Mastering Maeve (12 page)

Sheesh
, he thought, standing in the jewellers,
how on earth can there be so many different types of rings.
The sales assistant had tray after tray laid out in from of him. There was white gold and platinum, yellow gold in nine, eighteen, or twenty-four carat. How was he supposed to know which she’d prefer? He’d only ever seen her in costume jewellery. No, wait; she always wore yellow gold earrings while she worked. Great, yellow gold it was. That eliminated three of the eight trays.

The assistant measured the ring he had taken from her room and he was relieved to see another tray removed.

“These are all close enough in size to be able to be adjusted to fit without destroying the ring’s aesthetics,” the attendant patiently explained.

He could imagine her calculating her commission in her head. There were cluster rings, rings with a few stones in a line, or his personal favourite, solitaires. In the end he opted for a slight compromise, a large solitaire stone but with smaller diamonds decorating the claw.

The price tag was almost terrifying. He realised that if he was more patient he would probably get much better value in Texas, but patience was not his forte when he really desired something. He was determined not to leave her for such a long period of time without having this settled. Of course he knew a ring wasn’t going to hold her to him if she wanted to move on, but she seemed to be happy; almost as happy as he was. He wanted to stake his claim before he left her for a whole month. Truth was, he didn’t want that skinny little kid having any opportunity to oust him in his absence. He figured the price tag was well worth it.

A sick, nervous tension was building in his tummy as he left the shop. What if she refused him? That would be even worse than the uncertainty. He realised he was taking a pretty big leap; he had only known her three-and-a-half months. And why was he so willing to jump into a marriage commitment with her after such a short time when he’d shied from it with Emily? And what on earth possessed him to get involved with a young woman from a totally different country? Why, he didn’t even know if she would agree to move to Texas or if he would have to sell all and move to Ireland. The practicalities didn’t even bear thinking about. The only thing Larry Williamson the Fourth was sure of this day was that he desperately wanted Maeve O’Reilly to say yes.

He booked a table at the Renvyle House Hotel, twelve miles away and organised a taxi to come pick them up. The roads from Clifden to Renvyle were a death trap in his opinion, so he had no intention of attempting to drive them, especially in a stick-shift car and after a couple of glasses of wine (or as he hoped, champagne). Only when everything was under control did he finally allow himself to relax as best he could. It seemed the day was dragging on forever. He couldn’t wait until evening.

Chapter Eight

“What are you making such a fuss about, Granny, sure we’re only going out for a bite to eat,” Maeve harrumphed in exasperation. She didn’t know what had gotten into the old woman, fussing over what Maeve should wear. They never agreed on clothes anyway and there was nowhere in Clifden that would refuse her entry in a pair of smart trousers and sparkly top. That was dressed up enough in her book.

“For once in your life, can you do what you’re told and put on a nice dress. Lord bless us, you’ll be the death of me.”

“Fine,” she sighed.

God, the things I do for a quiet life
, she thought as she rummaged through her wardrobe. Skirts for work were one thing, but she really was not a dress person. She only owned a few; she always felt silly in them as she was so tall. She finally chose a knee-length, slim-fitting black dress that complemented her hair, which she allowed to hang down but pinned back from her face. A gold torc adorned her neck, which she hoped detracted attention from her ample cleavage. At least Larry was so tall it would be safe to wear heels, she figured as she selected a pair of black strappy sandals that emphasised her shapely muscular calves. Her makeup was subtle except for a rich red lipstick. She was ready.

When Larry came in to shower, she had difficulty getting him to back off, but there was no way she was letting him ruin her makeup.

“You look hot,” he proclaimed as she spurned his advances. “I want to make love to you.”

“Oh, wind your dick in, you can fuck me later. So where are we going anyway?” she laughed as he swatted her behind deliciously. “Granny made me dress up; I wanted to wear trousers.”

“Good ole Granny,” he said appreciatively, dodging her question. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes; why not go have a glass of wine in the bar. Brag to the customers how lovely you are.”

“Shut up, you charmer! Ok. I’ll wait for you there.”

