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

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.