Riding Irish (4 page)

He reached across to where my hand rested on the bar and placed his fingers lightly against mine. “Even in the dark, there’s no better way to see this place. Come on, Cat, I’ll protect ye wherever we go.”

Even as he said the words, I knew he was being completely truthful. This was a man for whom honor was still a very real concept. In my life back in Baltimore I’d met plenty of guys, but none of them had a shred of the decency possessed by this rough Irish biker. I knew immediately that when he said he would protect me, he meant it. I’d been so anxious and often frightened during my trip to Ireland so far, but the idea of relaxing and allowing this man to be my guardian was thrilling.

Some part of me still resisted. “I’ve… I’ve got to meet someone tomorrow,” I said.

“Met a fine upstanding gentleman here in Ireland already?”

“What? No, I mean, I… no, I just have to meet with someone from the bank about my grandmother’s house. Not that you aren’t a gentleman. I mean… I…”

He wrapped his fingers around my hand and my voice trailed off into nothingness. His hands were still warm, despite the cool temperature here in the pub at night. The touch of his hand upon mine seemed to transfer that warmth throughout my body. I could feel myself breathing heavily, but I was barely conscious of it. All I could do was stare deeply into his eyes and tell him, “Yes.”

He stood up from his stool and kept my hand in his, pulling me to my feet. I grabbed my purse off of the bar, dug out a handful of bills and began to put them on the bar, but Ronan stopped me. “Don’t worry about it, Cat. Anything you owe is on me,” he said. He nodded to Bernard who came around the bar to follow us out, presumably to lock the place up behind us. I stepped out into the cool summer air and suddenly wished I’d been dressed more warmly.

His bike was parked close to the door. It was gorgeous. From wheel to wheel it was eight feet of glittering, polished chrome. I’d seen plenty of bikes before, but I could tell that this one was special. This was more than just a vehicle – it was a companion. Ronan strode over to it, pulling his keys from his pocket. He grasped one of the handlebars and lifted his leg over it, in a motion so smooth that it might have been rehearsed by a professional acrobat. He turned his head back to where I was still standing, next to the door of the pub. The lights in the bar suddenly blinked off and I saw him sitting there on his bike, backlit by street lamps and the stars above us. “Come aboard, little Cat,” he said.

I walked over and lifted my leg over the back of the seat behind him and sat down. He used his legs to maneuver my feet so they were resting comfortably. My back was rigid. I was pressed up against the back of this stranger, preparing to ride off into the night with him. I could feel the tight muscles of his body between my legs.

“Put your hands around me,” he said.

I couldn’t imagine anything I wanted more at that moment. I slipped my hands under his arms and pressed my palms against his jacket. I could feel his body moving against mine. My breathing changed to match his. He turned the key in the ignition and the bike roared to life beneath us. I felt like the whole world was shaking, and I held on tighter against him, pressing myself close. I heard him laugh just a bit and he revved the bike’s engine slightly. I relaxed for just a moment before he said, “Here we go.” And with that, the bike moved beneath us, carrying us out onto Grey Lane. With every second, we were getting farther and farther away from my new home and the only things I knew here in Ireland. I was alone with him, surrounded by a land I didn’t know, and I had never felt safer in my life.

We rode onwards into the night. The city lights of Dublin were all around us, but growing dim. It was late, and
even
a town like Dublin closes down after midnight on a Tuesday. I felt a pang of regret as we flew down the narrow streets, the loud engine between my legs roaring. I remembered being annoyed when a loud motorcycle would drive past my apartment in the dead of night. Now I understood a little bit better just how much it didn’t matter to the rider. When you’re on a bike, it is the whole world. The power surging beneath me was intoxicating – not to mention the firm grasp I had on Ronan.

