Free A Love by Any Measure by Killian McRae

between his workings. “So … beautiful … ”
    His voice trailed off as he found a spot atop her right breast and suckled it, pulling the flesh between his teeth and biting. Though Maeve feared the pain, she was surprised when instead the teasing nip sent a heated chill about her, and the feeling manifested into a heavy sigh. Grayson’s lips fluttered into a smile against her chest as he kissed the spot duly marked with his workings.
    “So enticing,” he uttered as he began to pull away. “I cannot wait for our interest to accrue in due time. Forty seconds passed much too quickly, and I fear you are left in quite a tizzy.”
    “Passed?” she gasped. “It’s … it’s over?”
    Empty arms clutched the space left by his withdrawal. Maeve snapped back to the utter reality of the moment and looked down, taking in the oval red-blue patch of skin on her breast.
    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” she exclaimed. “How did you … ? Why did you … ?”
    She looked accusingly at Grayson, but there found she no trace of regret or apology. Instead, he seemed whimsically proud.
    “It will heal.” Coughing, he continued on, taking on a formal tone. “Now, as to our arrangement, you will keep your end or I will stick to the exit clause of mine.”
    “Our what?” Her breath still raced, and she wondered at his cool and collected countenance. How was he able to turn on and off so easily, while she was still stuck in the conflicted desires of thirty seconds before? “Yes, well, we shall see. When shall I come again? Or will you let me know?”
    He rubbed his chin. “Well, I cannot keep sending you notes. It was difficult enough today to find a courier whose discretion I could trust. I do believe you can see the top of the north wing attic from your hillside?”
    Of course she could see it. No doubt he remembered the game they’d played that summer long ago. When at last they had departed each other’s company for the night, August would climb up to the attic, lantern in hand, and Maeve would sit on her front porch with her father’s lantern. By way of a system of flashes, they would send messages back and forth.
    “I expect the view is just the same now as it was then,” she answered.
    He nodded. “Yes, that will do. I will hang a lantern in that window. That will be your signal to come to Shepherd’s Bluff.”
    His eyes glanced downward as he took in one more survey of his marking upon her, and his smile in its observation could only be called prideful.
    “That is all for tonight. Good night.”
    She knew better this time than to expect his seeing her out. Instead, she made for the door. As she passed, he caught her by the arm and locked his eyes on her breasts.
    “One request, Miss O’Connor?”
    “Yes?”
    His eyes shifted to her skirt. “Next time, wear something simpler.”

Idle Gossip
    Katie O’Toole possessed much too slender a frame and genteel a repose to throw about balls of dough as she did. Nonetheless, Maeve watched in awe as the petite woman slapped another heap into submission.
    “Never be afraid to give it a good whacking,” she advised in the back room of the bakery. “Remember, it feels no pain.”
    By this time, the daybreak crowd had already filtered in and out of the shop. They came now from Catholic houses, as well as Protestant. Katie was spinning trying to keep up with expectations. For the Irish, she made brown or soda bread, for the English, white. For the French, she baked baguettes, and for the Americans, she simply gave whatever was left over. Katie’s opinion of Americans was low, but she acknowledged that they at least had the good grace not to be English. And at least Yanks took what was available, while the English only complained no matter the selection.
    “How long do you let it rise?” Maeve questioned as she saw Katie set the formed loaf aside and cover it with a cloth.
    “Depends on the temperature. The warmer the air, the quicker the rise. You want it to about