Sudden Pleasures

Chapter 3

“You're late," Angelina Mulcahy said to her son as he came into the house.

"I've been in a little town called Egret Pointe meeting my bride-to-be," Ryan told his mother as he bent to kiss her smooth cheek.

"What?" Angelina Mulcahy looked astounded.

"Well, you did tell Ray to find me a wife, didn't you?" he teased her, sitting down in a living room chair and taking the aperitif from the small tray she held.

"Yes," she answered him slowly, "but I didn't think he could find a girl from the old country so quickly." She sat down opposite him.

"What old country? She's a nice American girl with the same problem I have. Her grandfather's will says she has to marry or lose everything. I saw some of the everything, Ma. Her house is called a hall. It's beautiful. It's going to be a wonderful place to entertain my clients," Ryan told his mother.

"I thought…" Angelina Mulcahy looked thoughtful. "I thought Ray would find you a nice young woman from Italy or Ireland. Where did he find this girl?"

"His cousin, another lawyer, is Ashley's attorney," Ryan answered.

"So this rich girl won't be rich if she doesn't get married?" She sipped her own drink slowly. "I don't know, Ryan. This isn't quite what I had in mind when I asked Ray to find you a wife. I thought a nice, unspoiled girl who would be a good wife and mother. But a spoiled rich girl who doesn't want to lose her inheritance… I don't know."

"She's rich, Ma, but she isn't spoiled. She's got a degree in business, like I do. Her late grandfather invested in her business, and she's his only heir. She has to marry before she's thirty-five or she loses it all, including her shop, and she's just now expanding her little empire."

"She's nice?"

"Very nice," Ryan told his mother.

"Pretty?"

"As a matter of fact she is," he said with a smile. "But nothing like I would have thought I'd pick. She's got dark hair, very fair skin, and the greenest eyes I ever saw. And she's not a twig. She's got to stand at least five feet eight or nine inches."

"A big girl," Angelina Mulcahy mused. Well, that wasn't bad at all. She sounded like she was healthy. Angelina didn't approve of those women who starved themselves into wraiths and waiflike figures, but had the best boobs that money could buy. "Not fat?"

"No, just tall, and proportioned right," Ryan said. "And she likes her food, Ma. We had lunch together, and she scarfed down her ravioli like a champ. And bread too."

"Dessert?" Now Angelina was interested.

"Every crumb, Ma," he told her.

Angelina nodded. "So when do I get to meet her?" she wanted to know.

But before he could answer her the doorbell rang.

"This conversation is over if that's someone else for dinner," Ryan said.

"It's Frankie," Angelina said, getting up to go to the door and let her youngest daughter in, kissing her as she did so.

Francesca Mulcahy O'Connor was thirty-seven years old, and the mother of a single child. She had lost her husband, an investment banker, during 9/11. "Ma," she said, returning her mother's greeting. "Hey, big brother." She took the aperitif her mother poured her. "So, what's new?"

"Ray Pietro d'Angelo found Ryan a wife," Angelina said, and then hurried to catch her daughter up.

"That is so cool," Frankie said approvingly. "So when's the wedding?"

"August twenty-fifth," he said quietly.

"You've set the date already?" Angelina was a little surprised.

"I don't have much time," Ryan said. "I'm forty in April, Ma. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Angelina said quietly. "I remember very well."

"So what kind of a shop does she own?" Frankie wanted to know.

"It's called Lacy Nothings," he said, and grinned when his sister squealed.

"Oh, my God! The real Lacy Nothings? The one I get my stuff from?"

"One and the same, although why a nice widow lady needs stuff like that, I don't know," he teased her.

"Shut up!" Frankie said. "Do you think once you're married she'd let me have merchandise wholesale?"

"What is Lacy Nothings?" their mother asked.

"It's a lingerie shop, Ma. Very high-end, very expensive lingerie," Ryan said.

"It's gorgeous, Ma," Frankie enthused. "Real quality. She's got a catalog, and my most recent one says she's opening two new shops. One is right near me!"

"You're marrying a girl who sells underwear?" Angelina said.

"She's marrying a guy who makes furniture," he countered.

"You aren't a craftsman," Angelina said. "You're a businessman, Ryan. Your father was the artisan, but not you. It's different." She was very proud of her son. She knew what he had done for his father, even if Fin never acknowledged it. Her late husband had had a very typical Irish attitude. Not once had he ever told Ryan he was proud of him.

"August twenty-fifth," Frankie said. "I can't wait to see the look on the girls' faces when I tell them you're getting married." She grinned almost maliciously.

