Chapter Eleven

In spite of the fox's cunning, many a woman wears its skin.

—Irish Proverb

 

Bone tired and resenting even another moment awake, Dev drove the last of the road to Muir House. He glanced over at Maureen, who was slumped against the passenger door, dead out, the lucky little fool. She'd had the shite scared out of her tonight, as well she should.

In rescuing her, Dev had been faced with taking the less direct route of the Connor Pass or threading the perilous access road straight across the jagged mountains to Camp. He had embraced danger. And he'd arrived before the authorities, too.

With no sign of Maureen's semi-abductors, he'd calmed her while considering the legal ramifications of kicking in the door to a house not his. As it turned out, one of the late-arriving Gardai was more than happy to have a go. Dev didn't imagine they were presented the opportunity too often.

Dev rounded the last curve of the drive and smiled at the sight awaiting him. Jenna had left the house aglow, a warm welcome shining from its many windows.

"Maureen, we're home," he said.

The girl stirred. "Okay." The muzzy sound of her voice matched her appearance.

He parked the car and, as they were walking the path to the front door, handed Maureen her cell phone. She managed an exhausted "thanks," one more added to the countless number she'd given him once out of the house in Camp.

They stood in the front entryway. "I'm going to crash," she said.

"First help me switch off the lights," he said.

She looked around, blinking owlishly. "Isn't there someone else who could do that?"

He didn't reply, just walked to the doorway to the right of the entry, reached in and flipped the light switch. When he turned, Dev was pleased to see that she'd gone for the room to the far left. In less than a minute, they met at the foot of the sweeping stairway.

"Is there a room I could use?" Dev asked. "I'd rather not wake the people where I'm staying."

She nodded. "Follow me." Up the stairs they climbed.

"That's Jenna's room," she said as they passed a closed door. She pointed to the door opposite and the next one down. "This one's unfinished, and that one has a bed, but I'm not too sure there are sheets on it."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"Good night, then," she said and continued down the hallway. Soon he heard a door close.

Dev stood in front of his chosen door, hand resting on its oval brass knob. Nearby waited rest. But Jenna was also a matter of feet away. It would be so easy—and so gratifying—to take those steps. But he'd already given her much to think about, much to accept. If he weren't a selfish man, he'd leave her for the night.

But selfish he was just now, and hungry for comfort, too. He had excuse enough in telling Jenna that he was back. He retraced his steps down the hall and lingered outside her door. A few words, the crisp sound of her voice, they weren't much to ask.

Dev opened the door, stepped in, and closed it softly behind him. The drapes weren't quite closed, leaving a dim sort of light to guide his way. Jenna lay in bed, curled on one side, facing him.

He softly called her name.

She didn't stir.

"We're back. Maureen's off to sleep."

There, he'd done his duty, even if she hadn't awakened to hear the news. He could leave now. She sighed and murmured in her sleep, stretching one arm above her head to rest palm upward in a gesture of supplication.

Now, he told himself. Leave now. But he remained selfish. When he eased his weight onto the edge of her bed and sat, she didn't wake.

How had he ever, even for a moment, thought her plain? The tilt to her nose, the lushness of her mouth, even in dim light they were sights of beauty. He had started the night doing the right things for the wrong reasons, but ended up feeling an almost indefinable connection to Jenna.

What Dev did next was no more a matter of judgment than entering her room had been. This was about need. Slowly, quietly, he stripped down to his briefs, turned back the duvet and sheet, and stretched out on the bed next to her. Jenna's breathing was slow and steady, soothing him.

He was, he thought as he drifted to sleep, still the worst kind of opportunist. And very thankful for it, too.

 

Jenna dreamed. There was a man in her bed. A lover. His hands and mouth were sure, and she was open to him...the taste of his kisses, the hint of outdoors in his scent, and the feel of his body hard against hers. Her lover's hand slipped beneath the elastic waist of her boxer shorts and his fingers delved through the curls at the vee of her thighs. She sighed and spread her legs for him. One blunt fingertip ventured down. She was slick, hot with need.

At the first thrilling touch she shivered with excitement. No one had ever gotten it right, but this man was magic. Hands seeking purchase on the bed, Jenna gasped and arched upward. He murmured something, but she couldn't quite catch the words. The tone she understood, though. It was low and rich and intoxicating.

