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She spied the two wine goblets and a pleased smile curved her lips. He’d known she would take it as an expression of his besottedness with her, but let her think what she liked, rather than suspect he’d had a secret visitor, or that it was none other than the King himself. Though he was willing to soothe her ego with small gestures, and more than willing to return twofold the physical ease she gave him, his only interest in her was for the pleasure he found in her soft, bountiful body.
Naked, she took up one of the goblets and sipped the wine, doubly gratified to find it contained a fine vintage rather than the sour, watery ones to which she was more accustomed. The firelight played over the full curves of her bosom, turning her dark nipples to the color of fine wine themselves, deepening the shadows of her navel and the full nest of curls between her thighs.
He didn’t want to wait. He approached and took the goblet from her hand, setting it down with a thud that sloshed some of the red liquid over the rim. She gave a little squeal of surprise as he lifted her and tossed her onto the big bed, but the squeal turned into laughter as he landed on top of her.
He kneed her thighs apart. “Are ye no going to remove yer boots, at least?” she asked, giggling. She reached up to tug at the laces of his shirt.
The smell of her was dark and rich, female. His thin nostrils flared, drinking in the scent. “Why?” he asked in a reasonable tone. “They’re on my feet, not my cock.” The giggles turned into full-scale laughter. Niall reached beneath his kilt and grasped his erect rod, guiding it to her wet cleft. He surged forward, sheathing himself, shuddering with relief, and Meg’s laughter died a quick, strangled death as her body absorbed the force of the thrust.
The darkness within him receded, pushed back by sheer delight. So long as he had a woman in his arms, he could forget the betrayal, and the crushing burden of responsibility that weighed on his shoulders.
Chapter 1
April 27, 1996
A LOW, COUGHING RUMBLE ANNOUNCED TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD that Kristian Sieber was home from school. He drove a 1966 Chevelle, lovingly restored to all its original gas-guzzling, eight-cylinder power. The body was a patchwork of different colors, as the parts had been taken from the corpses of other Chevelles, but whenever someone commented on the multicolored car, Kristian would grumpily say that he was “working on it.” The truth was, the exterior didn’t bother him. He cared only that the car ran the way it had when it was new, when some lucky, macho guy had thrilled every girl around with its growling power. In the instinctive, primal, murky way of males, he was certain all that horsepower would overcome his image as a nerd, and all the girls would flock to his side, wanting to ride in his supercar.
So far it hadn’t happened, but Kristian hadn’t given up hope.
As the rumbling car passed her house and turned at the corner, Grace St. John nastily took one last bite of the stew she had prepared for supper. “Kristian’s home,” she said, jumping up from the table.
“No kidding,” Ford teased. He winked at her as she grabbed up the case that contained her laptop computer and the multitude of papers she had been translating. The sides of the supple leather case bulged outward, so crammed was it with notes and disks. She had unplugged her modem earlier, wrapped the cords around it, and placed it on top of the case. She cradled case and modem in her arms as she leaned over to reach Ford’s mouth. Their kiss was brief, but warm.
“It’ll probably take a couple of hours, at least,” she said. “After he finds out what the problem is, he wants to show me a few new programs he has.”
“It used to be etchings,” her brother Bryant murmured. “Now it’s programs.” The three of them took most of their meals together, a convenience they all liked. When Bryant and Grace had inherited the house from their parents, they turned it into a duplex; Grace and Ford lived in one side, and Bryant in the other. The three of them not only worked for the same archaeological foundation, but Ford and Bryant had been best friends since college. Bryant had introduced Ford and Grace, and still patted himself on the back for the outcome of that introduction.
“You’re just jealous because you can’t hack it,” Grace said, poker-faced, and Bryant groaned at the pun.
Her hands were full, so Ford got up to open the kitchen door for her. He leaned down to kiss her again. “Don’t get lost in Kristian’s programs and lose track of time,” he caution
ed, his hazel eyes sending her a very private message that, after almost eight years of marriage, still thrilled her to her toes.
“I won’t,” she promised, and started out the door, only to halt on the top step. “I forgot my purse.”
Ford picked it up from the cabinet and looped the strap over her head. “Why do you need your purse?”
“The checkbook’s in it,” she said, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. She always paid Kristian for his repair services, though he would gladly have done it for free just for the joy of fooling around with someone else’s computer. His equipment was expensive, and his skill better than any she had seen at computer or software companies. He deserved to be paid. “Plus I’ll probably buy him a pizza.”
“As much as that kid eats, he should weigh four hundred pounds,” Bryant observed.
“He’s nineteen. Of course he eats a lot.”
“I don’t think I ever ate that much. What do you think, Ford? When we were in college, did we eat as much as Kristian?”
Ford gave him a disbelieving look. “You actually asking me, when you’re the guy who once ate thirteen pancakes and a pound of sausage for breakfast?”
“I did?” Bryant frowned. “I don’t remember that. And what about you? I’ve seen you down four Big Macs and four large fries at one sitting.”
“Both of you ate as if you had tapeworms,” Grace said, settling the discussion as she went down the steps. Ford closed the door behind her, his chuckle rich in her ears.
Thick, resilient grass cushioned her steps as she walked across their backyard, then angled her steps in a shortcut through the Murchisons’ overgrown lawn. They had taken a month’s vacation in South Carolina, and weren’t due to return until the end of the week. It was a shame; in seeking warm weather, and spring, they had missed it at home.
It had been an unusually warm April, and spring had exploded in Minneapolis. The grass was green and lush, the trees leafed out, flowers were in bloom. Even though the sun had set and only the last bits of twilight remained, the evening air was warm and fragrant. Grace inhaled with deep delight. She loved spring. Actually, she loved every season, for they all had their joys.
Kristian stood in the Siebers’ back door, waiting for her. “Hi,” he said in cheerful greeting. He was always cheerful at the prospect of getting his hands on her laptop.
He hadn’t turned on a light. Grace entered through the dark laundry room, passing through the kitchen. Audra Sieber, Kristian’s mother, was sliding a tray of rolls into the oven. She looked up with a smile. “Hello, Grace. We’re having lamb chops tonight; would you like to join us?”
