Page 6 of The Irish Gypsy

Jonathan O'Reilly was expecting a shipment of wine and liquor from the distillery to replenish his stock. When it arrived he looked over the invoices, signed the receipt and told the two delivery men to put the cases in the cellar.

An angry Kitty had been sent down for coal. She vowed that she would never do this degrading chore again, promising herself she would appeal to Patrick if there were any repercussions. The men stacked the cases of wine at the top of the cellar steps and as Kitty hauled the heavy coal scuttle through the door, she collided with the wine and sent eight cases crashing to the floor. The girl was rooted to the spot with horror.

"How many's broken?"

she finally whispered.

"All of 'um! Eight dozen, that's ninety-six bottles, you clumsy bitch!"

She stood in a wine-red pool with shards of glass stretching clear across the kitchen floor.

"Oh, my God, whatever shall I do?"

she asked piteously, and the tears ran down her cheeks and dripped into the pool.

Patrick, followed by most of the servants, came to investigate the crash.

"What in Christ's name is going on here?"

The delivery men spoke up together.

"It was her fault, gov'nor. She crashed into the wine with that bleedin' coal scuttle. Who's goin' to pay for this breakage, that's what I'd like to know."

Kitty dared not look up at Patrick. She trembled with the overwhelming knowledge of the havoc she had wrought.

Patrick's voice had a cutting edge that brooked no disobedience.

"Clean it up instantly. Replace the order and bill me. Kitty, come!"

He ushered her from the kitchen and up the broad staircase to his bedroom.

The tears were still coming as she climbed each stair with trepidation in her heart. Her mind was going over the alternatives rapidly. Would it be best to deny that she had done it, or disclaim responsibility because the cases were stacked improperly, or would it simply be best to throw herself on Patrick's mercy and hope he wouldn't deduct the cost of the wine from her year's wages?

He closed the door quietly and stood looking down at her. He took a large white handkerchief from his pocket, put a finger under her chin to lift her face and then very gently wiped away her tears.

She eyed him warily.

"Kitty, I can't bear to see you a servant. Let me take you away from all this."

For one glorious moment, she thought he was going to ask her to marry him, until a little voice of reason told her it wouldn't be that easy.

"What do you mean?"

she whispered.

"First of all, Kitty, tell me what you want to do," he urged.

She knew he was not referring to the wine, but to life. She took a deep breath.

"Everything! I want to see, smell, taste, touch everything. I want to do everything, go everywhere, experience it all,"

she said with passion.

"Then we are alike."

He smiled.

"I have a little house in Half-Moon Street. Would you like to go and live there? Learn how to be a lady, wear pretty clothes and have servants of your own?"

"Are you sure it would be all right for me to do that?"

"Oh, yes, it's done all the time, I assure you."

"When can we leave?"

she asked quickly.

He laughed and said.

"Now, if you like."

She thought happily, He does want to marry me, but first I have to learn to be a lady. She dashed upstairs to the attic for her cloak. She slipped her Tarot cards into her reticule, retrieved her bracelet from under the mattress and didn't even pause to look around the room. Her heart was singing. She wanted to slide down the banister, but when she saw Patrick waiting at the bottom, she quickly decided that it would be unladylike.

She leaned back against the velvet squabs of Patrick's well-sprung carriage and closed her eyes for a second to control her excitement.

He kept glancing at her and smiling, while keeping an eye on his driver.

"Where are we going?"

she ventured.

"I'm going to take you to Madame Martine's in Bond Street. A very chic Paris dressmaker. Probably the only time she saw France was from Dover on a clear day, but her clothes are unsurpassed."

Kitty laughed and asked.

"Is she very expensive?"

"You will be delighted to know her prices are shameful. It will very likely cost me an arm and a leg before I get out of there, but don't let that stop you from picking anything you desire."

She threw him a mischievous glance from under those long black lashes and said with a laugh.

"I won't disappoint you!"

He held her glance for a moment and said.

"I'll hold you to that promise,"

but she quickly lowered her eyes and fingered the tiny bells on her bracelet. His eyes clouded momentarily.

"Kitty, where did you get that?"

"I can't tell you,"

she said prettily.