"More," she begged as he teased, toyed...tempted.

Her skin grew damp and her heart pounded and her toes curled. For once she was flying in the moment, her mind shut down to everything but feeling. She had never been this hungry, this close to reaching that elusive release.

He pushed at the strap to her camisole, but it didn't give graciously. The sound of snapping threads intruded on Jenna's dream. She came fully, instantly awake. Whatever it was she'd been about to experience dissipated like so much stardust in sunlight.

"I want to taste you here," Dev said. Having given up on her camisole, he was tugging at her boxers. "And to come inside you and stay until—"

Jenna clamped one hand around his wrist. "Dev."

"Yes, love." He kissed her neck, then moved lower.

"Dev." Jenna wriggled from beneath him and tried to think of what to say. She couldn't bear the disappointment. They would fail. She would fail.

"Give me a second," she said, edging toward the outside of the mattress.

He moved away. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you—"

"What time is it?" she asked, leaving the bed as she spoke. She looked at her alarm clock. Thank God, a valid excuse. "It's past eleven? Aidan will be looking for me, I'll have missed deliveries, and—"

"The Earth will have stopped turning?" Dev suggested. "Jenna, everything will wait. Come back to bed and let me love you."

He made it sound so simple, but it had never been that. She hurried to her wardrobe and pulled a clean jacket and pants from a hanger. "Dev, I have to work."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No," she said, but then made the crucial error of looking at him. He was propped against the pillows, the covers riding low against his hips. Dev Gilvane was the most incredible man she'd ever had in her bed. He was virile, lean and muscled, so perfectly golden-skinned and dark-haired. What any woman would dream of, and most would love to exhaustion. Except her.

She shook herself out of her trance. "Really, it's just that it's so late and—"

He blew out an impatient breath. "Work, then. But at three o'clock, you're mine until nightfall. I don't give a damn if you've got fish to scale, veal to pound, or bartenders to coddle. At three we take time for just the two of us. For pleasure."

She pulled herself together and tried to tease. "And the alternative?"

Despite the fact that her voice had been as high and reedy as a petrified virgin's, he played along. "The alternative? I bring you back into this bed here and now, peel that ridiculous smiling-face set of pajamas from you, and learn your body. I'll find out if the feel of my mouth against your breasts will make you sigh as you did minutes ago, and I—"

"Three o'clock," she blurted.

He shook his head. "And here I was thinking you were a smart woman. Have it your way, Jenna, for you'll be wanting it mine soon enough."

"Arrogance," she accused.

He smiled. "Truth."

"You can use my shower," she said, pointing to the door. "I'll go down the hall."

With Dev watching her, she riffled through her dresser, grabbed some non-smiley-face underwear, dashed into her bathroom, took her toothbrush, and then fled.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Jenna was showered, dressed, and in the kitchen. As though making up for yesterday's lapse, Aidan was firmly in command, leaving her nearly extraneous. He had handled the deliveries, assembled a sample of a proposed pasta entree and even seen to Evie, who had called in "tired."

According to Aidan, when asked tired of what, Evie's response had been "tired of working." No great loss. On the plus side, Saul had reappeared, and even Hector looked as though he'd skipped his nightly party.

In need of something to pull together her loose ends, Jenna wandered to the war room for a mug of coffee.

"Finally out of bed?" Vi asked from her seat at the table. "I was just ready to go wake you."

"I had a long night. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to raid your larder and to check on Aidan for Deirdre, who's fretting about his wound. And I'm here to meddle, of course."

"Jenna, where can I—" Dev stopped just inside the doorway and scowled. "Hello, Vi."

"Hello, Dev. That's the same suit as last night, I'm thinking," she commented.

"An artist and fashion critic, too," he said, then went to the coffeepot and rattled it about while pouring a mug.

"Late night, indeed," Vi said to Jenna. "To think of the fun I missed in not pulling back your covers this morning."

Jenna gave her a glare meant to quell, but received laughter in return.

Dev pulled out a chair and sat. "You got our purse-swinger safely home, I take it?" he said to Vi.

"I did, though the way she wailed and carried on was frightful."

"No worse than me last night," said Maureen as she staggered into the room and toward the coffeepot. She poured a mug, then said to Jenna, "You left your toothbrush in my bathroom."

