Irish Hearts (30 page)

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. No one had ever caused this hard fist of need to clench inside her so that she was willing to cede to him that right.

Then she was naked, tumbling to the bed so that his body covered hers. His hands found her, sent her spiraling so that she arched against him even as the fear of the unknown began to brew. Her breath caught with the sensation of being pressed under him, vulnerable, dizzy with desire. Her own body seemed like a stranger's, filled with towering emotions and terrifying pleasures. She wanted a moment, just one moment of reassurance, one soft word, one tender touch. But she was beyond asking, and he beyond listening.

Greedy, impatient, he took his lips over her as he wrestled out of his shirt. He wanted the feel of her flesh against his. How many times had he imagined them coming together this way, urgently, without questions? She was murmuring his name in a breathy, desperate whisper that had his passion snowballing out of control. He dragged at his clothes, swearing, hardly able to breathe himself and far beyond the capacity to think.

Her body was like a furnace beneath his, and with each movement she stoked the flames higher. She dug her nails into his shoulders; he fused his mouth with hers. Past all reason, he plunged into her.

She was curled away from him, trembling. Burke lay in the dark and tried to clear his head. Innocent. Dear God, he'd taken her with all passion and no care. And he was the first. He should have known. Yet from the first time he'd held her she'd been so ripe, so ready. There had been the strength, the hotheaded passion, the unquestioning response. It had never crossed his mind that she hadn't been with anyone else.

He ran his hands over his face, rubbing hard. He hadn't seen because he was a fool. The innocence had been there in her eyes for any man to see who'd had the brains to look. He hadn't looked, perhaps because he hadn't wanted to see. Now he'd hurt her. However careless, however callous he had been with women in the past, he'd never hurt one. Because the women he'd chosen before had known the rules, Burke reminded himself. Not Erin. No one had ever taught them to her.

Searching for a way to apologize, he touched her hair. Erin only drew herself closer together.

She wouldn't cry. She squeezed her eyes tight and swore it. She was humiliated enough without tears. What a fool he must think her, sniffling like a baby. But how could she have known loving would be all heat and no heart?

The hell of it was, he was lousy at words. Burke reached down to the foot of the bed and drew a cover over her. As he tried to sort through and pick the best ones, he continued to stroke her hair.

"Erin, I'm sorry." By God, he was lousy with words if those were the pick of the litter.

"Don't apologize. I can't bear it." She turned her face into the pillow and prayed he wouldn't do so again.

"All right. I only want to say that I shouldn't have-" What? Wanted her? Taken her? "I shouldn't have been careless with you." That was beautiful, he thought, detesting himself. "I hadn't realized that you hadn't-that tonight was your first time. If I'd known, I would have-"

"Run for cover?" she suggested, pushing herself up. Before she could climb out of the bed, he had her arm. He felt her withdrawal like a blade in the gut.

"You've every right to be angry with me."

"With you?" She turned her head and made herself look at him. He was hardly more than a silhouette in the dark. They had loved in the dark, she thought, unable to see, unable to share. Perhaps it was best it was dark still so that he couldn't see the devastation. "Why should I be angry with you? It's myself I'm angry with."

"If you'd told me-"

"Told you?" She sniffed again, but this time there was more than a little derision in it. "Of course. I should have told you, while we were rolling around on the bed naked as the day we were born, I might have said, 'Oh, by the way, Burke, you might be interested in knowing I've never done this before.' That would have put a cap on it."

He was amazed to find himself smiling even as he reached for her hair again and she jerked her head away. "Maybe the timing could have been a bit better than that."

"It's done, so there's no sense pining over it. I want to go home now before I humiliate myself again."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't go." That was a tough one. He hadn't known he'd had it in him to ask. "What happened wasn't wrong, it was just done badly. And that's my fault." He caught her chin in his hand as she started to turn away. "Look, I'm not good at asking, but I'd like you to let me make it up to you."

"There's no need." She wasn't aware that it was the gentleness in his voice that was calming her. "I told you I'm not angry with you. It's true it was my first time, but I'm not a child. I came here of my own free will."

"Now I'm asking you to stay." He took her hand and, turning it palm up, pressed his lips to the center. When he looked up at her again she was staring, her lips parted in surprise. He cursed himself again. "I'll draw you a bath."

"You'll what?"

"Draw you a bath," he said, snapping off the words. "You'll feel better."

When he disappeared into the adjoining room, Erin simply continued to stare after him. What in the world had gotten into him? she wondered. She gathered the blanket around her and stood as Burke came back in. He was wearing a robe tied loosely at the waist. The light from the bath angled out onto the floor. She could hear the sound of water running and sensed-but surely she was mistaken-a hesitation in him.

"Go ahead in and relax. Do you want something. Tea?"

Mutely she shook her head.

"Take your time, then. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Not a little baffled, Erin walked in and lowered herself into the tub. The water was steaming so that she felt the tension and the ache begin to diminish almost immediately. Sinking down, she closed her eyes.

She wished she had another woman to talk to, another woman to ask if this was all there was to lovemaking. She wished there was someone she could talk to about her feelings. She loved Burke, yet she felt no fulfillment after being with him. It had been exciting. The way he had touched her, the way his body had felt against hers, made her tremble and ache. But there had been no glorious glow, no beautiful colors, no feeling of lightness and contentment.

She was probably a fool for imagining there would be. After all, it was the poets and dreamers who promised more. Pretty words, pretty images. She was a practical woman, after all.

But Burke had been right. The bath had made her feel better. There was no reason for humiliation or for regret. If she was no longer innocent, she had brought about the change herself, willingly. One thing her parents had always told her was to follow what was in your heart and to blame no one.

Steadier, she stepped from the bath. She would face Burke now. No tears, no blushes, no recriminations.

Seeing no other cover, she wrapped the towel securely around her and stepped into the bedroom.

He'd lighted candles. Dozens of them. Erin stood in the doorway, staring at the soft light. There was music, too, something quiet and romantic that seemed to heighten the scent of wax and flowers. The sheets on the bed were fresh and neatly turned down. Erin stared at them as all the confidence she'd newly built up began to crumble.

He saw her glance at the bed and saw the quick, unmistakable flash of panic that went with the look. It brought him guilt and a determination to erase it. There were other ways, better ways. Tonight he would show both of them. Rising, he went to her and offered a rose he'd just picked in the solarium.

"Feel better?"

"Aye." Erin took the rose, but her fingers nearly bit through the stem.

"You said you didn't want tea, so I brought up some wine."

"That's nice, but I-" The words jammed in her throat as he lifted her into his arms. "Burke."

"Relax." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I won't hurt you." He carried her to the bed and laid her against the pillows. Taking two glasses already filled with pale wine, he offered her one. "Happy St. Patrick's Day." With a half smile, he touched his glass to hers. Erin managed a nod before she sipped.

"This is a fine room-" she began lamely. "I didn't notice- before."

"It was dark." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and settled back even as she tensed.

"Aye. I've, ah, wondered what the other rooms were like."

"You could have looked."