"Damn it, Kitty, I won't have you accepting presents from other men. I wasn't even aware you knew any men except Father and me. Father! That's who bought your little trinket, isn't it?"

he demanded.

"Well, I suppose you could say that,"

she answered carefully.

He looked at her sharply, the rake of his jaw thrust out angrily. She felt frightened of him when he was angry.

"What did you do in return for the bracelet?"

He almost sneered.

She cast down her eyes and whispered.

"I stole it when we visited the Silver Vaults."

The crack of his laughter startled her. Relieved that his dark mood had passed, she laughed with him. His lips brushed her forehead and he said.

"You're incorrigible!"

She was disturbed by his closeness. It was pleasant but instinctively she knew his behavior was a little too familiar. She looked down at her lap and fingered the plain material of her dress. Suddenly she burst out.

"I hate brown!"

"So do I,"

he agreed.

"Then I'll never wear it again,"

she vowed.

Madame Martine welcomed Patrick effusively. She remembered him very well, as only a few days ago he had brought his sister in and spent a good deal, promising he would soon return with his younger sister. She whisked Kitty away to a tiny fitting room, leaving Patrick to sip sherry as he relaxed on a blue satin, Louis XIV love seat. She dressed Kitty in a child's pink organdy dress with frilled white pantaloons showing beneath and swept her before Patrick.

"Ta soeur!"

Patrick's eyes met Kitty's and they both went off into peals of laughter.

"You look delicious, my sweet, like icing on a cake. Madame, I assure you this is not my sister."

He smiled charmingly.

"May I suggest something a little more sophisticated? She will need everything--underwear, dresses, negligees."

Madame Martine realized her faux pas instantly. She had taken them for brother and sister because they had the same vivid, dark beauty.

Kitty spoke up.

"I look much younger than I really am, Madame, and I should like some grown-up gowns with plunging necklines. I turned sixteen last month."

Patrick had the decency to flush as Madame Martine's eyebrows rose. In her business one couldn't afford scruples, but she felt morally justified in her decision to charge him double for everything. She started with day dresses in exquisitely sprigged muslin, then gowns for evening-wear that had been made up for other customers.

"Mademoiselle is so petite, I will have to get the girl to pin it tighter."

As soon as she left, Kitty, who was standing on a raised platform in front of Patrick, lifted her skirts to show off her legs.

"Look, Patrick--silk stockings, just like I've always longed for!"

His loins went taut and he began to stiffen. She had only intended to show him her ankles, but elevated as she was he saw the shapely calves and caught a glimpse of her bare thigh, that very exciting area above the garters where the stockings left off and the most intimate part of the female began. He was acutely aware of the savage pulsing of blood into his shaft.

"They come in all kinds of shades. May I have some pink ones and some flesh-colored ones?"

"And black,"

he said huskily, as he shifted position to ease the tightness of the cloth of his trousers.

Kitty only had eyes for the pretty shoes with bows across the toes and tiny high heels. They made her feel different as she strutted about in them. Most of the dresses would have to be delivered when they were finished, but many of the articles of lace underwear, shoes, stockings, etc., were boxed up and ready to be taken with them.

Madame Martine came out of the dressing room to have a private word with Patrick. She carried three or four transparent nightgowns in delicate shades over her arm.

"She absolutely refuses to try any of these on, monsieur."

"Why?"

asked Patrick, puzzled.

"She says nightgowns have to be made of flannel to keep you warm."

Patrick laughed.

"Wrap them up; we'll take them."

When they left the shop Kitty was wearing a yellow silk organza, which fell in ruffles down the back over a crinoline. Her hair was gathered up at one side with a bunch of silk primroses and she carried a parasol to match her dress. She insisted on wearing two pairs of frilled gloves at the same time.

"See how pretty the double rows of frills are?"

she asked Patrick.

"Like your eyelashes,"

he murmured.

She loved the compliments he had suddenly begun to pay her, but his voice was so intimate that it made her blush. She couldn't escape the feeling that he knew something she didn't. She was anticipating what would come next and could sense his anticipation, but vaguely she felt they were not anticipating the same things. Suddenly her attention was drawn to a man beating his horse in the street. Without a moment's hesitation she wrested the whip from him and laid it about his back with a sweeping stroke.

