Irish Rose Page 9

  experienced.

  So he could be sweet and patient and alluring. She hadn't known. Her fingers crept into his hair as her lips parted and invited. No, she wasn't afraid, not of him. If what he brought to her was more than she'd ever imagined, then she was willing, even eager to accept it. With a sigh she tilted her head back and let him take.

  He held himself back. The more generosity she showed him, the more wary he became of accepting. Burning inside him was a desire to sweep her away to some dim, private place where they could both take their fill. To touch her. He pressed his lips over hers and imagined how it would be to fill his hands with her. No barriers. While her teeth nipped gently, he imagined what it would feel like to have her flesh slide warm over his.

  There was such a flavor here, warm and wild and willing. But he wanted more than her mouth. As her sigh whispered into him, he knew he needed more.

  He took his hand to her hair and held her close against him. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

  "Stay?" She floated up out of the dream and was stunned by the heat and passion that had turned his eyes to smoke.

  "Stay," he repeated. "Tonight. Damn it, more than tonight. Get your things and bring them here."

  The thrill moved through her. There was something in the command, in the look in his eyes as he gave it, that called to her even as it raised her hackles. "Move in with you?" She lifted her hands to his chest and struggled to keep her voice calm. "You want me to live under your roof, eat your food, sleep in your bed?"

  "I want you with me. You know damn well I've wanted that since the first time I put my hands on you."

  "Aye, maybe I did. But what I agreed to do was work for you." She tilted her head back again, but not in surrender this time. Yes, she'd been willing to accept the feelings he stirred in her, but not to compromise her principles for them. "Do you think I'd be your mistress? Do you think I'd let you keep me in your fine house?"

  "No one's talking about keeping."

  "No, you're not a man for keeping, are you, but for taking, enjoying and moving on. I'll tell you now, no matter how you make me feel, how you make me want, I'll not be any man's mistress."

  It was foolish to be hurt, ridiculous to be insulted, but she was both. Erin jerked out of his hold and stood with her feet planted. "If I kiss you, it's because it pleasures me to do so, and nothing more. I'll not live in your house, shaming my family, until you're tired of me." She tossed back her hair and crossed her arms. "I'll be going back to work now, and you'd best keep out of my way unless you want to explain to your men why the payroll isn't done." She turned on her heel and strode away. Burke leaned back against the paddock fence. A smart man would have folded his cards and pushed away from the table. He figured he'd stay for the next hand and see where the chips fell.

  Whether she was feeling festive or not, Erin was swept along in her cousin's plans for the party. And what better day to celebrate than St. Patrick's Day? Erin decided if there'd been a dog around, she'd surely have kicked it.

  No "come live with me and be my love" from the likes of Burke Logan, she thought. She attacked a silver platter with a polishing cloth as though she could have rubbed through the metal. Oh, no, with him it was just "pack your things and be quick about it." Hah!

  As if she'd want pretty words from that swine of a man. The truth of it was Erin McKinnon didn't want pretty words from anyone. What she wanted was to be left alone to pursue her new career. In six months she'd have a place of her own and a new job altogether, she decided. She'd find a job where she didn't have to put up with a man who made her laugh one minute and steam the next. And steam in more ways than one, she added as she tossed the polishing cloth aside.

  Turning the platter over, she studied her own reflection. He was toying with her, he was. Hadn't she known that right from the beginning? Well, what was fine for him was fine for her. She could do some toying herself, and tonight was as good a time as any to start it. From what Dee had told her, there would be plenty of men at the party tonight. Including a certain snake in the grass.

  "Have you finished scowling at yourself?" From the other side of the table, Dee set aside another tray.

  "Almost."

  "That's good, then, because we've only a couple more hours." Rising, she stacked the bowls and platters beside the crystal. Between Hannah and the caterers, the rest could be easily handled. "Is there anything you'd like to talk to me about?"

  "No."

  "Nothing that might have to do with why you've been muttering to yourself for the past week or so?"

  Erin set her teeth, then dropped her chin on her hand. "I think American men are even more rude and arrogant than Irish men."

  "I've always thought it was a draw." Adelia came over to lay a hand on her shoulder. "Has Burke been troubling you?"

  "To say the least."

  Something in the way Erin said it caused Dee to smile. "He has a way with him."

  "Not my way."

  "Well, then, we won't be worrying about him anymore. We've a party to get ready for."