"You are not to breathe a word of this," Ryan said quietly. "Either of you. The lawyers are handling the business end. Ashley and I will be seeing each other over the next few weeks, and it will be said to be a whirlwind courtship. You and Ma get to come to the wedding. The others will learn of it afterward. I don't want them trying to interfere. They are not going to get R &R."

"Dee is going to be furious." Frankie chortled. "She's already looking for a bigger house, although with her kids all grown I don't know why she needs one."

"Will we meet Ashley before the wedding?" Angelina Mulcahy asked her son.

"How about two weeks from tonight? Here. For dinner?" he suggested.

Angelina nodded.

"Can I come?" Frankie asked.

"Where's Michael? Isn't he home from school?" her brother said.

"Home from St. Peter's, and off to Mountain Lake Camp in ten days to be a junior counselor this summer," Frankie said. Her son, who was seventeen, had been given a full scholarship to his late father's old preparatory school after Mike had been killed at the Twin Towers. At first Frankie hadn't wanted to send her son away in seventh grade, but they had both grieved hard after Mike had been killed so tragically, and their grief fed off each other's grief. Frankie realized that the only way she and her son would be able to get on with their lives, and past that awful day, was for Michael to go to St. Peter's. And it had worked. Neither of them would ever forget that terrible day, but without each other they had no choice but to move on. Her son would be a senior at St. Peter's in the autumn. He was student body president, and Frankie knew his father would be very proud.

"I don't know why he can't stay home with his mother in the summer," Angelina said disapprovingly. "He was in England at Brixton School for his spring term. We've hardly seen him this year."

"Going to Brixton on the exchange program was a big honor, Ma, and he wanted to go," Frankie defended her son. "And he's been at Mountain Lake since before his dad died. He's always wanted to be a junior counselor. He gets his fee free this year, and a stipend of five hundred dollars for the summer. I like encouraging him to earn his own money. He's a very responsible boy."

"Maybe if your son were home you wouldn't work so hard," Angelina said.

"Nope. If he were home he'd be a latchkey kid, and I'd feel guilty," Frankie said.

Her brother laughed. "I think you and Ashley are going to get on very well together," he said with a grin. "She kept me waiting this morning because she had to take an overseas call from her lace supplier in Madeira."

"Having seen you now, sweetie," his sister teased, "I'll bet she doesn't ever keep you waiting again."

He laughed. He had been a little put off when she had been late, but her explanation had been perfectly logical and practical. And when she had looked directly at him with those gorgeous green eyes, he had to admit that he was intrigued. Why had he ever considered a blue-eyed blond the perfect ideal? Ashley's dark hair had been cut very fashionably short in a boyish bob, but he had to admit there had been nothing boyish about her body. It was, to use an old-fashioned expression his dad had been fond of, curvy. Her breasts had pushed out that red tee nicely, and her ass in those tight pants had been very tempting.

As he sat alone later that night in his own apartment, half watching Letterman, Ryan again considered his ideal, and decided that maybe he had a new ideal. He wondered what she would look like without that red tee and those tight pants. Did she wear her own merchandise? Having thumbed through his sister's catalog once, he had to admit Ashley sold some pretty provocative stuff. He remembered in particular a little thigh-high black silk robe with the model's boobs half-visible, and the smallest bikini bottom he had ever seen that matched it.

He considered how Ashley might look in such an outfit, and actually felt himself begin to get hard. Damn! How could you be attracted to a girl you had just met, who didn't at all meet your original expectations? He was horny, of course. It had been months since he had had any kind of a relationship with a woman. Business just kept him too busy. Maybe getting married wasn't such a bad idea. Except that she had told him they wouldn't have sex. But they could have sex if they wanted to, couldn't they? They would be married, and today a lot of people who weren't married had sex. Then he shook his head. He was an idiot. This marriage was going to be strictly business.

Yes, business, Ashley thought as she contemplated entering the Channel that evening. Her marriage was going to be a business arrangement, but God, he was the sexiest thing she had seen in ages. The height of a Celtic warrior combined with that beautiful Italian face had actually made her go weak in the knees. She couldn't wait to see what he looked like in a bathing suit. He probably had washboard abs. He looked like he had them. And he had been hung. Even in those elegant custom-tailored slacks she had been able to ascertain that he was a big guy, and he dressed to the left.

Ashley shivered. She was going to have to share a bed with him the nights he stayed at the hall. Share a bed, and no sex. Was such a thing even possible? Well, it would be, because she suspected she didn't appeal to him physically. Big men always seemed to like little women, just like little guys always liked having a big girl on their arm. Ashley laughed softly. So their marriage would be a business arrangement, and after a few years they would go their separate ways. But she always had the Channel.

