Rugged Texas Cowboy Page 14

  Da, I’ve no doubt you’ve lost your mind, she’d say.

  His wee lass didn’t question anything. She stated. Remarked. She was known to observe. But asking questions she’d told him, merely gave others an excuse to lie.

  There was a reason why he’d never invited that young lad to Ireland. His wee girl had already had her heart tweaked a time or two and he’d feared Jack could do far worse than bruise her tender feelings.

  “Ah well, we shall see, won’t we, my love?” He grinned up at her.

  Then his gaze slid to where a much younger him stood behind his Meg. And there, around his neck, gleaming of gold and age, was the ancient Wolf’s Head Torque that had so drawn him when he’d first seen it in her da’s study, when he was but a young lad.

  The torque will draw the heart destined to hold the lass, descended from the first of ancient magic, Megan’s da had told him. A gift he gave to his daughters, and to the lads that would merge their hearts with them.

  A silly legend, he’d always told his beloved. But for as far back as her line went the marriages of their lasses were always strong, blessed, and always fiery.

  Just as his marriage to his Meg had been.

  As he had hoped his wee daughter would one day find.

  Perhaps the legend was true, perhaps it wasn’t. But the words he’d been told to watch for had been given him, and the invitation he’d given in response accepted.

  Now, well, now they’d just have to see.

  ONE

  It wasn’t the first castle he’d ever stayed in, it wasn’t even the finest he’d ever been invited to, but Jack Riley had to admit, it was the most interesting. And the scenery was simply stunning.

  Leaning against the natural stone wall at the entrance of what Joe Manning called the family room the night before, he stared at what couldn’t be less than a bewitching sight. And there weren’t many sights that he’d ever considered bewitching. At least, not until this morning.

  “Da, Mrs. Mulhaney called a bit ago,” the vision stated from where she sat at the elegant little wood writing desk, going over the papers lying in front of her. “She claims there’s an American wanderin’ around the village. Do ye have friends visitin’ again?”

  Jack looked around but didn’t see a sign of his host.

  He grinned as she trailed graceful fingers down the side of her neck, calling attention to the classy little “do” her hair was pulled into at the back of her neck. It was like a neat, intricate braid that created an oval roll from the back of her head to the bottom of her graceful neck. It pulled the glossy black strands from the peaches and cream flesh of her face to reveal the delicate planes and angles. Wide violet eyes surrounded by sooty lashes and an aristocratic little nose above pouty pink lips. If she was wearing make-up, then she was damned good at applying it because he couldn’t see it.

  Dressed in a dark skirt that ended right below her knees, white silk blouse and a loose creamy colored unbuttoned sweater, she sat at the table, graceful legs crossed from knees to ankles in a perfect display of innate elegance and feminine modesty.

  Cool, polished, dispassionate until one paid attention to the stroke of her fingers against her neck. The movement was absent, almost lazy. The concentration on her face was intriguing. She didn’t even realize she was showing the world, men in particular, just where she longed to be touched. And he was a man who wouldn’t mind a bit to show her just how good he could make it feel.

  “While you’re thinkin’ on the matter could ye also be thinkin’ on exactly how ye intend to convince Haverly to be takin’ care of the…” Her voice trailed off as she lifted her head and caught sight of him.

  Pretty violet eyes widened just a little in surprise as her hand stilled at the curve of her neck and shoulder. She didn’t blush, flush, or stammer. She simply stared back at him with mild interest.

  “Good afternoon,” she greeted, rising unhurriedly from the upholstered little chair she sat in. “I assume you’re the American Mrs. Mulhaney called about.”

  It wasn’t a question and that cute-as-hell brogue was exchanged for a classic boarding school tone. Cool, perfectly polite, without a hint of an accent.

  “Ah, there ye are, Jack,” Joe Manning’s familiar voice greeted as the other man stepped into the room and looked between Jack and his daughter. “I see ye’ve met Angel, then?”