  Erin nodded as she rose. She'd known she was in trouble as soon as she'd seen the silver and crystal. Things had only gotten worse when she'd watched the team of caterers descend to fuss over things like salmon mousse and gooseliver pate. She'd seen the cases of champagne delivered. Cases, by God. Then there was the black caviar she'd managed to sample while no one was looking. And there were the flowers, tubs of them, that were being arranged even as she walked with Dee down the hall.

  "A madhouse, isn't it?" Dee began when they started up the stairs. "Later, if you've had your fill of hearing about horses and tracks and stud fees, just send me a sign."

  "I like listening. It's a bit like learning a new language."

  "It's all of that." Dee moved into her room and took a large box off the bed. "Happy St. Patrick's Day."

  Automatically Erin put her hands behind her back. "What is it?"

  "It's a present, of course. Aren't you going to take it?"

  "There's no need for you to give me presents."

  "No, but I didn't think of it as a need." Pride was something Adelia understood too well. Her own had been bruised repeatedly. "I'd like you to have it, Erin, from all of us as a kind of welcome to a new place. When I came here I had only Uncle Paddy. I think I understand now how happy it made him to share with me. Please."

  "I don't mean to seem ungrateful."

  "Good, then you'll pretend to like it even if you don't." Dee sat on the bed and gestured with both hands. "Open it. I've never been long on patience."

  Erin hesitated only another moment, then laid the box on the bed to draw off the top. Under a cushion of tissue paper was dark green silk. "Oh. What a color."

  "It's expected today. Well, take it out," she demanded. "I'm dying to see if it's right on you."

  Cautiously Erin touched the silk with her fingertips, then lifted the dress from the box. The material draped softly in the front and simply fell away altogether in the back to a slim skirt. Dee rose to hold the dress in front of her cousin.

  "I knew it!" she said, and her face lit up. "I was sure it was right. Oh, Erin, you'll be dazzling."

  "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Almost reverently she brushed her fingers over the skirt. "It feels like sin."

  "Aye." Then, with a laugh, Dee stepped back for a better viewpoint. "It'll look like it, too. There won't be a man able to keep his eyes in his head."

  "You're kinder to me than I deserve."

  "Probably." Gathering up the box, she handed it to Erin. "Go put it on, fuss with yourself awhile."

  Erin kissed her cheek. Then, letting her feelings spread, she gave her cousin a hard, laughing hug. "Thank you. I'll be ready in ten minutes."

  "Take your time."

  Erin paused at the door. "No, the sooner I have it on, the longer I can wear it."

  The party was already underway when Burke drove up. He'd nearly bypassed it altogether. Restless and edgy, he'd thought about driving u
p to Atlantic City, placing a few bets, spinning a few wheels. That was his milieu, he told himself, casinos with bright lights, back rooms with dim ones. A party with the racing class, with their old money and closed circles, wasn't his style.

  He told himself he was here because of the Grants. The fact that Erin would be there hadn't swayed him. So he told himself. Since their last encounter he'd nearly talked himself out of believing there was something between them. Oh, a spark, certainly, a frisson, a lick or two of flame, but that was all. That overwhelming and undesirable feeling that there was something deeper, something truer, had only been his imagination.

  He hadn't come tonight to prove that, either. So he told himself.

  It was Travis who let him in. Burke could hear voices raised in the living and dining rooms along with the piping Irish music that set the tone.

  "Dee was worried about you." Travis closed the door on the nippy mid-March air outside.

  "I had a few things to see to."

  "No problems?"

  "No problems," Burke assured him. But if that was true, he wondered why his shoulders were tensed, why he felt ready to jump in any direction.

  "You'll know just about everyone here," Travis was saying as he led him into the living room.

  "You've got quite a crowd," Burke murmured, and was already searching through it, though he didn't move beyond the doorway.

  "I think you'll see that Dee's outdone herself in more ways than one." With the slightest gesture, Travis had Burke's gaze traveling to the far end of the room and Erin.

  He hadn't known she could look like that, coolly sexy, polished. She was sipping champagne and laughing over the rim of her glass at Lloyd Pentel, heir to one of the oldest and most prestigious farms in Virginia. Flanking her were two more men he recognized. Third-and fourth-generation racing barons, with Ivy League educations and practiced moves. Burke felt his blood heat as one of them leaned close to murmur something in her ear.

  Both amused and sympathetic, Travis laid a hand on Burke's shoulder. "Beer?"

  "Whiskey."