She picked up her remote. She loved the new features the Channel offered now. Ashley didn't know who owned or managed the Channel, but it had to be a woman. Only a woman would have thought of having two fantasies available to each customer. It was like getting a two-pound box of Godivas. Contemplating the remote, she considered which fantasy for tonight. Her finger brushed over button A, but she wasn't in the mood to dominate Quinn tonight. Tonight she wanted to be dominated. Ashley pressed the on button first, watching as the wall opposite her bed opened to reveal her flat-screen television. Then she pressed the button marked B, and the one marked enter.

Almost at once she found herself at the booted feet of a tall warrior. Her hands were chained before her. Her long, dark hair was loose. Her stola was half ripped from her body, and her breasts were easily visible. Looking up at the blond warrior, she snarled, "Unchain me at once, barbarian! My husband will have your life for this!"

"You should have remained in your civilized south, Roman whore!" he snarled back. "Now you will serve me, as you made yon Celtic warrior serve you." He turned to Quinn. "You are free now either to return to your homeland or join with me. I am Rurik, lord of the Northmen, and I bid you welcome to my camp."

"I'll stay," Quinn said. "What do you mean to do with my mistress?"

"She's no longer your mistress," Rurik said. "She's my whore until I grow tired of her. After that she will service my men." His booted foot pushed at the woman at his feet. "What is her name?"

"She is the lady Cordelia, wife to Tribune Maximillian Alerio Patronius, who is kin to Caesar," Quinn said.

"And this tribune permits his wife to fuck a captive slave?" Rurik wanted to know. "He is most generous with his wife's favors."

"I was part of the tribune's booty after a battle in Gaul," Quinn explained. "He noted my, er, male attributes, and gave me to his wife to serve as a sex slave. Many highborn Roman men give sex slaves to their wives. The lords know that if their women have sex slaves they will not stray and cause a scandal while they are away. They also know that no Roman matron would have a child not her lord's."

"He is either a practical man or a suspicious one, this Maximillian Alerio Patronius," Rurik noted with a laugh. Then he reached down his hand to wrap a hank of Ashley's hair about his fist. Roughly he yanked her up and kissed her mouth hard. "Is she good?" he asked Quinn when he had finished.

Quinn smiled a slow smile. "Aye," he said. "She has the tightest cunt I've ever fucked. Each time it's as if she were a virgin taking a cock for the first time."

Rurik nodded, and then he looked down into the green eyes blazing up at him. "Tell me, Roman whore, have you have entertained two cocks at once?"

Her eyes widened.

"No?" he murmured against her lips. "Well, my proud Roman beauty, you soon will. And you will learn to please your master in any way and at any time he demands."

"You will die for this, barbarian pig!" Ashley said furiously. "I will personally see you crucified in the most painful manner I can devise. I will whip you myself!"

"Aye, she enjoys whipping," Quinn remarked. "My back is permanently marked."

"So," Rurik said, "she likes punishment, does she? I think we should adjourn to my tent and give the bitch a taste of her own, eh, Quinn?"

"Let me go, you beast!" Ashley shouted, struggling as she was half carried, half dragged into the lord of the Northmen's tent and flung down upon a bed of furs.

Rurik then proceeded to tear her garments off with great precision. He unfastened the manacles about her wrists, laughing as he ducked a blow aimed at his head. Forcing her onto her stomach and holding her down by her slender neck, he proceeded to spank her as she shrieked her outrage and her bottom was burning and red. Then, pushing her into the position he desired of her, her torso and arms pressed forward, her buttocks elevated and high, he proceeded to enter her woman's channel.

Ashley screamed furiously as she divined his intent, but as she did, Quinn, kneeling before her, pushed his engorged cock into her open mouth, warning her, "If you bite I will see you punished in far worse fashion. Suck me sweetly, Roman whore."

She tried to moan as the thick peg of flesh filled her mouth. There was no other choice but to suck him. And as she did she became very aware of the enormous cock filling her cunt, stretching its walls as Rurik began to thrust into her with a skilled motion that left her breathless. When both men had emptied their load, Quinn down her throat and Rurik into her cunt, they fell away from her, temporarily satisfied. Ashley collapsed, gasping as she was pushed to the floor. She had needed the roughness tonight. Now, she knew, they would be pleased at having mastered her for the time being.

Rurik finally sat up and commanded her to come to him. Ashley hissed angrily at him, jumping when Quinn unexpectedly smacked her bottom hard. "Crawl," Rurik commanded her. "Crawl to me, my proud Roman whore. I have just begun to amuse myself with you. Quinn, my friend, you will find a bundle of birches in the far corner. It can bring a plump bottom such as the lady Cordelia possesses to a fine shine. Will you fetch it?" Reaching out, he yanked Ashley into his lap, her back to his chest, her buttocks seated upon his large cock. He began to lick the side of her neck, his hands reaching around her to cup her breasts in his palms. "You have fine tits, Roman whore," Rurik murmured in her ear with his hot breath. He squeezed the soft flesh as she squirmed in his lap. He could feel himself getting hard again against her buttocks.

