Page 6 of Irish Thoroughbred (Irish Hearts #1)

But she was Adelia Cunnane, she reminded herself, and no man would get the better of her.

She would not play peasant to his squire and pull her forelock when he passed by.

She did her job, and did it well. He would have no cause to complain in that field.

But she would speak her piece if she’d a mind to, and the devil take him if he didn’t like it!

Late each afternoon, Adelia visited Solomy. She was sure the mare would deliver any day, and, knowing the birth would be a difficult one, she spent her visits comforting the mare and gaining her confidence.

“Soon you’ll be having a fine, strong son or daughter,” Adelia told her as she closed the stall door after her visit. “I’d like to take you and the babe and bundle you off with me. What do you think himself would do about that?”

“He might be tempted to have you hanged for horse thieving.”

She spun around, her eyes encountering Travis’s powerful form resting idly against the next stall. “It’s a bad habit you have of sneaking up and scaring a body to death,” she snapped at him, assuming that the uneven beat of her heart was the result of surprise.

“I do happen to own this place, Adelia,” he returned in low, calm tones that only increased her agitation.

“That’s a fact I’m not likely to forget.

There’s no need to remind me.” She tilted her chin in defiance of him and the continuing flutter of her stomach, knowing she should guard her words, and knowing the power to do so was beyond her.

“I give you your day’s work, but maybe you think I’m forgetting my place.

Should I be bobbing a curtsy, Mr. Grant? ”

“You impudent little wench,” Travis muttered, straightening from his relaxed position. “I’m getting a bit weary of being stabbed by that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Well, it’s sorry I am about that. The best advice I can give is that you not be conversing with me.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had.” He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her a foot off the ground as their eyes warred with each other. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time you slashed at me with your sharp Irish tongue.”

He crushed her mouth with his, cutting off a heated retort.

Too surprised by his action to resist immediately, Adelia began to experience unfamiliar and disturbing sensations, a heat and weakness that she might feel on a day spent working in the field.

His hands were like steel around her small waist, holding her body suspended in the air while his lips assaulted hers, entering her mouth with his tongue in a kiss that was both devastating and totally foreign to any she had ever known.

Pressed hard against him, lips joined, she felt his warmth, his essence, seeping into her, demanding and receiving her merging.

She could feel the authority in the arms that held her, taste the knowledge on the lips that claimed hers, and body and mind surrendered to both.

Unable to combat the turbulence of the unexplored, she felt it whirl her like a cyclone, spinning her toward the sun until the heat threatened to become fire.

And as each of her senses were assaulted and conquered, he continued to explore her mouth, feasting on it as a man who knew a woman’s flavor. He took, and she knew nothing of the richness of the banquet she gave him, warm and ripe and fresh.

After a lifetime, he released her, dropping her back to the ground as she stared at him mutely, eyes huge with confusion.

“Well, half-pint, this is the first time I’ve seen you at a loss for words.” He mocked her openly, the lips that had just conquered hers lifted in a smug, satisfied smile.

His taunt broke the strange hold over her mind and tongue, and her eyes lit with molten green fire.

“You son of the devil,” she began in a rich explosion, and what followed was a raging stream of Irish curses and dire predictions delivered in so strong an accent that it was nearly impossible to comprehend the words.

When her imagination had at last run dry, and she could only stand staring at him breathlessly, he threw back his head and laughed until she thought he would burst.

“Oh, Dee, you’re a fabulous sight when you’re breathing fire!” He took no trouble to hide his amusement, an infuriating grin glued to his face. “The madder you get, the thicker the brogue. I’m going to have to provoke you more often.”

“I’m giving you warning,” she returned in an ominous voice, which only widened the grin. “If you ever molest me again, it’s more than my tongue you’ll be feeling.”

Lifting her head, she strode out of the stables, clutching the last threads of her dignity around her.

She said nothing to Paddy about her scene with Travis, and instead banged around the kitchen as she prepared dinner, uttering incoherent sentences about great arrogant beasts and strong-arm bullies.

Her fury with Travis was intermingled with fury with herself.

The fact that his touch had brought both excitement and unexplained pleasure angered her further, and she berated herself for the uncontrollable attraction she felt for him.