Hot and Irresistible (27 page)

“You’re going to stay?”

“If you marry me. I couldn’t be here without you. Everything in this city reminds me of you. I talked to Ray about your idea of making this place the Inlet without fish sticks and tomato soup. McCabe’s Inlet. I’ve got four generations of pub aptitude in my genes.”

“No. You can’t do this. You solve problems, protect people. You get the job done. It’s who you are.”

“Ray and I had a chat. Actually he had the chat with me. You said he went place where the cops can’t go. Lot of islands out there. Citizens do get involved.”

“You’re throwing in with Daddy?”

“I’m throwing in with you. Life’s no fun without you in it. You made me into a different Southie. Marry me. I’ll write, I’ll call, I’ll send flowers. You have to admit I’m good at flowers.”

She threw her arms around him. “You’re good at everything, Donovan McCabe, especially making me happy. Welcome home, Yank.”

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T
he man holding her elbow tugged her in out of the rain.

“Thank you,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry—my umbrella—”

“Marco picked it up,” came a very deep voice with a bit of a rough edge to it, like maybe he’d just woken up.

She was still blinking water out of her eyes and he still had a hold on her elbow. Her other hand was clutching her purse and laptop bag to her side in a death grip. Everything was just a blur. “Marco?”

“Ground crew. Here, let me take those.”

Her elbow was abruptly released, which sent her a bit off balance, then her bags were suddenly lifted from her shoulder and slipped out of her death grip as if her hands were made from putty, sending her staggering a step in the other direction. Both her feet slipped a little as the smooth soles of her shoes were not made for…well, any of this. And then his hands were on her again, both elbows this time, and, and…well, the entire last sixty seconds had been so discombobulating, for a person who was never discombobulated, that she didn’t know quite what to do. She blinked at him through wet ropes of hair and fogged glasses, arms still akimbo as he wrestled her to a balanced position.

“Bad day?”

It was the dry amusement lacing his tone that gave her the focus she so mercifully needed. She tugged her elbows from his grip, as if all this was suddenly very much his fault, but instead of being the liberating, independence-returning move she was so desperately seeking, the action only served to send her wheeling backward. Which resulted in being caught, once again, even more humiliatingly than before, by his very big, very strong, and very steadying hands.

“Thank you,” she managed through gritted teeth. She carefully removed one elbow from his grip, not chancing leaving his steadying powers all at once, and scraped her hair from her forehead and removed her fogged glasses from her face. Finally able to see, she looked up…only to be thrown completely off balance all over again. But, this time, her feet were totally flat and stable, on hard, steady ground. “You can let me go now,” she managed in a choked whisper.

He was just above average height, probably not even six feet, but given she topped the height chart at five-foot-six, and that was in three-inch heels, he was very tall to her. But it wasn’t the height part that commanded the attention. Nor was it really the square jaw, the thick neck, broad shoulders, very nicely muscled arms and chest that were obvious even through the old sweatshirt and T-shirt he wore. The thick, sun-bleached brown hair might have been a teensy part of it, but mostly it was the piercing blue eyes—truly, they pierced—staring at her from his weathered, deeply tanned face.

Crinkles fanned from the corners of those eyes, and there were grooves bracketing either side of his mouth, but she didn’t know if that was from squinting into the sun or smiling a lot. He wasn’t smiling now, so it was hard to tell. But he was still holding on to her, and it was that, plus those look-right-through-you eyes, that were keeping her from reclaiming the rest of her much-needed balance.

“I’m—fine. Really. Thank you. Again.”

He held her gaze for another seemingly endless moment, then gently let her go. “No worries.”

“I, uh, need to rent a car.” She was normally calm and cool under fire. It was why Todd had been so impressed and promoted her up the ranks of his campaign staff so quickly. It was also why she’d been one of the first ones the senator had hired to his permanent staff when he’d won his bid for office. If he could see her now, he wouldn’t even recognize her. She didn’t recognize her. Of course, the fact that she probably looked like a drowned cat didn’t help matters. “If you could just point me in the right direction—”
I will slink off and pretend we never met
.

“You don’t need a car.”

She looked up at him again, and though she’d never particularly thought of herself as vain, she’d have given large sums for the use of a comb, a tissue, and a handheld mirror. Okay, so a full salon makeover probably wouldn’t have hurt at that moment, but her pride wouldn’t have minded at least a brief attempt at restoration. “Where I’m headed is about two and a half hours from here, and though it’s probably not all that far-fetched to think they probably rent horses here, I’m thinking the locals, not to mention the horse, will be a lot safer if I get a nice SUV instead.”

His lips quirked a little then, and her pulse actually did this zippy jumpy thing. And it felt kind of good—in a somewhat startling, disconcerting kind of way. However—reality check—she hadn’t forgotten that her appearance was highly unlikely to provoke the same reaction in him. Besides, she was not here on vacation. She was here on a very serious mission that had absolutely nothing to do with having a vacation fling of any kind. Not that she was the fling type. Or that men ever flung themselves at her, vacation or otherwise, for her to know. But, still.

