Free Love and Blarney by Zara Keane

must have been in the early stages of pregnancy when you left.”
    His face crumpled into an expression of utter devastation. “Oh, no. Jayme. I am so, so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have come over on the next flight.”
    “I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I needed time to think. I was in shock. I hadn’t known I was pregnant. My periods were always light. When I had one that was even lighter than normal, I didn’t think anything was amiss. It wasn’t until the pain started that I realized something was very wrong. Even then, I assumed it was a stomach problem—an ulcer or something similar. When the ER doctor told me I was pregnant, I was stunned. Physicians make the worst patients, and we’re usually lousy at diagnosing ourselves.”
    His voice broke when he spoke. “There was nothing they could do to save the baby?”
    She shook her head. “An ectopic pregnancy isn’t viable.”
    “Will you be able—” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you.”
    “The answer to that is… I don’t know. I’m down one fallopian tube, and I had an infection afterward.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “I might not be able to conceive naturally.”
    “Oh, sweetheart.” He hugged her close. His tender touch was too much for her fragile self-control. She began to cry in earnest, big fat tears and proper sobs. “Shh,” he whispered. “Let it all out.”
    “After… after it happened, I bottled it up. I was numb. I forced myself not to think about it for months. I went back to work and went through the motions, ignoring my tendency to self-medicate with wine as soon as I got home. Then one day, I broke down. My parents checked me into a clinic for a few weeks to recover.”
    “I should have been there for you. Why don’t you hate me for not being there?”
    “I don’t hate you because I didn’t tell you. I chose not to tell you. I’m sorry if this sounds cruel, but I don’t regret it. I think I needed that time alone. It allowed me to concentrate on my own grief without worrying about how you were coping. Of course, if I’d known about your mother, I’d have gotten in touch with you ages ago.”
    “And if I’d known—” He shook his head. “We could go round in circles with this, couldn’t we?” He stroked her cheek tenderly.
    “Perhaps it would be easier if I did hate you. I don’t know. What happened with… with the baby… wasn’t your fault. We’re both to blame for the fight that split us up. Yes, you should have told me the truth about your family, but perhaps you were right. Maybe I wouldn’t have listened. Maybe I would have reacted like a snob if I knew your dad and brother had done time. I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t want to know.”
    “It doesn’t matter, Jayme.” His deep voice broke with emotion. “You’re here now, and we’re talking. I should have trusted you. I should have told you the whole story—every goddamn sordid detail. You deserved to know the background of the man you were about to marry.”
    She buried her face into his chest, inhaled his spicy scent. “Make love to me, Ruairí.”
    “Are you sure you want to?” He stroked her hair, making her shiver with anticipation. “We could just cuddle if you’d prefer.”
    “No, I need you to make love to me. I want to feel like a woman again, not a sexless, potentially infertile shell. I’m not looking to try to get pregnant. I want to… feel. It’s like I’ve been numb for months.”
    “Okay.” He stroked her upper thighs, kneading the precise points he knew she was the most sensitive. “If you want to stop at any point, tell me.”
    “I won’t want to stop.” She tugged at his shirt. “This. Off.”
    His fingers flew over the buttons, but every second was one too long for her. She slipped her hands under his shirt, massaging his skin, pulling at his nipples.
    “Feck.” He gave the buttons up as a lost cause and pulled his shirt over his