Eamon in Abbyland -- part II

Herewith Eamon in Abbyland, part II . . . in which Eamon and Abby meet and discover their passion for one another and ...

Well, read and see for yourself.

(If you're still reading Kate's The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife, you have permission to finish it before you stop back and read Eamon, part II. If you aren't reading Kate's book, you should)

Eamon In Abbyland -- part II

At Abby's house he heard a new voice. A soft voice with a gentle accent and his heart beat even faster. If you (sorry – if ewe .. ) could fall in love with a voice, then Eamon had done so. But would Abby really love him?

Hands reached into his bag – pulled him out. He was face to face with Abby at last. Well, he would be when she turned him round. At the moment, he was bum to chest with her.

But then Abby turned him round and looked into his face, into his little crossed eyes.

'Eamon!' she said. 'I've been waiting for you all my life. Well – at least since Kate told me that she was bringing you to Ireland to meet me!' And she planted the most passionate welcoming kiss on

Eamon's long brown nose.

Eamon's heart lurched, his chest heaved, his wool fluffed out wonderfully. He was in love. He had met the woman of his dreams. His brain went all woolly and he felt rampant with desire.

He couldn't wait – 'Come with me, my darling,' he whispered. 'I'm feeling a little horny – look at the way my horns are coiled! Come to bed with me and we will make sweet love into the night. You will soon find that I am not mutton dressed as lamb but just the ram for ewe.'

To his delight it seemed that Abby felt the same. She followed him into the bedroom and very soon they were locked in each others arms – er - well, he was in Abby's arms and she was held tight in his four legs. It was the start of a long passionate afternoon.

Some time later Eamon lay back against the pillows, a satisfied smile curving his generous mouth. He was in love and he had found the woman of his dreams. No longer would he have to live at home with his mother and wear the dreadful cardigans she knitted. He had met Abby who was all woman and when he was with her he felt all sheep.

Baaaaah, he sighed. Baaaah Baaah! It was all that he was capable of saying until he recovered from the storm of passion that had gripped him.

But very soon his breathing eased. Desire started to creep over him again, tingling in his veins, warming his blood. Suddenly he became aware of the fat that Abby was no longer with him. She had left his side and he missed her.

'Abby, my ewe lamb,' he called, 'Come back to me. Come and rest your head on my woolly chest. Stroke your fingers over my horns, look deep into my crossed eyes . . .'

Abby was stunned by his powers of recovery.

'What?' she cried sheepishly . 'Again? Oh Eamon, you are a passionate rogue! You have taken my innocence and used me for your pleasure and now you w

ant me again and again! I do not know if I can handle a stud ram like you. I fear you are just toying with me – that you are trying to pull the wool over my eyes and that you will break my heart.'

'But . . .' said Eamon. 'But . . .'

But it was too late, Abby had already fled into the night afraid of the passion he aroused in her.

Silly lamb, Eamon thought to himself. She didn't know a good thing when she saw it.

But she would be back, he knew that. She couldn't resist him. And so he opened a bottle of his favourite white wine – Lost Sheep chardonnay and settled back to wait for her return.

She would come back he knew. She would realise she loved him and then she would come back, bleating for forgiveness.

He just had to wait.