Quinn had risen from the bed of furs and walked across the tent to fetch the bundle of birches, as asked. The bundle was tightly bound except at the ends, where the thin, flexible branches had been left loose. Returning to the bed, he rejoined Rurik and Ashley. "What do you have in mind?" he asked the lord of the Northmen as he displayed the birch before her eyes. "I hope you will let me use this on her. A bit of payback."

Rurik smiled. "Aye. I saw your back when you went to fetch the switches. She has not been gentle with you, my friend. Spread your legs, Roman whore!" he snapped at her, and when she refused to obey he pinched her nipples cruelly until she did. "Is she wet?" he asked Quinn.

"She needs a bit of priming," the Celtic warrior answered, and he began to finger Ashley's clitoris artfully, smiling into her green eyes when she began to whimper. Finally he pushed two fingers into her, moving them about teasingly until he was satisfied that her juices had begun to flow. "She's ready," he told Rurik.

The lord of the Northmen turned the woman in his arms about so that she was now facing him. Lifting her up, he lowered her onto his engorged penis. Then he drew her down into his arms and against his broad chest. "Whip her, and when she is well burnished, fuck her ass," he said.

"No! No!" Ashley cried, and she tried to struggle, but Rurik held her tightly as Quinn began to flog her buttocks with the birches. It was worse than anything she had ever imagined. The cruel little switches burned her flesh, and she tried to cry out, but she could not, for Rurik had taken her mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue now doing frantic battle with her tongue.

"She has never allowed me to have her that way," Quinn said slowly.

"Then ream her well, my friend," Rurik said, tearing his mouth away from Ashley briefly. "You probably deserve it, though it is small payment for the scars on your back. There is a jar of cream here to aid you." Then he began to kiss his captive again.

For several minutes Quinn brought the birches down and across the hapless woman's backside. Then, satisfied with the deep pink color of the skin, he knelt directly behind her, and, reaching for the jar Rurik had indicated, he first greased his cock, and then generously lubricated her asshole. Then he slowly, slowly began to penetrate that most secret of places on a woman's body. The small opening resisted him at first, but then it began to give way beneath the persistent pressure of his penis. First the head entered, and then he carefully sheathed himself to the hilt.

Ashley almost fainted with his entry. She could feel Rurik's great weapon throbbing in her female channel, and now Quinn's cock was thrumming in her asshole. Rurik reached out and began to tease at her clit, and she moaned as he fingered her, teasing, stroking, pinching.

"Ah, my Roman whore likes being fucked and buggered at the same time, doesn't she? Perhaps I shall not give you to my men after all. You are providing me with a grand evening's amusement. I suspect you are going to be good for many an evening's entertainment."

"I hate you!" Ashley sobbed, and then to her shock they all came together in an orgasmic rush of lust fulfilled.

And afterward the two men cradled her and cuddled her, praising her for being such a good Roman whore, and when Ashley awoke she was in her own bed, as usual. Rurik and Quinn had been a bit rougher last night, but she had obviously needed them to be, because she felt absolutely wonderful. Yesterday had been a bit more unnerving than she had anticipated. Now she knew what all those heroines in the historical romance novels she loved so much felt like when bartered into arranged marriages. It was so strange to realize that in a few weeks she would have a husband. Her private number rang, and Ashley reached out to the table by her bedside to answer it.

"Good morning," a deep male voice said cheerfully.

"Who is this?" Ashley asked. "Are you sure you have the right number?"

"It's Ryan, Ashley. I got your number from your lawyer. Listen, I was thinking… I don't want to wait until next weekend to start getting to know you better. I know it's kind of short notice, but I'm halfway out to Egret Pointe now."

"Did you ever consider that I might have plans for the weekend?" she asked him, her heart hammering with excitement.

"Do you?" he asked candidly.

"No, but you might have asked first. Before you got halfway out," she scolded him gently. "You've never courted a woman before, have you? Are you driving while we're talking, Ryan?"

"No, I pulled over into a rest stop on the parkway," he said. "And, no, I've never courted a woman. I've done something wrong, haven't I?"

"Yes and no," she said. "I'll explain when you get here. I assume you mean to stay for the rest of the weekend? I'll need to tell Byrnes if you are."

"I did bring a bag," he admitted. "With a bathing suit," he added.

Ashley laughed. "We'll have a room ready for you when you get here," she said.

"Thanks," he answered her. "I should see you in an hour or so." The phone clicked off.

