Wedding at King's Convenience / Bedding the Secret Heiress: Wedding at King's Convenience

All very rational, she thought. Too bad she wasn’t listening.

Chapter Three

He wasn’t gone long.

The truth was, Jefferson hadn’t wanted to leave her at all. He’d hoped to get her back to the hotel where he could try to slide her into his bed and seal the deal in a way that would ease the ache he’d been carrying for the last few days. But typically enough, Maura had managed to shatter his quickly thought-up plan with a simple “no.” So, adjusting his plan on the fly, he thought he could maneuver her into letting him take her home and maybe he could slide himself into her bed instead.

When he walked into the quiet pub, Michael the barman gave him a nod of welcome, then went back to watching the news on the television. There was only one other customer left at the bar and Maura at the table where he’d left her. The single candle flickering on their table threw dancing shadows across her face and its faint light seemed to shimmer in the rich thickness of her hair.

The need he’d been carrying around inside him burst into flame. Instantly, his mind filled again with the image of her dancing. Her smile. Her regal yet somehow wild bearing. The rhythm in her body, the fast fury of her small feet, and he wanted with a desperation he’d never known before.

“That was quick,” she said when he stopped at the edge of their table.

“No point in wasting time, is there?”

“None at all,” she agreed, sliding out of the booth to stand beside him. “But I think we should go back to the farm so Michael can close the pub and go home. I’ve some wine in the fridge. We can toast the signed contract if you like.”

Jefferson was silent for a moment, simply because he couldn’t believe she’d suggested the very thing he’d been about to recommend. She seemed to be one step ahead of him and that was an unusual enough happening that he could enjoy the sensation. He wondered, though, if she wanted what he did. Was she simply being nice, or was she as anxious as him for them to be alone together?

He’d find out soon enough.

“Good idea.” He laid one hand at the small of her back and guided her across the room. When she called out good-night to Michael, the barman merely waved a towel at them.

Then they were outside, in the stillness. The village was quiet—houses dark, streets empty. There was a hush in the air that felt as if the world had taken a breath and held it. Or maybe, Jefferson told himself, his time in Ireland had been enough to make any man—even him—fanciful.

The trip to the Donohue farmhouse was a quick one, yet it felt like forever to Jefferson. With Maura beside him in the car, her scent seemed to wrap itself around him, taunting him, arousing him to the point where simply sitting still became an act of torture.

At the house he parked the car in the driveway, what Maura would call “the street,” and walked beside her in silence to the front door. Neither of them had much to say, mainly he thought, because there was too much to say. So where was a man supposed to start?

Sign the contract?

Take off your clothes?

He knew which he’d prefer, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

Inside the house, Maura flipped light switches on as they moved through the silent rooms to the kitchen. There, she tossed her keys onto the table and walked to the fridge. Looking at him over her shoulder, she said, “Will you take down a couple of glasses from the far cupboard?”

“Sure.” Jefferson laid the envelope containing the contract on the table and went for the glasses. A moment later, she was filling them with a cold, straw-colored wine that shone almost gold in the overhead light.

He’d been in this room before, though those visits had been in broad daylight. The old kitchen was clean and tidy, its ancient appliances gleaming with the care she took with them. The counter was bare of all but a set of canisters and a teapot and the wood floor was scarred from wear but polished to a high shine.

“I suppose I should sign the papers first,” she was saying and Jefferson turned his attention to her.

“Good idea. We take care of business first.”

“First. And then what?” Her blue eyes glittered as she turned them up to him and Jefferson’s body stirred like a hungry dog on a short leash.

“Then,” he said, “we’ll toast to the success of our joint venture.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Venture, is it? A fine word for it, anyway.”

She took the pen he offered her and sat down to read through the short contract. He liked that about her, too. He thought a lot of people might have just taken him at his word and signed where he indicated. Not Maura though. She was careful. Not going to take his word for it that her interests were being looked after.

Was there anything sexier than a smart woman?