"Sorry."

"Sleep well?" Maureen asked Dev.

"Well enough," he replied.

Maureen joined the three of them. After setting her mug to her right, she rested her head on the table's hard surface.

"Irish whiskey is a tool of Satan," she proclaimed before closing her eyes and feigning death.

"I'm not going to argue that," Jenna said. "And you know—"

Maureen picked up her head. "No more talk, okay? And I promise you don't need to give me the Demon Rum speech. I don't drink much. When I was little, I got to watch you. Any desire I had to party when I got older was pretty much wiped out by remembering you hanging over the toilet most summer nights."

"Well, I'm glad that at least I served as a horrible warning," Jenna replied.

"You were more than that," Maureen said before going back to playing dead.

Tapping one finger against her lower lip, Vi scrutinized the younger Fahey. Jenna had seen this look before, and knew that even if a freak tsunami were to swamp Ballymuir, it wouldn't be enough to tear Vi from whatever vision held her.

"You'd best get your sister about painting those bedrooms today," she eventually said to Jenna.

Maureen opened her eyes but didn't bother to pick up her head. "Are you talking about me?"

"I am," Vi replied.

"I don't paint."

"Ah, but I'm thinking you do. And to my everlasting surprise, very nicely, as well."

"Hah."

Jenna watched the exchange. "Do I get any input on colors?"

"Sorry, but definitely jonquil yellow for one," Vi said, following the order with a bold smile for Dev. Then she let her gaze settle on Maureen. "And blue for the next. Starlight blue, and well away from Miss Maureen's room."

Maureen sat up and fixed Vi with a glare. "What the hell is starlight blue?"

"I'm glad you've asked. Drink up that horrible caffeine, then I'll run you to the hardware in the village. With a little coercion, Mr. Clancy will mix us just what you need."

Jenna's sister curled her lip with marvelous disdain.

"I know just what you need," she said to Vi.

"Excellent sex, and as frequently as possible," Vi replied agreeably, then whisked the coffee mug from in front of Maureen and set it next to the pot.

"Give me that back!"

"The day is running off without you. Time to go catch it." She snagged Maureen by the wrist and hauled her up. "You'll find the painting quite therapeutic, you know."

They were out of the room by the time Maureen spoke. Jenna was fairly sure that her sister said, "Witch."

Dev stood and took a look into the kitchen.

"They're gone," he said. "And when I'm made king of the world, my first order of business will be to give Vi either a small nation to rule or a room in a comfortable asylum."

"Too late on both counts," Jenna replied. "She has Ballymuir."

He smiled. "Right you are. She's dead on about the day running, though. I need to be making some plans."

"If you're too busy to come back at three...," she volunteered. After all, Irish Gourmet would be here in just days for their photo shoot, she had yet to place another call to her solicitor, and there was a new organic vegetable supplier in Kenmare she wanted to check out. And most of all, Dev's proposed pleasure made her feel cotton-mouthed and shaky.

He chuckled. "Pushing me out of your schedule already? You'll find that I don't leave well." He stood behind her and she tipped her face up to look at him. He brushed her lower lip with his thumb. "Ripe enough to eat," he said.

Some level of alarm must have shown in her eyes because he brushed a quick kiss on her forehead before adding, "Oh, I'll wait. After all, a bit of wait only enhances the joy of the meal. See you at three."

And then he was gone. Jenna sighed as she considered the corollary to Dev's theory: With too much waiting, pleasure died.

 

At two-forty Jenna tracked down Maureen. Actually, not much in the way of tracking was required, since Maureen seemed to have found herself a radio and cranked it up loud. She didn't have music on, but what sounded to be a Radio na Gaeltachta talk show, which meant that the only words in English were those few for which no translation existed.

"Learning Irish?" Jenna asked when she entered the bedroom that Maureen had drafted for a yellow paint job.

Her sister looked up from where she knelt in front of the baseboard beneath the windows. "No, but it sounds pretty cool. I was just listening to something I don't have to think about. My brain hurts."

"Do you want some aspirin?"

"Just my brain hurts, not my head."

"I'm not sure I get the distinction."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Vi was right," Maureen said. "Once I got down the basics of what she and Mr. Clancy told me about painting, I've been able to do some thinking. Let's just say I've got a lot to figure out."