It was too loud for us to speak, but through gestures and subtle shifts of his body, he showed me when to hold on tightest and when there was something worth seeing. We rode through the streets of Dublin until they gave way to the roads of greater Ireland. Before long we were cruising alone on a road that had no streetlights. In fact, it had no visible habitation whatsoever. All there was around us was solid darkness. Ronan tilted his head back slightly. For a moment I didn’t know what he wanted me to do, but then I looked up. The great expanse of the stars over my head was instantly breathtaking, and I almost forgot to hold on tightly to him. I was used to seeing the stars through the filter of Baltimore’s city lights – that is to say, hardly at all. Here, the stars were a shimmering blanket of night that seemed to stretch on forever.

We rode like that for hours. There were no words between us, merely the warmth of each other’s bodies and the enveloping field of stars above our heads. Just when I thought night and the roads of Ireland would go on forever, I felt him slowing the bike down. He turned off of the main road onto a smaller dirt one. How he knew where to turn in the complete darkness around us was a mystery to me. I looked over his shoulder ahead of us and could only see the same darkness that followed us everywhere.

Through the dark cover of night I saw a huge looming black shape in the field ahead of us. It seemed certain that was our destination, but I only realized have some hard staring that it was a seemingly enormous oak tree. He drove the bike near to it and slowed down before cutting the coming to a stop and cutting the engine. The sudden loss of the humming machine between my legs was disappointing, but I was glad to be able to hear once again.

“Here we are,” he said.

“And where is ‘here’, exactly?”

“This is the grandmother tree. I thought it would be a fine place to watch the sun rise.
To honor your gran, and because it’s a remarkable sight from the top of the hill here.”

I looked out across the field we were standing in and only then realized that we were, indeed, atop a large hill. It was hard to make out where exactly the rolling grassy hills were, but the view was unmistakable from up here. I got off of the back of the bike and took a moment to find my footing again. My legs felt nearly numb after hours of steady vibration from the bike’s engine.

“Do you come here often,” I asked him.

“Not since I was a boy, but I think of it sometimes.”

He got off of the bike and went to the saddlebag and took something out of it. A second later he rolled out a large blanket that had been folded neatly. He placed it on the grass beneath the tree. I was glad he had come prepared as the dew of the very early morning made the grass wet beneath my shoes. I stepped over towards it and sat down, glad to have solid ground beneath me that wasn’t moving.

He sat down hard beside me. It was amazing that a man could be so gentle and tender at times while at others he was forceful and seemingly without grace. When he crashed to the blanket, it almost sounded like such an impact would hurt him, but of course it didn’t. I had to remember that whatever else he might be, this man was tough. He was tougher than anyone I’d ever known.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a picnic for us, Cat.”

I laughed. “That’s alright, after my dinner at the Bleeding Hart, I’m not sure I’ve got room for anything else.”

“Bernard knows how to set a plate, that’s for sure.”

We sat and talked. It felt like our hours of silence on the bike had caused us to store up all of our conversation for future use and now it was pouring out of us. We talked about Ireland, about America and about the ride. I didn’t ask him what sort of business the Druids were engaged in, as I knew that would be rude. I didn’t want to offend a man like this at the best of times, but certainly not when I was hours away from Dublin without a clue even as to which direction we’d ridden in.

Throughout our conversation, we moved closer and closer to one another. Finally, we sat together and he placed his arm around my shoulders. The breeze was cool for summer, but I wasn’t cold. I could smell the scent of the road on him. He smelled of worn leather and smoke, but in the way that reminds you that he’s a real man. He looked down at me and in the slight light before dawn began, I could see his clear blue eyes sparkling at me.

“Ye have the beauty that a true Irish girl works all her days to achieve, Cat,” he told me.

I couldn’t help but blush. “Oh, Ronan… you treat me like a queen, but I don’t deserve it.”

“Perhaps not,” he said, “but I’ll ne’er let anyone say you aren’t a lady.”

With that he leaned in close and I knew he was going to kiss me. My lips were quivering with anticipation as he came closer. For a split second I felt the emotional energy of the moment between our bodies before I felt his lips press against mine. As he pressed his mouth against mine, his arm wrapped more tightly around my body and he pulled me in towards him. I felt surrounded and enveloped by him.