Her teeth pulled at her bottom lip as she read and he heard the ticking of the wall clock behind him in the strained quiet. Her head was bent over the paperwork and he had to force himself not to touch her. Not to stroke his fingers through the shining black hair that was only inches from him. Soon, he promised himself, reaching for the self-control that had always been a part of him.

But even as that thought rattled through his mind, he had to smile. His self-control had been mostly absent since the first moment he’d seen Maura. She tripped something inside him. Something he hadn’t even been aware of in years. Something he hadn’t felt since—

The scratch of a pen on paper broke the silence and he came out of his thoughts in time to watch her put the pen down and pick up the now-signed contract.

“It’s done,” she said.

“It’ll be good doing business with you, Maura.”

“Ah, I’ll wager you say that to all of the people you rent locations from.”

“No,” he said, sliding the contract back into the envelope then tossing them on the table. “I don’t. You’re…different.”

“Is that so?” She picked up the wineglasses, handed one to him and took a sip of her own. “And how might that be?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I might at that,” she mused and set her glass down again to take off the cream-colored Irish sweater she wore. Pulling it up and over her head, she shook her hair back and smiled up at him.

Jefferson sucked in a gulp of air, then chased it with a swallow of cold, crisp wine. All she’d been wearing under that sweater of hers tonight was a white silk camisole that clung to her skin and displayed her pebbled nipples with fine clarity.

“You must have been freezing tonight,” he muttered.

“A bit,” she admitted, “though inside the pub was warm enough and I’ll admit, I thought perhaps we might end up back here tonight and I wanted to see the look on your face when I took off the sweater.”

“And was it worth it?” he managed to ask.

“Aye, it was.” She reached up, hooked one hand behind his head and threaded her fingers through his hair. “I’ve been wanting you, Jefferson.”

His body jumped into overdrive, his erection painfully pushing against his slacks. “Have you?”

“I have. I think you’ve been wanting me, as well,” she added, moving in closer to him.

“Aye,” he mimicked. “I have.”

Her fingers at the back of his neck felt seductive and sure and he suddenly wanted that touch all over him. He needed to feel her hands on him, to get his hands on her.

He set his glass down and reached for her. Holding her pressed tightly against him, he felt her nipples pushing into his chest and damn near groaned. Then he had to smile. “You know, I’d planned to seduce you tonight.”

She grinned up at him. “Well, isn’t it a fine thing indeed when two plans come together so nicely?”

“Indeed,” he murmured and bent his head to take a kiss. The first of many. His mouth covered hers and she sighed into him, parting her lips eagerly, hungrily. She matched his need and as their tongues twisted and danced together, the flames they built erupted into an inferno.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her pressed tightly to him and still it wasn’t close enough. Couldn’t feel enough of her. He needed her naked. Needed to feel skin to skin, rough to smooth. He needed to slide his body into hers and feel her heat surround him.

And he needed it now.

Quickly, he swept her up, turned around and plopped her down onto the kitchen counter. She whooped in surprise, but recovered quickly enough. Wrapping her legs around his middle, she clung to him, her tongue tangling with his, their breaths combining into a symphony of sighs that filled the quiet of the old house with the desperate sounds of passion.

Again and again, he kissed her, long, deep, short, fast. He loved the taste of her. Richer than any wine, headier than any intoxicant could be. She was all. She was everything. The world spun about her and he was pulled into her orbit with the deliberate tug of a gravity too fierce to fight.

He yanked up the hem of that silken camisole, tore it up over her head, then tossed it behind him without missing a beat. Her breasts were bared to him and he inhaled sharply as he fed the need to admire her. Full, ripe breasts with dark pink nipples, peaked now as if just awaiting his pleasure.

Jefferson cupped those milk-white globes in his hands and sighed himself with her whispered approval. His thumbs and forefingers tweaked and pulled gently at her nipples and when she writhed into him, he dipped his head, taking first one, then the other into his mouth. He licked, he sucked, he nibbled and the sounds she made urged him on, encouraged him to take all he wanted.