"Getting anywhere?"

"Well, I'll never drink whiskey again. Or go with strangers, or talk to men in general."

Jenna sat cross-legged on the floor not far from her sister. "The first two ideas sound pretty reasonable, but the last one's pushing it."

"Every time I talk to a guy, I end up toast." She dipped the very tip of her brush in the paint, sluiced off a few drops extra, and continued her work. "So when did you decide you wanted to be a chef?"

"The summer Mom hired the chef from Provence. Remember the food?"

"Not really."

Jenna had known that Maureen wouldn't. She'd been four at the time. Jenna had been twelve and learned the wonders of fresh herbs. Even earlier than that, she'd mastered the art of evasion, a skill her sister apparently also possessed.

"Let's get back to the guys and toast thing," Jenna prodded.

"What's to get back to?" Maureen replied ever so casually.

There was no way to do this but leap in. "I saw the picture. You know, you, the fish..."

"Yeah, and Sam and the slut." She angled the brush just above the upper edge of the baseboard, drawing a perfect bead of jonquil yellow. "You, the fish and Sam and the slut," she recited. "It sounds like a demented cousin to a Dr. Seuss book."

Jenna laughed. "It does."

Maureen feathered the paint upward. "So while my life sucks, there's still humor to be found."

"Which is why you'll come out of this okay," Jenna said. "So Sam was the guy you fell in love with?"

"Sadly, yes. I met him at a party two weeks before the scene in the restaurant. It was like something you'd read about in a book. We started talking and never stopped. Whenever he wasn't on set for the movie he's shooting outside Paris, we were together. I moved from the apartment into his suite at the Ritz, but he wanted us to wait to have sex." She shook her head. "Can you believe it? Sam Olivera, wait?"

Jenna offered up a "wow" that seemed to satisfy Maureen.

"I told him all my secrets," Maureen said. "I told him about Dad and what a jerk he can be. And I told him about your drinking problem, which I give you kudos for dealing with, by the way, since Dad hasn't done squat about his. And told him how I've just been kind of wandering without any idea of what I want to do in life. I thought—" The paintbrush jogged, and a rivulet of yellow wandered down the white baseboard. She shook her head and stopped painting. "I thought that we had something real, but I was wrong," she said while using the corner of a rag to wipe away her mistake. "And the problem with being wrong with someone as well-known as Sam, it's like international news."

"I'm sorry," Jenna said.

Maureen flashed a hint of a smile. "I probably could have avoided the fish scene."

"What happened?"

"I was out shopping and was supposed to meet him at the suite. I went upstairs, but no Sam. I waited for a while, then decided to check the bar and restaurant downstairs. Sometimes he'd stop for a drink before coming up. I found him with Chloe. She's playing his sister in the movie."

"Maybe it was business."

"That's what I thought until I got close enough to see exactly where she had her hand. And I don't think they were discussing testicular cancer."

"Oh."

Maureen laughed. "You're blushing."

Jenna shrugged, but still wished she could be as relaxed about sex as Maureen and Vi.

"It's a little different hearing this stuff from you," she said to her sister. "The last time we really talked, you loved horses and thought boys were disgusting."

"Now you've got me longing for the good old days, when I had a brain." Maureen picked up her paintbrush and readied to work again.

Jenna checked her watch. "Dev will be here for me in a few minutes, but don't forget to take a break and go down to the kitchen for the family meal at four."

"Only if I have the first coat on the walls," Maureen said. "Mr. Clancy says with the plaster, it will take at least two. Once I get the corners and edges covered, I'm going to roll the rest."

Jenna smiled at the enthusiasm in her sister's voice. Maybe she wasn't totally allergic to work. "You know, you really are pretty good at this painting thing. Ever consider making a career of it?"

"Shut up."

Now, there was the Maureen she was getting to know and love.

 

Dev had accomplished a number of Olympian tasks in his day, but luring Jenna off Muir House's property for even a few hours ranked among his proudest. Once she was seated in the Porsche, he'd taken the back route past Dingle. Now he wound his way up the road he'd traversed with Maureen last night. He could think of no place he'd be more likely to get Jenna alone. And here, away from all else, he might persuade her to let down her defenses. Here, he might learn why she had closed herself away from him this morning.

