Quinn's Deirdre (11 page)

“What’s that?” she asked but she knew.

Quinn nuzzled his cheek against hers.
“You,
acushla,
you.”

Her blood warmed and she shivered but it
wasn’t from cold any more. “We’ll call it dessert,” Deirdre said.

Together in every way, their
relationship restored beyond any damage her reckless lies had inflicted, they
kissed,
then
climbed into the car to go.

Chapter Seven

At Winstead’s, Deidre savored each bite
of the classic steak burger, but her appetites were whetted for more than food.
 
They faced each other as they dined, but her
hands strayed to touch Quinn’s often.
 
Beneath
the table, she used her foot to rub up and down his leg, teasing and
provocative. They laughed often and talked without restraint.
 
Any lingering awkwardness had vanished after
their earlier conversation, and Deirdre thought they were as much in sync as
they had ever been, possibly more.

Quinn’s tender expression could have
melted stone, she thought as she gazed back at him, with complete happiness.
“Let’s go home, woman.”

Deirdre nodded.
 
“Yes, please.”

He parked behind the pub in a narrow
space off the alley and they entered through the rear door, holding hands and
whispering.
 
Quinn put one finger to his
lips as they tiptoed past the kitchen door.
 
Delicious aromas floated from the room along with the rattle of
pans.
 
He stopped and kissed Deirdre, a
slow, tantalizing kiss.
 
Caught short and
breathless, she grasped the lapels of his pea coat with both hands and hung on
tight. “Would
ye
like more of that?” he whispered,
then rammed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her hard.

“Quinn, lad, is it you?” Desmond called
from the kitchen and Quinn released her.

“Aye, uncle, but we’re goin’ upstairs.”

“Ye’d best go then and be quick about
it,” Des said.
 
His serious tone caught
both Deirdre and Quinn.
 
Quinn stuck his
head into the kitchen.

“What’s amiss?”

His uncle shrugged. “Oh, naught, but
there was some woman, a news reporter from the telly, askin’ round the pub if
anyone had seen Deirdre King.
 
So far, no
one else has blabbered but if ye’re seen, ye’ll never make it upstairs nor will
she.”

Whether it was the cold breeze blasting
through the half open rear door or fear, Deidre trembled. “What do you mean no
one else has told?” she asked. “Who did?”

“’Twas April,” Des replied. “I’m sorry,
lass.
 
I’d told her to keep quiet, but
she didn’t listen.”

Crimson filled Quinn’s face with color
and when he spoke, his voice sounded harsh. “Where in hell is she? I’d like a
word with her.”

“I sent her home for now and told her
ye’d likely sack her,” Desmond said. “I knew ye wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“Why did she tell? I don’t understand.”

Desmond snorted. “She’s had her eye on
ye
for some time.
 
If
ye hadn’t been blind and deaf to women, ye’d have known long since.
 
But ye’d not paid much mind.
 
With Deirdre back, April’s feelin’
scorned.
 
That’s why.”

“I never scorned her! I never thought of
her as anything but staff!” Quinn’s voice grew in volume.

“Aye, I know it well. Ye’d best be gone
before you draw attention.
 
I told the
woman ye’d gone and I had no notion where, but if she comes back here, she’ll
see ye with her own two eyes.”

“Thank
ye
,
Uncle Des.”

The older man waved a slotted spoon and
shook his head. “Go on, then. I never saw neither one of
ye
.”

Quinn grasped Deirdre’s hand and pulled
her up the back stairs with haste.
 
She
matched his rapid pace, glad to escape any media attention but worried they’d
lost their sexy mood.
 
As soon as he shut
the door and locked it behind them, however, Quinn stripped away his coat and
opened his arms.
 

Deirdre shed her jacket as she walked
into his embrace.
 
“Quinn, do you think…”

He stopped her question with his mouth.
 
His urgent lips bonded with hers as heat
rippled from him into her body. Quinn kissed her with slow intensity, each
fondle of his mouth against hers brimming with passion.
 
He didn’t hurry but took his time with
deliberate and apparent pleasure.
 

Deirdre leaned against him and he held
her in place with one arm around her waist.
 
Quinn cupped the other hand behind her head, up beneath her long
hair.
 
His grip heightened her sense of
total security and his insistent mouth wiped away any other thought.
 
She forgot about April’s big mouth and the
reporter asking around as she yielded to him.

No barriers remained between them,
nothing unresolved, and love flowed with the powerful tide of a spring
flood.
 
They kissed and nibbled and
tongued for a long time but as need increased, their hands roamed.
 
Bit by bit, they undressed, their clothing
falling to the floor in a trail leading to the bedroom.
 
By the time they collapsed into a tangle on
the bed, Quinn’s hands caressed her from face to feet.
 
He lingered at her hips and ran his fingers
up her back, evoking a series of thrills.
 
Deirdre touched him too, everywhere she could reach.
 
She worked his nipples one at a time with
thumb and forefinger until they hardened. Then Deirdre fastened her mouth over
them and suckled until he squirmed with delight.
 
She tickled him, tasted him, and teased her
fingertips down his belly.
 
Deirdre
wrapped her hand around his cock, solid and hard within her grasp.
 

“Ah, god, woman,” he moaned.

She’d dreamed of doing it many times and
replayed old memories.
 
Deirdre lowered
her head and her hair fanned out across Quinn’s thighs as she took him into her
mouth.
 
She sucked on his cock,
then
moved her lips up and down. The friction, although she
kept it gentle, made him groan with wordless pleasure.
  
Deirdre shifted position and lowered onto
his dick.
 
She rode him, her pace
gentle.
 