Her hands fisted in his hair and held his head to her breasts as if she were worried he’d stop. But stopping wasn’t in the game plan. In fact, he couldn’t have stopped now if his life depended on it. God help him if she were to suddenly change her mind and show him the door. He’d never live through it.

He pulled back, looked up into misty blue eyes and returned the grin she had aimed at him.

“Let’s have your shirt off, Jefferson,” she said. “I’ve a need to feel your skin beneath my hands.”

He obliged her quickly, tearing off his own sweater and the shirt he wore beneath it. Then he groaned as her palms swept over his shoulders and along his back. The warmth of her touch slid into him and sent bolts of fresh need shooting through his system. Her short nails scraped at his skin. Her breath came in hard, brief pants and when she slid her hands down his arms, they were both gasping for air.

“Help me with these,” she said, her voice low and tight as though she’d had to force the words from her throat.

“What?”

“My jeans, man.” She had them unsnapped and was whipping the zipper down as she spoke. She’d already kicked off her shoes. “Help me out of them before I lose my mind for the wanting.”

“Right, right.” His head was full and spinning. All he could think about was the next touch, the next kiss. So he helped her out of her pants, lifting her off the counter so she could scoot around and free herself of both jeans and white cotton bikini underwear.

Jefferson had one shining moment of clarity when he realized that her simple, plain panties were more erotic than any scraps of black lace he’d ever seen. Then the moment was gone and he was lost in the glory of looking at her. Her milk-white skin was soft and smooth and he ached to touch her all over. Explore every curve, every line of her body until he knew her more intimately than any other man ever had.

“Now yours,” she said, reaching for his belt buckle. She grinned, tossed her hair back over her shoulder and met his eyes with her own. She was strong and sure of herself, and the sexual ache he felt went a notch higher. “I’ve a powerful need for you, Jefferson, and I’m not a patient woman as you might have noticed.”

“Believe me, I’m grateful to hear it,” he muttered, stepping out of his clothes and standing naked in front of her. His body leaped to attention, hard and thick and aching to ease itself inside her. But Jefferson had one more quick moment of reason show itself, so he said, “We should go upstairs. To your bedroom.”

“Later,” she countered, reaching for him, wrapping her arms around his neck even as she parted her legs and scooted forward to the counter’s edge. “If I don’t have you inside me this moment, Jefferson King, I’ll not be responsible for what happens next.”

“My kind of woman,” he growled with a smile. “I knew it the moment I saw you.”

Her hands cupped his cheeks again. “Then fill me, Jefferson, ease the ache.”

He did.

She was hot and wet and so ready for him he almost exploded the moment he entered her. Only his immense self-control kept him from hurtling too soon over an edge he craved like a dying man wished for a few more moments of life. She threw her head back, baring her throat for him and he kissed her there, along the line of her lovely throat, lips and tongue sliding across her skin until she shivered in his arms.

He pushed himself deep as her legs locked around his hips, then pulled out and did the same again. Over and over, as he set a rhythm she raced to follow, their bodies came together, melding, meshing, sliding into a dance they had been building toward for what seemed like forever.

Her soft pants and muted sighs fueled him, fed the images in his mind, the sensations in his body. Never before had Jefferson so lost himself in a woman. He wasn’t sure where he ended and she began and he knew with a blinding flash of insight that it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was this moment. This one heart-stopping, mind-numbing moment in time.

Pulling his head back, he watched her as he moved one hand to the spot where their bodies joined and touched the pad of his thumb to the most sensitive flesh at her core. She gasped, trembled in his arms and shrieked out his name as her body whipped into a frenzied release.

And no more than a heartbeat later, Jefferson gave himself up, at last, to the crashing need and surrendered himself into her keeping.

Hours later, Maura stretched out on her bed and felt blissfully languid. Every cell in her body was replete. Satisfied. And even as she lay there, just an arm’s reach from her lover, she felt hunger begin to stir inside again.

She turned her head on the pillow to look at Jefferson and smiled to herself. He’d been well worth the agonizing wait, she told herself even as a small voice in the back of her head warned her against feeling too much. Wanting too much.