She noticed an appreciative glance or two from the few guests that had assembled already and felt a bit silly; why had she not waited in the kitchen? She didn’t like being on display like this. A glass of red helped her mellow. Sure he was leaving for a month, but he’d be back. She’d miss him desperately, but why this fuss? She sat on a high stool beside a couple of guests who had been residents for the past week; it would have been rude to bypass them.

Larry soon joined her in the bar, standing behind her high stool with his hand possessively on her back. She was dumbfounded; normally she’d prefer they kept their personal relationship out of the customers’ domain, but as he was leaving the next day, she let it pass. He seemed edgy as he ordered a glass of wine. She was beginning to worry a little. Perhaps he was going to tell her he wouldn’t be back. There was certainly something up with him, but whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing it for now. Anxiety formed a knot in her gut as they made small talk with Granny and some guests until the taxi arrived, breaking up the little group.

“Renvyle House, please,” he said to the driver.

“Oh, great, I love that place,” she enthused. The long journey was tense and he seemed to be absentminded. In order to pass the journey she filled him on the reported ghost sightings in Renvyle House, telling him of the séance WB Yeats was reputed to have held there.

“Apparently the ghost didn’t want to work with the automatic writing Yeats was using, but agreed to manifest for his wife. I can’t believe she agreed; I’d be terrified if it was me.” Maeve shivered at the horror of it all.

“Aw, honey, you don’t really believe in that garbage, do you?”

“Of course I do and you should too, just because you’ve never seen a ghost doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” she scolded, miffed at his scornful dismissal of a subject that was part and parcel of Irish lore and beliefs. They were driving up the tree-lined avenue as the evening sun was setting in a golden red masterpiece over the white house.

“It sure is beautiful here, I’ll really miss it,” he sighed, taking in the breath-taking view of the house, the sea, and the verdant lush gardens. Maeve was more and more uncomfortable with his nostalgia.

“Please tell me you will be back?” she asked urgently.

“Don’t look so worried; of course I’ll be back, just as soon as I possibly can.” They entered the dark lobby and in spite of the warm evening, the reception area had its characteristic turf fire giving off an enticing warm glow and traditional smoky, earthy scent. He remarked on the old-style oak rafters, but she explained that, although very traditional in style, the house had in fact been destroyed by fire and had been rebuilt in the nineteen thirties.

“I love the way you hoard all this historic information; you really need to find a way to put it to use,” he commended.

Their table wasn’t quite ready, so they ordered their meal in the foyer and Larry suggested a walk outside while they waited. Maeve agreed, but wished she’d opted for more sensible shoes as he led her into the trees. He pulled her out of view of the avenue, lest any cars came, backed her gently against a tree and kissed her. Romance was far from her thoughts as her dress got tangled in the undergrowth and she was praying it wasn’t torn as he released her from his grip. He got down on bended knee and seemed to be fumbling with his trousers.

“What’re you at? Get up, you eejit, you’ll ruin your clothes,” she admonished. If he thought he was having her out there in such a public place, he had another think coming to him. She wasn’t quite
that
liberated.

“Maeve O’Reilly, make me the happiest man in all of Ireland and Texas and say you’ll marry me,” he stammered, withdrawing the small ring box from his pocket.

“Holy cow! Jesus. I dunno what to say, Larry. Fuck.” Total shock left her tongue-tied and incoherent. She hadn’t even contemplated this in her wildest dreams, way out from now. Could she really marry him? She knew she loved him, but how would it work? Where would they live? Would they be apart most of the time? These thoughts flitted wildly through her head in the space of seconds, but meanwhile his anxious face was looking up at her.

“Normally people say yes or no, I believe,” he urged her on. “I love you, Maeve; I want to grow old with you.”

Jesus, neither of them had even used the L word before and now he was proposing marriage. Could she? Could they? Had they a future?

“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I’d like to grow old with you too.” She leaned down and kissed him. Realising he was still holding the ring, he took it out of the box and fumblingly pushed it on her finger, kissing it when he was done.

“Oh, thank you so much for saying yes,” he gasped. “I’ve been so nervous.”

“It’s so beautiful, thank you. I have no idea how we’ll manage it though! What about Granny? She’ll freak.”

“No, she won’t,” he laughed. “You always think the worst of her. As it happens I already got her permission to ask you.”

