Cara O'Shea's Return, page 10
part #1 of Small Town New England Series
He wanted to swallow her whole.
****
His eyes, when they met hers, were a piercing, laser blue. She went into his arms amazed and pleased she had put that fire in them. His kiss was urgent, and spoke of a hunger she understood. Just as hungry for the taste and feel of him, her fingers jerked at the material of his shirt as he lowered her gently to the bed.
He levered his body away from hers, and with one muscular arm, yanked the shirt up and over his head. Rippling muscle and sinew, perfectly formed and forged by years of intense athletic training, made her sigh in helpless appreciation. Fascinated, she caressed the light spray of dark curls, brushing testing strokes over the solid muscle.
His crooked, dimpled smile encouraged her to continue her exploration, and her fingers followed the narrow band of hair down from his chest to where the trail disappeared behind the snap of his jeans. Taut stomach muscles quivered at her light touch, and when her fingers hesitated at his navel, he met her gaze.
His voice was graveled and his eyes dark. “It’s up to you, baby. We’re going wherever you want to go.”
“I wouldn’t complain if you kissed me again.”
He grinned, and complied. As he made love to her mouth, her hands roamed, brushing, squeezing, flexing against the strength so evident in his back and chest. Before long, the pleasant exploration wasn’t enough, and she broke her mouth away to stare up at him, her breathing erratic.
She attacked the snap of his jeans shamelessly, and smiled at his encouraging, dark laugh. His hands joined hers in her haste, shoving his jeans down over his hips. With a quick twist and a well-placed kick, the denim went flying off the foot of the bed and a nearly naked Finn leaned over her. He slipped a thickly muscled thigh between her legs.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, to feel small and vulnerable, and she found to her amazement, the awareness only increased her excitement. The width of his shoulders all but eclipsed the dimming afternoon light from the window behind him, and she shuddered when the tips of his fingers traced the skin just above the lace of her bra.
With his eyes burning into hers, he hooked a finger in the lacy material, tugging until a rosy nipple popped free. He dipped his dark head, and her breath caught at the stab of his tongue on the tightened bud. Her sigh came out in a ragged whoosh when he blew a gentle breath across the rosy crest. He flashed her a dizzying smile before lowering his head once more and taking her full into his mouth.
Heat exploded through her like a flash fire. She arched her back, and thrilled at his deep rumble of encouragement. He flicked open the front clasp of her bra to brush away the frilly barrier and treated her other breast to the same adoration.
Fingers buried in his thick hair, she held his head to her as he feasted on her heated flesh. She moaned in disappointment when his mouth retreated, and he laughed wickedly. Trailing a nibble of kisses down the fluttering muscles of her stomach, he paused at her navel, devoting time to that mysterious dimple. His mouth left a heated trail downward, pausing at the band of her panties. He fingered the tiny scrap of lace and met her gaze from beneath sensually lowered lashes.
“Do we need these?”
Unable to speak, she shook her head, and he peeled the thong down her legs. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the auburn curls hiding her most secret place.
When she closed her eyes and shuddered, the bed moved as he levered up and left her. Her eyes flew open to find him standing at the foot of the bed. He met her gaze, bending to pick up his jeans and pull several packets from the pocket. Walking to the side of the bed, he dropped them on the nightstand, before tossing the jeans to the floor once more. She swallowed as he pushed his navy briefs down over his hips and kicked out of them, then stood there letting her look her fill.
She stared, eyes wide.
He’d always been beautiful to her, but naked, he was beyond words. His body was surely the way God had intended the male form to be. Like a warrior of old, he carried the scars of battle, including the angry slash bisecting his left knee. The imperfections only added to the impression of pure male strength.
Below impossibly wide shoulders, his strong arms resembled sculpted teakwood. Dark hair sprinkled the muscled plates of his chest, spreading to each tight nipple and running down in a thin line to flare once at his navel and again at his groin. His chest tapered to ridged stomach muscles and lean hips. Between long, thick thighs, the proof of his desire stood strong and intimidating.