Outside, a storm was building. She heard the first taps of rain against her window as a cold wind rattled the panes. But here, in the cozy master bedroom of the farmhouse, a peat fire burned in the corner hearth and she lay on sweet-smelling sheets beside a man who touched her as she’d never been touched before.

Instantly, that nagging, annoying voice started up again. Careful now, Maura, it warned, he’s not the forever kind of man. He’s not staying—neither here in your bed nor even in Ireland. He’ll be off now that he has what he came for. So don’t be a fool and fall in love.

So she wouldn’t take the fall. But she couldn’t help feeling for the man.

He would go home remembering her and this night as something magical.

Seemed only fair, since so would she.

“I think I may be dead,” Jefferson murmured.

Her thoughts crashed to a halt as he looked at her, his eyes the pale blue color of cornflowers in summer. There was the shadow of a beard on his jaws and his black hair was nearly standing on end. Not surprising considering how they’d spent the last few hours.

Maura’s heart turned over in her chest. Soon, very soon, he’d be walking out her door. And as she considered it, she knew she had to have him again. One last time before he became nothing more than a sweet, tender spot in her soul.

Laying one hand on his abdomen, she slowly slid her palm lower and lower. His breath caught in his chest as she wrapped her long fingers around him and felt that hard, eager part of him leap into life again. “Not so very near death, I’m thinking,” she said with a teasing smile.

He hissed in another breath, blew it out and said, “You could rouse a dead man, Maura. You’ve just proved it.”

She grinned, feeling a delicious sense of female power rise up inside her. To know she had this effect on a strong man was a heady thing indeed. To know that he was watching her, waiting for her to make her next move, only enhanced the sensation.

Her fingers moved over him, the hard, silky feel of his skin pulsing beneath her own. Then she reached farther down and cupped him, gently rubbing, stroking until he lifted his hips off the mattress and into her touch.

“You do want me dead, is that it?” he managed to wheeze.

“Oh, no,” she answered, shifting position to straddle him, “I want you alive, Jefferson King. Alive and inside me.”

His hands came down on her upper thighs and she smiled at him, scooping her arms under her hair and lifting them high, displaying her breasts for his pleasure. Her hair fell down around her shoulders in a tangle, her nipples peeking through the black strands. And when his eyes narrowed, she knew she had him. Rising up onto her knees, she looked down at him as if he were her captive.

He reached for her, his hands moving over her body with a greedy touch and she nearly purred at the feel of him against her. But she wanted more. She wanted another time with him. She wanted to ride him and look down into his eyes and know that no matter where else he went in his life, he would take this mental image of the two of them together with him. Always.

She took his hard length in her hand, held him poised just at the entrance to her heat and rubbed the head of him against her until they were both at the ragged edge of control. Then finally, she lowered her body onto his, taking him, inch by glorious inch, inside her.

Maura groaned as he filled her so deeply, she felt him touch her heart and when they were firmly joined, connected as deeply as two people could possibly be, she moved on him. Riding him, her body sliding up and down atop him, setting a pace that started out slow and then became frantic. She swiveled her hips against him and leaned over so that he could cup her breasts and pull at her aching nipples.

Her gaze locked with his, she kept moving, tirelessly, ceaselessly, laying claim to his body as she couldn’t his heart. And when the expectant rise of glory slammed home and shattered her, she called his name out loud. When she felt him release an instant later and heard him shout for her, she knew the echo of it would ripple through her life forever.

Dull gray light slid through the wisp of white curtains hanging at her windows and Jefferson knew the night was over. Maura was curled into him, one leg across his, one arm tossed over his chest. Her every breath dusted his skin and the scent of her hair was in every lungful of air he claimed.

He hadn’t slept, yet he was more awake than he could ever remember being. For hours, he’d made love to his wild Irish woman. And when she’d finally fallen into exhausted slumber, he’d remained awake, just watching her sleep.

