Her Irish Rogue

“And do you ever come out here with women now?”

“I’m here with you,” Will said with devilish grin.

Claire chuckled. “And do you expect to get lucky with me?”

Will grabbed her by the waist and drew her over to one of the stones, trapping her against it with his arms. He pressed his hips against hers and stared down into her eyes. “Times have changed. Maybe you should get lucky with me.” He turned her around until he leaned back against the pillar, her hands now braced on either side of his hips.

“Will you let me get to first base?” Claire teased.

He frowned. “First base? As in, baseball?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You played baseball?”

Claire shook her head. “No. It’s just a way of saying how far you went with a boy. Actually, boys use it to discuss their prowess with girls. First base is kissing. Second base is hands under the shirt. Third base is hands in the pants and a home run is full-on sex.”

“No wonder Americans are so fond of baseball,” he said. “Much more interesting than cricket. So we’ve been to second base, then,” Will said.

“We have?”

“Last night,” he said. “There was some groping that went on.” He reached down and slipped his hand beneath her sweater, finding the warm skin beneath.

Claire shivered at his touch, then mimicked his caress, slipping her hand under his sweater and sliding her palm up his chest. “Yes, I suppose you could consider this second base.”

He cupped her lace-covered breast in his palm and ran his thumb over her nipple, drawing it to a peak. Claire sighed softly and closed her eyes and a moment later, his lips met hers in a deep, demanding kiss.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stop touching him. She shoved him against the pillar and pushed his sweater up, revealing the muscled flesh of his abdomen. Impatient, Will shrugged out of his jacket, then yanked his sweater and T-shirt over his head. The brisk wind caused goosebumps on his skin and Claire pressed her lips to his chest. She was still fully clothed and he’d made no move to undress her, his hand still hidden beneath her own sweater.

Slowly, she drew her tongue to his nipple, then circled it several times. It grew to a hard peak under her ministrations and Claire continued to tease at it. He groaned softly, and ran his fingers through her hair, tangling in the windblown strands.

Her hands drifted down his to belt and then lower, smoothing over the fabric of his jeans until she felt his growing erection beneath. Normally, she might have hesitated. But this mystical place made her feel bold and uninhibited, as if they’d stepped into another world where there were no rules, only impulses and desires.

Claire began to work at his belt while Will leaned back against the stone pillar. He watched her as she fumbled with the buckle, holding his breath as if her touch were enough to send him over the edge. Claire had nearly got it unfastened when she felt the first drop of rain hit her head.

A moment later, the skies opened up. She glanced up at Will to see him smiling…and shivering. “I guess the gods have spoken,” he said.

Claire giggled, then reached down and handed him his sweater. “Should we listen to them?”

“Just until we find someplace out of the rain.” Will grabbed his jacket and they ran toward the path, the downpour soaking them both. But Claire didn’t care. She’d never experienced anything quite so exciting as this. There was something between them, some force of nature, that couldn’t be denied.

Was it part of this magical place or part of this land? Where did these feelings come from? And why did she feel so compelled to act upon them? For a moment, she thought about stopping him, about lying down in the soft, wet grass and making love right here in the middle of the meadow.

But in the end, she decided that a warm bed and a crackling fire would be much more conducive to an afternoon of pleasure. And the only place to find that was back at the inn.

“I REALLY DON’T THINK it’s broken.”

Will reached out and gently pushed Claire’s jacket sleeve up to examine her wrist. On the way back to the Range Rover, Claire had slipped on a moss-covered rock and gone down hard. She now lay sprawled in a muddy patch of the footpath, her hair drenched, her clothes dirty.

“Wiggle your fingers,” he said. She winced as she did and Will sat back on his heels. “I think it may be broken.”

“It’s probably just a sprain,” Claire insisted. “Really. Just help me up. It’ll feel better once I put some ice on it.”