"Now you know what it feels like!"

she said passionately, her eyes blazing.

Patrick was momentarily stunned at her actions, but gallantly backed her up in condemning the carter's treatment of the poor beast. Out of his past came a picture of his pretty Irish mother taking a whip to some fellow for his insolence.

"What a difference your new clothes make. Suddenly you have the confidence of a duchess. Lady Jane Tut to the very life!"

he teased. He helped her into the carriage and gave instructions to his driver. He sat opposite her so that he could view her to advantage.

"You saw yourself in a mirror at Madame Martine's so you must realize how very beautiful you are."

"Yes, I do look beautiful, don't I?"

she asked ingenuously.

"As a matter of fact, you are a very showy female. In Lancashire we have an expression, 'You pay well for dressing.' Now wherever I take you, all the men will be staring at you, and I'll hate every moment of it."

The glint in his eye belied his words.

"You're teasing me,"

Kitty said with a laugh.

"On the contrary, my dear, it is you who are teasing me,"

he said softly.

His eyes lingered on her lips until she said breathlessly.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Like what, Kitty?"

"Well....like I look at food when I'm very hungry--sort of longingly."

He took her hand and put the tips of her fingers to his lips.

"I would love to eat you,"

he said suggestively.

"Just one taste would satisfy me."

She looked at him very seriously and said.

"Patrick, you know that's a lie; nothing would satisfy you but the whole."

He was startled for a moment and wondered if she realized she had just made a very racy pun. It was hard to tell with Kitty. One moment she was all little girl; the next she could do or say something so sexually provocative, he became hard instantly.

The carriage went downriver past the Tower of London.

"Oh, let's go to the Tower, please, Patrick."

"How can I refuse you anything when you ask so prettily? However, first I think we are in need of sustenance."

The carriage stopped at Wapping Wall outside the Prospect of Whitby.

"Oh, isn't this a public house?"

she asked doubtfully as he helped her down.

"Yes, it's a pub, the best on the Thames. It has been here since 1509"

"Do you think it quite proper for me to go into a place like this?"

"Well, some ladies would refuse, but this morning you were the girl who wanted to go everywhere and experience everything, weren't you?"

She tucked her arm in his and smiled up invitingly.

"What are we waiting for?"

He led her upstairs on the riverside. It was high tide and the Prospect stood on tall timbers, out in the river's waters. Kitty received many admiring glances and she noticed that she was the only woman in the room. Patrick ordered for them both. They had paté, whitebait and trout broiled in heavy butter.

"In the last century, thieves and smugglers frequented this place. The hangman too--the public execution area is just across the street."

She shuddered.

"The atmosphere is strange here."

"Wait until you go up in the Tower,"

he promised.

Instead of white wine to go with the fish, he ordered her mead and mulled wine for himself.

"Do you like it?"

"It's delicious,"

she said dreamily.

"I feel like Queen Guinevere, sipping mead."

"Much more beautiful,"

he assured her.

He took her to the Tower as he had promised and guided her toward the Jewel House.

"There are three floors of armor, but you must be prepared to climb to each floor, and then coming down there's over a hundred winding tower stairs to the exit, so please, sweetheart, can we skip the armor today?"

"Oh look, there's one of the ravens. You must bow to him, Patrick."

He laughed.

"I'm Irish too, or have you forgotten?"

"I can feel the sadness here, can you?"

she asked wistfully.

"Of course; and evil and pain, but don't let it spoil our day. Come, look at the jewels, they will really thrill you."

Kitty was in thrall as she viewed the crowns and scepters encrusted with precious gems.

He whispered in her ear.

"Do you like diamonds, Kitty?"

"I like pearls,"

she said softly.

"Pearls are for tears,"

he protested.

"To be Irish is to know the world will break your heart before you're forty."

"My God, it must be this place. Let's get out of here,"

he said, laughing.

They were driving past Green Park when he said.

"Half-Moon Street is just across the park."

"Oh, could we get out and walk the rest of the way?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

He told his driver to deliver the packages to Mrs. Harris in Half-Moon Street.

