Chapter Fourteen

If it's good, it's high time.

—Irish Proverb

 

Jenna's heart soared at the sight of Dev. He was dressed for business, dark, lean, and lethally handsome.

"You're feeling better," he said, the words more assertion than question. Smiling, he tipped up her chin and leaned down until his mouth met hers. The kiss was too brief for Jenna, but not so short that Reggie didn't catch it with his camera.

Dev glanced over at him. "You won't be using that one in the magazine, but be sure Jenna gets a copy for us," he directed.

Knowing the voice of authority, the photographer quickly agreed and focused his attention on Maureen. Jenna went to the sideboard and began opening the champagne.

"Grab a glass," she said to Dev, with a nod at the crystal that waited next to the antique, sterling silver champagne bucket.

He looked at the bottle. "That was to be a gift from you to someone special, not back to me."

She smiled as she gave the bottle a half-twist, releasing the cork with a perfect pop. "Your timing was perfect, and I'd say that puts you in the special category. I'm glad you're here."

"The feeling is mutual," he replied.

Jenna poured him a glass and returned the bottle to its bucket. Dev took a swallow and then came closer to her.

"I've missed you," he said, toying with her jacket's collar. "When they're gone, I'm taking you up to your bedroom and learning what you have on beneath this."

"Nothing at all," she fibbed.

A jolt of excitement crossed his features, thrilling her. Finally, she relaxed. Finally, the interview flowed. And finally, an hour later, Tracie and Reggie were gone.

"It's our turn now," Dev said as he refilled his glass. "Come upstairs."

"I need a minute with Aidan and then I'll be right up," she replied. "And bring that bottle. You're going to be working up a thirst, mister." Jenna was mostly bluffing, but the sound of Dev's pleased laughter gave her hope that she could keep a light attitude and let go just a little without spinning completely out of control.

In the kitchen, she found Maureen nibbling at the greens surrounding the goat-cheese cakes and Aidan straightening pots and pans not put away to his satisfaction. Jenna announced that the only reason she wanted to hear from anyone before five o'clock was if the house was burning down. Maureen responded with a singsong chant of "Jenna's got a boyfriend."

Aidan let loose some of his rare laughter. "That being the case, I'd suggest that you be gone for the whole night. We'll thrive fine enough without you."

But her mental vacation as she climbed the sweeping staircase to the room where Dev waited, Jenna began to worry about how well she was going to thrive.

 

Dev should have known better than to leave Jenna alone with her thoughts, for a martyr had just entered the bedroom. He set his glass on the nightstand next to the champagne bottle and prepared to do damage control. Jenna didn't give him a chance, though.

"Okay, so I was feeling all bold for a while there," she said in a rush. "But then suddenly it occurred to me, what if I mess up? What if it's not as good this time?"

Thinking a little clarity would do her well, Dev took her hand and led her to the windows. Light flooded in, and her hair shone with its incredible chestnut hues. "You? I know for a solid fact that you're a virtuoso. But should I not live up to your standards, I'll try again...and again...and again." He grinned at her dubious expression. "And I promise you, I'm man enough for the job."

Her answering smile was a thing of beauty. "I'm not about to argue that."

"So what may I do for you?" he asked, giving her the one thing he knew pleased her: control.

She smoothed her hands down his suit's lapels. "I want the businessman gone."

"Done," he replied, taking off his jacket and then pulling loose his tie.

Because she was Jenna, his perfectly tidy Jenna, she took them, opened her wardrobe, pulled out a hanger, and put the businessman away. She returned and walked a circle around him.

"Still not enough," she said. Her frown was softened by the light dancing in her hazel eyes, making them greener than he'd ever seen.

She began undoing his belt, and what had been a waking arousal grew impossibly hard. Apparently content to have merely unlatched the buckle, she moved on to the buttons of his shirt. Dev allowed the breath he'd been holding to ease from his body. He presented each wrist as she unbuttoned his cuffs. He willed his heart to beat more slowly when she tugged the shirt from beneath his trousers, finishing the last few buttons. When she slipped it from him, she was satisfied to set it atop her dresser instead of giving it a hanger.