Jenna glanced at her watch. "I should have never agreed to stay with you until nightfall. The sun stays up too late this time of year. How about six o'clock?"

If the road weren't so bloody non-road-like, he'd have reached for her watch and flung it out the car window.

"Anyone who eats before eight doesn't deserve your company," he said instead.

They rounded a curve, clinging tight to the edge of a precipitous drop into nothing more than rock with its deceptively soft looking blanket of green.

"You drove this in the dark?" she asked. "You must be crazy. It's even narrower than the Connor Pass."

So much for being lauded as a hero. "It's one sheep wide," he teased, "which is exactly what it needs to be."

"Sheep don't travel at fifty miles an hour."

"Neither would I, if I didn't have a deadline."

Jenna laughed. "Yes, you would."

Dev smiled. For not having known him long, she already knew him well indeed.

As he drove, Dev kept an eye out for a stopping point. Every so often there was a semicircular apron to the road, no doubt installed by souls exhausted by the choice of hitting head-on or backing down the mountainside. Dev saw one just ahead on his right. This particular pull-off was well situated, with no cliff to tumble from and no sheep claiming squatters' rights. He made it his.

"So we're stopping here?" Her expression was dubious at best.

He engaged the parking brake. "Our troubles can't follow us this high, can they?"

The beginnings of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "At least they'll have to work harder to do it."

She opened her door and climbed out, and Dev did the same. The air had been thick and still at Muir House, with a humidity that put him in mind of the tropical "calm before the storm" he'd experienced while doing site work in Costa Rica. Here, closer to the sky, a breeze managed to stir, and the air was much cooler.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, gazing toward the Castlegregory side of the peninsula.

Dev agreed, though more to please her than out of honesty. And it did rank higher in his Wonders of the World than Jenna's favorite graveyard.

"You can see just a bit of the Magharees," she said, pointing toward Tralee Bay.

"The what?"

"Those islands—they're also called the seven hogs."

"Only in Ireland. I suppose there's a story to go with them."

"I'm sure there is, but I don't know it. I think it's my duty as a resident to make up a lie for you. And of course it has to involve someone of legend like Finn MacCumhaill."

Dev laughed. "Spin away. I'd never know the difference." He stood behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders. She leaned against him, and again he marveled at their fit. All those years wasted with tall women... He slid his arms down to loop around her waist, and she rested her arms on his.

"I want to apologize for what happened this morning," he said. She tensed, and he held her more firmly. "I have no excuse for being in your bed, except that it was where I wanted to be. I love the feel of you, Jenna...and your scent and voice, and even, God help me, the way you take my ego down to size. It's only natural that I want to make love to you, but I won't assume again that you're feeling the same way."

"Dev, I—"

He kissed the top of her head, resting there a moment to savor the soft feel of her hair. "You owe me no apologies and no promises, and I'll do my best not to rush you, though I'm giving no guaranties on that," he added with a rueful smile meant for himself. "Just know that when you're ready to come to me, it's your pleasure that matters most." His would follow, he knew.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice almost lost on the soft breeze.

He kissed the side of her neck and smiled at her sigh. Then he let her go.

"I've brought some food," he said as he walked to the boot of his car. "Nothing very grand, but I didn't want you going the night without eating."

Dev began hauling out his treasures. First, a couple of blankets and a pillow filched from the beds he was renting from Muriel. He chose the far side of the car for their picnic spot. They'd be shielded from curious eyes in the unusual event that someone else should decide to take this crumbling road. He spread the sturdy blue woolen blankets, one atop the other, on the earth. He added the pillow, amused by the way Jenna was scowling at it. Then he reached into the boot again and emerged with a bag that he handed to her. She carried it to the blankets and sat. Dev closed the boot and then joined her.

"So what do we have?" she asked, gesturing at his brown paper sack.

"This and that. Muriel made me shaved ham sandwiches," he said, pulling them out. "She's always concerned I might starve while out of her sight." He reached into the bag again. "And I picked up a wedge of brie and some strawberries from Spillane's Market. Old Spillane seemed a tad off, though. He said something about Ballymuir needing no new religion, and that I didn't look the part of clergy in any case. Do you know what that might have been about?"