“
You what
? Oh, my God, that’s so old-fashioned and quaint. What did she say?”

“That I didn’t need her permission, I needed your consent. It’s easy to see where you get your independent ideas from. You’re cut out of her cloth. Your name may be O’Reilly but you’re McNamara to the core.”

“I am not,” she argued indignantly. They were walking hand in hand back to the dining room. “Why did you ask me before dinner? What if I’d said no?” she asked from curiosity.

“If we had gone to dinner before I asked you, I wouldn’t have been able to eat or concentrate on any conversation. If you said no, I’d have been the same, but at least this way I can enjoy my meal and your wonderful company,” he answered with a grin. “And I don’t mind leaving you quite so much tomorrow, knowing you’ll be waiting for me to come back.”

“Oh, Larry, I would have been waiting for you anyway, you silly man. You didn’t need a proposal for me to wait.”

“I thought you brought me out there to
do it
al fresco,” she whispered with a wink just as the waiter approached them to guide them to their table.

“I’m mortally wounded you could think so lowly of me,” he replied. “Maybe later!”

They ate their way through starters of Galway Bay oysters for Larry and crab claws for Maeve.

They talked of plans, how they would manage to make their two worlds meet. Maeve said she was reluctant to sell the hotel, even if they could find a buyer who would pay enough to repay Larry and the bank, because of the impact it would have on Bridie’s life; but maybe they could consider leasing it, or putting it in the hands of a manager. She loved the thought of trying Texas, except of course it meant leaving her grandmother alone, which seemed too selfish and ungrateful.

“Perhaps she’d come?” he suggested.

“I doubt it; her life is here and she’s seventy,” Maeve reminded him. “But maybe we need to talk to her about all of the options.”

“I maybe could look at selling or leasing the ranch,” he suggested.

“And then there’s your dad,” Maeve reminded him. “We’d need to talk to him too. It might be a good idea to start with leasing out one or other for a year and see how that works out; then we can always change our minds.”

Round and round in circles they went, trying to map out their future, but knowing they could only speculate until they spoke to the other people affected by it. And yet they felt impatient to get started on their future together, even knowing it would start with a month apart.

When they got back, they discovered Bridie had made herself scarce for the night, leaving a note to say she would return early in the morning for reception duties. Maeve grinned.

“Smart woman,” she said. “She knew either there’d be tension between us or we’d want some privacy.” Before she had finished speaking he was behind her, unzipping her dress.

“Fuck,” he uttered as he took in her black lacy bra and thong. “That’s sexy, the black against your white skin, and your bottom perfectly accessible without even having to take off those hot panties. No wonder I love you!”

“So all you’re after is my knickers, is it? Pervert!”

“Mmm, no… but they help. Turn around and bend over, I want a proper look.”

She put on an impromptu floor show for him, bending over she pulled the string of the thong high up between her cheeks. She spread her legs wide apart and grasped her ankles and wiggled, doing her best not to laugh. Although he might slap her behind and leave her helpless, she knew she had as much control over him; he was putty in her hands right now. Her hands trailed slowly back up her calves to her thighs, rubbing and teasing; when she reached her bottom, she planted each of her own hands in a stinging smack on her cheeks. Then she pulled the thong to one side, giving him a full-on view of her anus and pussy. She heard the gasp of appreciation as he reached out, mingling his handprints with hers.

“Come here, Jezebel,” he ordered, pulling her over to the sofa where he sat and tugging her across his knee. “Just so you know what it will feel like to be married to me. You’ll get plenty of this,” he promised, bringing his hand down in a stinging spank. “And this, and this,” he continued, alternating between cheeks. Maeve just gave in to the sensation. It was delicious and the adrenalin was coursing through her body. She groaned with more pleasure than pain as he slapped over and over, heating her bottom. He interspersed the spanking with rubbing, keeping the pain at a pleasurable level. And intermittently he slipped his hand between her legs under her thong, rubbing her swollen clit, and slightly penetrating her pussy, not sufficiently deeply to satisfy her hunger, just enough to have her begging for more. He thumbed around her anus, using her own slick juices, allowing his digit to breach it ever so slightly.