Though she didn’t ask, she wished he would turn around. She’d had a thing for his butt since the first time she saw him in those shiny white football pants. But a butt view would be overkill at this point, when she was already struggling to breathe.
Without a word, he placed a knee on the side of the bed. Leaning down, he feasted his way up her body. His mouth tasted the skin at her shins and knees, thighs and hips. He lingered over her stomach and breasts, her shoulders and neck. Everywhere he ventured, he called forth another shockingly exciting response. His mouth tasted, his hands molded and tested, he even used his body to stoke the flames threatening to burn her alive. Like a master musician he played her, with the nuzzle of a scratchy jaw here, and the rub of muscled thigh there, and by the time his mouth claimed hers once again, she writhed beneath him.
Her hands raced over his broad shoulders and grasped at his thick biceps, trying to drag him closer. Frantically, her body arched into his until he settled himself between her thighs and closed his mouth over hers in a kiss that brought her molten bones to flash point.
She whimpered, and her fingernails left tiny crescents where they dug into the muscled strength of his arms. Lifting his head, he rose above her. His eyes never leaving hers, he grabbed a packet from the nightstand. Strong white teeth ripped at the foil, and levering on one muscled arm, he covered himself.
Though dazed with passion, she knew some of her sudden nervousness must have shown in her eyes, when he paused to softly kiss her mouth in reassurance.
“I won’t hurt you, Cara. I promise.”
The ripple of desire coursing through his big body when he resettled himself against her feminine cradle did more to calm her nerves than his words. She’d done that to him. A sense of feminine power filled her, and she reveled in the knowledge she wasn’t the only one drowning in this river of need.
Bracing on his forearms, he linked his fingers with hers. She smiled at him. He lowered his head to cover her mouth, merging her throaty moan with his as he slipped inside her.
The blind pleasure of being one with the man she’d loved most of her life nearly left her breathless, and when he began to move, she did indeed know what to do. She met and matched him in the sensual dance, and when she reached paradise, hurtling over the edge, she took him with her.
****
Finn brushed a hand along the bed beside him and found the space empty. Rolling to his back, he opened his eyes to the faint lightening of dawn. He wasn’t surprised to discover Cara gone. Despite several mind blowing bouts of lovemaking throughout the night, she hadn’t been able to rest when he finally left her alone. She disappeared sometime after he collapsed into sleep.
Her conversation with Tom continued to weigh on her mind. She looked like hell warmed over when she walked through the door late yesterday afternoon, and though he hadn’t meant to take advantage of her vulnerability, he didn’t regret he had. He was male enough, arrogant enough, to use whatever means were at his disposal to get what he wanted. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone as badly as Cara O’Shea.
Flipping back the sheet, he pulled on his rumpled jeans and went in search of coffee and Cara. Ten minutes later, two mugs of coffee in hand, he found her in the unfinished studio.
Pausing at the bottom of the steps, his gaze was drawn across the darkened expanse of the room to the small island of light cast by a single, ancient floor lamp. She stood with her back to him, her curvy, yet slender form bathed in the soft glow as she studied the canvas in front of her.
His admiring gaze ran down the fall of dark red curls flowing unfettered down her back. The hem of a man’s chambray shirt stopped at mid-thigh, leaving her long, well-toned legs bare beneath the light blue material. Who had donated the shirt? Had it belonged to the one man she’d been with in the past?
Her artless confession of having been with a man only once before answered the question of her seeming innocence, but didn’t explain it. Cara wasn’t the type of woman men would ignore. From her unreceptive behavior toward him, up until last night, it was safe to assume she’d been the one doing the ignoring. How, and more importantly, why would a woman as passionate as Cara proved to be, avoid the normal male-female relationships one would expect of a woman of her age and looks?
She leaned forward in the weak light to narrow her eyes at the canvas, exposing several more inches of gut wrenching leg. He squashed the kernel of jealousy forming in his gut for the shirt’s owner. After all, Finn was the one enjoying the view now.