  He downed the first one easily, appreciating its bite. But it did nothing to relax his muscles. He took a second and sipped it more slowly.

  Erin was perfectly aware that he was there. She doubted he'd been in the room ten seconds before she'd felt his presence. She smiled and flirted with Lloyd and the others who wandered her way, and told herself she was having a wonderful time. But she never stopped watching Burke and the women who gravitated to him.

  Adelia had been right—the talk was horses. Purses, the size of which made the head reel, were discussed and the politics of racing dissected. Erin took it in, determined to hold her own, but as she nursed her single glass of champagne her gaze kept roaming.

  The man didn't even have the courtesy to say "how do you do," she decided. But then he seemed more interested in the leggy blonde than in manners. Erin accepted a dance with Lloyd, and if he held her a bit too close she ignored it. And watched Burke.

  It didn't appear to bother her to have the young Pentel stud pawing her, Burke noted as he swirled his whiskey. And where in the hell had she gotten that dress? Setting down his whiskey, he lit a cigar. She was nothing to get worked up over, he reminded himself. If she wanted to wear a dress that was cut past discretion and bat her baby blues at Pentel, that was her business.

  The hell it was. Burke crushed out his cigar and, leaving the blonde who had snuggled up beside him staring, walked over to Erin.

  "Pentel."

  Annoyed, but as well-bred as his father's prize colt, Lloyd nodded. "Logan."

  "I have to borrow Erin a minute. Business."

  Before either of them could object, Burke had maneuvered his way between and had Erin in his arms.

  "You're a rude, shameless man, Burke Logan." She was delighted.

  "I wouldn't talk about shameless while you're wearing that dress."

  "Do you like it?"

  "I'd be interested to hear what your father would say about it."

  "You're not my father." Though she smiled, there was more challenge than humor in the curve of lips. "Doesn't a man like you worry about luck, Burke? No wearing of the green on St. Patrick's Day?"

  "Who says I'm not?" His eyes tossed the challenge right back.

  "Money doesn't count."

  "I was talking about something more personal than money. If you want to go somewhere private, I'll be happy to show you where I'm wearing my green."

  "I'm sure you would," she murmured, and tried not to be amused. "Now, what business do we have?" He wasn't holding her as close, not nearly as close as Lloyd had been, but she felt the pull of him.

  "You've come a long way from dancing in moonlit fields, Irish."

  "Aye." Some of the pleasure went out of her as she studied him. "What does that mean?"

  "You're an ambitious woman, one who wants things, big things." God, it was driving him mad to be this close, to smell her as he had once before in a dim garden shed with rain pelting the roof.

  "And what of it?"

  "Lloyd Pentel's not a bad choice to give it to you. He's young, rich, not nearly as shrewd as his old man. The kind of man a smart woman could twist easily around her finger."

  "It's kind of you to point that out," she said in a voice that was very low and very cold. She didn't know what possessed her to go on, but whatever it was, she swore she wouldn't regret it. "But why should I settle for the colt when I can have the stallion? The old man's a widower."

  Burke's mouth thinned as he smiled. "You work fast."

  "And you. The skinny blonde's still pouting after you. It must be rewarding to walk into a room and have six females trip over themselves to get to you."

  "It has its compensations."

  "Well, why don't you get back to them?" She started to pull away, but his hand pressed into her back so that their bodies bumped. The flame that was never quite controlled flared at the contact. "Damn you," she said from the heart as he tightened his fingers on hers.

  "I'm tired of playing games." He had her across the room and into the hall before she found the breath to speak.

  "What are you doing?"

  "We're leaving. Where's your coat?"

  "I'm not going anywhere, and I—"

  He merely stripped off his jacket and tossed it over her shoulders before he yanked her outside. "Get in the car."

  "Go to hell."

  He grabbed her then, hard and fast. "There'll be little doubt of that after tonight." When his mouth came down on hers, her first reaction was to fight free, for this was a man to fear. But that reaction was so quickly buried under desire that she moved to him.

  "Get in the car, Erin."

  She stood at the base of the steps a moment, knowing no matter how strong, how determined he was, the choice would be hers. She opened the door herself and got in without looking back.

  Chapter 7

  Had she lost her mind? Erin sat in Burke's car, watching his headlights cut through the night, and heard nothing but the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. She must be mad to have thrown all caution, all sense, all pretense of propriety to the winds. Why had no one ever told her that madness felt like freedom?