As she rocked him, Quinn fondled her
breasts, his hands tweaking her nipples and sliding downward to rub her clit.
 
Sensations spread a warm, erotic contentment
through her body but as her need increased, she quickened her movements.
 
Within moments, she rode him hard and fast.
 

Quinn penetrated deeper within, as far
as possible and they rocked to the same intense rhythm.
 
They linked hands and held tight as they came
in a rush of blinding physical pleasure. Deirdre cried out at the final moment,
and Quinn reared up to quiet her with a kiss.
 
Explosive aftershocks radiated waves of delight as she collapsed against
his chest, spent, sated, and smiling.

Quinn wrapped his arms around her and
she lay, content to listen to his heartbeat as his breathing slowed back to
normal.
 
He stroked her hand with a lazy hand
and rubbed her back with the other.
 
“
Mo ghra,
” he whispered. “I love
ye
and that ‘twas the most intense, beautiful lovin’ I’ve
ever known.”

“I love you too,” she said and nuzzled
closer.
 
After a few more minutes, she
asked, “Are you cold? Do I need to move?”

“Never,” Quinn said. “It’s a wee bit
cold, though. Stay where ye are, Deirdre, and we’ll sleep awhile.”
 
He groped for the comforter and managed to
throw it over them both.
 

Deirdre snuggled against him and knew
the moment when his breathing shifted into a lower gear for sleep.
 
He’d said he hadn’t
sleep
much during her absence but she sighed with happiness that he could now.
 
A delicious fatigue crept over her and she
slept, too.

Neither woke until evening shadows
filled the room with gloom.
 
Deirdre woke
when Quinn stirred beside her and sat up. “Jaysus,” he said as he scrubbed one
hand over his face. “We’ve slept the rest of the day.
 
I ought to go down to help Des. We’ll be
short handed without April.
 
Do ye want
to come with me?”

“Sure.” Right now, she needed to stick
close to Quinn. “I promised Uncle Des I’d help him out in the kitchen. But I
don’t want any publicity on being back.”

He grinned and traced the curve of her
cheek with one finger. “I’ll do my best to keep them from ye, love, and Des
will have yer back.
 
Who do ye think she
was, the woman?”

“If she’s from TV, it’s probably a
former co-worker or a rival,” Deirdre said. “Either one probably hates me
enough to splash my return from dead across the city.
 
I don’t want to do any interviews or talk
about it with much of anyone.”

“Then ye don’t need to,” Quinn
said.
 
“Sooner or later, though, people
will know ye’re back.
 
Ye might want to
tell what family ye’ve got before they hear it somewhere else.”

She considered her remaining relatives,
two aunts, a few cousins, and her grandfather with little interest.
 
Both aunts were her late dad’s sisters and
neither had liked her mother.
 
Gramps
suffered from dementia and seldom recognized anyone.
 
She’d been close to her cousin Tamara, once,
and adored her cousin Kevin when he was little, but the family members she had
loved most were long dead. Quinn, to whom family ranked high, had a point. “I
suppose I should,” she said. “I’ll even go see Gramps if you’ll go with me.”

Quinn nodded. “Ye know I will.
 
We can go in the morning if ye like, but at
the moment I’ve a pub to run.”

 
Twenty minutes later, after a hasty shower and
swift kiss, Quinn left her in the kitchen and headed into County Tyrone.
 
Desmond scrutinized Deirdre as she donned an
apron. “I take it yer talk went well,” he said.
 

Deirdre nodded. “Yes.
 
I’m a little worried about someone looking
for me, though.”

The old man shrugged.
 
“Don’t be,
mo mhuirnín
.
 
Between us, yer man and I will keep
ye
safe. Although, ‘tis almost the Thanksgiving and I can’t
make any promises about Eileen.”

“Eileen’s coming?”

Desmond confirmed it in a neutral tone. “Aye,
she always does for the American turkey day.”

“Since when?”

His eyes met hers. “Since ye were
thought to be dead,” he said. “She’s come each year for Thanksgiving and stayed
the weekend to have an early Christmas, thinking she’d be a help to Quinn.
 
She wasn’t, not much, but she tries, our
Eileen. She dotes on her brother.”

Somewhere scrubbing potatoes and baking
scones, Deirdre obsessed about Eileen.
 
A
quick check of the calendar revealed Thanksgiving to be a week away.
 
A dozen memories of Quinn’s sister, few of
them positive, resurfaced as Deirdre worked.
 
By the time Des shut down the kitchen for the night and she joined Quinn
at a table near the bar, her primary concern wasn’t her return but Eileen’s
imminent arrival.
  
As they shared a plate
of bangers and mash, she listened more than she talked until Quinn asked, “Are
ye tired,
acushla?
 
Or worried? No one came looking for you
tonight but ye’ve not said three words.”

“I’m a little tired.” It wasn’t a lie
but he noticed.

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“Des told me Eileen’s coming for
Thanksgiving next week.”

“Aye, is it next week? I didn’t realize
it was so soon, but she’ll be here early Wednesday.
 
The
pub’ll
be
closed this year and we’ll have dinner with Eileen and her bunch, Uncle Des,
and maybe a few friends.”

Too many years had passed since Deirdre
kept holidays with anyone but Quinn to have any enthusiasm for a traditional
celebration.
 
As a little girl, her
family had gathered at her grandmother’s house in St. Joseph, Missouri.
 
Memories of turkey dinners, laughter, and
multiple generations gathered around a table surged.
 
Until three years ago, Quinn had kept the pub
open and never bothered to mark the American feast of Thanksgiving.
 
“You never used to have anything for the
holiday.”