Chapter Seven

 

Gods damn her! She’ll nah do this to me again!

But there she sat at attention beside him, as tight as a soldier on sentry duty, her hackles up, and her lovely, toned body poised, no doubt, to break his nose if he stepped out of line. And she could do it too.

Ah, she was a vision of fierce, feminine perfection. Her blonde lashes were long and thick, so thick he ached to feel their sweet caress on his cheek. Dark amber eyes, more molten copper than honey at the moment, had filled with tenderness, itself overshadowed by that dazzling bitch-slapping aura of hers. Did she think she needed to defend herself? From him? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, no.

More than anything, his arms yearned with a need so deep to shelter her from the very foes she ran headlong into. To hold her safe in his keeping so no one could hurt her again. Always, he’d seen through her mask. There was a little girl hiding there and he bloody well knew it. He just didn’t know how to call Colby out of her shell, which was more like razor wire than shell now that he thought about it.

The impulse to slap his forehead lifted out of nowhere. What an idiot! he was to have fallen for a woman as fine as Colby. She had no use for him and he knew it, not with her heart encased in invisible body armor like it was, her gentle soul hidden beneath the tactical gear of a warrior princess. ‘Twas never a day she hadn’t unsettled him. The glib in his silver tongue turned to lead with this woman, and there was no explaining it. Am I truly that desperate that I lose my mind when she looks at me?

Simple answer: Aye

But where had the blushing red gone from all that beautiful golden? She’d been a strawberry blonde the last time he’d seen her. He lifted a curl to his nose, needing to know. “You’ve lost the roses in your hair,” he murmured, pulling in every last hint of her flowery scent, savoring every last breath of roses and wind. “Where’d they go?”

She tossed that winner-take-all chin at him, tugging the curl out of his fingers as she did. “Too much desert sun will do that.”

He slid one hand down her thigh to her knee and locked on for the ride. “There’ll be no more desert for you, young lady.”

Their banter seemed playful until…

Mother of God, I’m a man, not a saint! A man driven by the fire that swallowed his livelihood, as well as the one sitting at his side, the one who should want to sit at his side. Couldn’t she be just a wee bit desperate for me, too?

Like that last time, Ash lost his head. He rushed Colby before she could dodge or deflect his advance. He caged her face between his hands to hold her, to keep her from running. Crushing his mouth to hers before she could analyze the life out of the feelings of his heart. Before she could hurt him.

Loving this woman should nah be so bloody difficult!

He’d anticipated her being defensive, maybe a little surprised at his passion, but it seemed as if he’d hit a brick wall instead of a beautiful woman. She didn’t tilt backward as he’d expected. At least she hadn’t slapped him, nor told him no again. He hated that word on her tongue.

Her tongue. Blimey. He hadn’t expected her to part her lips as easily as she did, and offer that succulent morsel as she had. He angled for deeper penetration, savoring the taste of her sassy mouth. Her palm came gently to his cheek, but she didn’t dig her fingernails in and scratch him, another good sign he might be on the right track. For the first time, ever.

The warm, wet honey of her sweet mouth stirred the blood in his veins like a swizzle stick in a glass of Jack and Coke. A groan lifted up from his broken heart, tearing at his soul for all the losses he’d suffered, herself being the greatest. He couldn’t kiss her enough. There’d been no other since she’d deserted him for the Army. He couldn’t believe he was kissing her now, nor why she let him.

The sheet drifted out from between them as, slowly, Colby relaxed. The cold stiffness of a soldier softened into lush curves and warm breasts under his thundering chest. He meant to bed her now if she’d let him. Did she just moan in his mouth?

He must be doing something right, so he kept on with his doing. Ash dared let one hand curl around the nap of her neck—possessively—while the other cupped her thigh as a man should hold his woman. With pleasuring her until she screamed his name to the rafters on his mind, Ash tugged her backside fully onto the mattress, his lips still interlocked with hers. Pressing her flat to her back, he planted one knee at the edge of the bed and straddled her clothed thighs.

Fervently, he eased one hand under her shirt and palmed her warm belly, skin to skin, thrilled at the silky softness of her. The feminine heat. There was no other explanation, either he was on fire or she was. He leaned over her, finally sheltering her, his instincts emboldened and the tip of his staff on target.

Her palm flattened against his breastbone, exerting pressure. “Your heart is pounding,” she breathed into his mouth.

“Aye, Lass. Like always. For you,” he mumbled, that same heart climbing up his throat.

She ran her tongue over his teeth, and bit his bottom lip, offering hope with her customary edge. The tease. She couldn’t just accept him for the love he intended to give her. Nah, there always had to be a struggle with Colby. A contest of wills.

So be it.

He endured the barrier her hand had just created as he poured his soul into her open mouth, using it as a funnel to channel his desires, wanting them to be her desires, too. That was what could make a match, them both so hungry and horny for each other they were willing to lose themselves to make the other whole.