"None," Jenna claimed, though Dev was sure the flags of pink on her cheeks had nothing to do with the cool breeze.

Dev pulled out the two plates, glasses, and cutlery he'd borrowed from Muriel, and then reached in again.

"I've also brought us sparkling water. No muck-ups with liquor today," he said as he unscrewed the bottle and then poured them each a glass. She took hers and gave her a smile.

He looked at her, sitting cross-legged in her silky white shirt and worn blue jeans, holding her glass cradled between her palms. He'd never seen a woman more naturally beautiful, and he wanted her.

"Would you like some food?" he offered, since it seemed a polite alternative to pouncing on her immediately after having made grand promises of patience.

"Not just yet." Her gaze skittered about. She took in the sky, the ground, and the mountains beyond, but not once him.

"Is something bothering you?" he prompted as he unwrapped one of Muriel's sandwiches.

"I need to say something, and I'm really no good at this at all."

Dev bit off the corner of his sandwich. He steeled himself for an announcement that she'd decided she couldn't disregard the troubles that lay between them, after all.

"I've never been comfortable talking about sex," she said.

At least with his mouth full he could say nothing daft.

"I, ah, want you to know that you weren't doing anything wrong this morning. It's just I have this problem. I don't seem to be able to reach...to reach orgasm."

Dev came damn close to choking on his sandwich, and it wasn't Muriel's dry bread doing it. Jenna had to be mad. He'd felt her responding to him not hours before.

Oblivious to his difficulties, she kept talking. "You see, everything goes pretty much like I think it should, but then the guy is moving too fast or too slow—or something. And then instead of feeling anything, I'm thinking about the bad fish my supplier tried to slip me or how the cost of Italian wine is skyrocketing."

"And that happened this morning?" He was, in a word, gobsmacked. It wasn't as though he didn't suspect that a girlfriend had manufactured enthusiasm a time or two, but in Jenna's bed? He'd been damn sure she'd been right there with him. She'd do just as well to chop off his parts as tell him otherwise.

"No, but I began to worry that it was going to."

"So you executed a preemptive strike?"

"I guess," she said, still not meeting his eyes.

"Ah." He wasn't sure where to go with this that didn't involve getting her out of her clothes.

While he was staggering around in his thoughts, Jenna had been moving with more intent. Dev looked up to see her slip free the last button on her blouse. She lay back and spread the sides open, and she wore no bra. "I want to feel your mouth on me, like you said this morning."

Generally speaking he wouldn't argue against a demand like that, but he'd learned to have a care.

"Is this some sort of sacrifice?" he asked in a joking tone.

"No, this is for me."

Had she but looked at the increasingly uncomfortable fit of his trousers, she'd have known that it felt to Dev as if it were very much for him, too. He'd never seen skin so white or nipples such a glorious dusky rose. He took the pillow and tucked it behind Jenna's head.

"Well?" she demanded.

He smiled. "Am I moving too slowly?"

"Yes."

"Before I touch you, have you any other rules you'd like to share?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Good, because I do my best work without them." After moving their picnic just past the top edge of the blankets, he stretched out on his side next to her and propped his head on his left hand. He let his right hand drift near her and watched her hazel eyes seem to darken as he did.

"Have you ever done this before, let the wind and the sun touch you? I can see the sun hasn't been blessed very often, for you're beautifully pale," he said quite conversationally. "The moon, perhaps?"

"No." Her answer was thin and breathy.

"We must, then, someday."

He let his fingertip hover above one pert nipple, puckered and begging his caress. She drew in a deep breath, her breast rising with it. Dev smiled. She would know anticipation by the time he was done. God knew he was well acquainted.

He brushed his finger against her lower lip. "Open for me." She did, and he put the very tip of his index finger against her tongue. "Suckle it," he said, "as you would have me taste you."

Jenna's eyes had slipped shut, crescents of lashes dark against pale skin. Her cheeks drew slightly inward as her tongue swirled around his fingertip. Dev's heart slammed faster, then faster yet. He drew his hand away and touched one nipple, wetting it.

She shivered.

"Now the breeze feels cooler, doesn't it?"

Eyes still closed, she nodded her head. "More," she whispered.

Ah, but he had heard that "more" this morning, and hard on its heels had come a "stop."

