Sticks and Stone Read online

  Eileen stared at him with rapt fascination. “Why?” she breathed.

  “Your book gave me the clue. You talked about the potential for human purity. That’s you.”

  She thought of all her doubts and disbeliefs. “I don’t feel very pure.”

  “Oh, but you are! It shines from you, like a light that can’t be seen, only felt in the heart. It makes me want to be a better person, to be the kind of man who would deserve you.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs labored in deep, shuddering gasps, but her throat was too tight for the air to pass.

  “Eileen?” He pushed her away to see her face. “Are you crying?”

  “No. And a proper gentleman would know better than to ask a lady such a question.” She spoiled her indignation with a wet sniff.

  Dermot smiled, and curled her close to his chest. “Whatever you say.”

  He continued stroking and caressing her, molding her body gently to his, until her breathing steadied and she relaxed against him.

  Turning her head slightly, she swept her tongue across his flat nipple. He sucked in a sharp breath, so she did it again, this time cupping and caressing his ass at the same time.

  “Keep that up, and this conversation will be over in a few seconds,” he warned.

  “Didn’t I tell you it was a weakness for a finely turned phrase I had? And you, you’ve kissed the Blarney Stone for certain.”

  He chuckled. “Well, then, it’s time I stopped talking. Your turn. Why did you accept my offer to come to America? Was it only for the publicity tour?”

  She heard the fear underlying his forced good cheer, and hurried to reassure him.

  “No. Nor for your wealth. Truth be told, that was why I threw your card away. I couldn’t imagine you in my world, and knew I could never fit in yours.”

  “But you changed your mind.”

  “Aye. I realized I knew no such thing. I believed it. As if I’d seen a rainbow, and believed it rained.”

  He frowned. “But it does have to rain before you see the rainbow.”

  “Did you never see a rainbow over a waterfall?”

  “Oh…”

  “Aye. I misjudged you. And it’s sorry I am to have done so.” She pressed another kiss to his chest. “What do I see in you? Ask why am I here, and get the same answer to both. You did not give up. Not when the dryad tried to claim your life, not when I needed to help you in my cottage, and not when you chose to pursue me. You see clearly, Dermot Stone, more clearly than most who do not walk the path, and you walk your own path guided by what you see.”

  She blew out a disgusted sigh. “So many of the people I meet are searching, for what, they don’t know. But it’s me they want to find it. It’s me they want to tell them the truth that should be hidden in their own hearts. Not you, though. You know. And like the stone that is your namesake, there’s none alive who can move you once your feet are set.”

  He brushed his hand through her hair, then tilted her face up so that he could meet her gaze.

  “You see all that in me?” he whispered.

  “Aye.”

  His lips closed over hers. They continued speaking, no longer needing recourse to words. Instead, their kiss expanded and deepened, until they breathed each other’s souls.

  Slowly, with no sense of urgency, Dermot rolled her onto her back and slid inside her. She held his cock sheathed deep within her, not moving, just kissing him, while time stretched and distorted and billowed around them. They hung suspended, supported by their fused breaths, in a moment that transcended time.

  The blood pulsed in her groin. Dermot’s cock twitched.

  Time snapped back in a howling rush, reclaiming them to the ordinary world. Her hands roamed across his back, stroking and petting and clawing, while his heavy cock slicked in and out of her wet vagina. He grunted, thrusting hard and fast, and she slapped his ass, urging him on. And still they devoured each other with their mouths, teeth and tongues tangling and striking.

  She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only feel, Dermot hard and hot and pounding inside her.

  Then he burst, flooding her with his fire, scorching the tender flesh he’d loved so thoroughly the night before. She broke apart, shattering into a million pieces, each a mirror to the glowing flame of his love, until she was engulfed in a brilliant inferno without end.

  * * * * *

  Eileen had no time to think about the coming meeting as she hurriedly showered and dressed in her book-signing outfit of a long gray wool skirt, white blouse, and gray velvet shawl. As soon as she was ready, Dermot called for his limousine.

  He glanced at his watch. “Barring traffic, we’ll make it.”

  “Isn’t traffic usually a problem in Manhattan?”

  He grinned as he escorted her to the elevator. “Compared to what you’re used to, I’m sure it would be. My driver can handle it.”

  The driver and limo were waiting for them in the circle outside the apartment building. A new and younger doorman held open the limousine’s door for them. As she entered the passenger compartment with Dermot right behind her, Eileen was assailed by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  As soon as they’d taken their seats and the doorman sealed them inside, Dermot pressed the intercom button. “The Silver Moon offices. For a nine o’clock meeting.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Dermot released the button and reached for one of the brushed steel coffee cups engraved with the Stone Industries logo, only to be flung backward into the seat as the limousine shot out of the circle and into the street.

  He righted himself, and grabbed a bagel from the bag beside the coffees instead. “I’ll wait until a traffic light to try drinking anything. Would you like a bagel? We have plain, sesame, cinnamon raisin, and blueberry.”