With a breathy sigh, she turned her face, breaking the contact and crushing him once more. “We’re so different.”

Aye, that meant she was wealthy and didn’t need his providing for her. Well, two pigs and a pence, he didn’t care. He would be her man, and he would provide for her… somehow…some way. A man took care of his woman. He would!

“No, we’re nah,” he insisted, but before he could finish his thought—

“Yes, Ash. We are.”

His forehead sank to her temple, his foolish nose flaring to draw in her scent before she pulled completely away. To remember the smell of her hair before he lost it forever. “I can nah make you love me if you don’t want to,” he rasped, his heart crashing. “The Lord knows I’ve tried.”

She said nothing, just lay there panting, her hand still on his pounding chest, her fingers spread wide. He lifted his hand from her hip to cover the back of her slender hand. “I have nah riches nor trinkets to give you. You know that. I can’t pave your streets with gold now, nor will I ever be able to.” He licked his lips, wishing she’d look at him. “Those things were never meant for me, but I can promise you one thing.”

She faced him then. “I never wanted things, Ash. Don’t you get it? That was why I left Boston in the first place. All those things cluttered up my life. The expectations. And not just from my mother.”

Ah, Glory be. She didn’t even want to know what that one thing was that he could promise her. Typical Colby. Always on the offensive. Never seeing what was in front of her pretty nose. Always ready to run. That stubborn streak might’ve won her soccer trophies, but he was bloody tired of the chase.

He leaned back on his haunches, and dragged a hand over his head. Here we go again. “Go on, tell me. What did I expect from you that was nigh impossible for you to live with?”

A grunt vibrated deep from her belly. “You don’t want me, Ash. You never did. You want some simpering female, preferably barefoot and pregnant, doting on your every word and making eyes at you. You want someone who’s content to wait at home for you at the end of the day with a big pot of Irish stew and homemade bread. Right?”

He loved the way her brows slanted in anger, but she was wrong. Sort of. What man didn’t want his woman waiting for him at the end of a hard workday, maybe with a beer in one hand and her clothes in the other? Wasn’t that a woman’s place in the world, to want to please her man in every way? To keep his house tidy, to dream of raising their babies, and baking, and—all that other womanly stuff?

Clearing his throat, he said, “Aye, I get it. You think I’m old fashioned.”

“You are.” Her chin stuck out at him with those two words. “This isn’t Ireland, Ash, and I’m not your mother. I’m not my mother, either. Nor her darling, perfect daughter.”

Colby put both feet on the floor, her palms on her knees, and her eyes on the carpet, creating more distance between them.

What does my mum have to do with anything? Ash rolled a hand over his hard head, striving to understand. Could Colby be right? Is that what I’m doing? Trying to fit Colby into the roles I grew up with? Trying to make her just like me mum? A shiver ran through him at that perverse thought. Boys did love their mothers, but not like—that.

He yanked the sheet over his thoroughly deflated ego. As liberated as American women claimed to be, he knew there were some who were exactly like his mum. He scratched his head, hoping he said the right thing next. “I don’t want to change you. I like you just the way you are.” Why couldn’t she see that?

“Is that right?” She cocked an evil eye. “Then what do you see me doing ten years from now?” She snapped her fingers. “Come on, Ash, think fast. Tell me. Now!”

“Umm.” He had nothing but that fire-in-the-hearth dream rattling around in his head, but he was smart enough not to lead with it.

Her fingers snapped again. “Spit it out, Ash. What am I doing in ten years? Baking? Washing your clothes? Darning your tattered socks?”

Holy Mother of God, she made those simple acts of kindness sound like something no woman in her right mind would want to do. “You’re putting a lot of pressure on me.” Another swipe over his head, but—she was right. He had pictured her pregnant with his son, maybe sons. Waiting at home for him. Only she’d been happy to be there. She’d even had stars in her eyes—in his dream.

When she expelled a huff through her nostrils, a guy kind of a snort, he blurted, “I see you doing whatever you want to be doing, darlin’.” There. That ought to make him a few points.

Colby cocked her head, still glaring through narrowed eyes. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, if there was a more obstinate woman on earth, he didn’t know her. “And that would be?”

Flummoxed again—until he recalled that sporty motorcycle she’d ridden into town. “Not sure.” Ash pinched his brows and his lips, going for a thoughtful expression. “I doubt you’re much of a mechanic. Motocross maybe?”

That earned him a pair of raised brows as if he’d maybe answered correctly, not his forte. But it could’ve just happened. He swallowed hard and waved his hand in an arc over their heads. “I can see it now. Callahan and Quaid. The greatest—”

The frown again. “Callahan and Quaid? What’s that about?”

What else? He shrugged, proud of his woman. “I’d be your manager.”

Chuffing, she pushed away from him and to her feet. “See what I mean? You Tarzan, but me not Jane.” Colby didn’t turn until she was halfway out the door, but then it was just to toss another evil glare his way as she hissed, “Get a clue, Ash. Get a gawddamned clue.”