"You're sure?" he asked. "I might not be moving too fast now?"

"Now."

Dev knelt and reached for a strawberry. Her eyes opened as he brushed the pointed tip of the fruit against the ripest part of her lower lip. He imagined the strawberry's small seeds felt rough against her tender skin.

"Bite it," he urged. She opened her mouth bit the very tip from the berry.

"Sweet," she murmured after she'd swallowed.

Her lips parted as she waited for more, but Dev let the wet fruit kiss the tip of one crested nipple and then the next. Jenna gasped, her hands clutching the blanket. Dev dragged in a ragged breath. The erotic sight of the strawberry against her flesh would have brought him to his knees, were he not already there.

"I'm going to taste you now," he said as he dropped the strawberry.

Dev moved over her, closing his mouth on her nipple. He tasted lush fruit and another sort of sweetness that he knew was simply Jenna, and he shook with need. She held on to his shoulders as though he might be thinking of stopping. Not bloody likely. He pulled away long enough to look down at her, one nipple glistening wetter from his kiss.

"Nearly perfect," he said before creating the same beauty on the other side. He nipped and laved and drew just hard enough to work a surprised gasp from her.

He kissed the valley between her breasts and asked, "Any bits of advice?"

She urged him upward, then kissed him hard, her tongue taking his mouth. When she was done, she said, "Don't stop."

He couldn't recall ever hearing finer words. He rolled to one side and struggled out of his shirt, desperate to feel her breasts against his skin. When the shirt was shed, he crawled back atop her and pressed his weight into her, mimicking the act he craved. Pleasure pounded harder through his veins when she wrapped her legs around him and rocked against his erection.

Dev hadn't planned on taking her here. This was to have been a slow seduction...just enough to leave her hungering for him while she worked tonight. He dropped kisses in a line across Jenna's collarbone, trying to pay a bit less attention to the incredible feel of her hands skating across the skin of his back, then dipping lower to grasp his buttocks. He hadn't planned, but he was thankful that he'd been wise enough to tuck a few condoms into his billfold.

"I want you," she said while her smart hands slipped between them. She fussed with the closure to her denims, but then tugged at his arms. "Help me."

There had been no pleading in her voice, just a demand that made him want to smile.

"Patience," he counseled, aware of the irony that he was near to losing it himself.

Concerned at the growing chill in the air, Dev moved beside her. He reached across to grasp the far corner of the top blanket and tug it toward them.

"Get under this" he said. She quickly scooted beneath the blanket. Once he'd resettled the pillow, he joined her in their makeshift bed. Dev opened the copper button at the top of her jeans. Jenna's breath hissed in as he slowly brought the zipper downward.

Instead of pulling her clothing down, he insinuated his fingertips beneath the bit of fabric covering her curls.

"You're silken here, too," he said.

She urged her hips upward against his hand. "Hurry."

He knew once he'd touched the hot wetness that awaited him, he would have to be quickly inside her, so instead of complying, he took his hand away.

Dev moved from beneath the blanket and covered Jenna again. Then he crawled to her feet and pulled off her brown leather clogs and the white socks beneath them. Her toenails were painted a whimsical tangerine orange. She was full of secrets, Jenna Fahey. He pulled at the cuffs of her pants, and from beneath the blanket, she helped him make short work of them. Then she wriggled out of her panties and tossed them to him before he could blink.

Dev removed his shoes, then unable to fight the temptation of feeling her, he slid back under the blanket. He kissed her mouth and her breasts and traced the line of her ribs, down to her waist, and then traveled to her hips. He settled his palm over her mound and allowed his fingers to curve inward, between her legs. Still he didn't delve past the damp curls protecting her. Her breath came fast, and a sheen of sweat broke over his skin as he held himself back.

"Shall I touch you now, Jenna?" he asked, amazed that he managed to keep his voice level.

At her sighed "yes," he did. She was as he knew she'd be—hot, wet, and perfect. But he hadn't anticipated the primal need that was seizing him. He closed his eyes and struggled for control as he began a rhythm with his fingers, being sure to touch her where he knew it would please her most. She was ready for him, and he was beyond ready for her.

When he could bear the waiting no more, Dev kissed her hard and then asked, "Do you want me inside you?"