He pulled me closer and I felt the incredible strength in his hands. Years of hard riding had given him an amazing grip, which was now focused on me. Even if I had wanted to escape from him, I couldn’t. He was too powerful, and we were completely alone. I had a moment of panic and wondered how I had let myself get into this situation. I could die out here and no one would ever know. I reassured myself that nothing could be further from the truth. He had passion in his eyes, but I couldn’t get enough of it. His strong fingers slipped under the neck of my thin sweater and I repositioned myself so that he could easily remove it. There was no resistance in me. I wanted only to succumb to the moment and allow him to guide me.

I shrugged out of the sweater and he gently set it down beside us. My hands slipped inside of his jacket and felt his rock hard chest concealed only by a well-worn t-shirt. His leathers were hardened and tough, but it was nothing next to the incredible physique that lurked beneath his clothes. Just holding my hand against his chest,
a powerful
warmth began to flow through my body. The tingling hot sensation spread through me and I knew desire greater than anything I’d felt before. I needed this man, but more than that, I needed him to take me.

He helped me remove his jacket and he set it aside, much more roughly than he had done with my sweater. In everything, he treated me with tenderness and gentle motions, but reserved only rough
action for himself. In the dim light I could see the silhouette of his powerfully built shoulders and I could clearly smell him now. It was more than the smell of the bike and the leather – this was the smell of a man. He smelled like power and control. If there is a smell to being the master of your own destiny, Ronan had it.

I slipped my fingers beneath his t-shirt and felt the skin of his stomach for the first time. His abs
were
unbelievably firm. It felt like every part of him was a solid muscle that had been honed through years of effort. He wasn't muscular like some body builder. He was toned and
lean, like a great cat. His fearsome appearance, tight muscles and powerful scent all reminded me of a panther. I was his prey to be stalked.

He pulled away from our kiss and crossed his hands in front of him. In one smooth motion, he lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his astonishing physique. It looked like he had been sculpted from a solid block of marble. And yet, he was not flawless. Though his muscles were perfectly toned, he bore scars. I touched my fingers to a pink scar that extended from his collarbone down his chest, nearly to his nipple. Another smaller scar was visible on his side. The remnants of small cuts seemed to
criss-cross his body. As I touched his scars, I could feel the pride he was emanating. Each one was a badge of honor – a fight that was won.

I didn’t wait for him to make the next move and promptly lifted my own shirt over my head. He had a small smile for me, as he always seemed to. The cool summer breeze blew across my body and I felt my nipples growing harder immediately. Whether it was from the cool air or the incredibly hot man, I can only guess. He wrapped his hands around me once more and pulled me into an embrace. My breasts, still clad in a thin, lacy bra, pressed against his broad, hard chest and I shivered with excitement. His hands crawled across my back until he found the clasp of my bra. Without coming up for air, I pulled it away from my body and flung it to the edge of the blanket. My bare breasts pressed against him and the warmth deep inside me increased.

Our hands seemed to tear across one another’s bodies, searching for more clothing to tug at and eventually remove. I was desperate to see him fully, and I had little doubt of his intentions at this point. I tilted my head back and he kissed along my neck and collarbone as his hands went to work on the buttons of my jeans. His warm breath made my skin come alive with sensation. When he had finished with the buttons I slipped my thumbs inside my panties and pulled everything away from my body. I needed to be seen as much as I needed to see. I kicked my jeans and panties away in a ball and
laid
out on my side with my hand supporting my head. My flowing red hair trailed down around my arm. He simply sat back on his heels and stared at me for a long time.

“Are you coming over or do I have to come get you,” I asked him with one eyebrow cocked.

He blinked his eyes like he was remembering what exactly he was doing, and then stood up. I stared up at him as he removed his large black boots and set them aside. He descended the zipper on his jeans and in a moment, they fell to the ground around his ankles. He seemed almost shy suddenly. He still had his confident swagger about him, but he seemed almost unsure about whether to take the final plunge. I decided to help him make that decision and reached over to tug at the bottom of his boxer shorts. With a little help from him, they
came
tumbling down around his ankles as well. Now it was my turn to grin as I looked upon his large swollen member, hanging there in front of me like a piece of delicious overripe fruit.