“Given the weather, it would probably be as uncomfortable for the horse, but that’s not why I said you don’t need a ride. You don’t need one, because I’m your ride.”

God help her, she looked him up and down before she could stop herself.
He
was her ride?

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W
hatever the Seer wanted, the Seer got, be it for his comfort or his whim or his pleasure.

She stood staring at the chair on the raised dais at one end of the chamber, the chair where he sat when the visions came. From the expression that filled her green eyes, she knew it as well.

Had she witnessed his power? Had she watched as the magic within him exploded into a vision of what was or what would yet be? As he influenced the high and the mighty of the surrounding lands and clans with the truth of his gift? Walking over to stand behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her back to his body.

“I have not seen you before, sweetling,” he whispered into her ear. Leaning down, he smoothed the hair from the side of her face with his own and then touched his tongue to the edge of her ear. “What is your name?”

He felt the shivers travel through her as his mouth tickled her ear. Smiling, he bent down and kissed her neck, tracing the muscle there down to her shoulder with the tip of his tongue. Connor bit the spot gently, teasing it with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. “Your name?” he asked again.

She arched then, clearly enjoying his touch and ready for more. Her head fell back against his shoulder and he moved his mouth to the soft skin there, kissing and licking his way down and back to her ear. Still she had not spoken.

“When I call out my pleasure, sweetling, what name will I speak?”

He released her shoulders and slid his hands down her arms and then over her stomach to hold her in complete contact with him. Covering her stomach and pressing her to him, he rubbed against her back, letting her feel the extent of his erection—hard and large and ready to pleasure her. Connor moved his hands up to take her breasts in his grasp. Rubbing his thumbs over their tips and teasing them to tightness, he no longer asked, he demanded.

“Tell me your name.”

He felt her breasts swell in his hands and he tugged now on the distended nipples, enjoying the feel and imagining them in his mouth, as he suckled hard on them and as she screamed out her pleasure. But nothing could have pleased him more in that moment than the way she gasped at each stroke he made, over and over until she moaned out her name to him.

“Moira.”

“Moira,” he repeated slowly, drawing her name out until it was a wish in the air around them. “Moira,” he said again as he untied the laces on her bodice and slid it down her shoulders until he could touch her skin. “Moira,” he now moaned as the heat and the scent of her enticed him as much as his own scent was pulling her under his control.

Connor paused for a moment, releasing her long enough to drag his tunic over his head and then turning her into his embrace. He inhaled sharply as her skin touched his, the heat of it seared into his soul as the tightened peaks of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her added height brought her hips level almost to his and he rubbed his hardened cock against her stomach, letting her feel the extent of his arousal.

As he pushed her hair back off her shoulders, he realized that in addition to the raging lust in his blood, there was something else there, teasing him with its presence.

Anticipation.

For the first time in years, this felt like more than the mindless rutting that happened between him and the countless, nameless women there for his needs. For the first time in too long, this was not simply scratching an itch, for the hint of something more seemed to stand off in the distance, something tantalizing and unknown and something somehow tied to this woman.

He lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her gaze off the blasted chair and onto his face. Instead of the compliant gaze that usually met him, the clarity of her gold-flecked green eyes startled him. Connor did something he’d not done before, something he never needed to do—he asked her permission.

“I want you, Moira,” he whispered, dipping to touch and taste her lips for the first time. Connor slid his hand down to gather up her skirts, baring her legs and the treasure between them to his touch and his sight. “Let me?”

Be on the lookout for THE MANE SQUEEZE from Shelly Laurenston, coming next month from Brava…

T
he salmon were everywhere, leaping from the water and right into the open maws of bears. But he ruled this piece of territory and those salmon were for him and him alone. He opened his mouth and a ten-pound one leaped right into it. Closing his jaws, he sighed in pleasure. Honey-covered. He loved honey-covered salmon!

This was his perfect world. A cold river, happy-to-die-for-his-survival salmon, and honey. Lots and lots of honey…

What could ever be better? What could ever live up to this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

A salmon swam up to him. He had no interest, he was still working on the honey-covered one. The salmon stared at him intently…almost glaring.

“Hey!” it called out. “Hey! Can you hear me?”

Why was this salmon ruining his meal? He should kill it and save it for later. Or toss it to one of the females with cubs. Anything to get this obviously Philadelphia salmon to shut the hell up!

“Answer me!” the salmon ordered loudly. “Open your eyes and answer me!
Now!
”

His eyes were open, weren’t they?

Apparently not because someone pried his lids apart and stared into his face. And wow, was she gorgeous!

“Can you hear me?” He didn’t answer, he was too busy staring at her. So pretty!

“Come on, Paddington. Answer me.”

He instinctively snarled at the nickname and she smiled in relief. “What’s the matter?” she teased. “You don’t like Paddington? Such a cute, cuddily, widdle bear.”

“Nothing’s wrong with cute pet names…Mr. Mittens.”

She straightened, her hands on her hips and those long, expertly manicured nails drumming restlessly against those narrow hips.

“Mister?” she snapped.

“Paddington?” he shot back.