  She rested her hand on her stomach, which chose that moment to gurgle. “Yes, please. Blueberry.”

  She tore into the bagel, surprised at how suddenly ravenous she was.

  He smiled indulgently, more interested in watching her than in eating his own bagel. “Built up quite an appetite last night, did you?”

  “What with all the time zone changes, I missed a meal along the way.”

  “Would you like another bagel?”

  She pressed her palm to her stomach, which was now churning. “No, thank you. That wouldn’t be a very good idea right now.”

  The limousine stopped at a light, and Dermot quickly swallowed half a cup of coffee. She added cream and sugar to hers, so only had time for a single sip before the car lurched into motion again.

  The driver continued darting the big car in and out of traffic in a manner that did nothing to soothe her nerves. Dermot held her hand, offering her silent encouragement.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” she admitted. “I suppose it’s because I don’t know what to expect.”

  “My publicist is excellent. She’ll find your comfort level, and book you accordingly. Just be yourself. You’ll be fine.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “There is one thing, however. It would be best if you didn’t mention we knew each other.”

  She smiled, recognizing now that he was trying to protect her. “You don’t want them to think this publicity is favoritism?”

  “I want them focused on enhancing the value of the publisher’s lead author, and public recognition of Silver Moon.”

  “How long should we wait before telling them, do you think?”

  “They don’t need to be told.”

  Eileen frowned. “Your limousine driver, and the two doormen at your building all know I spent the night with you. You know what they say. It is not a secret if it is known to three people.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They are well paid for their discretion.”

  “And when you run out of those whose silence you have paid for, what then? Am I to be seen nowhere in public with you?”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course we’ll be seen together. We have to eat. And I’m eager to show you man
y of my favorite places in the city. That doesn’t mean our personal lives need to be fodder for the gossip rags.”

  The limousine pulled up before a utilitarian, cement-walled building. As soon as it stopped, the driver hopped out and hurried around the car.

  Eileen pulled her skirts away from Dermot so that not even her clothing touched him.

  “No one who sees us now could mistake us for lovers. Does this make you happy?”

  His glance darted to his driver, leaning forward to open the door. “We will continue this discussion later.”

  “Only if you find a new tune to sing.”

  Pushing past him, she climbed out of the car and hurried into the publisher’s building.

  Chapter Eight

  Dermot traded an exasperated look with his driver as he exited the limousine.

  “Would you like me to run any errands for you during your meeting, sir?”

  Dermot knew what Chris was asking—did he need a bribe to regain his lover’s good graces. Chris had purchased roses, diamonds, and coveted event tickets plenty of times in the past for him.

  Dermot wasn’t certain what had just gone wrong, but he knew enough to know that a gift wouldn’t make it right.

  “No. No errands today. Pick us up in three hours. And make reservations for dinner—someplace with a lot of people. Leave a message on my cell with the details.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dermot forced down his frustration and put on his game face. Time to meet with the publisher and publicist. At least now he’d get to see how Eileen handled herself, and if she could remain professional even when she was upset.

  She was not in the deserted lobby. Hoping she knew which floor the meeting was on, he took the elevator up to the seventh floor. Everyone was already assembled in the conference room. Everyone except Eileen, that is.

  He glanced around the four people already in the room to make sure he hadn’t overlooked her, although he couldn’t imagine ever doing such a thing. She wasn’t there.

  “Where’s Eileen?” he asked.

  “She’s in my office,” Brian Royce, the CEO of Silver Moon, said. “Adjusting her travel arrangements.”

  “Will she be long?” What the hell did ‘adjusting her travel arrangements’ mean? Her flight back to Ireland was booked for next Tuesday, and he’d already canceled her reservation at the Niko since she was staying with him. Neither needed adjusting.

  A chill rolled down his spine. Unless she wasn’t planning on staying with him after all. Whatever had just upset her hadn’t upset her that badly, had it? Surely she was going to give him a chance to correct the situation.

  “No, not very,” Royce answered. “In fact, here she comes now.”

  Eileen breezed into the room, the wind of her movement rippling the fringe on her shawl with eye-catching waves. All he could think about was chasing everyone else from the room, ripping it off of her, and turning the cherry conference table into an impromptu bed. Far from getting his fill of her, after their night of passion, he was well and truly addicted to the pleasures of her body.

  A slight smile slipped his iron control. Technically, that wasn’t correct. The mind-blowing ecstasy she’d given him using that wych elm branch had been a pleasure of his body. But whether they’d been making love skin-to-skin or pleasuring each other in one of the other creative variations they’d found, it had been great, and he wanted more. He didn’t think he could ever tire of making love to her.

  Numbly, he took his seat at the table, across from Royce. Where had that thought come from?

  Royce began his presentation, introducing the people at the table, but Dermot had no attention to spare for the man. He hadn’t given the matter any particular thought, but had simply assumed that any affair with Eileen would run the normal course of his affairs, a brief flare of passion followed by growing disinterest until the embers were completely cold and he moved on.

