Sticks and Stone Read online

  Dermot pressed a small button amid the cluster of controls on his door. “Midtown,” he ordered.

  Another touch of a button, and soft music began playing, some classical piece that was all violins and woodwinds, drowning out the faint sounds of the people and traffic surrounding them. As the limo pulled away from the curb, Dermot turned to face her.

  “Now, we can talk.”

  “If talking was all you were wanting, you could have taken another trip to Ireland. You know where I live. Instead, you bought my publisher.”

  Dermot shrugged. “I didn’t buy it. I invested in it. Pending their ability to implement improvements.”

  A chill ghosted down her spine. Her appearances on talk shows. Was Dermot buying her after all?

  “And if you don’t invest?”

  “Your publisher won’t go bankrupt, if that’s what you’re concerned about. They were looking to expand. Without investment capital, they won’t be able to grow as fast as they would otherwise, but the underlying business is still sound.” He reached over and clasped her hands in his. “I offered to get you talk show bookings because I know it’s something our publicists could arrange, it would increase the value of Silver Moon’s assets, and you’d make more money. You’d be a natural in front of the camera. That’s true, even if you want nothing more to do with me.”

  “But…?”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  His hands still held hers prisoner, and she was strangely reluctant to break free of his grasp. Instead, she turned her head and stared at the buildings and other cars moving past.

  “Eileen, why didn’t you call me?” he asked again.

  “What was there to say?” she countered. “We shared one night together, but how many more could we share before our differences drove us apart?”

  “A relationship between us is doomed, so you don’t even want to try?”

  She shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. “Belike.”

  “I refuse to accept that.”

  She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. “Arrogant American.”

  That was one of the things she found desirable about him. Not his arrogance, which infuriated her, but his calm assurance and soul-deep dedication to a course of action.

  She turned, to find him watching intently, waiting for her answer. Tugging one of her hands free, she reached up and stroked the side of his face. “You see extremely clearly for one not on the path.”

  He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

  “I want you. And yes, I arranged all of this to get you here where I could tell you that. But you didn’t have to come.”

  He stroked his fingertips along her hairline, from her forehead to her ear. Eileen shivered with desire. She wanted to turn to him, capture his mouth with kisses, strip off her jeans and his slacks, and make love to him on the wide leather seat.

  “I’m here now. But wanting, having, and keeping are three different fish.”

  He cupped her cheek in his palm, splaying his fingers into her hair while his thumb outlined her lips. With his other hand, he cupped her breast, his thumb flicking the nipple.

  She gasped, instantly wet as her body remembered the lesson he’d taught her during their morning together. Her nipple beaded into a tight, aching bud.

  He flicked his thumb against it twice more, than pinched it lightly. She moaned, arching into his touch.

  “I see the wanting,” he whispered huskily. “And you can be having as soon as you give the word. Let the keeping take care of itself.”

  She opened her mouth, letting his thumb glide over her lower lip. Eagerly, she sucked on it, sweeping his thumb with her tongue.

  Dermot’s breath hitched, then he whispered, “Say the word, Eileen.”

  “What word?”

  “Yes.”

  Dimly, the shreds of her common sense struggled to be heard through the sensual haze of his hands caressing her body.

  “And what question would I be answering ‘yes’ to?”

  “Stay with me tonight and be my lover.”

  She let out her breath on a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

  He also released a shaky breath, then moved so that he was kneeling on the carpeting in front of her, his hands braced at her hips.

  “Let me love you, Eileen. Now.”

  “Yes,” she whispered again.

  Slowly, he unsnapped her jeans and slid down the zipper. He reached inside the waistband of her panties, skimming her stomach with his thumbs, then caressed her hips, and finally shoved his hands inside the panties to cup her ass.

  Eileen moaned softly. His hands on her body felt so right, as if this was where she’d always belonged, and just hadn’t known until now.

  Dermot kneaded and caressed her ass, lifting her from the seat so that she sat on his hands. As he rocked her gently, his hands slowly worked further under her panties, until she was balanced on his wrists, then his forearms. His fingers stroked between her legs, light teasing brushes that started at her ass cheeks and gradually approached her aching heat.

  His fingertips dipped into her slick folds, and she moaned again, flexing her hips. He circled his fingers at the edge of her vagina and she lifted her hips again, urging him to press further inside.

  “Like that?” he asked.

  “Yes. Oh, yes,” she answered. That seemed the only thing she could answer him.

  In response, he stroked her clitoris with his thumb. Eileen grabbed the leather seat with both hands and lifted her hips, tilting them to allow him greater access.

  Dermot pulled her jeans and panties down to her ankles. Holding her by the hips, he scooted her to the very edge of the seat, then nudged her knees as far apart as they would go.

  “Lean back,” he told her.

  “Yes.” Her breathless answer had become almost inaudible. She leaned her head back and cradled her neck on the buttery smooth leather, tilting her hips to expose her sex to his sight and touch.

  Dermot rested his hands on her thighs, pressing lightly to keep them spread, and used his thumbs to delve between her slick folds. When he brushed her swollen clitoris, she moaned and thrust toward him.

