Nora Roberts - Irish Gallagher's Pub - 3 by Heart Of The Sea

Author:Heart Of The Sea [Sea, Heart Of The]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-16T23:29:08.083000+00:00

His fingers shook. The roar in his head was a thousand waves pounding on a thousand rocks. All he knew was that to wait a moment longer would destroy him.

Her hips arched toward him, and he drove into her in one violent thrust.

Their twin groans rippled the air, and their eyes met-shock mirroring shock. For a heartbeat, then two, they stared at each other.

Then it was all movement, a frantic mating driven by hot blood. Flesh against flesh, the ragged strain of quickened breath, the low cry of a woman at peak. Bodies plunged together in a slick and sensuous dance.

She came again, staggered that there could be so much, so very much. As her hands slid limply onto the rumpled covers, she felt him fall with her. And thought he said her name.

She lay still, wrecked, wonderfully wrecked, with his face buried in her hair and his long, lovely body pressing hers into the bed. Now she knew, she thought, just what happened when his control snapped.

And oh, it was a wild and marvelous thing.

His heart still hammered, she could feel it knocking against hers. Drifting on that gilded plateau of contentment, she turned her head and skimmed her lips over his shoulder.

That one gesture had him opening his eyes, struggling to clear his head again. She seemed soft as water under him, limp as melted wax and nothing like the frenzied woman who'd urged him to hurry. He knew he'd have taken her fast and hard in any case. He'd never needed anything, anyone, the way he'd needed Darcy at that moment. As if his very survival depended upon it.

A dangerous woman, he thought. And found he didn't give a damn. He wanted her again. And again.

"Don't go to sleep," he murmured.

"I'm not." But her voice was thick and rough and at the sound of it his blood heated once more. "I'm just considerably relaxed." She opened her eyes and pondered the plasterwork of scrolls and stars on the ceiling. "And enjoying the view."

"Late eighteenth century."

"Isn't that interesting?" Amused, she stretched under him like a cat, then ran her hands over his back, more for her pleasure than his. "Would that be Georgian or rococo? I never can keep my historical periods straight."

It made him grin and lift his head to look down at her. "I'll give you the full tour with a lesson later if you like. But just now-" He began to move inside her again.

"Oh, well, now," she murmured. "You're a healthy one, aren't you?"

"If you don't have your health"-he lowered his head, bit her lip-"you don't have anything."

He was a man of his word and took her to dinner. French food served elegantly enough to soothe, fussily enough to amuse, with wine designed to turn golden on the tongue. The surroundings-gilt mirrors, quiet colors, candlelight glowing in crystal-suited her, Trevor thought. No one looking at the stunning woman in the sleek and simple black dress would imagine her waiting tables in an Irish pub.

Another skill of hers, he decided, a chameleon's ability to alter her image at will.

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