The Mane Squeeze (41 page)

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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
ho the hell was that?” McCabe said from behind her.

“And this day just keeps getting better and better.” Bebe turned to face Donovan. “Dara’s none of your business, so forget her.”

“Dara who?” He had his cop stare firmly in place. She hated being on the receiving end of cop stares, because it meant the cop wasn’t budging till he got an answer.

“Dara is my mother-of-the-year. Make that foster mother. There, now you know. Happy? And what are you doing here anyway? Thought we were meeting at the station?”

Donovan’s eyes widened and he let out a soft whistle, his gaze on Dara retreating down the street. “How the hell did that happen?”

“You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re a pain in the ass.” But the crack wasn’t as sarcastic as she intended because he wasn’t all pain and he certainly had a nice ass. And right now he was all yummy with his black hair damp from a recent shower and a soft navy shirt and worn jeans hugging lean hips. “I’ll give you the ten-cent version to shut you up. Best I can figure, Dara was paid to take me, and no, I don’t know why, and no, I don’t intend to find out, because my real parents must be total scum to sell a kid. And yes, I did change my name and don’t you dare go feeling sorry for me, because I sure as hell don’t need a pity party, and now you want to tell me what you’re doing on my front stoop at this hour?”

Her gaze met his and she braced herself for the
Oh, you poor thing
look, but instead Donovan bent his head and kissed her. She started to protest, but her lips were busy and suddenly her tongue was, too, and then her arms got into the act and then her insides melted into hot goo, which had acid beat all to hell and back. This kiss was all wrong on every level except one…Donovan McCabe felt so darn good when she was feeling crappy as hell.

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A STORM OF PASSION,
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W
hatever the Seer wanted, the Seer got, be it for his comfort of 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 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 sucked hard on them and as she screamed out her pleasure But nothing cold have pleased him more in that moment then 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 this 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 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 he 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?”