Then he moved, his palm grazing the throbbing crest of her nipple, his mouth trailing languorous, mind-numbing kisses down to brush back and forth across the pebble-hard flesh. "It'll be better this time for you, Ash," he vowed as his tongue stole out to wet her skin. He blew softly on the dampened flesh, taunting her, tormenting her. "I swear it will."
A shiver worked through Ashleen, her body shaking at his tender assault. Then he drew her straining nipple into his mouth, suckling her slowly, sweetly, the drawing of his lips tugging deep inside her.
She felt something stir in her womb, something wonderful, something frightening. Some secret, long-buried questing that seemed to rend her with velvet claws as Garret's roughened fingertips charted a path to the silky, damp curls that covered that part of her still throbbing from his earlier possession.
"Open for me, Ashleen." Garret's voice was hoarse, strained as he stroked the impossibly sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "I won't hurt you."
Ash's fingers curled into the blankets, her heart seeming to stop beating as she slowly let him ease her legs apart. Somehow in the fierce heat of his passion she had lost the sensation he was creating in her now, this slow simmering centered deep in the pit of her belly.
He was torturing her with this delicate savoring as he explored every part of her, those intense gray eyes seeming to burn her skin. She caught her lip between her teeth, trying to stifle the cry bubbling inside her as he touched the fragile petals that shielded that most private part of her. Then he was easing his way past them, to the hidden center that pulsed with a desire hotter than anything Ashleen had ever imagined.
Fire. Tenderness. They were both in his touch. The feel of him was sweetened further still by the desperation lurking beneath the thick fall of his lashes. It was as if he were worshiping her in the most primal way possible, a way as old as the first woman, the first man, the wonder of the first magical mating.
"You're so damn beautiful, Ash," he breathed, the velvet-rough tip of his finger caressing her. "So damn beautiful."
With a whimper half pleasure, half pain, Ashleen arched herself against the probing sweetness of his fingers, a hollow, aching emptiness seeming to yawn inside her, screaming to be filled. He slipped a finger down into the delicate opening, toying with her, loving her.
"G-Garret," she choked out, her head tossing, restless as she tugged at his arms. "I—I need... need... something."
"Hush, lady... hush. Let me give it to you." He pulled his hand away, and Ashleen whimpered at the loss of his touch. But then he was stretching that long, muscled body atop her, bracing himself above her as his lips found hers. He gazed into her eyes with a piercing despair, his face twisted in pain, in joy. "I love you, Ashleen O'Shea," he grated. "I don't know what the hell that means for you... for me. But damn it to hell, I do."
Ash gave a glad cry, her fingers digging into the hard curves of his buttocks, urging him forward. This time he entered by slow inches, as if he wanted this loving to last forever.
He loved her.
It was in every movement as his body wove its spell more tightly around her, filling her to bursting with her love for him. The fire he had stirred with his hand raged now, wild, wondrous as he thrust inside her, his mouth hungry on hers.
Her legs quivered as they tangled with the hair-roughened sinews of his, his hard palms bracketing her hips, guiding her to peak after peak of pleasure. She moaned, writhed, something she couldn't name dancing just out of her reach, like the stars she had tried to pluck from the sky as a child.
She heard a low groan tear from Garret's throat, the sweat-dampened satin of his skin abrading hers, his raw-silk hair warm, wonderful on her shoulder.
"Reach for it, Ashleen," he bit out, "reach for it—"
A low moan racked her as she arched her head back into the blankets, a shivery feeling building, building where their bodies were joined.
Garret thrust deeper, faster, harder, his breath labored, his heart seeming to beat its way into her breast. She closed her eyes as the tremors rocked them both, and the heavens burst above her, showering her with a waterfall of shimmering stars the hue of Garret's gray eyes.
* * *
The first raysof sun were peeping over the horizon when Garret led her down the hill toward the wagon. He had slipped her nightgown over her head himself, tying up the bows with a tenderness that had made tears spring again to Ashleen's eyes.
"What the hell are we going to do now, lady?" he asked her as his fingers fell away from the bow at her breast.
She had struggled to smile, reaching up to touch his cheek. "I don't know," she said in a small voice.
"Well, neither the hell do I." The rough edge to his voice would have unsettled her, except that he turned his face to kiss her fingertips then linked her hand tightly with his own.
They stopped a few feet from the wooden tailgate, Garret appearing suddenly endearingly shy, almost boyish as he chafed at her fingers with his thumb. "Ash," he almost whispered. "What happened between us... I want you to know it was never that way for me before. Never so..." He faltered, his eyes uncertain as they sought hers.
She smiled. "I know. Not for me either."
She started at her words, almost expecting to see some spark of jealousy, or maybe even the slightest tinge of condemnation in Garret's face for her allusion to that other, disastrous tryst she had suffered in far-off Ireland.
But Garret's eyes only warmed with such compassion, such love, Ash's throat constricted at the beauty of it.
"You're a hell of a woman, Ashleen O'Shea. A hell of a woman."
He turned and strode back up the hill. She watched him. Smiled when he stopped halfway and turned to look at her. She kissed her fingertips, flinging a kiss to him upon the soft morning breezes. After a moment he raised his hand in a silent salute, and she knew, even though she couldn't see him, that his cheekbones were darkening with pleasure and the slightest hint of embarrassment.
