for control, a battle she was obviously losing since her fingers now caressed his erection.

As if waking from a dream, she jerked her hand away and refused to meet his gaze. He settled beside her and tipped her face toward him with a finger under her chin. “The man you’re to marry has deemed you frigid?”

Her gaze skittered away from his as she dropped an imperceptible nod.

“Why would he say that? Ya were certainly blastin’ heat a moment ago.”

She swallowed and licked her lips. His shaft twitched, and he longed to feel those luscious lips on him. Gwyn cleared her throat, luring his thoughts away from his need for her.

“I…he…we don’t…” She swallowed again before raising her eyes to meet his gaze. “We don’t kiss.” The hand that had cupped him moments ago twitched. “Or touch.”

Confused, his brow knitted, Venn studied her.

“Are ya a virgin then?”

She hesitated a moment before answering, as if weighing her guilt or innocence. Her chin rose to a stubborn angle. “No. Not exactly.”

Venn laughed, a deep rolling chuckle that started somewhere behind his bellybutton and rumbled up through his chest. “Not exactly? Either ya’ve done the dirty or ya haven’t, girl.”

Her eyes snapped blue fire at him. “Fine. Yes. I did it in college.” She muttered an additional word under her breath.

“Once? Ya’ve made love t’a man just once in yer life? Was it yer prick of a fiancé?”

Her face flamed. “None of your business.”

His expression softened as he cupped her cheek in his palm. “But it is my business, cailín. No woman should be facin’ a life with a bloody tool without knowin’ what lovin’ should be like.” Venn lowered his voice, crooning to her now. “Let me show ya, luv. Let me love ya the way a real man loves a beautiful woman.”

“Beautiful? You think I’m beautiful?”

Her needy temerity ripped him apart. He wanted her in his bed, spread before him like a Christmas feast. He wanted to taste her, from her ripe breasts to the secret place between her legs. He would devour her before sinking deep inside her. She would scream his name before he finished. And then he would teach her how to please a man. How to please him. T’hell with the feckin’ arse who thought to claim her.

Gwyneth Riley was his.