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,”