She circled him again, this time stopping to run her hands down his back. His muscles jumped beneath her touch.

"You must work out," she said from behind him.

"Back home in London," he managed to reply. In giving her control, it appeared that he was losing his.

"Beautiful," she said. Then he felt the damp heat of her mouth on his skin—just below his left shoulder blade before she spoke again. "I didn't get to look at you nearly enough the other day." She wrapped her arms around him from behind, working her fingertips beneath the waistband of his trousers. He drew in a sharp breath.

"It seems warm in here," she murmured, dipping her fingers even lower.

Dev closed his eyes and prayed she'd stop this game and wrap her hand about the part of him needing it most.

"Hot, even," she said in a nearly conversational tone. "I think I'd like a breeze." Jenna slid her hands free. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt such crashing disappointment.

She walked the few steps to the windows and opened one. As she moved to another, she looked over her shoulder and said, "Your shoes and socks will have to go."

Moments later, shoes and socks discarded, Dev sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her next directive. He seldom took the passive role in games like this, but for her, he was willing to do it. Dev knew it would result in his pleasure.

"Why don't you come back over here?" she asked.

He smiled. "Of course." And when he stood before her, he asked, "And now?"

She tapped a finger against her chin, affecting indecision. Dev knew better.

"I want the rest of your clothes gone, too," she announced.

His hands went for his belt, but she stayed him. "And I want to do it."

She was killing him by slow pleasure, and what a fine way it was to go....

 

Jenna had gotten Dev Gilvane naked. Wonderfully, gloriously naked, and hers to touch as she would. He wasn't in the least bashful about standing there nude for her pleasure, and he shouldn't have been. Bathed in the golden sunlight, he was beautiful. No other word suited. She circled him again, letting her palm follow the plains of his tight buttocks, then drift up his muscled back. She worked her way around to the front again, where the view was...well, largely impressive and maybe a little daunting.

She brushed her fingers against the scattering of dark hair on his pectorals and followed the thin line toward his navel. Oh, he wanted her, and she burned for him. She was tempted to touch that thick shaft, to enjoy the feel of him hot in her hand, but she wasn't ready to speed to what, despite Dev's assurances, could be a failure on her part. She'd rather dance around that final moment and savor the present.

Jenna settled her hands against his chest and smiled. "You're still feeling a little overheated. Let's cool you down."

"You're trying to drive me mad, aren't you?" Dev asked.

"Just returning the favor," she said as she strolled to the nightstand, topped off his wine and brought it to him. "Try this."

"I can think of a few places I'd rather be drinking it from," he said as he accepted the glass.

The images that came to Jenna's mind were as full of light and joy as the champagne itself. "All in good time."

Dev lifted the glass and took a swallow. As Jenna watched, an Impressionist painting she'd seen as a teenager came to mind. In it, two clothed men had picnicked with a naked woman. The scene had captured her adolescent fancy because it had seemed so illicit and yet so natural at the same time. But she was grown now, and liked the composition and intimacy of the work in front of her even better. She also liked that she was a small woman, small enough that she could tuck herself against Dev's naked body, look up at him and demand, "Take another swallow."

While he drank, she went up on tiptoe and opened her mouth against his throat, using her tongue to feel the play of muscles as the wine went down. Liquid heat rushed through her, making the thought of shedding her clothes too tempting to pass up. She let her fingers trail down Dev's body and then up the considerable length of his erection. His hiss of an indrawn breath brought her a smile.

"Hold that thought," she said as she stepped away.

One corner of his mouth curved upward before he replied, "The thought is growing harder to lose by the second."

Jenna quickly shed her work clogs and socks. When she stood upright, she felt Dev's gaze on her, and welcomed it, too.

"So you're wearing nothing beneath that jacket and trousers, right?" he asked.

"I might have overstated the case. Or maybe understated," she allowed as she began to unbutton her chef's jacket. Still, she was thankful she'd skipped her usual white tank top and gone with a skimpy, black silk-and-lace chemise this morning as way of reminding herself that today was about making sure that both she and Muir House shone. As she undressed, the only sounds in the room as she shed her jacket were those of the songbirds outside and of her heart pounding, which she was sure Dev could hear, too. She let the jacket fall to the floor.