"Tell her we'll be arriving shortly. You can return the carriage to Cadogen Square, I won't be needing you again today."

He took her hand as they strolled through the beautiful park. Kitty put up her parasol and almost skipped along at his side.

"Oh, Patrick, this has been the happiest day of my life."

The sun was sinking behind the trees and people were making their way home after an outing in the park. They received many cold stares and there was much tut-tutting as they strolled hand in hand in a public place, seemingly lost in a world of their own.

Before they reached the top step, the door was flung wide and Mrs. Harris was curtsying to her new master.

"Good evening, Mrs. Harris. This is your new mistress, Kit....er, Kathleen Rooney."

"Good evening, ma'am."

She sketched another curtsey.

"All your packages arrived and I've taken the liberty of unpacking them in your bedroom, ma'am."

Mrs. Harris was very pleased when she saw how young Kitty was. She felt certain she would be able to take the upper hand. It was plain to see his nibs was badly smitten, as he couldn't take his eyes from her for more than a few seconds at a time. She knew he would have a formidable temper if aroused, so she hesitated over her next words for fear of spoiling his obvious good mood.

"Milord, I'm sorry to have to tell you, but the cook never showed up today."

"Well, never mind, Mrs. Harris. Fortunately Shepherd's Market is just two steps away round the corner. Ye Grapes can provide us with a light supper, if you would be good enough to step round there for me?"

"My pleasure, sir,"

she answered, relieved that his easy-going mood had not altered.

"The wine you sent arrived this afternoon. I put some of it to chill."

"Did it arrive intact, no bottle broken?"

he asked, winking at Kitty.

"Oh, Patrick,"

Kitty said with a laugh.

"that seems a lifetime ago; I can't believe it was only this morning."

"Come, let me show you your new home while Mrs. Harris sees about our supper."

It was clearly a man's establishment, with a richly patterned oriental carpet, a wine velvet couch and two leather wing-backed chairs in front of a small fireplace. There was a beautifully inlaid writing desk, but the whole effect was softened by masses of flowers Patrick had ordered. This sitting room was one floor up from the reception hall where they had entered. It was a tall, narrow house, and above the sitting room on the third level was a spacious bedroom. The bed was enormous, with brocade hangings that matched the heavy curtains at the tall windows. The wardrobe and tallboy were in a polished red mahogany, and the pile of the rug was like plush velvet. Patrick opened a door off the bedroom to show Kitty the bathroom.

She was utterly delighted.

"Oh, a bath just for me! This is the nicest room of all; I'll spend all my time here.

He was delighted at her pleasure in everything.

"Oh, who picked out all this beautiful soap and dusting powder?"

"I did, of course,"

he said with a smile.

She stripped off her gloves and washed her hands with the rose-scented soap.

"Mmm, smell me,"

she invited, holding her hands up to his face.

He buried a kiss inside her palm and quickly closed her fingers over it. She was delighted at such a pretty trick. When they went downstairs to the sitting room, Mrs. Harris had laid out a cold supper for them. She was glad to see they were in a playful mood; that meant bed right after they'd eaten and she would be free to go belowstairs to her own room for the rest of the evening.

Patrick carved the bird and poured the wine. Later he peeled a peach for her. It was the first time she had ever seen a peach in her whole life. She decided she liked them excessively. He led her to the couch to finish their wine. He looked deeply into her eyes and offered a toast.

"To this moment, and the moment yet to come,"

he said meaningfully.

She was acutely aware of his nearness and thought: This is what it would be like to be married; just the two of us alone.

He said huskily.

"What would you like to do?"

She looked at him from beneath her lashes and said.

"Will you let me play with your....watch?"

There, she had done it again! Her words were erotically suggestive, as if she were a practiced coquette, while at the same time she looked at him with innocent, trusting eyes. A desire such as he had seldom felt before swept through him. He murmured Robert Burns' lines:

Honeyed seal of soft affections,

Tenderest pledge of future bliss,

Dearest tie of young connections,

Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss.

He crushed her to him. The scent of her breath excited him further and his mouth came down upon hers longingly.

She sprang up quickly, confused.

"Do....do you have a key of your own?"

she stammered.

"Of course."