“I’d suggest opening a shutter to let in some light, but I wouldn’t want to have to fight off every male in town when they get a look at you in that outfit.”
She spun around, startled, and her smile was shy as he walked to her.
Padding to her on silent, bare feet, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then handed her a mug. “I thought I’d find you here.”
He turned to study the canvas. Though the painting wasn’t completed, she accomplished a lot in the time since she left him sleeping in her bed. There was a compelling sadness in the scene she’d created, that was reflected in her solemn face.
“I didn’t want to disturb you. I was...” She shrugged, a nervous gesture. “Restless.”
Finn nodded toward the easel. “So, this is an example of a genuine O’Shea, is it?”
She dropped her paintbrush in a jar of cleaning solution. “I paint what I feel.”
She had depicted Tom, leaning forward on a park bench beneath a big maple, his elbows resting on his knees, while his head hung in dejection.
“And what were you feeling here?” He motioned to the canvas with the mug in his hand. “Hopeless?”
She shot him a sideways glance. Her eyes were haunted. They skittered back to the canvas. She didn’t reply.
“It’s rough on a man’s ego when a woman slips from his arms and suffers from hopelessness.”
Her gaze jerked back to him. “Oh, Finn. No.” She shook her head, resting a hand on his bare chest. “No, last night was wonderful.”
“I was kidding, Cara.” He smiled. “You’re so intense. I was trying to lighten the mood.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “As for last night, we were pretty damned incredible together, and I don’t need you to admit it to know you thought so too.” He glanced around the empty room, and then slid a hip onto the counter to sit. “Who’s your decorator? You need some chairs around here.”
She set her mug on the counter beside him, and picked up a rag to wipe her paint stained fingers. “I plan to get some as soon as my contractor gets his butt moving and finishes my studio.”
He squinted over his coffee mug in mock insult, and she smiled. “Will you show it to Tom when it’s done?”
She tossed the rag on the counter, and wrapped her fingers around her mug. “I have no idea what I’m going to do. With the painting or anything else. You’re pretty perceptive for a jock. Hopeless was exactly what I was feeling when I picked up the brush this morning. The conversation with my father kept running through my head like a haunting.” She sighed. “I’m more confused now than I was before talking to him.”
“I can imagine. I would think infidelity would leave a person with a wide range of strong emotions. Look how pissed off I was when you accused me of doing the same thing.”
Her chin rose. “I apologized for that.”
“Yes, you did.” He winked. “And very sweetly, I might add.”
She snorted. “I was not sweet. I was really mad at you, and you weren’t very nice when I was trying to apologize.”
He smiled at her grumbling tone. “No, I wasn’t. That’s my point. I was furious over just the idea. You’ve had to deal with the reality of it for years.”
She stared at the painting. “I haven’t been dealing with it,” she murmured. “I haven’t for years. I should have faced my father a long time ago, instead of running off to New York and burying myself in school and my art, but I couldn’t.”
“You’re dealing with it now.”
Her laugh was harsh. “Like I said, I’m more confused than ever.”
He sat his mug aside and hopped off the counter, enfolding her in his arms. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, O’Shea. You’ll figure it out.”
She tilted her head back to gaze into his face. “Have you always been such an optimist?”
He smiled devilishly as he bumped his hips against hers. “After last night, do you even have to ask?”
Laughing, she reached around him, her mug clattering on the surface of the counter. She filtered her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down, pressing her mouth to his. Unlike the night before, they didn’t make it to her bed.
Chapter Sixteen
“Okay, spill it.”
Flipping down the lid, Meggy settled herself on Cara’s closed toilet and crossed her arms. Cara shot Shan a pleading stare where she leaned against the open bathroom door. Her sister rolled her shoulders in a helpless shrug.
Cara rolled her eyes, supremely glad Finn needed to catch an early morning flight to shoot a commercial in Los Angeles.