Will tugged his jumper over his head and fashioned a crude sling, then slipped into his jacket. He carefully helped her back to the car and once he’d settled her inside, got behind the wheel. As they drove the short distance back to the inn, Will glanced over at her. She was trying to make light of the accident, but it was clear from the tight set of her jaw she was in considerable pain.

Claire met his gaze and forced a smile. “It’s already feeling better,” she assured him.

Will turned his attention back to the road, navigating the bumps and soggy parts as carefully as he could. But every time the Range Rover took a hard bounce, Claire let out a tiny cry of pain.

When they reached the main road, he turned toward the village. “We’ve got a medical clinic here on the island.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he reached out and put his finger over her lips. “Humor me.”

Will reached into his jacket pocket for his mobile and rang up Annie Mulroony, the nurse who staffed the clinic on a daily basis, and Sorcha’s mother. “The doctor comes over from the mainland once a week,” he explained to Claire. “If we’re lucky, he’ll be in today.”

Five minutes later, they arrived at the small, white-washed cottage on the edge of the village. Annie was waiting at the door. She’d been the island’s nurse and midwife for the last twenty-five years and had patched up all manner of minor injuries and seen to the births of most everyone under the age of twenty. The patients she couldn’t handle were sent to the mainland, the serious by helicopter and the rest by the ferry.

“What seems to be the problem, then?” she asked as she helped Claire into the surgery.

“I think it’s just bruised,” Claire said.

Annie glanced over at Will as she settled Claire onto the examining table. “And where were you two mucking about? You look like you just crawled out of the sea.”

“I took her over to the stone circle,” Will replied. “She slipped on the path and fell.”

Annie gave him a disapproving frown. “You know what comes of that business. The gods don’t like it when you desecrate their holy place with hanky-panky.”

“We were just sightseeing,” Will said.

Annie glanced back to Claire. “Is that true, lass?” A flush of pink stained Claire’s cheeks and Annie shook her head. “I see. Well, let’s have an X ray of this, shall we? If it’s broken, we’ll splint it and wait for the doctor to put on a cast. He’ll be here tomorrow.” She glanced over her shoulder to Will. “Young man, you may wait outside.”

Will found a chair in the reception room and distractedly flipped through a copy of Hello! magazine. But the celebrity gossip didn’t occupy his interest and he got up and began to pace the width of the waiting area. He’d never believed in all the superstitions surrounding the stone circle. But Will had to wonder if perhaps he was being punished for taking advantage where he shouldn’t have.

She was a guest, after all. And though she certainly had enjoyed what had gone on as much as he had, there was something slightly naughty about it as well. Hell, she’d made the first move with all her talk about baseball, so he had no reason to feel guilty.

Fifteen minutes passed before Claire emerged from the examining room. Annie followed close behind. “She’s fine,” the nurse said, handing Will his jumper. “No broken bones that I can see, but I’ll have a consult with Dr. Reilly tomorrow and if he finds anything, he’ll ring you up. For the evening, keep ice on it and don’t be turnin’ any handsprings, dear.”

“Thank you,” Claire said. “And you’ll send me the bill at the inn?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Will said. “Don’t worry.”

By the time they got back to the inn, Will could see Claire was in a considerable amount of discomfort. He walked her up to her room and then went back downstairs to change and fetch whatever pain medication he had on hand. When he got back to her room, he found her standing in front of the fireplace, struggling with the zipper on her pants.

“I can’t get them off,” she muttered, staring down at the mud-stained corduroy.

“Here, then, let me help.” He tossed the bottles on the bed then crossed the room to stand in front of her. At first, Will wasn’t sure how he ought to go about undressing Claire. In the end, he decided to try to remain as impassive as possible. He reached for the zipper and pulled it down, then slipped his palms beneath the waistband and skimmed the pants over her hips.

Will had undressed a fair number of women and had always enjoyed it. But the simple act of helping Claire out of her muddy clothes was charged with a current that made touching her electric.

He’d forgotten to remove her shoes and socks first, so he bent down and worked at the laces, grateful that he had something to turn his attention to besides her long, shapely legs…and the skimpy pair of panties she wore.