  She'd never been self-destructive. Or had she? she asked herself, almost giddy from the speed and the night and the man beside her. Perhaps that was one more thing he'd recognized in her. A need to take risks and damn the consequences. If that wasn't true, why didn't she tell him to stop, to turn back?

  Erin gripped her fingers together until the knuckles turned white. She wasn't at all sure he'd listen, but that wasn't the reason she didn't speak. No, the reason she didn't speak was that she'd lost more than her mind. Her heart was lost as well.

  Perhaps one was the same as the other, Erin thought. Surely it was a kind of madness to love him. But love him she did, in a way she'd never imagined she could love anyone. There was a ferocity to it, an edgy sort of desperation that didn't swell the heart so much as tighten it. Indeed, it felt
like a hard, hot lump beneath her breast even now.

  Was this the way love should feel? Shouldn't she know? There should be a warmth, a comfort, a sweetness—not this wild combination of power and terror. Though she searched, she could find no tenderness in her feelings. Perhaps they were a reflection of his. At a glance she could see no gentleness in the man beside her. His hands gripped the wheel tightly and he looked nowhere but straight ahead.

  Erin pressed her lips together and told herself not to be a romantic fool. Love didn't have to be gentle to be real. Hadn't she known all along that her emotions when it came to Burke would never be ordinary or simple? She didn't want them to be. Still, she would have liked to have laid a hand over his, to have offered some word to show him how deep her feelings went and how much she was willing to give. But more than her heart was involved. There was pride and spirit as well. She had to be realistic enough to understand that just because she loved didn't mean he loved in return.

  So she said nothing as they drove under the sign and onto his land.

  Why did he feel as though his life had just changed irrevocably? Burke saw the lights of his house in the distance and tensed as though readying for a blow. He wanted her, and if the need was stronger than he wanted to admit, at least tonight it would be assuaged. She hadn't said a word. His nerves neared the breaking point as he rounded the first curve in the drive. Did it mean so little to her, could she take what was happening between them so casually that she sat in silence?

  He didn't want this. He wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

  What was she feeling? Damn it, what was going on inside her? Couldn't she see that every day, every hour he'd spent with her had driven him closer and closer to the brink? Of what? Burke demanded of himself. What line was he teetering on that he'd never crossed before? What would his life and hers be like once he'd stepped over it?

  The hell with it. Burke braked at the base of the steps and without sparing her a glance, slammed the door and got out of the car.

  Legs trembling, Erin got out and started up the steps. The door looked bigger somehow, like a portal to another world. With one long breath, she passed through.

  Was it always so silent and angry when lovers came together? she wondered as she started up the staircase. Her hand on the banister was dry—dry and cold. She wished he'd reached for it, held it, warmed it in his own. That was nonsense, she told herself. She wasn't a child to be coddled and soothed, but a woman.

  He walked into the bedroom ahead of her, waiting for her to smile, to offer her hand, to give him some sign that she was happy to be with him. But when the door closed at her back she simply stood, chin up, eyes defiant.

  The hell with it, he thought again. She didn't need sweetness and neither did he. They were both adults, both aware and willing. He should have been glad she didn't want coaxing and candlelight and the promises that were so rarely kept.

  So he pulled her against him. Their eyes met once, acknowledging. Then his mouth was on hers and the chance for quiet words and gentle caresses was past.

  This was enough, Erin told herself as the heat rose like glory. This had to be enough, because she would never have more from him. Accepting, she pressed against him, offering her mind and body along with her heart he didn't know was already his. There was no hesitation now as her lips parted, as their tongues met in a hot, greedy kiss. When his hands roamed over her back, pressed into her hips, she only strained closer. She was prepared to trust him to show her the art of intimacy. She was prepared to risk self-destruction as long as he was part of the gamble.

  Her fingers trembled only slightly as they dug into his arms. The strength was there, an almost brutal kind of strength that had her heart racing and her body yearning.

  Good God, no woman had ever taken him so close to desperation so quickly. It only took a touch, a taste. When she kissed him avidly for one sweet moment he could almost believe he was the only one. That was its own kind of madness. A sane man would think of just this one night, but like a drug she was seeping into his system, making his heart race and his mind swirl.

  He tugged on her dress and she moved against him, murmuring. He recognized the excitement, the tremble of anticipation, but not the modesty. When her flesh was freed for him he took, with rough hands that incited both desire and panic. No one had ever touched her like this, as if he had a right to every part of her.