"Good. Then you can let yourself out when you're ready to leave. I know you'll excuse me, but I'm just dying to take a bath in that beautiful tub. Oh, Patrick, I can never thank you enough for what you've done. Good night!"

she said quickly and ran from the room.

Patrick chuckled to himself and rang for Mrs. Harris.

"Milady has decided to take a bath. She's used to doing everything for herself, so you will have to insist on helping her if she tries to dismiss you. Oh, and Mrs. Harris, try and hurry her along to bed, won't you?"

he said with a wink. He removed his jacket and waistcoat, stretched out his legs and lit a long, thin cheroot.

"I'll draw your bath, ma'am,"

said Mrs. Harris.

"Oh, please call me Kitty, won't you? Fill the tub right up and pour in some of those lovely lavender bath salts. I feel very extravagant tonight."

Kitty tied up her curls with a satin ribbon and sank into the perfumed water up to her chin. The hot water gave her a sensuous feeling. Although Kitty did not know what it was exactly, she knew it was an extremely pleasant sensation.

After ten minutes Mrs. Harris came in and picked up Kitty's clothes and laid a white gossamer nightgown out for her.

"Where did you find that?"

Kitty asked, surprised.

"It was in one of the boxes that were delivered. Mr. O'Reilly picked it for you."

"I can't wear that. It's indecent! Bring my petticoat back, please."

"Nonsense. Put the nightgown on before he comes up. I think he's been patient long enough."

"Hasn't Patrick left yet?"

asked Kitty, surprised.

"Of course he hasn't left--he's spending the night."

"But where will he sleep?"

puzzled Kitty.

"With you, of course,"

Mrs. Harris answered firmly.

"But men and women don't sleep in the same bed,"

said Kitty, shocked.

"I don't know what game you're playing, miss, but you'd better slip into that nightgown and pop into bed or we're going to have one angry young man on our hands."

Kitty was furious.

"I will not put that thing on. Bring my clothes."

"Then you'll have to get into bed naked. He'll soon have you in that state anyway."

"Mrs. Harris, you are an evil woman and I don't want you here."

"Listen to me, dearie. You an' me have a good thing going here if you'll just be sensible. All you have to do is open your legs for him and he'll give you anything you ask for. On the other hand, if you cross him, he looks like he could be a very nasty customer."

"Oh, I won't listen to such wicked talk,"

Kitty said, close to tears. She stepped from the water and dried herself on the big white towel.

"Where are my clothes?"

she demanded.

"You'll never find them,"

asserted Mrs. Harris.

Wildly, Kitty opened drawers and pulled out their contents, but she could only find nightgowns and undergarments. Tears of frustration filled her eyes. Realizing how undignified she must look, scrambling about for clothes, she ran back to the bathroom and swept up the white nightgown. It was slit down the sides and fastened with delicate ribbons. She put it on furiously and Mrs. Harris approved.

"That's better. It was designed to give a man pleasure."

Kitty caught a sob in her throat and ran downstairs to the sitting room.

Patrick's cheroot glowed in the darkened room and Kitty ran to him.

"Patrick, thank God you are still here!"

"My darling, what's wrong?"

he gathered her close and she hid her face against his chest.

"It's Mrs. Harris. She's an evil woman. She's been saying such wicked things to me. Oh, you wouldn't believe the things she said."

Mrs. Harris appeared in the doorway and said.

"I'm sorry, sir, but she wouldn't go to bed. I can't understand what's upset her so much."

"You may leave us, Mrs. Harris. She'll be all right with me,"

he told her coldly. She bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

"My darling, what's the damned woman been saying to you?"

he asked soothingly.

"I....I can't tell you,"

she whispered.

He reached over and turned up the lamp. Kitty gasped as the light flooded over her dishabille.

He raised her face and demanded.

"Tell me instantly what she said to you."

"She said....she said that men and women sleep in the same bed. I've never heard of such a thing,"

and she began to cry again.

He kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair.

"Kitty, when people love each other, they do sleep in the same bed."

He stroked her back gently until her tears subsided. He had her gentled now and he didn't want her to see the naked desire in his eyes.

"I love you, Kitty. Do you care for me a little?"

"Patrick, you know I love you."

