Zeke scooped up the photograph, examining it closer. “You favor him a little. You both have those laughing Irish eyes. He looks damn young to have been a soldier.”
“My father got recruited practically the moment he stepped off the boat from Ireland. He told me once that he hadn’t even known what the Civil War was about, but if there was any fighting going on, he wanted to be part of it.”
“How thoroughly Irish,” Zeke drawled.
Rory shot a glance at the bruises darkening Zeke’s jaw. He need not have looked so smug. She couldn’t imagine him hanging back either when any kind of a battle was waging.
“Anyway,” Rory said as Zeke replaced the photograph on the table. “The enlistment turned out to be a fortunate thing for Da. He was assigned to the army’s balloon corps for a while. That’s where he got his first experience at flying, and he never got it out of his heart again.”
“So that explains it. I wondered what would cause a man to do something so farfetched as founding a balloon company in the middle of New York.”
“And haven’t you ever had notions that everyone else thought were a little crazy? Haven’t you ever chased after a dream?”
“No, the only thing I’ve ever pursued is money.” His smile was hard, even bitter.
But Rory looked deep into his eyes and saw past the self-mockery, once again glimpsing the wistfulness, the pain.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You must have some other purpose in life.”
“Oh, I guess I dabble in politics a little. I’ve been backing Stanley Addison in his bid to be mayor.”
“Is that the man you were shouting at on the telephone yesterday?”
“That’s the one. Now there’s a dream chaser for you. The idealistic Mr. Addison believes he can rid our fair city of all its misery, the sweatshops, the slums, even unhelpful policemen like your good Sergeant O’Connell.”
“You must believe it too,” Rory challenged. “Or else why are you helping Mr. Addison?”
“I have to spend my money on something.” Zeke stirred restlessly. If he did have any dreams, any ideals, he appeared too embarrassed to admit to them, perhaps even to himself.
He lapsed into silence again, and Rory wondered what topic he would seek to introduce next. He seemed to be avoiding the real purpose of his visit, but all of a sudden he shot to his feet. Steeling his jaw as though he had come to some resolution, he closed the distance between them in one long stride.
Perching on the sofa beside her, he captured both her hands. The assault came too swift, too unexpected for her to resist. The mere touch of his hand sent a warm current rushing through her.
“It’s no good, Rory,” he said, his eyes more serious than she had ever seen them before. “Ever since I walked into this parlor I’ve been searching for the right words to say to you and I can’t seem to find them. I guess I’ll just have to blunder along like I always do.”
“Good heavens. I can’t imagine anything you have to tell me would be that difficult.” She wanted to pull her hands away.Then maybe this mad thundering of her pulses would stop. But she felt powerless to move.
“It’s always hard when a man has to admit to a woman that he lied.”
“Lied? About what?”
“When I said that I possibly wanted you more than any woman I had ever known.”
“Well, I never supposed you did mean such nonsense?—”
“There was no possibly about it,” Zeke cut in. “I have never desired any woman before like I do you. I thought I was angry when I chased you through the street, but in truth, I was almost desperate. I just can’t get you out of my mind.”
Rory had always thought she would feel something of a fool if a man made such passionate declarations to her. Her cheeks did fire, but not with embarrassment. Zeke’s words sent a thrill through her.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you either.”
It was a foolish admission, perhaps even a dangerous one, causing Zeke to steal his arm about her waist. But it was no more imprudent than what she did next, tipping back her head with Zeke’s face hovering so near to her own, his mouth a breath away.
He kissed her, his lips gentle, tentative, giving her every chance to retreat if she wanted to. But she didn’t. She had to know if she would find the same magic in his arms as she had known before. Maybe it had only been the champagne. But as the kiss deepened, she knew it hadn’t been. Zeke’s mouth, whiskey-warm, grew more insistent, more demanding. Her lips parted in a soft, shuddering sigh as his tongue invaded her mouth. She gasped at the sensation, strange, erotic, seeming to steal her breath away and to gift her with fire.
When Zeke’s hand moved upward to cup her breast, her protest came so weakly she could hardly hear it herself. Beneathhis caress, she could feel her nipple grow taut, straining against the fabric of her gown.
Desire stirred inside her and she returned Zeke’s fevered kisses, hardly knowing what she did. Her fingers slipped inside his shirt, his flesh hot to the touch, his heart seeming to thunder beneath her palm.
