Hot Whispers of an Irishman Read online

  “Pity. So, you’re living in Boston?”

  “When I’m not on the road, which is nearly never.”

  “What do you do?” By Brid and the gods, wasn’t that a horrible bit of cocktail party talk?

  “I’m a partner in a marine salvage company,” he was kind enough to reply. “We recover cargoes and right damaged ships.”

  Vi laughed. The man would never cease to surprise her. “And this from a man who grew up land-locked.”

  “Ah, but I had the King’s River,” he said.

  “True enough.” And he’d been one of the few who always swam its chilly currents when early summer water ran deep.

  “What brings you here, Vi? You said you were sorting?”

  “Loose ends, mostly,” she said. “I’ll be selling this place.”

  “Selling it? Why?”

  She felt uncomfortable giving him the details of her life. Her need and her worries were her own—two of the few things that were. “I’m never here, and it would serve me better as cash.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ve been trying to find a company to deliver a rubbish tip,” she said. “You’d think the bloody things were made of gold, for what they’re charging.”

  An odd expression passed across Liam’s face before he said, “Let me call my cousin Brian. He’s been developing one of those new housing schemes outside town and might have a less costly way to deal with your rubbish.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “It’s odd to think of Brian as a grown man, you know?”

  He nodded. “This whole thing is a bit off, isn’t it?” He paused, then added, “My mother was asking after you. She was wondering if perhaps you’d like to join us for a family supper at her house tonight?”

  “All of you?”

  “Well, Stephen’s off to university in Australia, so he won’t be there. And Mam usually has early supper for the children, then sends them all to Catherine’s, so we’ll be a mere eight. Nothing too terrifying,” he teased.

  The other Raffertys she could handle. It was Rafferty singular—Liam—who left her scattered and scarcely able to sort a stormy past from an unexpected present.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Seven.”

  Vi hedged. “We’ll see what time I finish up here.”

  He smiled. “Not quite a yes, then?”

  “We’ll see.”

  He came round to her side of the box. She worried that he was going to touch her and feel how quickly her heart was dancing.

  “Have you thought of me, Vi?”

  “Now and again,” she said, all casual. “After all, you were my first lover.” She didn’t bother to add that he was also her best, as she was sure his ego couldn’t survive the added inflation without coming apart like a child’s balloon.

  Each step he neared, her blood rushed faster.

  “I’ve thought of you,” he said. “All the time. Even when I tried not to do it. You remember what it was like, don’t you? That last summer, I don’t think we slept at all.”

  “I remember.”

  “Are you married?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Involved?”

  “No, again. Any reason you’re asking?”

  “Many, but mostly because I’d like to kiss you.”

  Because she wanted to see if she could still feel the joy of teasing him, she added a little bluster to their brew of emotions. “If you kiss me, you might find your nose back in place.”

  Liam laughed at the shared memory.

  She’d been thirteen and he sixteen when she’d spied on him from a balcony in the nearby ruin of Castle Duneen. He’d been with his cousin Brian, looking at a magazine with pictures of naked women. The boys were deep in a discussion regarding American women’s breasts when she’d scuffed her foot on the crumbled rock and shards of slate that coated much of the abandoned castle’s upper floor. They had stilled at the noise, but only Liam had looked up and seen her. As she’d backed from her hiding place, she’d heard Liam convincing Brian that she was the spirit of poor Lady Sarah Dunhill, foully murdered by her husband centuries before.

  Once Brian had fled, Vi had tried to do the same. Instead, she’d flown around a corner and smacked straight on into Liam. Whether it was because he’d tried to cushion her fall to the floor, or just out of sheer adolescent clumsiness, he’d ended up with a broken nose. To this day it was located a wee bit left of center.

  Vi couldn’t help herself. She traced her index finger down the ridge of his nose. When he reached out and pulled her closer, her breath left on a surprised gasp. She braced one hand on his chest, thinking if she were sane she’d push him away.

  Ah, but sanity was a highly overrated state.

  She curled her hand around to the back of his neck, inviting him closer. He brushed his mouth against hers once, so briefly that she thought she might have imagined it.