Ashley picked up her house phone and pressed the intercom.

"Good morning, Miss Ashley," Byrnes said. "Ready for your coffee?"

"Yes, please," Ashley replied. "And Byrnes, we're having an overnight visitor. Will you get the Washington bedroom ready for him, please?"

"Yes, Miss Ashley. I'll tell Mrs. Kramer, and she'll see to it at once," was the reply.

"Byrnes, I'll want to speak with you and the missus when I have my breakfast," Ashley said. "I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

"Very good, Miss Ashley," Byrnes answered.

Ashley climbed from the bed, stripping off her cotton sleep shirt as she headed for her bathroom. She showered quickly, washing her hair, and by the time she reentered her bedroom wrapped in a towel there was a small carafe of sweet, milky coffee on a table along with a china mug. Ashley filled the mug and drank half of it down. Then she got dressed. She had to go to work today. Nina was recovering from her dental surgery, and Brandy, the high school kid who usually worked in the shop on Saturdays, was getting ready for her prom. Saturday was usually a very busy day. Why hadn't she told Ryan to turn his car around and go home? Well, he would just have to amuse himself until she closed at four. Should she take him out to dinner?

Irritated at being caught unawares, Ashley yanked on pair of white silk briefs and then pulled up her pink silk slacks. Her bra and a cream silk shirt followed. Slipping her feet into a pair of custom-made burgundy leather loafers, she finished the rest of her coffee and hurried downstairs to the small breakfast room, seating herself at the round table with its single place setting. She picked up the glass of cranberry juice and sipped it. Almost immediately Byrnes was at her side with a hot plate of cheesy scrambled eggs, three sausage links, and a whole-wheat English muffin.

"Get a cuppa for you and the missus," Ashley said, "and come join me while I eat. I have something very important to tell you both." Picking up her fork, she dug into the eggs enthusiastically as she waited for them.

Byrnes retreated into the kitchens. "She wants us to sit with her while she eats. She says she's got something important to tell us," he told his wife.

Martha Byrnes poured two cups of coffee and handed one to her husband; then they reentered the little breakfast room off of the kitchen, sitting down at the small table with Ashley. They looked at her expectantly.

She had almost finished her eggs, and two of the sausages were gone from her plate. Now, as she spread some homemade marmalade on a half a muffin, she said frankly, "I'm getting married. But this time there will be no difficulties. The groom isn't gay. He won't go to Las Vegas before the wedding, and he isn't a con man. Joe Pietro d'Angelo has a lawyer cousin in the city who has a client with the same problem I do-an inheritance with a big string attached. He has to marry before he's forty or lose it all. We are a match made in heaven," Ashley said with a wry smile.

"Would he be the gentleman who came home with you yesterday, Miss Ashley?" Byrnes asked.

"Yep. One and the same. Ryan Finbar Mulcahy. He built up his dad's business in the city, made the guy rich, rich, rich, and then the old guy turns around and writes a will that says if Ryan isn't married by the time he's forty he loses it all. Nice, huh?"

"No worse than what your grandpa did to you, missy," Martha Byrnes said tartly. "Giving in to that hussy Lila Peabody! Well, it's a truth that there's no fool like an old fool. It wasn't enough for the shameless creature that your grandpa left her a goodly sum for services rendered, and I can only shudder to imagine what they could have been, and at his age too!" She huffed indignantly.

Ashley giggled. Never one to dissemble, Martha Byrnes had strong opinions.

"Mrs. Byrnes," her husband said warningly.

"Oh, it's all right," Ashley told him. "I agree with Martha. But you remember how Grandfather always thought a good woman needed a good man. After the first two unfortunate incidences with fiancés I honestly think he believed I wasn't trying hard enough. Putting that provision in the will soothed Lila, whose company he did enjoy, and it gave him comfort to know that I would marry to preserve what I had built."

"He's amenable to a prenuptial agreement?" Martha Byrnes wanted to know.

"Absolutely!" Ashley assured them. "Ryan and I will marry just to meet the terms of these two wills. In a few years we'll go our separate ways with our own possessions intact, and no one gets hurt in the process. I wanted you both to know because he'll be here shortly, and as soon as he arrives I have to go to the shop. He's a really nice guy. While he's hanging out here today waiting for me to get home, answer any questions he may have. Although he's keeping his apartment in town, he'll be making the hall his legal residence. We've got to start thinking about redoing Grandfather's old rooms for us."

"This isn't for public knowledge, I take it," Byrnes said quietly.

"No, it isn't. We've scheduled the wedding for August twenty-fifth. It's going to be very low-key. No more than ten or twelve people for dinner. We're doing it here, because he's Roman Catholic, and we don't want a church wedding to louse up his life after we're divorced. Actually I think it's better that way. No fuss. No muss. The flowers can come from the gardens."