  With his gray hair, steel-gray eyes, absentminded scruffiness and more relaxed dress he was a sharp contrast to his picture-perfect daughter.

  “Actually, Father, he has yet to introduce himself.” She stepped from behind the little desk and walked unhurriedly to her father. “And you should check the mirror before leaving your room.” Patient, gentle, her tone with her father softened from the prissy voice of moments ago. “Your collar is turned down again.”

  She straightened Joe’s collar as he stood quietly, staring down at her with fatherly love.

  “There.” The smile she gave her father was filled with warmth as Joe gave an amused little grunt.

  “Well then, I’ll take care of introductions,” Joe decided, turning to Jack as his daughter followed suit.

  Jack did have a few manners, he told himself as he straightened from the wall and stepped closer.

  “Jack, meet my lovely daughter, Angel.” Joe all but glowed with pride as he looked down at his offspring. “Angel lass, meet a good friend, Jack Riley. He was visitin’ Ireland so I invited him to stay with us for a spell.”

  “Angel.” He took her much smaller, fragile hand in his.

  “Mr. Riley.” Cool, impeccably mannered. “I’m always pleased to meet Father’s friends. I do hope you enjoy your stay. Father didn’t say how long you’d be staying.”

  Like hell she was pleased to meet him, and she wanted to know exactly how long she was going to have to put up with him.

  “I haven’t decided.” Staring into those pretty violet eyes, he grinned at the flash of fire he saw in them. “My plans are open-ended for the moment.”

  “I see.” The words were accompanied by a flare of disapproval in her gaze.

  A lazy smile curled his lips. Disapproved of him, did she?

  “Jack’s from Texas, dear. In America.” Joe beamed down at his daughter.

  “So I heard from the accent, Father,” she assured him, linking her hands gracefully in front of her. “And what does Mr. Riley do in Texas of America?”

  He really wanted to say beach bum. It was right there on the tip of his tongue.

  “Import/exports, of a sort, isn’t that right, my boy?” Joe asked as Jack slid him an amused look.

  The older man was fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater as he frowned down at it, obviously avoiding Jack’s gaze.

  Angel’s delicate brow lifted with mocking curiosity.

  “Of a sort,” she repeated. It wasn’t a question.

  “Of some sort.” He didn’t bother hiding his grin.

  Imports/exports was a very loose term for the single-cargo plane he used to pick up and drop off deliveries for international clients. Though that was only part of the business he co-owned with his partner and friend, Luc Jardin.

  “Very well then,” she murmured, turning back to her father. “I’ll leave the two of you to enjoy your morning, Father.” She turned back to Joe. “Please take care of the issue with Haverly. I understand the situation’s becoming quite dire.”

  “O’course, ma dear, o’course,” Joe agreed soberly. “I’ll take care of that directly.”

  “Of course you will.” Her smile was patient but knowing. “Be certain to actually do so this time.” She kissed his cheek fondly. “We’ll talk later.” She turned back to Jack. “Good day, Mr. Riley.”

  With a graceful incline of her head she walked past him, moving with a fluid, restrained sensuality that his cock was far more interested in than it should be. And just look at the pert, round globes of that delectable ass beneath the dark silk skirt.

  Turning to his host after she left the room, he arched a brow as he
grinned. “You didn’t mention you had such a pretty daughter, Joe.”

  “Yes, well.” Joe tugged uncomfortably at the lobe of his ear, a sheepish look on his face. “Angel can be a bit prickly, doncha know? She’s not fond of men with the … uh … appreciation you have of all things feminine.”

  Jack couldn’t help but grin at the description. “Is that what you call it?”

  Joe’s look was a bit chagrined. “Well now, Jack, ye’ve a bit of fondness for the ladies,” he pointed out. “A charmer they’re of a mind to call ye, I believe.”

  “Are you calling me a playboy, Joe?” he drawled, amused.

  “Perhaps, but fondly, lad. Always fondly.”

