Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] by My Heavenly Heart Page B

only hold on to him, pull him closer.
    He shifted, sending his tongue and a salvo of shivers down the side of her neck. Rachel gasped in air, moaning when his hand covered her breast, pushing it up free from the binding confines of her stays. The pads of his fingers were work-roughened and none too gentle as they massaged her flesh. But that did nothing to impede the dizzying excitement that grew within her. If anything his touch fanned the flames as surely as a quickening wind would.
    Her nipple grew painfully taut, and only the moist heat of his mouth assuaged the ache. She was swirling in a vortex, her body arching toward his, her hands restlessly exploring the ridges and valleys of his back.
    And then it was gone.
    Her body still sang. But his weight was gone. The delicious things he did with his hands and mouth were gone. The transition was so quickly made that at first Rachel wondered if some invisible force had plucked him off her.
    But then she opened her eyes and saw he’d merely rolled to the side and now sat knees spread, bent head in hands. His face was hidden to her by the loose fall of dark hair, but Rachel could see the ragged rise and fall of his chest as he gulped air into his lungs. His breathing matched her own.
    He turned his head, staring at her a moment with those green eyes before he spoke. When he did his voice was husky and low. “Now do you know why I want you to leave?”

Chapter Five

    “He who considers his work beneath him will be above doing it well.”
    — Alexander Chase
    Perspectives
    “You drink too much.”
    Rachel stood in the open doorway, looking into the small cabin. He sat, or more correctly, sprawled , on the chair, a jug perched precariously on one knee. At the sound of her voice he glanced up, not quite meeting her stare.
    “And what if I do? ’Tis naught to you.”
    She wished what he said were true. Oh, how she wished it. But nothing could change what she was sent to do. Nothing.
    Rachel had lain on the ground, her legs spread beneath a twisted skirt, her mouth wet and tingling, wondering what to do. He was no longer there to befuddle her thoughts. After his initial comment about wanting her gone he’d pushed to his feet. “Don’t go near the edge again,” was all he’d said before striding hurriedly toward the cabin.
    As if she would dare.
    No, her encounter with Logan MacQuaid had left her quite dizzy enough without needing to step off the edge of a cliff to test her ability to fly. It also left her feeling very human. And confused. And embarrassed. And heaven only knew how many other emotions rattled about in her brain, like so many bees buzzing about a rose.
    “Listen to the spirit within you.”
    Lone Dove’s words came back to her again. Listen to her spirit rather than her mind. But how? She lay there on the ground until the discomfort of the terrain finally forced her to rise and brush the dirt and pebbly stones from her clothes.
    Rachel had still been wondering what to say to him when she opened the door to find a cup pressed to his lips. He took another swig now almost in defiance of her remark.
    “Mary forgave you long ago.”
    Rum splashed down the front of his open-necked shirt, wetting the tangle of dark curls on his chest. He yanked the dented pewter from his mouth. “What the hell are you prattling on about?”
    She didn’t know. Rachel blinked and searched her mind, trying to remember where that thought came from. Nothing. Yet it was there. The very strong conviction that he’d been forgiven. By a woman. Mary.
    And it was clear Logan MacQuaid knew of whom she spoke.
    He set the cup on the floor and turned in the chair to face her. His speech was only slightly slurred. “I want to know what you meant by that remark.”
    “She wouldn’t want you to carry on like this. To drink yourself into oblivion.” Rachel took a step forward, inwardly cringing when he recoiled. It was the slightest of movements and he quickly caught himself, straightening