“For crying out loud.” Wrapped in a towel, wet hair dripping in her eyes, she dragged a second towel from the rack on the wall and climbed from the shower. She shouldered her way passed Shan into her bedroom. “Do you two mind if I get dressed before you grill me?”
“You know we aren’t going anywhere until you tell us.” Meggy swept into the room with Shan on her heels. “You might as well start talking.”
Cara bent at the waist to wrap up her hair in the towel. She straightened in time to see Shan’s eyes widen when they landed on the disheveled bed. She gawked wordlessly at the two pillows, both showing signs of having had a head resting there recently.
Meggy didn’t suffer from a loss of words. She shrieked. “Oh! My! God! You had sex with Finn the Fine?”
Cara groaned, snatching her frilly yellow robe from a hook on the door. Dropping her towel, she shoved her arms in the sleeves and yanked the belt closed. The slow heat staining her cheeks ruined the mulish glare she turned on her friend, and did nothing to shut her up.
“Well, it’s about damn time.”
“What do you mean, it’s about time?” Shan’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “She just met him last week at the rehearsal dinner.” She turned puzzled green eyes on Cara. “You just met him at the rehearsal dinner, right?”
Meggy didn’t give Cara a chance to respond. “Oh, please. Are you blind? Your sister has had the hots for Palmerton’s resident stud for a little longer than two weeks.” She slapped her hands to her hips and rolled her eyes at Cara’s fulminating glare. “That cat’s totally out of the bag already, since you had sex with him. Holy shit, I still can’t believe you had sex with him!”
“Will you stop saying that!” Cara stormed passed them, hurrying out the door for the kitchen.
“What cat?” Shan followed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Cara tucked an errant strand of hair into the towel.
“Your sister has been in love with Michael Finnegan since the sixth grade,” Meggy announced gleefully, entering the kitchen to pull the orange juice from the fridge. She opened the top and swigged straight from the carton.
“What are you, a guy? Give me that!” Cara yanked the carton from Meggy’s hand. “That’s disgusting.”
Meggy smirked and shrugged.
“Sixth grade?” Shan demanded.
“Your sister got an eyeful of Finn and Alice Butler in a heavy duty clutch behind the gymnasium after a game one night.” Meggy grinned at Shan. “She took one look at him in his football uniform and fell in looove.” She ignored Cara’s glare. “Sooo, how was he?”
Cara shut her eyes.
“Sixth grade?” Shan repeated, her voice rising.
“God, he’s gorgeous.” Meggy wiggled her brows. “I’ll bet he’s even better naked. He is, isn’t he?”
Cara slapped the carton of juice down and leaned both palms against the edge of the counter. She dropped her head back on her shoulders “Okay! Okay! I’ve had a thing for him since the sixth grade, and he was amazing and…” She blew out a breath and glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good he looks naked.”
“I knew it!” Meggy punched a fist in the air.
Cara coughed a short laugh, turned, and then slumped against the counter. “I am so screwed.”
“What?” Shan shook her head. “Why are you screwed?”
“What do you mean?” Meggy twisted her lips comically.
Cara met Meggy’s gaze, and years of memories were there between them. This morning Cara awakened beside Finn’s big, beautiful body and knew the feelings she carried in her heart for the man all these years had only been a trial run for the real thing.
“I’m in love with him,” she said starkly.
“Of course you are.” Meggy snorted. “You’ve been in love with him for years.”
“No.” Cara shook her head. “I haven’t. I thought I was, even up until last night, but I was wrong. That was just a crush.”
“That was one big frigging crush.”
Cara laughed, then groaned and rubbed her forehead.
“Yesterday, today.” Shan dropped onto a kitchen chair. “What difference does it make? You’re in love with him now. I don’t see the problem.”
Cara stared at her sister. “Michael Finnegan? Super Bowl winning, pro-football star? Hunk extraordinaire?” The verbal list depressed the hell out of her. “I am so out of his league. The man’s going to break my heart.”
“You don’t know that.”