His time there was over and he told himself that was a very good thing. He’d become…comfortable in Ireland. In this house. With this woman. He’d begun to structure his days around seeing her. Arguing with her. Watching her laugh.

And that simply wasn’t in his plan.

Jefferson didn’t want to care about her. Didn’t want to ever go down that road again. He would retain control at all costs to avoid the pain he’d once suffered.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, amused more than anything else when Maura simply snuggled deeper beneath the handmade quilt they’d drawn up over themselves during the night. She muttered something unintelligible, then pulled that quilt over her head.

When they’d finally come upstairs the night before they’d carried their discarded clothes with them, so Jefferson snatched his slacks and shirt off a delicate-looking chair and drew them on. Once he was dressed, he was more in control. He felt his life slide back into place and knew that it was the best for all concerned.

One spectacular night with an intriguing woman wasn’t going to change him. He was what he was and his life wasn’t in Ireland, no matter how tempting the thought might be. Besides, no one had said anything about permanent. He’d deliberately avoided even thinking that word. What he had with Maura was fun. Uncomplicated. Best to leave it at that.

“You’re leaving, then?” Her voice was muffled, since her head was still beneath the quilt.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve been gone longer than I planned already. And, now that the contract is signed, there’s really no reason to stay any longer.”

“Ah yes, the contract.”

She pulled the quilt down and her sleepy, dark blue eyes pinned him. For one awful moment, he was afraid she might ask him to stay. He hoped to hell she didn’t, because it wouldn’t take much convincing to have him going along with that idea, and all that would do was prolong the inevitable. Make this harder—on both of them.

But she surprised him again.

Pushing her hair back out of her face, she nodded and sat up, letting the quilt pool at her waist. His mouth went dry and his body stirred, requiring all of his focus just to get it under control again. Completely at ease with her own nudity, she scooted off the bed, walked right up to him and went up on her toes. Linking her arms around his neck, she gave him a long, luscious kiss, then looked up at him. “Then I’ll say goodbye, Jefferson King. Have a safe trip.”

His hands rested on her bare hips and his fingers burned with the heat of her. Nothing quite like a warm, naked woman pressed up against you to make a man think of a long, lazy day spent rolling around on her bed. But he had a King jet waiting for him and a business and a life to get back to.

She smiled and he asked, “That’s it? No, ‘Please stay, Jefferson’?”

Shaking her head, she rubbed her fingertip across his mouth, then stepped back from him. “What would be the point in that? We’re neither of us children. We wanted each other and we had each other. It was a lovely night. Let’s keep its ending just as lovely.”

Apparently, he’d been worried for no reason. She wasn’t going to beg him to stay. She wasn’t going to cry or say how she’d miss him or ask when he was returning. None of the things he’d hoped to avoid were happening.

So why was he irritated?

“I’ll see you off, shall I?” She stepped over to her closet, grabbed a dark green terry-cloth robe and slipped into it. Her body was covered now, but the imprint of her was still etched firmly in his mind. Hiding what he’d already spent hours exploring wasn’t going to change anything.

“You don’t have to go downstairs with me.”

“Oh,” she said, leading the way out to the landing and then down the stairs. “’Tisn’t just for you. I’m off to brew some tea and then get to work myself.”

His eyebrows rose. So much for the fond farewell. His leaving was no more than a by-product here. She was picking up the threads of her everyday life and so was he, he reminded himself. So again, why the flicker of irritation?

She opened the front door and held it wide for him. She smiled, reached up and cupped his cheek briefly. “Fly safe, Jefferson.”

“Right.” He stepped onto the porch and the Irish wind howled around him. “Take care of yourself, Maura.”

“Oh, I always do,” she told him. “And you, as well. Not to worry about your film crew, either. All will be here when they arrive.”

“Fine.”

“All right then.” She gave him one last smile, then shut the door, leaving him no choice now but to walk to his car and leave.

With her back to the closed door, Maura wrapped her arms around her middle and held on. After a few steadying breaths, she heard his car engine fire up and she leaned toward the nearest window to catch one last glimpse of him.