"I'll tell Tony we're having a dinner party on that date, so he will be certain to have the right flowers on hand," Byrnes said. "You know how the flowers tend to go in August, so he'll need to nurse certain blooms along."

Ashley took the last bite of her English muffin, and then swallowed down the rest of her cranberry juice. She stood up from the table. "I'd better get ready to leave as soon as he gets here," she said, and walked from the breakfast room. "Well, if that don't beat all," Martha Byrnes said softly. "She's making an arranged marriage, Martin. It's a real shame she can't be allowed to fall in love like any other girl, but then, Miss Ashley isn't just any girl, is she?"

"No," he agreed, "she isn't."

"Well, if the lawyers have checked this young man out, then I suppose it's all right," Martha replied with a sigh. "Still, it makes me sad. I wonder what he's like."

"We'll know soon enough," her husband said. Then he stood up and straightened his tie. "I hear a car coming up the drive. That will be our guest, Martha. Run up to Mrs. Kramer and make certain the Washington bedroom is ready for him." Brynes hurried out to get the front door, peeping through the sidelights to see a vintage Jag pull up. Its driver climbed out, reaching behind him for a small overnight bag. Byrnes flung wide the front door. "Good morning, Mr. Mulcahy. I'll take your bag for you. You'll find Miss Ashley out on the porch. Can you find your way, sir?"

"Yes, thanks," Ryan said. Having a butler, or whatever Byrnes was, was going to take some getting used to, he decided as he made his way to the porch.

"Good morning, Ryan." Ashley came forward to greet him. "I can only stay with you a minute. My help at the shop is nonexistent today, and Saturday is always busy." And then to her surprise he reached out, drew her forward, and kissed her on both of her cheeks. "Oh, my," Ashley exclaimed as he set her back. "That was very…"

"Italian," he supplied the word for her with a smile. "I thought we had best get used to some form of kissing, since we're getting married."

"Yes," she agreed, thoughtful. "You'll have to kiss me on the lips at the wedding, won't you? People might talk otherwise. Well, kissing is a harmless enough sport."

"You've done a lot of it?" he asked.

"Again I remind you of my age," Ashley said.

"I like kissing," he allowed, his brown eyes twinkling.

"I've got to go," Ashley told him. The conversation was beginning to make her a little uncomfortable. Their relationship was a business one, and people in business didn't-or at least shouldn't-get intimate. "Byrnes will take care of you. I'll be home a little after four. He'll answer any questions you may have about the house." She managed to get past him. "Have a good day, Ryan." And she hurried off.

He made himself comfortable on the porch looking out at the blue bay sparkling in the bright June morning. He had made her nervous. Despite her misadventures she was obviously a very proper lady. Interesting. She was past thirty, a businesswoman, and had, in her own words, some small experience with men, but she was basically shy. Was it the situation in which they found themselves? Or was Ashley good at what she did, but clueless where relationships were concerned? He was one to talk, Ryan thought wryly. A discreet cough caused him to look up and find Byrnes standing there.

"Mrs. Byrnes thought that you had probably not had breakfast before you departed town this morning, sir. She's prepared you a small repast. If you will follow me to the breakfast room I'll bring it to you."

"Why, that's most kind," Ryan said, standing up and trailing after Byrnes. A breakfast room, no less, he thought as he entered the small room with its cheerful bright yellow-and-white striped walls. He allowed Byrnes to seat him, and then smiled as a plump woman appeared to put a plate before him. This, he concluded, was Mrs. Byrnes. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "It looks most delicious."

"I gave you some of my fresh-baked blueberry muffins," she replied.

He looked up at her with a smile. "They smell wonderful, Mrs. Byrnes, but there was no need to go to such trouble for me. I would have been happy with a bowl of Apple Jacks," Ryan told her.

"Not in this house!" Martha Byrnes said emphatically. "In my kitchen we cook. Breakfast, sometimes lunch, and always dinner. Now, you eat up while it's hot."

He grinned at her and obeyed her directive. It was almost like having Angelina around, he thought. And then he realized that if the Byrneses were this caring of a stranger, then Ashley certainly hadn't suffered growing up. It was reassuring.

Ashley had sped into the village and parked her car behind Lacy Nothings. It was almost nine thirty. From the traffic on Main Street she could see it would be a busy day, and it was. From the moment she had opened the shop for business the little bell over the front door hadn't stopped ringing. By twelve thirty things had slowed down, and she was just drawing a sigh of relief when she heard the jangle of the bell again. Turning, she saw Ryan entering the shop with a small basket.