  He dipped his thumbs in the wellspring of liquid pooling within her, making her shudder and moan again. Then he slid his wet thumbs over and around the tight bud until she thought she’d go insane.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” she chanted, not knowing what she was agreeing to now, only that he made her feel so good that she never wanted him to stop.

  And then his thumbs were replaced by his tongue. Eileen gasped. He swept a wet caress around her sensitive bud, and then surrounded it with his mouth.

  “Oh,” she moaned. “Yes.”

  She plunged her fingers into his thick hair, cradling his skull and holding his mouth right there while she bucked against him, trying to deepen his kiss. He began sucking on her bud, still flicking it with his tongue.

  Eileen writhed madly against him, clutching his head and pumping her hips.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes.” Her whispered litany was broken by sharp gasps and low moans as his skilled mouth and tongue brought her closer and closer to climax without giving her release.

  He cupped her ass with one hand, supporting her as he plundered her with his mouth. Then his other hand reached past what he was doing with his tongue and found her vagina.

  He teased her, slipping one, then two, then three fingers just past the sensitive ridge of muscle. She shook, trembling under his onslaught, and locked her thighs around his neck.

  “Yes. Yes. Please. Now. Yes.”

  His fingers thrust deeply into her vagina just as his teeth bit lightly on her clitoris. Eileen came in a blinding rush, all light and heat and wave after wave of fluid pouring out of her that he lapped and suckled.

  She floated, Dermot’s skilled hands and mouth keeping her body hot and excited while her mind and spirit spun in wheeling ecstasy. Gradually, her passion cooled, and she returned to awareness to find herself fully clothed and sitting c
radled in Dermot’s lap on the back seat. His free hand was tucked beneath her shirt, softly caressing her breast.

  “Welcome back to Earth,” he whispered. “Did you have a nice flight?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Oh, yes.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned against his wool-clad chest, wishing his suit coat and crisp shirt were gone so she could feel his heated skin beneath her cheek. She heard the steady beat of his heart, and snuggled closer.

  His hand closed over her breast, as if he wanted to feel her heartbeat as well, and he held her quietly. The only sound was the gentle swell of violins, building to the final crescendo of the music.

  The limousine lurched, rocking them forward then back against the upholstery. Eileen lifted her head to look out the window. They were turning onto a narrow street, almost impassibly cluttered with double parked cars. Scraggly trees struggled for life amid the exhaust fumes, their narrow circles of dirt imprisoned within larger squares of concrete. People bundled in heavy coats strode briskly along the sidewalk, their heads down and shoulders hunched as if they battled a strong wind. The buildings’ brown and gray polished marble and granite walls reflected distorted views of the cars and pedestrians.

  The limousine lurched again, turning to squeeze between two marble pillars flanking a cobblestone circular drive that passed underneath one of the buildings. Bumping over the uneven surface, the limousine slowly drew even with an elderly black doorman liveried in the same brown and gray as the building.

  Dermot released her, sliding her onto the seat beside him. The limousine slowed to a stop and the electronic locks popped open. No sooner had she heard the click, than the doorman swung open the limousine’s door.

  The tiny doorman peered inside the car. “Good evening Mr. Stone, ma’am. Would you like a hand?”

  Eileen thought it was more likely that she would pull the man into the car than that he could successfully pull her out of it.

  “I can manage.”

  He nodded his head and stepped aside, holding the door so that it wouldn’t swing back and hit her as she exited. Dermot followed her out of the limousine a moment later.

  “Good evening, Clarence. Has your grandson heard back on his audition yet?”

  “Not yet, sir.” He shut the car door and hurried ahead of them to open the glass door into the building. “By Tuesday, they said.”

  “I hope he gets it.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so, sir.”

  Feeling completely ignored, Eileen walked up a short flight of brown marble steps to a bank of elevators. The nearest one was already waiting with the door open.

  She stepped inside, joined a moment later by Dermot. He slid his key into the slot at the top of the elevator panel and turned it. The letter “P” lit up with a pleasant chime.

  He removed his key, finishing just as the elevator doors closed, and turned to take her in his arms.

  Eileen sidestepped him. “What was that about?”

  “Clarence’s grandson is a talented musician. He’s trying to get into one of the orchestras. They’ve already called him back once.”

  “That’s nice. But I meant, why are you all over me as soon as we’re alone, but when we’re where anyone can see us, you act like you hardly know me?”

  Dermot’s eyes widened, as if she’d asked why water was wet. “Because anyone could see us.”

  “And…?” she prompted, feeling foolish but needing to know his reason. Did he want to keep her his guilty secret?

  He sighed, and leaned back against the elevator wall. “Images sell stories. The news rags won’t invent a scandal if they have no pictures to support it.”

  The elevator chimed again. When the doors slid open, she darted through them, into a brown and gray marble foyer. Two glass-topped tables, each filled with a massive floral arrangement in a marble urn, flanked the single door.

  Dermot unlocked the door and ushered her inside. She pushed past him into his black leather and wire-work living room.