She gave a little snort. “Okay. Fair enough. But call me Gwen. I never did get a chance to tell you my name at the wedding.”

Oh! He remembered her now. The feline he’d found himself day dreaming about on more than one occasion in the two months since Jess’s wedding. And…wow. She was naked. She looked really good naked…

He blinked, knowing that he was staring at that beautiful, strong body.
Focus on something else! Anything else! You’re going to creep her out!

“You have tattoos,” he blurted. Bracelet tatts surrounded both her biceps. A combination of black shamrocks and a dark-green Chinese symbol he didn’t know the meaning of. And on her right hip she had a black Chinese dragon holding a Celtic cross in its mouth. It was beautiful work. Intricate. “Are they new?”

“Nah. I just covered up the ones on my arms with makeup, for the wedding. With my mother, I’d be noticed enough. Didn’t want to add to that.” She gestured at him with her hand. “Now we know I’m Gwen and I have tattoos…so do you have a name?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m…” He glanced off, racking his brain.

“You don’t remember your name?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I know it has something to do with security.” He stared at her thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers. “Lock.”

“Lock? Your name is Lock?”

“I think. Lock. Lock…Lachlan! MacRyrie!” He glanced off again. “I think.”

“Christ.”

“No need to get snippy. It’s
my
name I can’t remember.” He nodded. “I’m pretty positive it’s Lock…something.”

“MacRyrie.”

“Okay.”

She gave a small, frustrated growl and placed the palms of her hands against her eyes. He stared at her painted nails. “Are those the team colors of the Philadelphia Flyers?”

“Don’t start,” she snapped.

“Again with the snippy? I was only asking.”

Lock slowly pushed himself up a bit, noticing for the first time that they’d traveled to a much more shallow part of the river. The water barely came to his waist. She started to say something, but shook her head and looked away. He didn’t mind. He didn’t need conversation at the moment, he needed to figure out where he was.

A river, that’s where he was. Unfortunately, not his dream river. The one with the honey-covered salmon that willingly leaped into his mouth. A disappointing realization—it always felt so real until he woke up—but he was still happy that he’d survived the fall.

Lock used his arms to push himself up all the way so he could sit.

“Be careful,” she finally said. “We fell from up there.”

He looked at where she pointed, ignoring how much pain the slight move caused, and flinched when he saw how far down they were.

“Although we were farther up river, I think.”

“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How bad is it?”

“It’ll be fine.” Closing his eyes, Lock bent his head to one side, then the other. The sound of cracking bones echoed and when he opened his eyes, he saw that pretty face cringing.

“See?” he said. “Better already.”

“If you say so.”

She took several awkward steps back so she could sit down on a large boulder.

“You’re hurt,” he informed her.

“Yeah. I am.” She extended her leg, resting it on a small boulder in front of her and let out a breath, her eyes shutting. “I know it’s healing, but, fuck, it hurts.”

“Let me see.” Lock got to his feet, ignoring the aches and pains he felt throughout his body. By the time he made it over to her, she opened her eyes and blinked wide, leaning back.

“Hey, hey! Get that thing out of my face!”

His cock was right
there
, now wasn’t it? He knelt down on one knee in front of her and said, “This is the best I can manage at the moment. I don’t exactly have the time to run off and kill an animal for its hide.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Just watch where you’re swinging that thing. You’re liable to break my nose.”

Focusing on her leg to keep from appearing way too proud at that statement, he grasped her foot and lifted, keeping his movements slow and his fingers gentle. He didn’t allow himself to wince when he saw the damage. It was bad, and she was losing blood. Probably more blood than she realized. “I didn’t do this, did I?”

“No. I got this from that She-bitch.” She leaned over, trying to get a better look. “Do I have any calf muscle left?”

He wasn’t going to answer that. At least not honestly. Instead he gave her his best “reassuring” expression and calmly said, “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

Her body jerked straight and those pretty eyes blinked rapidly. “No.”

That wasn’t the response he expected. Panic, perhaps. Or, “My God. Is it that bad?” But instead she said “no.” And she said it with some serious finality. In the same way he’d imagine she would respond to the suggestion of cutting off her leg with a steak knife.

“It’s not a big deal. But you don’t want an infection. I’ll take you up the embankment, get us some clothes—” if she didn’t pass out from blood loss first “—and then get you to the Macon River Health Center. It’s equipped for us.”

“No.”

“I’ve had to go there a couple of times. It’s really clean, the staff is great, and the doctors are always the best.”

“No.”

She wasn’t being difficult to simply be difficult, was she?

Resting his forearm on his knee, Lock stared at her. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No.”

“Is there a reason you don’t want to go to the hospital?” And he really hoped it wasn’t something ridiculous like she used to date one of the doctors and didn’t want to see him, or something equally as lame.

“Of course there is. People go there to die.”

Oh, boy. Ridiculous but hardly lame. “Or…people go there to get better.”

“No.”

“Look, Mr. Mittens—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—I’m trying to help you here. So you can do this the easy way, or you can do this the hard way. Your choice.”

She shrugged and brought her good foot down right on his nuts.