"Mrs. B. thought we might enjoy having a bit of lunch together," he said. "Where should we eat?"

"We can go back into my office, if you don't mind," Ashley replied. "I don't like to leave the shop even for lunch. A lot of people shop during that hour." She led the way into the tiny office, taking the basket from him to set it upon her desk. "Sit." She pointed to the chair behind her desk, seating herself in the chair opposite the desk. "It's easier for me to get out if the bell rings," she explained. Also my desk chair is bigger, and you're a pretty big guy."

All over, he thought wickedly as he folded himself into her chair. Now, what the hell made him think that? he wondered. Why was he getting sexual thoughts about Ashley? But he was. From underneath his dark eyelashes he was considering how she would look in a fuchsia lace bra and bikini bottom, like the one on the plastic dummy in her shop window. That rich purple-pink on her pale skin would be dynamite.

"Chicken salad," Ashley said, handing him a sandwich on a paper plate. "Mrs. B. already likes you. She doesn't do her chicken salad for just anyone."

He had gained a glimpse of her full breasts when she had bent over to hand him the sandwich. She appeared to be wearing a plain white silk bra, but nonetheless it was so sexy that he had wanted to lean forward and lick her skin. He closed his eyes briefly. He had just met this girl yesterday, and he was behaving like a damned pervert. Ryan Mulcahy couldn't remember a time when he had had such a strong reaction to a woman. Her fragrance had drifted up briefly from between her breasts. It was elusive, sensual, and clean-smelling. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Nice perfume," he said casually. "What is it?"

"Do you like it? It's Vent Vert by Balmain. I've always loved it. It was my first real French parfum . My brother, Ben, bought it for me the summer we were in Europe. He was based in Germany, and got leave to meet Grandfather and me in Paris. It was the last time we were all together. He was killed the following year in Iraq during Desert Storm. I always think of him when I spritz it on," Ashley said sadly.

"Then why wear it?" he asked her practically.

"Because I like it," she told him. "And not wearing it won't bring Ben back."

"Mrs. B. makes a great chicken salad sandwich," Ryan said, changing the subject. He had seen the glint of tears in her eyes, and was touched by the love she still bore her late brother. He couldn't have cared less if his five older sisters were blown off the face of the earth. Now, Frankie was different, but the rest of them could be gone and he wouldn't have missed one of them.

"I've told the Byrneses that we're getting married, and why," Ashley said. "I know everyone was worried that they might think badly of us, even while understanding the dilemma that I-that we-face. They know there is no other choice for either of us. I'll need help redoing Grandfather's rooms for us, and I have to plan a wedding, don't I?"

"Frankie, my little sister, is a decorator. She works for Evelyn Claire," Ryan said. "She would probably help you if you asked. In fact, she'd die to help you. And she'd take her fee in your lingerie." He chuckled. "She's one of your big catalog customers."

Ashley laughed. "Hey, I'm amenable to a barter system," she said. "Give me her number and I'll call her."

"Done," he agreed. "I spoke to my mother."

"And?" She bit into her sandwich.

"She likes the fact that you aren't anorexic and enjoy your food," he answered. "She wants you to come to dinner in two weeks. Is that okay?"

Ashley nodded. "I'd like that."

They actually managed to finish their lunch without interruption, and when they had, Ryan gathered up the basket and they walked out together to the front of the shop.

"Look," he said when they had reached the door, "I know this is probably going to sound crazy, but I need to do this." He pulled her to him, and his mouth met her surprised mouth in a kiss. It wasn't a quick kiss. It was definitely an I want to see where this goes kiss. If it was going to go anywhere. And from the distinct tightening in his groin, it was going to go somewhere if they wanted. He had surprised her, but she didn't pull away, or even protest. Her breasts crushed against his chest, and he could feel her nipples hardening against him. The mouth beneath his was soft, sweet. Her lips parted beneath his, and their tongues touched. Slowly he broke off the embrace. "I'll see you later," he said, hoping she hadn't been put off by the fact that he had developed an enormous hard-on. Fortunately his car was at the curb in front of her shop.

" 'Kay" Ashley managed to reply, and closed the door to her shop, grabbing at the counter to steady herself before she fell down. Boy, could he kiss! she thought. When their tongues had touched briefly she thought she was going to faint dead away. And he was obviously attracted to her, because she had given him one whale of a hard-on. He had practically limped to his car. But it wasn't love. They were both in lust.

Marriage of convenience. No sex. Well, she reconsidered, maybe not. Did either of them seriously believe they could sleep in the same bed and remain celibate for two years? She could go back on the pill. There didn't have to be any babies. But from the fire they were igniting in each other it was obvious that they were eventually going to have sex. Why not? Then Ashley shook her head. What was she thinking? This was to be a business arrangement, and here she was thinking with her cunt and not her brain. Still, Ryan Finbar Mulcahy was some kisser! And he was probably something else in bed.