  “It’s a risk my nose is willing to take,” he said, then returned for a deeper taste.

  In a perfect world, this would have been a shattering kiss—hot, practiced, and easy. But Vi’s world was regrettably far from perfect, a fact for which at this unusual moment, she was grateful.

  Their mouths met at an odd angle, and when they moved to readjust, their noses clashed.

  “One last try,” she said, “and then we’ll give it up for lost.”

  She had forgotten that Liam Rafferty was a most determined man. He framed her face between his hands.

  “I never lose,” he said before bringing his mouth to hers again.

  This time it was a kiss for the bloody ages, with his tongue tangling with hers and his taste tart and male and perfect. A rush of sexual excitement shot through her, leaving her flushed with fire and ready to burn.

  When Liam drew away, a hungry sound escaped her throat. His eyes grew dark, and she thought he’d come to her again. Instead his muttered words proved that he remembered how to curse in Irish well enough. The fact that his tone carried more awe than anger pleased her.

  She said nothing, just wrapped her arms about her middle, trying to hold herself together.

  “Supper at seven,” he said, then left.

  Vi was thinking more of dessert.

  Chapter Three

  A short visit is best, and that not too often.

  —IRISH PROVERB

  Time, Liam recalled, was a matter of small consequence to Vi Kilbride. His family was as relaxed as the next about such things, unless a meal was involved. Food seemed to kick in some sort of survival imperative, making his relatives act as though they’d been starved for centuries. Which was true enough in its own way, considering their ancestors.

  The twenty-first-century Raffertys were gathered in the comfortable if overstuffed front room of the senior Raffertys’ home, listening to the loud ticking of Mam’s antique mantel clock.

  Catherine, quite pregnant with children numbers four and five, sat next to her husband Tadgh on the sofa. Da had taken his spot in the chair he’d not let his wife reupholster, though it had sadly needed it since the 1980s. Jamie, always Da’s shadow, stood behind him. Mam was by the windows practicing her authoritarian glare, no doubt in preparation for Vi’s arrival. She’d never been especially fond of Vi, who though respectful had seemed to view Una Rafferty as an equal, even when Vi had been a child.

  “Seven-fifteen,” Cullen said from the desk chair he’d pulled by the fireplace.

  “Seven-eighteen,” corrected Nora, always a stickler for detail.

  Liam’s da stood. “What do you say, Una?” he asked his wife. “Is it time to start without her?”

  “Assuming she’s coming at all,” Mam said. “The girl was never much for proprieties.”

  “The girl’s a woman grown,” Liam said, privately relishing the memory of the way that woman had felt in his arms. It had been a sudden pleasure, and one he intended to repeat.

  “Bell,” Annie announced over her family’s grumbling. How she’d heard it with the music blasting from he
r perpetually-in-place headphones was beyond Liam. He went to the front entry, knowing the rest of the group would be making a mad dash to the dining room.

  Liam swung open the door and gave Vi his hello. When she stepped inside, it was as though his vision had grown more acute. The rich green of her eyes was startling, and the lush set of her mouth enough to make him want to pull her back outside and be done with civilized behavior. But he had a starving family waiting, so he made a conscious effort to slow his heart and ignore regions farther south making themselves known.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Vi said, holding out a bottle of wine. “I found a box of Nan’s journals that I must have missed before. I got to reading, and time escaped.” She paused, then smiled. “But I suppose you’ve heard that from me before.”

  She’d clearly been in a rush once she’d recaptured time, as the side of her face was smudged with dirt and her hair flowing wild over her shoulders and down her back. Liam could imagine it spread across the white of his bed. Ah, well, perhaps not his bed in Duncarraig, with Meghan in the next room. But some bed, and damn soon, too.

  Vi tipped her head to a quizzical angle. “Is something wrong with the wine? The girl at your sister’s market promised me that Una bought this very Bordeaux all the time.”

  Taking the wine, Liam shook off thoughts of creamy skin and hot passion. “It’s fine, though you might be wanting a stop in front of a mirror. It looks as though you’ve brought part of Nan’s house with you.”