Jenna could think nothing more important than reaching the other side of this excitement Dev was drawing from her. "Now."

He sat up, and the wind pushed through his black hair like a lover's fingers. Her fingers, she thought, marveling that she'd be naked beneath a blanket on a hillside and have no concern other than how much longer she'd have to wait for Dev to fill her.

He glanced skyward and frowned. "Weather's moving in."

"It doesn't matter," she said.

His smile was intimate and made her tingle with pleasure.

"I'll keep us warm enough," he said.

In deference to the cool air, he undressed the rest of the way beneath the blanket, then set his clothes aside. She touched him where she could as he reached for his billfold and withdrew a small packet.

After he'd sheathed himself, she lay back and urged him over her. He was more than willing to comply, but her body seemed less than able to accept him. She hissed a breath between her teeth as he pushed forward. He stilled, and she rocked against him, wanting the wait over, the sting to become something finer.

"I'm okay," she said, and it was only a minor lie.

"Good, then." He flexed the rest of the way home.

Their gazes met and locked. Dev began to move within her, slowly at first, then with more intent. As he did, something both magical and frightening happened. She was no longer Jenna, always unto herself. She was more. And less. Control was slipping away.

"Just feel," Dev commanded.

She did, and at first it was wonderful. But after a time it became too much. Her breath jittered from her. Her hair was damp with perspiration and clinging to her forehead. Something really, really good was about to happen, and it scared the hell out of her.

Focus.

No, relax.

Think.

Don't.

She heard the sound of a sheep bleating somewhere. The blanket began to feel scratchy beneath her, and she wondered what Aidan was doing in the kitchen back at Muir House.

Suddenly Dev withdrew, leaving her empty. He levered his weight above her on strong arms. "Not thinking about how many eggs in a teaspoon of Beluga, are you?"

"No." Not exactly.

Embarrassed that he'd caught her wandering, she wrapped her legs around him, tugged at his shoulders. He wouldn't give. Instead, he moved downward, taking the blanket with him, until he was between her thighs. Jenna trembled, but it wasn't with the chill wind bringing dark clouds.

He opened her with his thumbs and looked at her long enough that she shook with the intimacy of it. Then he kissed her, his tongue hot and gently teasing against slick flesh she was sure could bear no more sensation. Except it could. Jenna rocked her hips against his mouth, unable to stop her cry of pleasure.

He drew back and looked up at her. "The price of butter lettuce, then?"

"No," she said, reluctantly smiling at the suggestion.

Another long caress, his tongue seeking—and finding—exactly the spot that made her world spin. Jenna tugged at his hair. "Dev, come back to me now."

He didn't, though. Instead he flicked his tongue against her sensitive flesh until she could hardly breathe. Finally, he moved above her. "I'm going to give the orders now."

His breath was coming every bit as hard as hers, his chest rising and falling with the effort. He entered her easily this time, and then he kissed her. Jenna tasted him, tasted her, and was overwhelmed. Dev's rhythm was fast and sure. She could feel her muscles tighten as she neared that long-denied brink again.

"Come with me," he commanded, then reached one hand down beneath her bottom, changing the angle of her hips. "Don't be afraid to let go."

It was the greatest leap of faith he could have demanded, but Jenna held tight and let the fear fly. Her act of courage was soon rewarded. A sensation so marvelous that she could feel nothing else took hold of her. Out she spun, her cry marrying with his, drifting from the mountainside to a place she'd never been, then slowly, wonderfully bringing her back until she was Jenna, likely never unto herself again.

After they were recovered enough to do more than cling together, Dev slid an arm beneath her waist and moved so they lay face-to-face. She draped her left leg over his lean thigh and sighed her contentment.

"Tonight, I'll be leaving for three days. I'm sorry I have to go, but I've had this scheduled for a while," he said, toying with one of her damp curls.

She felt trusting enough to ask, "Where?"

"Counties Roscommon and Kilkenny," he replied. "And when I come back, I want a night with you. Not a few stolen hours, but the full night and a warm bed."

Jenna was about to say yes when cold, fat drops of rain began to pelt them.

Muttering something dark about a damn country never free from rain, Dev rolled her beneath him to shield her from the sky. Jenna kissed away his disgruntled expression, then laughed as the rain fell harder.

There was something to be said for warm beds.