"I think I can handle the disappointment of not finding you naked," he said in a voice that was rough with obvious desire.

"I'm glad to hear it," she replied, smiling.

"And beneath those?" he asked with a tilt of his wine flute in the general direction of her black-and-white hounds-tooth checked pants.

She toyed with the button just above the zipper. "What do I get in exchange if I show you?"

"You have me at a disadvantage since you've already taken all of my clothes," he said. "Have you any suggestions?"

How Jenna loved this sexual banter. She'd never had it before, not with humorless Claes, and certainly not while in the drunken state that had been the hallmark of her previous romantic encounters.

"Since tit for tat, so to speak, is off the table, how about your mouth here?" she asked, running her hands over her breasts.

"Completely my pleasure," Dev replied.

While he drank the last swallow of his champagne, she unzipped her loose pants and let them slip down, exposing the miniscule lace panties that were the other half of her only fancy lingerie set.

Dev swallowed hard before saying, "I find I'm not at all missing your boxer shorts from the other night."

Jenna stepped free of the pants at her feet. "Thank you...I think. But I'm not done bargaining. I also want your mouth here." She touched herself between her legs. The moan she heard could have been hers or his, and the room seemed to hum in a way that reminded her of the feeling she'd had at Kilmalkedar. This man belonged here. In Ireland. In her. And the thought didn't frighten her as it should.

"You lost your leverage when your trousers hit the floor," Dev said. "But I think in this case, I'll excuse your lack of bargaining skill."

He strode to the nightstand and set down his glass. Before Jenna could even gather her thoughts for a snappy come-back, he'd picked her up and was carrying her to the bed. She landed on the deep green duvet without much grace, but she didn't care. All that mattered was getting Dev to join her because if he didn't get busy, she just might start thinking again. But she knew that her turn to call the shots had come to an end the moment he'd scooped her up in his arms. Dev Gilvane wasn't a man to take orders unless he chose to.

His smile was the devil's own when he said, "And I'm going to meet your demands, so long as you agree to meet a few of mine."

She would have agreed to walk naked along Ballymuir's rocky strand so long as he helped her finish what they'd started. But he didn't need to know that.

"Let's hear them," she said in the level voice of a negotiator, though she supposed the effect was diminished by the fact that she remained sprawled like a wanton.

"Well, the first is that there's to be no hiding of that lovely body of yours. Even that thin bit of fabric covering your breasts is too much."

Jenna had never thought much of her barely-a-B-cup breasts. "I'll make that small concession since there's not much to hide."

She sat up and shimmied her way out of the camisole and tossed it to the side of the bed.

"I consider it an appreciable concession," he said, his gaze fixed on her breasts. "Perfect, in fact. But we're not done. The rest, now."

Jenna worked up the put-out sigh the moment seemed to call for. "If you insist."

"Absolutely," he said.

She hooked her thumbs under the sides of her panties and made short work of them, too. But she'd given Dev enough time to walk to the nightstand and pick up the champagne bottle. Jenna shivered with anticipation.

"And the next demand is that you watch me," he said. "No closing your eyes."

"That eye closing thing is kind of involuntary, isn't it?"

"Not at all," he said while rolling the upright bottle between his broad palms. "Eyes open. I want to know you haven't let your mind go out for a wander."

"I can't promise...."

He smiled. "You'd better because I'd hate to be leaving you to your own devices."

Not as much as she'd regret it. "Okay. My eyes stay open. Anything else?"

"That should do it for just now," Dev said, moving toward her.

Jenna gasped and then laughed as he poured a thin stream of champagne onto her navel and then set the bottle back on the nightstand.

"And now to meet your demands," he said. He crawled above her, caging her between his strong arms and legs. "And I'll do it thoroughly, so that there's no discussion later that I might have reneged."