  TWO

  Angel was used to her father inviting friends to stay at the estate, but two days later, she found herself wondering exactly why he’d invited the American, Jack Riley. Not that the two didn’t get along. They did. And Jack was indeed a charming person when he had a mind to be. Unfortunately, he seemed more inclined to anger her than to charm her.

  Relaxing in one of the two wingback chairs that sat facing the warmth of the fire Haverly had started as evening fell, she stared into the flames, frowning at the attention she was giving each sound of movement outside the family room. As though she were awaiting his arrival. Which she absolutely wasn’t doing.

  No matter how much he fascinated her. He was a playboy, her father had already warned her of that. A hellion he’d even said. The type of man who would break her heart and never think of her again once he left, she had finished silently. But he’d be the type of man who knew a woman’s body and exactly how to touch it, how to maximize the pleasure.

  Returning her attention to the book she was reading, she let her fingers stroke along the side of her neck as she settled into the corner of the chair and tried to once again pay attention to the words on the page she’d begun more than an hour before. She’d had no problem whatsoever with the novel until Jack’s arrival. Now it was all she could do to concentrate on the highly suspenseful adventure she’d once enjoyed.

  Because all she could imagine was that American heartbreaker in her bed. And she knew she had better sense than that.

  “And here’s our lovely hostess.” The Texas drawl had her head jerking up, tearing her eyes from the page to stare up at the man who had obviously tiptoed into the room.

  “So I am,” she answered, her tone measured and quiet despite her disconcertment at his stealth. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Hospitality, manners, a cordial demeanor. Her mother had taught her how to be a lady.

  That slow lazy smile assured her his mind went straight to the gutter. Unfortunately, hers had already been there.

  The bastard.

  “Joe suggested I find you and ask for a tour of the gardens,” he informed her a bit quizzically. “Are the gardens that difficult to navigate?”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the question.

  “For Father perhaps.” Sliding the bookmark in place, she laid the book aside. Again. “Come along then. He’ll never forgive me if he has to worry about you wandering into the maze and becoming lost. One of his hunting buddies spent several hours searching for a way out. I still have yet to understand why he didn’t just push through the evergreens…”

  Jack followed her, his attention on that cute little butt as she very politely questioned the intelligence of Joe’s hunting buddy.

  She was wearing another of those prim little skirts that made his mouth water. The straight cut of the dove-gray garment with its little slit in the back was driving him crazy. Three-inch black heels and a long-sleeved black and white block silk shirt, sleeves rolled a few inches up her arms, completed the lady-of-the-manor look.

  “Will you need a jacket?” she asked as she paused at a small closet outside the ballroom and, after opening it, pulled free a cream-colored sweater.

  “I’ll be fine,” he promised, taking the outerwear from her hand and holding it politely as she slid her arms into it.

  Hell, helping a woman put clothes on rather than take them off was something new for him. His friend Luc would be rolling with laughter if he could see him.

  “I understand Texas can get quite cold in the winter,” she commented. She rarely asked questions.

  “Parts of it,” he agreed, following her through the ballroom to the double glass doors on the far side. “Snowfall last year was great though. We had about three feet in that last storm that hit.”

  “What a grand sight that would be,” the soft hint of a brogue slipped past as she stepped aside to allow him to open the doors.

  “It was beautiful,” he agreed, realizing it had been a damned pretty sight. He hadn’t thought it until he saw the little glow of excitement in her violet eyes.

  “Father lived in Russia once. He tells me often of the snowfalls there, the cold and the beauty he found in it,” she told him as they stepped outside. “I found it to be far more than just cold and the snow quite frigid.”

  The irony in her smile caught his attention.

  “Your father was in Texas one winter during one of the worst blizzards I’ve seen hit the area. He was out in shirt sleeves, slacks, and those expensive black boots of his, exploring the town. Every major highway shut down, the wind so cold it sliced through the heaviest winter coat, and here he was, walking around like a damned tourist in the Florida sunshine.” That memory still had the power to amaze him.

