could sell a whole bunch of shares? You’re very funny.”
“I’ve grown to love this place almost as much as you do. And I have plenty of money. And I am your boyfriend, after all.”
“Thank you,” she said, emotion filling her throat. “But I really think I need to do this on my own. If I can’t make it work, then my brothers are right. I’m wasting my time.”
Dermot pulled her into his embrace. “I just want you to be happy,” he said. He kissed her, lingering over her mouth for a long time before stopping.
“I am happy,” she said. “Right now, at this very moment, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”
“Then let’s finish our dinner and watch the sun set and then go to bed.”
“Separate beds,” she whispered.
“I have a plan,” Dermot said. “Do you want me to tell you about it?”
“I think we can save that for dessert,” Rachel said softly.
“I thought we were having pie for dessert,” Dermot said.
Rachel groaned. “Is that all you boys think about? Food?”
“Yes!” Trevor and Taylor shouted from the kitchen.
“No,” Dermot murmured. “But it does take my mind off the other hungers.”
A shiver skittered down her spine. “Behave,” she warned.
DERMOT LAY ON HIS BED in the stone house. The weather had cooled and a breeze blew at the curtains, rustling the maple trees outside the window. He hadn’t spent a night in this bed since his first one on the farm. But now, it was the only place he and Rachel could find any privacy when the boys were around.
He understood her reluctance to set a bad example. They were affectionate with each other in front of the boys but when it came to sleeping in the same bedroom, Rachel drew the line. Dermot found that quite amusing, prude by day, wanton by night.
He heard the screen door downstairs squeak. And then soft footfalls on the stairs. Dermot sat up, waiting, listening, watching the door in the moonlight filtering through the bedroom window. And then, she was there, silhouetted in light and shadow, her long limbs visible beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown.
Dermot crawled off the bed and crossed the room, then pulled her into his arms. “I thought you’d never get here,” he whispered. He ran his fingers through her hair and drew her into a long, deep kiss. “I’ve missed you.”
“You just saw me a few hours ago,” Rachel said.
“That’s too long.” Dermot scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, then braced his hands on either side of her, pushing her back until he was stretched out above her.
They were so familiar with each other that she knew exactly how to pleasure him. She reached down and caressed him through the soft fabric of his boxers. He was already growing hard and he felt an ache deep inside him, an overwhelming need to bury himself in her warmth. It was a sensation that he’d come to crave, that moment when he was settled deep inside her and before he began to move.
At that moment, he felt as if they were connected in a way that could never be broken, that their bodies and souls had become one. Even though she’d soon be miles and miles away, he’d still be able recall how she felt, how she made him feel.
Desperate for that intimacy, he grabbed the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head, then tossed it on the floor. She was naked beneath, and when he reached out to caress her breast, Rachel arched against his touch, her breath escaping on a soft sigh.
He wanted to tease her slowly, bringing her to her release with his fingers and his tongue. But he felt a desperate need to possess her, to reassure himself nothing would ever change between them, and Dermot couldn’t deny himself. His mouth found hers again as he shoved the boxers down over his hips. Slowly, he slipped inside her, and when he could penetrate no deeper, he froze. The sensations racing through his body were almost more than he could handle.
Tonight, they’d find their release together and it would be perfect. And when it was over, he’d tell himself once again that even though he didn’t want to live without her, the feelings coursing through his body weren’t love at all, just a by-product of passion.
Rachel shifted, pressing her lips to his shoulder. She gently bit his arm, grazing her teeth over his skin. He’d taught her what he liked, that mixture of pleasure with a little pain, and she’d taken the lesson seriously.
She’d taught him that she believed foreplay was for people with more patience than she possessed.
“Are you going to move?” she whispered.
“Do you want me to move?”
“Mmm.” She wrapped her legs around his waist then rolled on top of him. “Or I could move. Let’s try that.”
She pushed up on her knees, then drove down on top of him. Dermot gasped. “Maybe we shouldn’t do that. This will be over before you realize it.”
“You’re not trying hard enough,” Rachel teased. “Just think of something else.”
“Sweetheart, when you’re naked in my arms, it’s impossible to think of anything else.”
Rachel smiled down at him, her pale hair falling in waves around her face. She bent close and kissed him, her tongue teasing at his. Though they’d probably made love fifty times, it was never the same. Each encounter revealed some new passion or hidden desire.
As she began to move again, Dermot grasped her hips, trying to slow her pace. But Rachel seemed determined to challenge his control with every stroke and every sigh, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
She closed her eyes and pressed her palms to his chest, her expression a mix of intensity and exhilaration. He wanted to touch her, to help her find her release, but when he tried, she brushed his hand away.
When he felt her pace increase, there was nothing more he could do to stave off his orgasm. Suddenly, Rachel stopped, her body arching against his, her fingers digging into his shoulders. And then she dissolved into shudders and spasms, her breath coming in gasps as she cried out.
The moment he felt her body convulse around him, Dermot knew he was lost. He grabbed her waist and rolled her beneath him. Reality fell out of focus and he let the waves wash over him, every nerve in his body firing, every tension releasing.
It was over so quickly. Dermot curled up beside her, his leg thrown across her hips. “How the hell am I supposed to get along without that?”
“There’s always self-gratification,” Rachel said. She looked over at him. “We could do it over the phone.”
“Or the computer.”
“I will miss you,” Rachel said, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.
“What will you miss the most?” Dermot asked.
She pushed up on her elbow, her hand smoothing over his chest.