  The open wire shelves held an entertainment system, including a home theater, easily a hundred CD’s, and hardcover business books, interspersed with small sculptures and decorative glass bowls and vases that provided the room’s only color. The couch and accent chairs were all upholstered in black leather. Sheer panels of black and white gauze draped over the sliding glass door leading to a roof garden.

  He closed and locked the door, then turned to face her. “My driver will leave your luggage in the foyer.”

  “Am I your secret scandal, Dermot? Is that why you weren’t officially at the airport to meet me?”

  “No!” He pushed his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Waving one hand at the couch, he told her, “Sit. This will take a while.”

  She glanced at the soft leather cushions, and was immediately reminded of the back seat of his limo. “I prefer to stand, thank you.”

  Dermot prowled around the perimeter of the room, as if seeking the perfect position from which to deliver his argument. Finally, he leaned his hip against one of the shelving units and faced her.

  “When you didn’t call, I wasn’t sure how you felt about seeing me again. After all, I was the one who gave you my card. You never volunteered your number. Maybe that night didn’t mean anything to you. You might have done the same for any man you rescued from a dryad.”

  Eileen opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his hand and cut her off.

  “Since I wasn’t sure of your feelings, I thought it prudent to act as if you would not be interested in furthering our relationship. I told no one that we’d met. You have a room booked in your name at the Niko. Officially I was not at the airport so that, if you wished to deny our previous encounter, there would be no awkward questions for you to answer.”

  Eileen swallowed to clear her tight throat. Do no harm. He’d arranged everything so that he would do no harm. His motives couldn’t be any plainer than that.

  “It’s sorry I am to have doubted you,” she said. Darting across the room, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Dermot curled his arms around her waist, pulling her hips tight against his, and deepened the kiss. Opening her mouth, she allowed the sweet invasion of his tongue. He tasted like mint.

  Twining her tongue with his, she sucked lightly. He groaned. He rubbed his growing erection against her abdomen, and when that wasn’t enough, grabbed her by the ass and lifted her to straddle his swollen cock. She locked her legs around his waist and rocked against him.

  His cock pressed against the seam of her jeans, teasing her with the light touch. Still joined together, he turned them away from the shelving unit, until he had Eileen’s back pressed against the wall.

  He ground his hips against hers, digging his cock harder and harder into the cleft between her legs. She whimpered, needing to feel him inside of her instead of this torturous tease through his slacks and her jeans.

  Breaking their kiss, she labored for breath, then asked, “Why are we still dressed?”

  Before he could answer, the door bell rang; two deep, sonorous tones.

  “Because we’re waiting for your luggage.”

  Eileen reached underneath his suit coat and ran her nails down the back of his shirt. He arched into her stroke with a groan.

  “You don’t need your luggage just yet,” he said hoarsely.

  “Oh, but I do.” She scraped her nails down his shirt again, eliciting a throaty groan. “There’s something in there for you.”

  He pulled up the hem of her sweater, exposing her stomach, and reached for the snap on her jeans. “It can wait.”

  “It’s a branch from the dryad’s wych elm.”

  He stilled immediately, his cock no longer pressing insistently against her. “The dryad?”

  “Certified dryad free. It’s just a tree branch. A very long, supple, springy tree branch.” She slapped his ass for emphasis.

  Dermot trembled against her. “Would you…?”

  She gazed into
his eager face and smiled. “You made me incredibly happy on our way over here. Now it’s my turn to make you happy.”

  Eyes shining, he swallowed twice before he was able to speak. “Let’s get that suitcase now.”

  Chapter Six

  Dermot smoothed his hand over his hair out of habit as he hurried to the door. Eileen’s suitcase was waiting in the hall, his driver having delivered it and then departed.

  He grabbed the handle and swung it inside. After closing and locking the door, he carried the suitcase to the guest room and tossed it onto the navy and gold bedspread.

  Eileen followed him in a moment later, pausing in the doorway to glance around the room. “You paid someone to decorate your apartment, didn’t you?”

  Dermot appraised the gender-neutral guest room. The bed, chair, and pillows were covered in navy and gold brocade trimmed with gold braid. The headboard, nightstand, and dresser were made of pecan with gold accents. Navy gauze panels tied back with gold tassels draped over a decorative pecan rod, unifying the theme. The look was completed with three still-lifes bordered by wide navy mattes in slim gold frames. It looked elegant, without being ostentatious.

  “She did a good job.”

  Eileen smiled. “It’s pretty enough, true. But it’s not you.”

  “This is the guest room.” Dermot grinned, anticipating her reaction to the designer’s safari look in his room. “Wait until you see the master bedroom.”

  Eileen unzipped her suitcase, flipped it open, and tossed aside a sweater to reveal a slender gray branch, about two feet in length, tapering from an inch in width at the foot of the branch to the tiny twigs at its tip.

  Dermot swallowed, unable to tear his gaze from the innocuous branch. He remembered the feel of the dryad’s hands whipping his ass, the glorious pain that transported him to the faerie realm of indescribable beauty. The ecstasy that had nearly killed him.

  He reached for the branch, and saw that his hand was shaking. Quickly, he clasped his hands behind his back before Eileen could spot his tremors and have second thoughts.