He kissed her once on the mouth before beginning to work his way down her body. And he was indeed a thorough man. There was no room in Jenna's mind for doubt—only passion. He'd kissed the champagne from her skin and was heading lower when he paused and asked, "Are your eyes open, love?"

They were. Completely. And she knew that Maureen had been right. She was giving herself up to Dev Gilvane: body, heart, and soul.

 

Twilight had turned to darkness, and Dev was exhausted. They lay in Jenna's bed, the covers tangled at their feet and spilling onto the floor. Jenna had taken to learning his body with the same intense enthusiasm she brought to her cooking. How does it feel when I touch you here? and Could we try it like this? and Do you like this, Dev, or maybe a little harder, do you think?

Jesus, but he'd loved it all. He'd loved her joy, and he'd loved watching her inhibitions fade as she owned her pleasure. Now, as he looked down at her—so small, so soft, and for once, so at peace—an Irish phrase came to him, though he didn't know from where. Perhaps he'd heard it in a dream.

"Mo chroi," he murmured.

Jenna stirred, her body warm and damp against his. "What?"

"Mo chroi. My heart." He drew her even closer. "You have become my heart."

"Oh, Dev." She kissed the skin over that vulnerable heart of his, then settled to rest against him.

"You were right that first time we made love," she eventually said. "I was afraid to let go." She took his hand and matched it to hers, palm to palm, finger to finger. "You're the first person I've been able to fully let go with, since I rebuilt my life."

"And a fine sight that letting go was," he said, trying to bring light to the moment. "Given time, you might even prove to be a wee bit of a screamer."

"Good," she said, laughing. "I'd like to think that I've still got some of that Fahey drama in me."

"I'd say you have just enough," Dev replied while playing with the end of one perfect chestnut curl that rested against her throat.

"I'm working to keep it that way," she said. "I don't want to go off the deep end, ever again. I don't think I have ever lost the fear that I'm one drink away from becoming my father."

Dev wanted to take the dark years away from her and give her a past that held no pain. That, of course, was impossible for both of them. But he could take her into his arms and give her the truth.

"My heart," he said, "you are not your father. You are as kind as you are beautiful and stubborn, and that's saying a lot."

She smiled. "It's a good thing you threw stubborn in there or I'd think you were feeding me a line."

"It's the truth," Dev said. "And I hope you know it in that heart you guard so carefully."

She nodded, but did she believe? He wasn't so certain.

They lay in silence for a while, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. Then, after a restless sounding sigh, Jenna wriggled from his grasp and knelt above him.

"I want to do it standing up," she announced.

"It?" Dev asked.

She gave him a challenging look.

He laughed. "Ah, that. Had you asked the first or second time, maybe even in the shower after the third time, I'd have been pleased to be of service," he said. "But now? You've left me boneless."

"Not totally," she said, running her fingertips over the part of him that was to be the death of the rest of his body. "And if we can't try it standing up, at least I get to be on top this time."

He sighed, the sound meant for her pleasure. "Bossy woman. If you insist."

"I do."

And she did with great abandon, until Dev was sure he'd been wrung dry.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked, once he found a wee reserve of strength—just enough to speak.

Jenna was facedown, one arm dangling off the side of the bed. She nodded. "Hungry, too."

"Then one of us is going to have to venture out."

She turned her face toward him. "I elect you."

As he'd expected.

Keeping in mind that Miss Maureen might be about, Dev crawled from the bed, stepped into his trousers, and zipped them. He also pulled on his shirt, but skipped the buttons.

The house was quiet, but not dark. It appeared that tonight, Maureen hadn't found someone to remind her to switch off the lights. Dev padded down to the kitchen, for the first time thinking how odd it must be to live in one's place of work. Then again, perhaps no odder than the way he carried his work with him everywhere, always processing in his mind.

The kitchen lights were also on. A woman stood, back to him, at the range burners. He blinked and was half tempted to rub his eyes like a child waking from a nightmare. It had to be exhaustion coupled with bizarre, subliminal guilt over the last hours' total sexual abandon, for he couldn't believe who he was seeing.

"Mum?"

