Sandra Marton: Keir O'connell's Mistress

It was Keir.

She wanted him. In her arms. In her bed, and to hell with whether or not he’d respect her in the morning. She already knew the answer. He wouldn’t…but she didn’t care anymore. She wanted Keir, wanted him, wanted him—

“You know what you need, Berk?” he said softly.

Her mouth was as dry as the Nevada desert. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His voice roughened, and she could feel her heart trying to leap from her breast.

“You need a lesson, and I’m the man to give it to you.”

“Keir…” His name came out a whisper. “Keir…”

“What time does lunch finish up?”

She blinked. Sex by appointment? “Four, but why do you—”

“Good.” He turned away. “Be ready to go at five-thirty.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the exciting, passion-filled world of the O’Connells. Meet Keir, the eldest O’Connell son, and Cassie, a young woman whom life has sometimes treated unkindly. Cassie’s worked at Keir’s hotel, but he never really noticed her. Now, in the first book in the O’Connell series, Keir lets us in on a secret. He can’t forget what happened between him and Cassie one magical night under a hot summer moon. Cassie can’t forget, either…and that’s when the fireworks begin.

You’ve told me how much you loved the Barons. I hope you’ll show that same generous warmth to the O’Connells. Please take Keir, Sean, Cullen, Fallon, Megan and Briana into your hearts. Then come along with me and their proud, powerful mother, Mary Elizabeth O’Connell Coyle, as we begin that most important of life’s journeys—a search for deep, passionate, all-enduring love.

With love,

You can e-mail Sandra at: www.sandramarton.com

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Late summer, on the road to Las Vegas:

THE sun was a hint of gold lighting the rim of the desert as Keir O’Connell crossed the state line into Nevada.

The road was empty and he was driving fast, the black Ferrari eating up the miles like the powerful thoroughbred it was. A sign flashed by, so quickly Keir couldn’t read it, but he didn’t have to. He knew what it said.

75 miles to Las Vegas. Welcome to the Desert Song Hotel and Casino.

Seventy-five miles. At the speed he was driving, little more than half an hour away.

Keir eased back on the gas pedal.

He’d been on the road for two days, driving almost nonstop, knowing he’d pushed things too far and if he didn’t hurry, he’d miss his mother’s wedding.

The thought was almost enough to make him smile.

Missing the duchess’s wedding wasn’t an option. She’d wait until all six of her children were gathered before taking her vows with Dan Coyle. Afterward, she’d peel the hide off whichever of them had caused the delay.

No, missing the wedding wasn’t a possibility. Besides—Keir checked the dashboard clock—besides, he’d make it in plenty of time. The ceremony wasn’t until tomorrow. He’d told himself he was driving hard because he wanted the chance to visit with his family and that was part of it, yes, but the greater truth was that driving fast relaxed him.

He knew, from long experience, that taking a car almost to its limit, seeing how far he could push the speed until he was hovering on that razor-sharp edge between control and the loss of it, was usually enough to drain him of tension. That, or being with a woman, but that was the last thing he wanted now.

He hadn’t touched a woman in the thirty days he’d been gone…in the month since he’d made an ass of himself in a moonlit Texas garden with Cassie Berk.

One month. Was that all the time he’d been away? Had he really made so many life-altering decisions in four short weeks? It didn’t seem possible, especially for him. He’d spent a lifetime with his brothers teasing him about being such a vigilant planner.

“Be careful,” his mother had said the year he’d gotten his pilot’s license, and one of his brothers—Sean, maybe—had laughed and hugged her and said there was no reason to worry, that Keir would never have an accident unless he planned it first.

Keir frowned.

Then, how come he was about to sign off as Chief Operating Officer of the Desert Song and move twenty-five hundred miles across the country to a vineyard in Connecticut—a vineyard into which he’d sunk a small fortune?

Keir shifted in his seat and tried to find a better angle for his legs. The Ferrari had more room under the dashboard than some cars he’d driven but it was built for speed, not comfort, especially if you topped six foot two.

What he was going to do would make anyone edgy. And, yeah, why lie to himself? The prospect of seeing Cassie again bothered him, too. It bothered him a lot. Nobody went through life without doing something stupid; despite what Cassie had called him, he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was the exception to the rule. But what he’d done that night…

He owed her an apology. She’d be calmer by now, willing to let him eat crow and say he was sorry he’d come on to her. It had been the mood and the moment, that was all. Too much champagne, too much slow dancing, too much of the enforced togetherness that came of him being Gray Baron’s best man and Cassie being Dawn Lincoln’s maid of honor.

It was his fault, all of it, and he was prepared to admit it. He was her boss, dammit; he knew the rules about sexual harassment. Knew them? He’d written them at the Song, not just rules about harassment but others that clearly laid out what he expected of people.

Logic. Reason. Common sense. He believed in those principles. He’d built his life on them…and forgotten every last one, that night with Cassie.

“You’re an arrogant, self-centered, stupid son of a bitch,” she’d said, breathing fire when he’d done the right thing, stepped back and tried to say he was sorry.

Had she let him? No way. She’d rounded on him with fury and the worst of it was that the things she’d called him might have dented his ego, but they were true.

He’d made a move on her he never should have made and put her in the position where she’d been damned if she responded and damned if she didn’t.

She’d responded, all right.

He’d taken her in his arms in a dark corner of the garden at that Texas ranch. A second later, she’d been clinging to him, opening her mouth to his, moaning as he’d bunched up her skirt and slid his hands under her dress, that long, gauzy dress that made her look like an old-fashioned dream instead of a Las Vegas cocktail waitress…