He apologized after dinner, but Ashley would have none of it. "We're crazy to think we can do this with no sex," she told him. "You left me weak-kneed, and I gave you a hard-on. We're attracted to each other, much to my surprise. We only just met, Ryan, but there is definitely something there."

"It's lust," he said.

"I know," she agreed, "but what's wrong with a little lust between two consenting adults? We're getting married, after all. Unless there is someone else."

"There is no one," he said. "What if you got pregnant?"

"I'll go back on the pill," Ashley replied. "You may be a Catholic, but I suspect you don't object to the pill."

"You'd do that?" The brown eyes he turned on her were making her hot.

"Sure. I'll call Dr. Sam on Monday. I suspect you're like all the macho men-you don't like condoms. If we both get a clean bill of health, and you abide by my rules, then we can't rule sex out of the equation."

"Rules?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Look, all I ask is that if you're screwing me, you don't do other women. Okay? I certainly won't be doing other men." Except, of course, my two boys on the Channel, but that's not really real so it doesn't matter, Ashley thought. And maybe I won't need them if you're as good as I think you're going to be.

"Seems reasonable," he agreed.

"And I'd like to hold off until the wedding," Ashley said. "Or at least until we've both been given a clean bill of health."

"That's fair," he murmured, "but we could play a little, couldn't we?"

They were on the porch, and he was sitting on a wicker settee while she paced back and forth in the half-light. Reaching up, he pulled her into his lap.

"Hey!" Ashley said, surprised.

"I can't seem to help myself," he admitted. "All my life I had this picture in my head of the ideal woman for me. She would be petite. Blond. Helpless, and I would be her savior. You don't quite fit the bill, do you?"

"I guess I don't," Ashley agreed.

"But one look into those big green eyes of yours, and all I could think of was getting into your pants," he said. "I feel like a lecher, but damn it, you excite me!" His hand fumbled at the back of her shirt, seeking her bra snap.

"It's in the front," Ashley said, reaching to undo the bra herself. "Well, I don't know what I was expecting, but a guy six feet and a hundred inches tall, with a face like a model, wasn't on the agenda. You excite me too. And there's nothing wrong with good old-fashioned lust, Ryan Mulcahy. Just so long as we understand each other." She undid the top two buttons on her shirt.

His hand slid eagerly in to cup a breast in his palm. He sighed, feeling the soft weight in his hand. Opening her shirt fully, he pushed it off her shoulders and stared at her breasts. They were large, but not big. And they had nipples like blown roses. "God, these are beautiful," he said, and he began to kiss them.

Ashley sighed with pure pleasure. It had been several months since a man had made love to her. But oh, Lord, she knew it couldn't go much further. He was a passionate man, and she, for all her calm exterior, was a passionate woman. It would take very little to put them in a very compromising position. She could already feel his penis straining against the fabric of his slacks and her butt. But still, she closed her eyes and sighed again as his lips moved over her chest and up her throat to find her lips. He was pure heaven, and she was already wet for him. "Stop," she said, pulling gently away.

"Just a little more," he begged her, his hands fondling her breasts.

"No," she told him. "If we don't stop now I don't know what will happen."

"Yeah, you do," he countered, and fastened her bra back together before buttoning her shirt back up. "If we keep on like this I'm going to fuck the ears off of you, Ashley. You know that, don't you?" He nipped at her earlobe. "I cannot believe how hot I am for you."

She struggled to her feet, standing on shaky legs. "Me too," she told him.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you right now, Ashley," he said. "Tell me you want me to go deep and hard until you can't stop coming."

"No," she told him softly. "If I say it we're going to do it, and I'm not that kind of a woman, Ryan. And you really don't want me to be."

He nodded. "No, I don't," he agreed. "But I have never had such an instant attraction to a woman in my life. I don't understand it."

"When was the last time you were with a woman?" she asked him.

He thought, and then shook his head. "A long time, I guess," he said.

"So you're overdue for a good screwing," Ashley told him. "And we are going to get married in a few weeks, so you're ready to rumble. But I'm not. Do you excite me? God, yes! But I keep remembering the fraternity guy who did me twice in college and then bailed. And I remember the two men who were marrying me, but somehow never made it to the altar. So since we're making a marriage of convenience I think we'll just be old-fashioned and wait until our wedding night. Okay?"

"I'll wait quietly," he said, "but only if I can play with those again."

"I'll think about it," Ashley said with a grin. "Now I'm going up to bed. Good night, Ryan Mulcahy."

"Good night, Ashley Kimbrough," he replied.