She turned. "Devlin, whatever are you doing here?"

"Me? What the—what are you doing here?" he stammered as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

Teakettle in hand, she came around to his side of the counter.

"It's grand you're dressing, but you're still barefoot, which I'm sure violates health rules," she pointed out, delicate brows arched. "You'll note I have on slippers with my wrapper."

"You're having a fine time with this, aren't you?"

She smiled. "My best in quite a while."

"Grand," he muttered.

She gestured at the kettle. "Come join me."

He followed her to the small room just off the main kitchen, where she poured water into a waiting pot.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing at one of the chairs around the old wooden table.

Dev sat. This was his night for being bossed about.

"Don't run while I put back the kettle."

As if he could. She had returned before he'd even fully managed to accept that this was no bad dream.

"You're looking tired, Dev."

Sheer repetition had worked when he was a lad, so he asked again. "What are you doing here, Mum?"

She laughed. "I wasn't able to sleep, so I'm having an cupan tae, of course."

Jesus, had she swallowed an Irish lesson book?

He tried again. "I don't mean this very minute, but in general?"

She fussed with the cuff to her wrapper, a bright red silky affair that was lovely on her, but not at all fitting for a woman her age, Dev thought.

"I'm staying here while I look for a place of my own."

"A place of your own...in Ballymuir?" he blurted before logic could kick in and tell him she surely wasn't looking for one elsewhere.

"Yes, and is it so strange? I grew up here, after all."

"It's mad, Mum. You've a lovely home in Dun Laoghaire, with a view of the sea—"

"I knew you wouldn't understand," she said, her tone rich with that "poor, benighted mother who hasn't the love of her only child" tone.

"We'll discuss this later. Jenna's waiting."

"She'll wait a few minutes more. Shall I pour you a cup? It will still be a bit weak, but you're looking in need."

He was more in mind of a single malt from the Reserve shelf in the bar, but he nodded anyway.

"I need a change of pace, Dev."

"A change of pace? You're active with too many charities for me to track, your gardens are practically a tour spot, and you've more friends than—"

"And I'm lonely. I have club friends and charity-work friends, but if the clubs and charities were to disappear tomorrow, I'd see none of them again. And I can't say I'd be missing them overmuch, either."

"So you're going to pack it all up and move to a place with more sheep than people?" he asked before having a sip of tea.

"It's hardly that." She poured out a cup for herself, then set the pot back on the tray. "I'll keep the house until I'm sure. But I was born here, and I believe I'd like to die here, too."

Dev's cup hit its saucer with a sharp clatter. "Is there something wrong, something you've been hiding?"

She shook her head and gave him a coy smile. "No, I'm fine, just thinking about the inevitable. Not that I'd have much difficulty in hiding something, what little I see you."

It was clear the parent from whom he'd inherited his killer instincts in business.

"So long as I shouldn't be planning a wake," he replied with equal cheerfulness.

"Should God be willing, and my son less aggravating, no, not quite yet."

"Fine, then. So you're in Ballymuir for a visit."

"An indefinite visit," she clarified.

"That being the case, perhaps you'd like me to find you a house of your own to let?" Out of sheer habit, he reached for his cell phone, then recalled his state of under-dress.

His mother laughed. "When morning comes, don't you think of badgering poor Margaret. I'm staying here."

Which could knock hell out of his sex life.

As his mother lectured him on something or another, Dev began to turn over possibilities. There had to be a stone tower he could stick Mum in, or perhaps arrange for the trip to the United States she'd been wanting. Anywhere but—

"Dev, are you listening to anything I've been saying?"

He gladly shook off thoughts of sex and mothers. "Sorry. Just pondering a business point."

"Which is the reason you're almost forty and not yet married. You're all about business and nothing else."

Yes, she was having far too much fun, indeed. "I'm thirty-five, Mum."

"Close enough," she said. "So will you be marrying that Jenna girl upstairs or are you just after ruining her fine name?"

It was, Dev thought, a pity he was too old to cry, for at that moment he wanted nothing more than weep like a wee, wretched babe. He was back with Mum again, God help him.