She looked up at him and the tears spiked her eyelashes. He bent forward and took her mouth possessively.

When she pulled her lips away from him, she saw the tip of his tongue. Would he dare to put his wicked tongue in her mouth?

"You go to my head, kitten."

His voice was husky and his hands slipped inside the folds of her gown and caressed her body. My God, wasn't it just like a man to want to touch a woman on her most shameful parts?

With an air of ownership, he leaned forward to kiss her again, but she brought up her hand and slapped his face. His teeth glittered in a wicked grin and he laughed deep in his throat.

"I denied you nothing all day. Now you seek to deny me everything, selfish little wench."

His hands moved upon her body possessively, knowingly, as he tried to remove her nightgown.

Her deep modesty was so outraged she escaped his embrace and fled toward the stairs. He was after her in a flash and she could hear his laughter and knew he was enjoying himself more every moment.

"A female runs away just so the male will chase her."

He grasped her ankle with strong fingers and she could go no farther up the stairs.

"You were quick enough to display your ankles at the dress shop. I think you enjoy teasing me, Kitten."

He sat down on a step and pulled her into his lap. Slowly, tentatively, his hands slid up her legs, inching the nightgown higher and higher, until her limbs were exposed to his avid gaze.

"You have beautiful legs, sweetheart. And what are these pretty curls between them?"

"You are going to ravish me!"

she gasped as the full realization of her plight dawned on her.

"My God, Grandada warned me about ravishers!"

He was startled for a moment and lifted his hands from her body. She fled up the stairs into the bedroom and quickly put the width of the bed between them.

"Is that all they've told you about what happens between a man and a woman?"

he asked incredulously.

She saw a softening in his eyes and begged.

"I had such a beautiful day. How can you spoil it for me like this? Oh, Patrick, please tell me it's just a game you are playing with me."

She looked at him imploringly.

"Sweetheart, of course it's a game. It's a love game. It's a grown-up game. Let me teach you how to play. You can't be a little girl forever. It's time for you to become a woman."

"I'm afraid,"

Kitty protested.

"My little love, there's nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won't hurt you. I just want to kiss you and hold you,"

he coaxed.

She shook her head.

"It's wicked."

"Kitty, there's nothing wicked about love. Kisses are beautiful things. Every one different, just like snowflakes. Let me show you."

He noted her slight hesitation.

"You are shy because you've never been alone with a man before, and that thrills me more than words could ever tell you. I thank God that you come to me pure and innocent. That's the way it should be. Trust me to cherish you, Kitty."

She wanted to believe him. Wanted it with all her heart. She had loved Patrick and had wanted him to love her since she'd seen him in Ireland, years ago. She cursed her own ignorance. He was so educated, so worldly, how could she ever hope to become his wife unless she let him teach her everything she should know? She let him come around the bed to her and take her in his arms. Slowly, her arms lifted about his neck and Patrick dipped his head to take her lips. She did like to be kissed, she admitted.

Other things about him were powerfully attractive and exceedingly pleasant. She liked his smell. She liked his strength. It would keep her safe against the whole world. Her hand touched his face. He was so masculine, her fingertips felt the roughness of his beard in spite of the fact that he shaved every day.

She heard him groan and suddenly his hands pulled off her nightdress, leaving her completely nude. Immediately she ran around to the opposite side of the bed. She stared in disbelief as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside.

"If you come to my arms willingly, I promise to make love to you in a way that will not hurt you."

When she saw that no appeal would turn him from having his way, a searing anger spread along her veins.

"No one has ever said 'no' to you in your whole life! You are so accustomed to having your own way, you think it's the natural order of the universe. I will fight you to the death, you arrogant bastard!" she spat.

His teeth gleamed against his dark face as he stripped off his 'inexpressibles' and her eyes widened as she saw the column of his hard phallus stand up rigidly from his groin to his navel. In her fury, she had forgotten her nakedness and Patrick knew she was the most exquisite, exotic creature outside of Paradise.

"You are flaunting your beauty for me like an angry pagan goddess. Your body was made for love!"

They posed for a moment, facing each other. With a swift movement he reached across the bed and grabbed her, then she was clawing, biting and scratching him savagely. He held her down on the bed with both her wrists clamped securely above her head and brought his lips down to touch hers. He breathed.

