He takes my hand and twines our fingers, then kisses my knuckles. “I prefer Anastasia.”
“How did you get started with glass?”
“My uncle in Ireland blew glass and would let me sit in the barn with him when I was a lad. It was the most thrilling thing I’d ever seen, and I knew I wanted to do nothing else with the whole of my life.”
“How long have you lived in the States?”
“Twenty years,” he says, still touching me with strong, callused hands.
“Do you miss Ireland?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” He kisses my fingertips now. “I spend two months every year there, but the yearning never really goes away.”
“Why don’t you move back?”
He pauses, thinking it over. “My family’s here, all near Seattle, and I love them too much to be gone from them.”
I nod, completely understanding. “I get it. It’s why I moved back here not long ago. My family’s here. You met some of them tonight, which is kind of odd.”
“Odd, is it?”
“A bit, yes. How many siblings do you have?”
“Four.” He grins. “It’s a large clan, the O’Callaghans.”
“The Montgomerys are the same,” I say with a wide smile. It seems I have more in common with Kane than I expected. “Although I’m only one of three, we have more cousins than we can count, and they’re all married with kids. We could be our own village.”
“Montgomery,” he murmurs. “’Tis a Scottish name, aye?”
“I do believe a great-grandfather came from Scotland, yes.”
He stands and guides me to my feet.
“Are we headed to the bedroom?” I ask, “or are you kicking me out for being Scottish?”
“We’ll get to the bedroom. And I think I can find it in my heart to forgive your heritage.”
“You’re a kind man.”
“I’m not, no.” He frowns. “I’d like to dance with you again.”
“You like to dance, don’t you?”
“I never have. Until tonight.”
“You have a way with words,” I inform him as he pulls me against him and wraps his long, strong arms around my waist, holding me close. He tips his head down and gently kisses my bare shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. I inhale sharply at my body’s response to him, my hands tightening on his shoulders.
“Responsive.” He kisses again. “Delicious. From the minute I saw you, sitting among my glass, I knew I’d eventually have you like this.”
“I want that statement to make me mad,” I admit, but tip my head instead, giving him better access to my flesh.
“You shouldn’t. You’re a beautiful woman with passion in those gorgeous blue eyes of yours. Your irises are the same color as the glass in that room. I couldn’t stop watching you, the intensity of how you attacked the sketch. It’s how I feel when I’m working, and I’ve never seen it reflected in someone else before.”
“I get lost in it,” I admit, and feel my eyes drift closed when he drags his nose up to my ear. Good God, he’s turned me into a puddle.
“Aye, as do I.” His accent has intensified with lust and only pulls me deeper into his spell. We aren’t moving to the music anymore. My hands knead his muscular shoulders, and Kane grips the pull of my zipper, then drags it down and lets my dress pool around my waist.
“It fits too tightly,” I inform him with a grin. “I have to work it over my hips.”
“Not yet,” he says and lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing at all. He carries me to the bedroom where a sidelight is on next to the bed, the only illumination in the room. He sets me gently onto the duvet and watches me with those bright green eyes. “You’re a vision, Anastasia.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I bite my lip and reach out for him, silently inviting him to lie with me.
And he does.
But there’s no frenzy, no tearing of clothes, no rush. Instead, he cups my face and finally, finally brushes his full lips over mine, softly at first, and then he sinks into me, kissing me as if he’s starved for me.
He knows his way around a woman’s mouth, that’s for sure. His lips nip, his tongue teases until I’m scissoring my legs, trying to relieve some of the pressure building between them.
Kane reaches for my hand and moves over me, hovering above me, planting my hand on the mattress by my head and kissing me for all he’s worth.
“We’re going to take our time,” he promises.* * *I could be using the electric mixer, but that would mean that I couldn’t mix by hand, and this is how I’m getting rid of my angry energy today.
I’m rage-baking.
This happens when I’m pissed at myself. Some people clean, others drink.
I bake.
And it’s a good thing because I have a shit-ton to do in a small amount of time, and the rage-baking makes me move faster.