  Could he possibly be thinking of something more with Eileen? Something like marriage?

  But that was ridiculous. They were completely unsuited for marriage. She’d said it herself—they came from two entirely different worlds.

  Royce had finished his introductory comments, and Sara Combs stood up to give her presentation of the proposed publicity campaigns.

  “Our goal is twofold. First, we want to identify in the consumer’s mind the name Eileen Lyons with the female-empowering neo-pagan revival.”

  “But I’m not—”

  Sara shot a brittle smile at her, silencing Eileen’s objection. “Those are just the buzz words. We’ll address your actual beliefs in your product differentiation.”

  Sara glanced around the table, checking for any additional objections. When none were forthcoming, she plunged back into her presentation.

  Dermot listened to the ideas with a sense of impending doom. Eileen had tried to warn him. She’d known that they were embarking on more than a casual affair. That’s what had angered her so badly this morning—not that he didn’t want to disclose their relationship, but by refusing to plan for a future disclosure, he was announcing that he was only interested in a brief fling.

  His skill at manipulation that had engineered her arrival so smoothly now worked against him. He’d bought into the publisher under the pretext that his money would be used to fuel growth and expansion. The publicity campaign was central to that growth.

  Eileen was going to be associated irrefutably in the public mind with witchcraft, bizarre and scandalous pagan rituals, and weird occult powers. The news rags would be thrilled to exploit any personal connection between the two of them. Eileen would be accused of bewitching him. Dermot’s business judgment would be called into question.

  He remembered how, after one of his parents’ legendary scandals, the reporters had circled the family home like sharks scenting blood in the water. An enterprising photographer had snapped a picture of a very young Dermot playing in his sandbox, catching him in the act of demolishing a sand castle, and used it to highlight an article about the effects of parental discord on children. Dermot was forbidden from playing outside after that, trapped in a state of house arrest for over a month until the reporters and photographers finally disappeared.

  He had vowed as a child that he would never endure that particular hell again. His conduct as an adult had conformed with that vow, so that while he’d had his share of articles and photo spreads about his personal life, especially after that most eligible bachelor nonsense, he’d never suffered through another tabloid feeding frenzy.

  Most of his adult life, he corrected. His trip to Ireland had touched off a flurry of irrational behavior. First his telling the men he’d gone leprechaun hunting with about his affair with Tami. Then having sex with a dryad. Confessing his sexual desires to Eileen, and having unprotected sex with her.

  His stomach clenched. He hadn’t used a condom this morning, either. And the last time they’d made love, it had been in the standard position that could easily have gotten her pregnant.

  A sudden babble of voices recalled him to the meeting. Sara had concluded her presentation, and the other attendees were now adding their own comments.

  Royce glanced his way and frowned. “You look concerned, Stone. Do you see a problem with Sara’s proposal?”

  “The proposal is fine. I said as much during our prereview.” And thankfully he had reviewed Sara’s material once before, since he’d paid absolutely no attention during her presentation. “But there’s a difference between a proposal and an executed campaign. I’ll reserve judgment until I see how it all plays out.”

  Royce didn’t look happy with Dermot’s answer. And why would he be? Dermot had practically shoved the publicity campaign down his throat, and now he was backing off his support.

  Sara regained the meeting’s momentum like the trooper that she was. “That’s a valid concern, Mr. Stone. And why we’re here today, to hammer out the details of the execution. Ms. Lyons, after hearing the presentation, which sections of the proposal d
id you feel most comfortable with?”

  “I liked the idea of applying ancient wisdom to modern situations. In fact, as soon as you said that, I had an idea. Women are so often called upon to play the role of wife, mother, and caretaker of elderly parents. Many times, they feel guilty about taking time for themselves, and end up neglecting their needs in favor of others’. Or else they overcompensate and always put their own needs first, with no regard for how their actions affect those that rely upon them. One of my religion’s central beliefs crystallizes how to balance those two extremes—do what you want, so long as it causes no harm.”

  Sara scribbled frantically. “Oh, yeah. That’s good. We can run with that.”

  Dermot leaned back in his chair, stunned. How could he have overlooked something so incredibly simple? In all of his plans and deliberations, his schemes to get Eileen to come to him or his resolve to have nothing more to do with her, he had not once asked what she wanted. Oh, he’d considered her wants. How else could he have baited his trap with this publicity campaign? But he’d never simply come straight out and asked her.

  God, he was a fool.

  He entered the discussion, offering his full range of experience and support. He’d make sure Eileen had every opportunity for a successful publicity campaign. If she chose not to go through with it, that was one thing. But he wouldn’t cripple the campaign before it started, simply to make things easier for himself. That would run counter to her prime dictate, and he was gaining more respect for that philosophy every time he heard it.

  * * * * *

  The meeting broke up an hour and a half later. Dermot stood immediately.

  “Ms. Lyons, if I might have a word with you?”

  “Certainly.” Her cheeks glowed, and sparks glimmered within her eyes.