  “That’s Father,” she agreed, the sound of her laughter stroking over him.

  His lips quirked as he followed her into the gardens, listening to the history of the place, which went back centuries, according to her. When they entered the maze created by the closely grown evergreens and the soft carpet of grass beneath their feet, with the shadows of evening lengthening along the tall hedges, he could see why her father’s hunting buddy hadn’t wanted to push his way through the prickly green growth.

  Until she pointed out the breaks in it, just in case a solitary explorer were to get lost within it.

  She seemed to know where she was going though. As they walked and she answered the few questions he could come up with, he found himself moving to her side, his hand settling low on her back.

  “And here is the center of the maze,” she said softly as they entered the sheltered garden. A covered marble portico sat in the center, surrounded by trailing roses and a variety of other plants he had no clue how to identify.

  He had no problem identifying the wide, cushioned bench and fire pit within it though. Private, sheltered. Entering the vine-and flower-covered enclosure, he watched as Angel sat on the wide stone edge of the fire pit. A second after she tucked her fingers beneath the ledge, flames rose above the small lava rocks that filled the pit, warm, inviting in the evening dusk.

  Damn him, she was pretty sitting there, the glow of the flames reflected beside her, the looped braid at the back of her head so prim and proper, the elegance and tamed sensuality was driving him crazy.

  “Do you come out here often?” he asked her, sitting beside her, staring down at her as her head lifted slowly.

  “Sometimes. To read,” she answered, her gaze meeting his, her gaze softer, almost wistful.

  “Just to read?” This place was made for sex.

  For laying her back on that cushioned bench less than two feet away and watching that prim and proper melt away beneath some hot, dirty sex.

  “Just to read,” she answered, and if he wasn’t mistaken that was regret in her tone.

  He was just the man to show her some of the other activities that could take place in her secluded little reading nook. And he’d make sure she enjoyed every minute of it.

  *

  Angel knew he was going to kiss her.

  They’d spent two days as though neither of them was certain if they were going to bicker like children or behave like adults. He had a way of making her irate despite her best intentions.

  As his head lowered though, she decided at this moment, that a
cting like an adult could be more beneficial. It could be quite pleasurable perhaps. Exciting, if the speed of her heart beating was an indication. It was racing out of control, making her feel a bit lightheaded, perhaps a little drunk as his lips covered hers.

  Oh.

  He wasn’t the least hesitant. He wasn’t asking permission to kiss her, he was showing her in no uncertain terms what he had to offer her with a kiss.

  One hand cupped the side of her face, the other slid to her hip, and his lips demanded compliance, pliancy, submission. They covered hers, parted them and his tongue swept inside like a conqueror, instantly claiming her response. Pleasure exploded through her senses like fireworks and stole her breath as she found herself being pulled to her feet, his lips never releasing hers, and a second later she was being eased to the bench next to them.

  Her back met the cushion and Jack came over her, a warm, heavy weight, his touch certain and knowing as his fingers traced down her neck and sent sparks racing through her bloodstream. The caress was similar to the stroke of her fingers used to calm her nerves or settle her thoughts. There was nothing calming or settling in his touch though. His fingertips rasped against her neck, brought alive nerve endings she didn’t know she possessed, and awakened a hunger she had no idea lurked inside her.

  Just as she was certain she would feel those rough, heated kisses along her neck, he stiffened against her.

  “Jack?” Her father’s voice sounded from the other side of the path leading into the small grotto. “Jack? I found the name of that barmaid you were asking about.”

  Barmaid?

  Jack’s head lifted and her eyes sprang open.

  And all it took was a single look at his expression. The rueful amusement, the air of male wickedness and certainty that seducing one woman as her father searched for another for him was perfectly acceptable.

  “Move.” She formed the words with lips stiff from anger. It was definitely anger she told herself. It had nothing to do with that flash of hurt that tore through her.