  “Ah.” She took a quick check in the mirror above the old telephone stand and wiped away the smudge. “It wouldn’t do to be that ‘wild Kilbride girl’ in front of Una with all these years passed.”

  “She’ll be thrilled to see you, dust or none,” Liam lied.

  “Right, she will,” said Vi.

  “Well, not thrilled, but tolerant, maybe.”

  Vi laughed. “Now, that has the ring of truth,” she said, unwrapping her green cloak and handing it to him. “Shall we get this over with? I’ve some grand plans for dessert….”

  Humor and a frank sexual hunger lit her eyes. There was no mistaking her intent, and Liam planned to make this the fastest meal on Rafferty record. He tossed her cloak onto the living room couch, then took her by the hand to the dining room.

  The small intimacy was a mistake. Touching her only made him want her more. It also made his mam look as though someone had dropped a shovelful of manure onto her Aubusson rug.

  “Everyone, you remember Vi,” Liam said as he put the wine she’d brought onto the sideboard. “And Vi, you probably recall everyone but Catherine’s husband, Tadgh.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said to Tadgh.

  “Oh, and Annie’s grown a full head of hair since you last saw her,” Liam added.

  Annie rolled her eyes, and Vi laughed. “You were not yet quite one, I’m thinking, Annie. And you were lovely bald.”

  “Maybe I’ll try it again,” Annie said, shooting a sly look her mam’s way.

  “Not on my account,” Vi cautioned, then sat at the empty place to Liam’s left.

  Grace was quickly said and the Raffertys staked their claim on the roasted chicken and vegetables with a ferocity that had to rattle an outsider. There was nothing but a wing on the meat platter by the time it made its way to Vi.

  She handed it off to Liam, murmuring, “I’m still a vegetarian.”

  “Then don’t ask what Mam roasted the vegetables in,” he whispered in reply.

  “Pass down the chicken, Liam,” Mam ordered from her end of the table. “I’ve more in the oven, though it might be a bit dry by now.”

  A lesser woman would have winced at the barb, but hardly a ripple passed across Vi’s face.

  “The chicken will be fine as always, Una,” Liam’s da—always the peacemaker—pronounced.

  She made a humphing sound, then left to refill the platter. Liam watched as Vi took advantage of the hostess’s absence by strategically arranging vegetables on her plate so that a lack of meat might not be noted.

  By the time Mam had returned, both Jamie and Cullen’s plates were nothing but a scattering of bones. Mam set the platter in front of them, and the savagery began again.

  “So has Liam told you about his wife?” Mam asked Vi.

  “Christ, Mam, we’ve been divorced nearly four years,” Liam said over his brothers’ sniggering. At least the girls looked more sympathetic to his situation.

  “Watch your language,” his mam directed. “And you’ll be married until—”

  Cullen’s laughter drowned out Mam’s standard line.

  “My mother has a doctrinal issue with divorce,” Liam said by way of explanation to Vi, who was looking as though she might have figured out as much on her own.

  Mam pressed on. “Beth is a mechanical engineer. Very well respected, she is.”

  “That’s grand,” Vi said, then took a forkful of cooked carrot.

  “And you, Violet, what have you been doing? Any children?” Mam asked while Vi chewed.

  Liam saw a spark in Vi’s eyes at Mam’s use of her hated full name, but he also had faith that she’d not crawl across the table and choke his mam…much as she must want to, the way the meal was going.

  “No children and no husband, just a very spoilt dog who’s no doubt baying at the moon from my nan’s house.”

  Mam nodded. “Catherine, here, will be having her fourth and fifth this winter.”

  “Dogs?” Annie asked from her perch at the far corner of the table. Liam hid his smile in his napkin. Only a youngest child would have license for such lip with Una the Enforcer.

  “Children,” Mam corrected, shooting an out-of-sorts glare Annie’s way.

  “I had twins the first time out, too,” Catherine said to Vi. “I think God’s pushed this efficiency thing a bit too far with me.”

