moment now, he would take the next step. She held her breath.
He muttered something in a husky voice and waited.
"What?" she asked, wondering what language he spoke. Just her luck to conjure up a dream lover who didn't speak English.
He remained poised above her for endless moments, and she felt his stare boring into her. What the devil was he waiting for anyway? She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
He repeated the strange words, and she realized from his tone that he was asking her a question. She shook her head, trying to see his face through the darkness, but there was nothing.
A mist swirled about her and her dream lover vanished.
Bridget bolted upright in her bed, clutching the high collar of her nightgown with both fists. Gasping for breath, she clawed the tightness away from her throat until her lungs filled with sweet air. Sweat dripped down her face and neck, trickling between her aching breasts.
"A dream," she whispered, shoving her hair back from her face as she swung her feet to the cold floor. Her heart thundered at an alarming rate as she grabbed for the glass of water on her night stand and drained it.
Slowly, her breathing eased and her body cooled. She walked to the window again. The moon was higher now, shining across the field but not through her window any longer.
The man was there again, staring toward the house.
Toward her.
The castle loomed ominously in the background and she thought for a moment what a great poster it would make for a Stephen King movie or a Gothic romance. The brooding Irishman, the dark castle, the silvery moonlight.
And the damsel in distress?
She laughed quietly at her own foolishness. She sure as heck wasn't a damsel, nor was she in distress. Exactly. A yawn gripped her and she stretched, closing her eyes for only a moment. Reopening them, she looked outside again.
The man was gone.
Chapter 4
Riley gave up on sleep shortly before dawn. What little rest he'd managed to find had been disturbed by dreams hot enough to make a man ache. He couldn't remember dreams so vivid since adolescence. He and Culley had kidded around about—
Riley gritted his teeth. For a few blessed moments, he'd almost forgotten about the intruder and her child. Shirtless and barefoot, he stood over the kitchen stove, waiting for the kettle to boil and squeezed his eyes shut. The lad was but a pawn in his mother's deceit, and it was wrong to blame young Jacob for any of this.
With a sigh, Riley raked his fingers through his hair, then grabbed the hot pad and kettle. He inhaled the rich steam as he wet the leaves. The whole pot might help him feel human again. Jaysus knew too little sleep and too bloody much gnawing in his groin made Riley grumpy as a stallion at gelding.
A shudder rippled through him at the thought. Well, perhaps not that grumpy. Aye, but the dreams didn't help matters. He'd thought himself well rid of those in recent years. Alas, they had returned last night with a vengeance.
Since puberty, Riley had been plagued with dreams of another time. The setting for these erotic dreams was an archaic bed chamber he'd never seen. A shiver sliced through him and he sipped his tea before it had cooled, scalding his tongue. " Eejit !"
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he shivered. It was her. He felt her before he saw her, and the sensation was powerful enough to render him silent. Sweeping his scalded tongue against the back of his teeth, he looked toward the archway where she stood.
Sunlight flowed through the window at her back, outlining the slender shape of her through her worn, white nightdress. Small blue flowers on the fabric had faded until they were practically invisible, and the gown left her feet and ankles bare to the morning chill. The female certainly played her role of poverty well. He'd give her that. But nothing more.
"Oh." She paused, her eyes widening. "Good morning," she said, smiling nervously. Her hair was mussed
He muttered something in a husky voice and waited.
"What?" she asked, wondering what language he spoke. Just her luck to conjure up a dream lover who didn't speak English.
He remained poised above her for endless moments, and she felt his stare boring into her. What the devil was he waiting for anyway? She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
He repeated the strange words, and she realized from his tone that he was asking her a question. She shook her head, trying to see his face through the darkness, but there was nothing.
A mist swirled about her and her dream lover vanished.
Bridget bolted upright in her bed, clutching the high collar of her nightgown with both fists. Gasping for breath, she clawed the tightness away from her throat until her lungs filled with sweet air. Sweat dripped down her face and neck, trickling between her aching breasts.
"A dream," she whispered, shoving her hair back from her face as she swung her feet to the cold floor. Her heart thundered at an alarming rate as she grabbed for the glass of water on her night stand and drained it.
Slowly, her breathing eased and her body cooled. She walked to the window again. The moon was higher now, shining across the field but not through her window any longer.
The man was there again, staring toward the house.
Toward her.
The castle loomed ominously in the background and she thought for a moment what a great poster it would make for a Stephen King movie or a Gothic romance. The brooding Irishman, the dark castle, the silvery moonlight.
And the damsel in distress?
She laughed quietly at her own foolishness. She sure as heck wasn't a damsel, nor was she in distress. Exactly. A yawn gripped her and she stretched, closing her eyes for only a moment. Reopening them, she looked outside again.
The man was gone.
Chapter 4
Riley gave up on sleep shortly before dawn. What little rest he'd managed to find had been disturbed by dreams hot enough to make a man ache. He couldn't remember dreams so vivid since adolescence. He and Culley had kidded around about—
Riley gritted his teeth. For a few blessed moments, he'd almost forgotten about the intruder and her child. Shirtless and barefoot, he stood over the kitchen stove, waiting for the kettle to boil and squeezed his eyes shut. The lad was but a pawn in his mother's deceit, and it was wrong to blame young Jacob for any of this.
With a sigh, Riley raked his fingers through his hair, then grabbed the hot pad and kettle. He inhaled the rich steam as he wet the leaves. The whole pot might help him feel human again. Jaysus knew too little sleep and too bloody much gnawing in his groin made Riley grumpy as a stallion at gelding.
A shudder rippled through him at the thought. Well, perhaps not that grumpy. Aye, but the dreams didn't help matters. He'd thought himself well rid of those in recent years. Alas, they had returned last night with a vengeance.
Since puberty, Riley had been plagued with dreams of another time. The setting for these erotic dreams was an archaic bed chamber he'd never seen. A shiver sliced through him and he sipped his tea before it had cooled, scalding his tongue. " Eejit !"
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he shivered. It was her. He felt her before he saw her, and the sensation was powerful enough to render him silent. Sweeping his scalded tongue against the back of his teeth, he looked toward the archway where she stood.
Sunlight flowed through the window at her back, outlining the slender shape of her through her worn, white nightdress. Small blue flowers on the fabric had faded until they were practically invisible, and the gown left her feet and ankles bare to the morning chill. The female certainly played her role of poverty well. He'd give her that. But nothing more.
"Oh." She paused, her eyes widening. "Good morning," she said, smiling nervously. Her hair was mussed
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