Even so, he moved with the maddened speed of a schoolboy, afraid to lose the moment. Then she was against him, naked flesh to naked flesh, hunger and electricity driving away thought, words, past, future—even the present. She was not in the least shy, trembling against him as her lips moved over his skin, as their tongues met and tangled and dueled in wet, feverish kisses. She slid against the length of his body, the satin of her hair teasing his flesh, her hands, lips, teeth and tongue following suit.
She was sweeter than any woman he had ever known. He was ravenous, but he forced himself to lavish care upon her shoulders, breasts, belly, limbs and beyond. She tasted of life and vitality, sweetness and light, and his every touch seemed to arouse her almost unbearably. They fell together on his bed in a wild jumble of arms, legs and bodies, striving to touch each other, gasping at an erotic touch received. Their caresses were beyond intimate. He roused her to a series of mini orgasms that left her moaning and him desperate to control his own frantic urge to climax.
But it was a lost cause. Her fingertips, just brushing his shoulders, his thighs, were like a physical aphrodisiac. The feel of her lips against him so sexually was enough to make him tremble and surge in a frantic desire for release.
The torture was exquisite. To receive, to give. He finally shifted his weight atop her, teasing every inch of her flesh, as he had been teased. He laced his fingers together with hers after he had trailed fervent kisses down the length of her perfect form, feeling drunk on the feel and taste of her. He met the brilliant blue beauty of her eyes and saw there a trust and need and vulnerability that tore at his very soul. And then he was inside her, and instinct took over. They moved together, and somewhere in his mind he heard the wind at sea, the waves in a storm, a force of nature that was beautiful and almost violent, and, above all, as passionate as heaven and hell and all that reigned in between.
The world and the night seemed to explode as he did, and he was gratified to feel the quaking of her body as he held her, basking in the spill of heat and fire that erupted between them. He held her, examining the lines of her face and form, the tangle of her hair against his flesh and pillow. She looked up at him as if marveling at the experience of being with him, and that look was something he was certain would gratify any living, breathing man in the entire universe. He touched her hair, and she caught his hand and kissed it, and the look in her eyes was suddenly pained and wistful.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“What? You’ve just arrived.”
“I have to go.”
She kissed his lips again, passionately, so passionately that he was tempted to drag her back down, but just as she had arrived with no hesitation or pretense, she was equally determined that she had taken all the time she could and now had to leave.
“I have to go.”
“Like Cinderella, and the clock is about to strike midnight.”
“Cinderella?” she asked.
He frowned. “Even in Ireland, I’m sure you know all about Cinderella.”
“The fairy tale?” she said. “Of course.”
He smiled. She was stumbling back into her clothing, watching him. She tossed her hair back as she buttoned her robe and then kissed his forehead. “It’s just that we have so many fairy tales of our own….”
“Every country has its fairy tales,” he agreed.
“Tales of magic, fantasy and what lies beyond,” she said, her voice trembling and hinting at mysteries undreamed of.
“What lies beyond?”
“It’s real, you know,” she said softly.
“What’s real?”
“The world beyond. Heaven, hell…more.”
She seemed strangely worried and distracted, he thought. She’d been his so completely in bed. So real, a creature of flesh and blood and bone, breathing, hot and damp, twisting and writhing and holding tight. And now…it was as if she were a million miles away.
“Caer…”
“I’ve got to go.”
He started to rise, but she stretched out a hand to stop him. “Midnight. The witching hour. Sean will be back soon, and I have to be in my room. I have to watch over him,” she said.
Short of chasing her buck naked through the house, he had no choice but to let her go.
“Weren’t they great?” Kat asked, leaning her head on her father’s shoulder.
He squeezed her hand. “Thanks for inviting me. I had a good time.”
“Thank you for coming,” she told him sincerely.
Her father was looking out the window at the Christmas lights, still holding her hand. “Do you remember when you were younger, just starting out as a musician? You’d play that trance stuff that just about made me crazy. And that hip-hop.”
She laughed. “Dad, I still play those now and then.”
“But your music has matured. You’ve expanded your horizons. You love every form of music, and even if I don’t like all of it, I can accept that you do. It’s like that with people, too. Amanda—”
“Please, Dad. Stop. I accept that you’re married to her, but I just can’t imagine…Dad, she isn’t your type. I’m not jealous because she’s young—and I don’t care about money, you know that.”
He laughed. “I do know that. You told me when you were just a kid that you were going to make your own money, and the hell with me. You’re doing a damned fine job, too.”