  Vi smiled. “I have twin brothers, Pat and Danny. They’re just nineteen now and didn’t visit our nan as often, but you might have seen them about as children.”

  “Redheads, right?” asked Catherine.

  “Red as my own,” Vi agreed.

  “And still so?” asked Liam’s mother.

  “They’ve darkened a little, but there’s no mistaking the color for other than red.”

  “Pity,” opined Mam. “Redheaded men never look quite right.”

  Vi’s smile grew to a dangerous curve. Beneath Mam’s linen tablecloth, Liam settled a hand on Vi’s leg and gave it a brief squeeze. He doubted that it calmed her any, but he liked the feel of her long and slender thigh beneath his palm.

  “Plenty of girls in Ballymuir think the boys look better than right,” she said to Una.

  Nora stepped into the breach. “So you’re an artist, are you not, Vi?”

  “On good days,” Vi said. “On bad, I’m merely an ill-tempered dabbler.”

  “A dabbler? Hardly. I’ve one of your pieces over my mantel,” Nora said. “I picked it up at the Design Centre in Kilkenny.”

  Liam felt as though he’d been hit with a mallet. “The abstract of Castle Duneen? That’s yours?” he asked Vi.

  She took a sip of her wine, then nodded. “I’d suppose it is.”

  He wasn’t the artsy sort, except perhaps as it pertained to the beauty of ancient treasure. Paintings didn’t “speak” to him any more than did his mother’s cat. But he’d been drawn to that particular work since he’d first seen it in Nora’s house three years ago.

  “You didn’t tell me that was Vi’s,” he said to his sister.

  Nora shrugged. “You’ve eyes enough. Her name’s right on it.”

  “Not very neatly, I’m afraid,” Vi added, giving him some grounds for self-defense.

  “An artist,” Mam mused. “Liam, doesn’t your Meghan have an interest in painting? Perhaps you can have her chat with Violet. If you wouldn’t mind too much?” she added with a nod to Vi, in what Liam had to say was one of the finest devious acts dressed in party manners that he’d ever witnessed.

  “I—Of course,”
Vi said, looking confused.

  He’d fully intended to tell her about Meghan, but not yet, and surely not force-fed the way that Mam had just done it. They had history enough to deal with.

  Liam pushed his plate an inch forward, done with his mother’s chicken. He’d underestimated the fierceness of her maternal instincts, and while he loved the woman with all his heart, doing so was easier from a distance. Tonight, it seemed, the greater, the better.

  He looked at Vi. “I’ve a daughter, Meghan, who’s with me in Duncarraig just now.”

  “I see.” She took another swallow of wine and then asked, “How old is she?”

  “Twelve last month, though she feels there’s been a severe misdelivery of fate and she’s actually twenty,” Liam said.

  Vi’s smile would have fooled most anyone at the table, but not Liam. Beneath it waited a storm of emotions that he knew he’d soon face.

  “A daughter. I’d be pleased to talk with her,” Vi said.

  “Grand,” Mam replied, looking content with her evening’s mischief. She stood and took her plate, then reached for Annie’s.

  “Let me help you clear the table, Una,” Vi said.

  When others rose, too, Vi gave them a firm “sit.” To a soul, they complied. If Liam weren’t so worried over the bloodbath about to take place in the Rafferty kitchen, he’d have been impressed with Vi’s powers of command.

  Una pushed through the dining room door, and Vi followed. Jamie rose and put his ear to the door, but Cullen hauled him away.

  “You’d be marked for life, lad, hearing what’s being said in there,” Cullen told his younger brother.

  Da pushed away from the table. “I’m thinking a walk to the pub might be good.”

  He wasn’t alone in his thoughts of escape, for soon Liam was the only one left in the dining room. He heard two female voices in the kitchen, so took comfort that one had not yet killed the other. Realizing he was in for a wait, he refilled his wine glass and settled in.

  Dishes rattled, silverware clinked, and voices grew marginally louder. Liam filled his glass again. He was half through it when Mam pushed her way into the dining room.