Anne Winston - Dedicated To Deirdre

His hand shook as he reached for the bottle and the two glasses. “I’ll take the wine out on the porch.”

“I’ll join you in a moment.”

He hoped it was a long moment. He hadn’t had a reaction like that to a woman since he was about seventeen; he wasn’t sure he liked it. But he guessed it made sense. Deirdre had been in his mind for a long time. He’d never expected that he’d ever even see her again, much less be invited into her bed. Well, strictly speaking, she hadn’t invited him yet, but why else would she have sent her children away overnight? She wasn’t the kind of woman who would carry on with her kids sleeping in the next room, even assuming he would have, which was assuming an awful lot.

The object of his lustful thoughts backed through the screen door then, carrying the dog bowl. Murphy was attached so closely to her side Ronan was sure she would fall over him. But she set down the bowl without incident, and he watched, fascinated, as Murphy gobbled down his dinner in less than ten seconds.

Deirdre shook her head fondly. “Murph, you’re a big hog, do you know that?”

The big hog wagged his tail and made a peculiar noise, not a howl, not a growl, more a ridiculous “ru-ru-u,” a definite answer to his mistress.

Ronan laughed, and she smiled. “He thinks if he’s charming enough, someday I’ll give in and let him have more.”

She turned and came toward Ronan, and he picked up her wineglass and handed it to her as she sat down beside him on the sturdy, old-fashioned glider. Murphy, seeing his hopes of additional chow dashed, wandered out into the yard to make sure no other dog had invaded his territory.

Deirdre tucked one foot beneath her; the other, he was amused to see, didn’t reach the floor. He gently pushed against the floor, setting the glider into a gentle motion.

She didn’t speak, neither did he. It was after eight, and the warm June day was finally drawing to a close, the sky dimming and night sounds beginning to filter through the air. A bird called plaintively a time or two, and the rasping of a cricket’s wings rose. From a distance the demanding bellow of a frog rhythmically boomed beneath the softer noises.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” Deirdre’s voice was hushed and reverent. “Sometimes I feel like the luckiest person in the world, sitting out here after the boys are in bed, enjoying the peace.”

Coming from someone who’d been through what obviously had been a hellish marriage, he thought that was a telling statement. “You feel safe here.”

Beside him, she was silent, and he could almost feel the air around her withdrawing. “Some people take safety for granted,” she said. “To me, it’s a gift.”

“How did you find this place?” He wanted her to relax.

The aura of tension eased palpably. “My friend’s husband knew the previous owner. When he found out I was looking for a place, he thought of this.” She paused. “I owe him an enormous favor.”

“What kind of favor?” He didn’t like the sound of this, friend’s husband or not.

She shrugged. “Who knows? It doesn’t really matter. I’d do anything—absolutely anything—that he asked.” She lifted her glass and drank, and he reached for the bottle and filled it again.

“Lucky guy,” he commented.

“Yes, he is.” She appeared oblivious to the innuendo in his words. “He’s married to one of my best friends, they’re so wildly in love it’s embarrassing to watch sometimes, and they just had their second child.”

He felt a little better. Lifting his arm, he slowly laid it across the back of the glider, casually resting against her shoulder but not completely surrounding her. Yet. “Do you ever think about getting married again?”

“Are you crazy?” She reacted so strongly that he damn near spilled his wine as the swing swayed crazily for a moment. Then she shoved off the glider and he lifted his eyebrows in inquiry. She went to the door and yanked it open for Murphy, who had come up to lie on the rug in front of the screen. His big tail had barely disappeared when she let the door bang shut behind him and spun on her heel. As she stalked across the porch, he could see that she was seething with fury. “I will never get married again. You saw what a prince I chose the first time around.”

Three

It was the first time she had acknowledged the Christmas party where they’d met. He eyed her back, rigid and frozen where she had come to a halt by the rail, and he realized she was shaking. He hadn’t seen her lose it like this. Even when she’d had good reason, at that damned party, she’d been calm and collected, a miserable lady too well-bred to make a scene.

Slowly, he walked across the porch, setting his wineglass on the wide railing. He reached around her and took hers from her and set it down. Then, driven by some instinct that he didn’t fully understand himself, he laid his palms on her shoulders, burrowing beneath the cloud of hair and gently rubbing the tense muscles of her neck.

His thumbs stroked and molded, caressed and massaged as he offered her what comfort he could. For long moments he silently kneaded her flesh, feeling the tension ease out of her little by little.

The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed and her body moved slightly with the pressure of his hands. Her head drooped forward, lolling from side to side, and her hair spilled over his hands. He was getting hard again simply from touching her satiny skin, and he took a deep breath. His hands slowed their massage until he was doing little more than sliding his fingers over the rounded joints of her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, bending to offer the words into her ear, stirring curling tendrils of hair with his breath. “We can talk about something harmless, like the weather. Or—” he took her elbow and turned her gently around “—we can forget about talking.”

Her eyes were wide and dark in the evening light. The only sign that she’d even registered his words was a slight parting of her lips. Without touching her anywhere else, he lifted his hand and slipped it along her cheekbone, cradling her small face in his palm. She said nothing, only watched him through opaque eyes as he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers in the lightest of caresses.

When he touched her lips, he had to restrain himself from devouring her on the spot, so tantalizing and arousing was the contact. An odd feeling spread through him. He’d thought of her so often in this context, but the reality was so much...more. His nerves were jumping and he told himself to calm down and quit overreacting. This didn’t mean that much, he assured himself. Even though it felt right somehow, in a way he’d never experienced before.

The second kiss was bolder, firmer, though he deliberately reminded himself to go slowly, take it easy. She made no move to resist him, but he felt her mouth begin to stir, moving beneath his until he insistently thrust his tongue into her depths. She gasped. He pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around soft curves, his body meeting hers from shoulder to hip. For the first time, she touched him, putting her small hands tentatively to his shoulders, then sliding them around his neck as she allowed him to kiss her, and kiss her, deepening the contact with each stroke of his tongue.

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