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His lips tickle my ear. “We’re out the back way, no one’ll look.”
The full scope ofThe Chieftain’s Sonproperty reveals itself. Beyond sheep pastures, land stretches far into the distance, sloping up to higher ground covered with trees. The same kind of peace I feel on a lush, beautiful golf course settles over me. As far as I can see, there are no signs of anyone else. Jack and I ride alone through this vast expanse of countryside.
Costume layers of tunic and other draped fabrics bunch between us. Jack flares his cloak so it settles around us. In the welcome pocket of heat inside the thick navy fabric, my body molds to his. Our close contact coupled with the rhythm of the gallop inspires a rising interest behind me. My chieftain’s son is ready for the sort of ride that does not require Streaker.
“Will you please slow down? You’re going to dump me off this horse.”
Jack keeps a hand on Streaker’s reins and tightens his grip around me with the other, pressing a forearm against my breasts. “We’re fine.” Behind me, Jack’s definition of “fine” presses hard against my ass.
Without asking permission, my body begins to respond to Jack’s arousal. At this rate, neither of us is will be in a rational state for a frank discussion about our situation. I vow to keep my legs together until we can talk about how to deal with the unwelcome slice of reality we both endured during the shoot today.
We approach a small copse of trees on the crest of a hill. Jack slows the horse to a walk as we slip around to the far side of the rise away from The Clan. It’s a quick climb up the short slope to the top. In a single, fluid motion, he’s off the horse and reaching for me. I swing one leg over the saddle to face him. Jack’s large and talented hands seize my ass and guide my body tantalizingly down the length of his. Our contact speaks to one another at a frequency beyond the range of hearing. I’m simultaneously overwhelmed by my desire for him and frustrated that I’ve lost my reason.
Jack’s panting sends a curl of mist across the hilltop. Still holding reins with one hand, he bends me backwards, swooping in for a kiss that just might kill me with its intensity. A rumble from his chest escapes in a muffled growl as he captures my bottom lip in his teeth. Hips bore into mine as he works his hand between us to unfasten the buttons of my slacks. They slip to my ankles like a raindrop down a windowpane.
“Horse,” I gasp as Streaker stamps uncomfortably close to my foot.
Jack’s eyes are as wild as the animal’s. He twists the reins around a low branch. Spinning back to me like a cyclone, his cloak falls to the ground. He sheds his own britches and snatches me up into his arms. I lock my legs around his waist, hands roaming his body as if it’s the first time I’ve been allowed to touch.
Murmurs, husky and raw, surround me like warm wind. Jack wedges me between his body and a blanket of velvety moss covering the slope of a massive boulder under the trees. Hands slide under my sweater, stroking my breasts.
I press against him. When I try to say his name, it comes out as a long, low moan.
“I must have you, Gilly.”
Digging my fingers into the broad muscles of his shoulders to encourage him, I press my face into the side of Jack’s neck as he thrusts with a savage cadence in time with the low thunder echoing across the fields. He takes me with passion far surpassing the graceful lovemaking he’s shown before, and I’m mad for it. When our mutual storm collides in a burst of frantic energy, I sink my teeth into the leather tunic covering his shoulder. He roars loud enough to chase the sun below the horizon. We frighten the horse into a loud whinny.
He lifts me off my rocky backboard, and we collapse onto his fallen cloak, legs tangled, both taking hungry gulps of air.
I want to clutch Jack to me, succumb completely to the joy of his body wrapped around mine, but the intensity of our savage lust reduces me to emotion laid bare under the darkening sky. Open and vulnerable, the enormity of the changes in my life slam into me. I begin to shake. Rolling onto my side, I curl into myself.
Why has fate brought me to this man, this force of kindness and passion, only to drive us into the shadows?
Jack pulls me into the shelter of his body and strokes my hair. “Gilly, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” Fingers probe the skin of my back. “Forgive me”—he leans over to kiss me gently on the corner of my lips—“for using you like a madman blinded by his cock.”
I pull his arm tighter around me and snuggle against him. “Don’t you dare apologize. You weren’t the only one blinded.” My lips graze the back of his hand. “I was desperate for you too.”
His chin nestles into the space between my neck and shoulder. “Oh, love.Mo chroí.” He drops sweet, little kisses across my throat, the tip of his tongue tasting with each contact. “I’ve wanted you this way since that first night in the pub.” Gently, he takes my earlobe in his teeth. “Once more will be ten, and then we’ll own this.”
Ten times and you own it. My own words come back to bite. The intensity in Jack’s tone shakes me. I’ve fallen into a dimension created by Deidre LaRochelle. Jack and I are characters in a fantasy. How can I possibly fit into his world? He’s bound for fame and dazzle, a life so much bigger than we exist in right now. I sit up and hug my knees. “Everything is happening so fast. All of it. Being part of the show. Us.”
“I told you before. It’s been a longer time coming for me. Since the day I readTraipse of Moonlight, I imagined you to be the woman, Cally.” He lets out a soft snort. “Without the useless husband and ailing infant.” His fingers play in my hair. “A woman of courage and conviction and such a beautiful sense of herself that she defies anyone to knock her down.” He flips me so I’m facing him. “Then this feisty girl attacked my golf swing, drank me pint for pint, and made me laugh hard enough to soften my bones.” His lips part mine for a kiss so deep and unrelenting my own bones turn to gravy. Then he simply looks at me with a gaze so completely smitten, little shocks of warning fire across my body.
Christ, have I taken advantage of Jack’s interest in me? Is he my romantic reboot, my desperate grab to feel desirable after my debacle with Treat? When I saw him kissing Niks, the gut-burning agony from catching Treat and Lanie on the golf course boiled up as fresh at the day it happened.
“A week, Jack. We’ve known each other a week. An eyeblink. It’s only enough time to know what we want to know about each other. Not to understand who we really are.”
Jack sits up next to me. “Gilly, you must know, during this week with you, my heart’s opened up like never before. If you don’t think that scares the piss out of me, too, you’re mad.” He pulls the circlet off his head and frisbees it across the hilltop. “I’ve done my best to show you who I am. Are you honestly telling me you haven’t done the same for me?”
“But the hiding. Are we kidding ourselves this has any chance of working? I can’t do it again—lie about what is important in my life and pretend it isn’t happening.”
A fist lands on the ground next to me. “For fuck sake. This is about the scene with Niks today, isn’t it?”
A blast of cold air knocks against my side when Jack leaps to his feet. He pulls on his britches and starts to pace, arms flailing. I dress as well. In our short time together, I’ve seen quite a few sides of Jack, but not this one. He is furious.
“Do you not know how miserable I was today with you so close while I pretended to be loving on Niks?”
I stare up into the boughs of the tree behind him. For the first time, I notice ribbons, swatches of fabric, and even a tiny silver cup hanging from the branches. It’s a faerie tree, a hawthorn like the tree in my story,Traipse of Moonlight.Irish folklore says these trees mark the entrance to the faerie realm. This is a wishing tree where lovers, or those in desperate need of something, hang tokens or pieces of fabric on branches as requests for aid from the good people, the faeries. If I had something to tie onto a branch, I’d wish for the image of Jack kissing Niks to be wiped from my memory.