"My wild Irish Gypsy,"

He knew this seduction was going to be the most exciting thing he'd ever done. He'd gentle her with sweet kisses until she clung to him. Then he'd awaken a flicker of desire, which would burst into flames and consume them both. He took her mouth exultantly because he could smell victory.

The taste of her lips had the tang of wild honey. He slid his mouth across hers, molding the curve of her lips with his. The desire he felt for her was white-hot. Naked, beneath him, her effect stunned him. The passion she aroused in him was blinding, dizzying. He meant to be gentle, meant to awaken her sensuality slowly, meant to seduce her with tender kisses and caresses, but his hunger for her was blazing out of control like wildfire.

Kitty lay still while Patrick kissed her. The shock of being naked on a bed with a man above her was almost staggering. The things he was doing to her, coupled with the breath-stopping nearness of the man felt delicious. In fact, the pleasure he was bringing to her body felt so wonderful she knew it must be sinful and wicked beyond belief. In her distress at her own carnality, she began to pant.

Patrick felt a thrill when he saw her breathless with desire. She was no longer fighting him, she was yielding to him sweetly. His hot breath teased her silken skin as his mouth slid down her throat and across one very round breast. It was as firm as an apple, and he knew he must taste it.

Kitty's thoughts ran about like quicksilver, writhing with the conflict of opposing desires. At all costs she knew she must not take the very thing she desired. She wanted Patrick. She wanted his love and protection, but the raw lust she saw in his face frightened her. It frightened her because she knew with the age-old knowledge of Eve that he created a matching lust in her, and once that devil inside her was released, there would be no controlling it.

Kitty felt her very senses being drugged by the dark whisper of skin against naked skin. He was all hard muscle, scalding heat and surging male hunger. He aroused sensations in every inch of her silken skin as her young body responded to his virile sexuality. He was bad and wicked and sinful and he was on the verge of making her bad and wicked and sinful.

Suddenly, even his mouth became hard and he crushed her lips. Kitty took his bottom lip between white pointed teeth and bit down hard.

He cried out in pain, then kissed her so passionately, her whole mouth felt bruised. Her eyes flashed fire as she sought a vulnerable place to wound him. She saw the scar on his shoulder, pink and tender, barely healed over where the knife had been plunged in. She arched her body up to him and sank her teeth in his wound deeply.

He screamed with the raw agony of it, then as if pushed beyond his endurance, he pushed her thighs apart and plunged down. She was so hot and tight inside, he had never experienced such ecstasy. Each time she moved, her muscles gripped his shaft and sent quivers to the tip.

The mating was elemental, like a great force of nature. Patrick was beyond thought. When she writhed and cried out, it excited him beyond belief. He would have sold his soul to sustain and prolong this cataclysmic intercourse, but some instinct told him she had endured enough, so he did not delay his climax. It rent his body with great shudders and left him totally satisfied and sated. He rolled his weight from her and quickly gathered her to him with gentle, protective arms.

Kitty was in shock. All the fight had gone out of her. It was too late now. They had both committed a terrible sin. She knew she was as much to blame as he. She lay still, knowing she should somehow have stopped him. How ironic that now when she needed to be comforted and enfolded in warm, loving arms, they were his arms that were offering her succor.

Patrick murmured endearments against her hair.

"Kitten, I'm sorry. Did you receive no pleasure from it at all? If only you hadn't fought me, it would have been so much easier for you. Next time I promise to be gentle and tender and bring you exquisite pleasure."

His words threaded through her brain. She knew he was capable of bringing her exquisite pleasure. He would have done so tonight if she had not fought like a tigress against it. She knew if there was ever a next time, she would be lost. She would offer herself for his taking. Her virtue was gone and she felt covered with shame because of her own secret longings.

Patrick gently kissed her ear and murmured.

"I think perhaps you were too young after all."

His words tore down her last defenses and she curled into a ball and sobbed into the pillow. She made an effort to leave the bed, but he drew her back into his embrace. With one muscular thigh across her legs, his arms possessively held her captive.

"Sleep now,"

he said firmly.