The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 5-7)

by Tricia O'Malley

  “Because I think our great pirate queen is about to go into battle,” Morgan murmured as Grace disappeared into the storm.

  Chapter 9

  For the first time in ages, Grace didn’t dream of Dillon. Either it was the sheer rage that kept her tossing and turning and never falling fully into a deep sleep, or it was the storm that thundered through the night keeping her up – either way, Grace rose the next morning with the blood of battle in her eye.

  Fiona had been surprisingly absent when Grace had returned home the night before, which had only served to annoy Grace even further. Sure, the old woman liked to pop in whenever she felt like – but when Grace needed her most? Not a peep. That just figured. Ghosts – finicky beings, they were.

  She glanced out the window and was surprised to find that the weather had actually calmed down – not following her mood for once. A light breeze kissed the soggy grass and a few cotton-puff clouds graced the horizon. All in all, it should have been a lovely morning for Grace to make a cup of tea and get on with her work. Instead, she stood listlessly in front of the sink, idly pushing the window open to catch the breeze, her face creased in a frown as her mind refused to quiet. At the moment, she saw no way out of the problem that currently presented itself to her.

  Grace hated not having a way out.

  In a concession to the chill in the air, Grace tugged a loose grey sweater over her tank and filmy sleep shorts, letting her hair tumble loose over her shoulders almost to her waist. It wasn’t like she always had to have her way, Grace mused, as she put the kettle on to boil. She was more than capable of working with a team, and she’d had her share of boyfriends who would willingly have stayed with her if she hadn’t danced lightly away from their offers of commitment. It was more about freedom – freedom of choice and freedom of movement. The fear – of not having a voice in her life or her choices – might have her labeled as a difficult woman.

  It wasn’t a label Grace minded.

  The slamming of car doors and the sound of voices carried to her through the open window and had Grace’s head going up as if she scented prey. Eyes narrowed, she edged to the window to find a trio of trucks, one towing some sort of construction machinery behind it, along the cliff road that led to the cove. Without a second thought, Grace bolted from the house, recognizing the outlet for her rage.

  The group of men turned at Rosie’s bark, signaling the arrival of an infuriated, barefoot, and half-dressed woman, her hair streaming behind her in the wind as she skidded to a stop in front of them. Assessing the look on her face, as one, the men turned to their leader.

  Cowards, Grace thought, seeing the silent agreement pass between the men as they decided to hand her off to the man who stood a bit apart from them, his back to her as he studied the waves that crashed far below where they stood. Broad shoulders covered by a worn leather jacket, ragged denim that hugged long legs, and blond hair – just beginning to curl – dancing in the wind. Grace could appreciate the build of the man while simultaneously wanting to throw him off the cliff.

  “We’ll start here then…” The man turned when his men remained silent and the shock of him caused Grace to lift a hand to her heart.

  She couldn’t see him. Not at first. The sun had risen far enough in the sky that it silhouetted his form, seeming to light his blond hair as it haloed around his head, his face momentarily lost in shadow. She caught it, just for a moment: the searing blue of his eyes – the ocean at dawn – before his face dropped back into shadow. The punch of him, of who he was, made her want to drop to her knees.

  Instead, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, leveling her gaze at him and swallowing past a throat that had gone achingly dry.

  “Miss O’Brien, I presume?” The man stepped forward until he stood close to her, forcing her gaze to trail up a loosely-buttoned plaid to examine the face that she unequivocally wanted to kiss.

  “Aye, ’tis me.” Grace was distraught to hear her voice come out but a whisper on the wind. She wanted to scream the words. ’Tis me. Couldn’t he see?

  His eyes narrowed as he studied her, and Grace frowned when annoyance flashed across his handsome features. With a jaw made for breaking a man’s hand and soulful eyes that could make a weaker woman than Grace swoon, the man had the look of a fallen angel. A highly annoyed fallen angel, who glanced quickly at the neat wristwatch he wore and then back to where she stood, gaping like a lunatic, in her pajamas.

  “It seems we’ve pulled you out of bed. I suppose it’s best you get used to the construction as it will be only getting louder around here for a while yet.”

  “And with whom do I have the distinct displeasure of speaking?” Grace tilted her head, acid dripping from her tongue.

  “My apologies. Dylan Kelly,” he said, holding out a hand to shake and then dropping it when Grace looked at it like it was a snake poised to bite. “I understand you’re unhappy with this situation. I promise we’ll do our best to get you moved out with as little fuss as possible. DK Enterprises will be more than happy to pay for a moving van and help for you during your time of transition as well.” Dylan rocked back on his heels, a placating smile hovering on his lips, dismissing her as a minor problem to be handled.

  The man had no idea what he was in store for, Grace thought, drawing in one long shuddering breath. For once in her life, she needed to think with her mind and not her heart, as it seemed her heart currently couldn’t be trusted to make wise decisions. If she followed the wave of emotions that swept through her right now, she’d have leapt into Dylan’s arms and planted kisses across every inch of that stubborn jaw of his. And perhaps she still should, Grace thought, briefly entertaining the possibility of ruffling this man’s feathers in a very unexpected way. The problem was that he looked like the type who was used to women throwing themselves at him. It might unnerve or embarrass him, but Grace suspected it wouldn’t throw him off his stride much. Instead, she sent his men a saucy smile that got her several answering smiles in return.

  “Sure and that’s right kind of you, Mr. Kelly, but I won’t be needing your assistance as I’m not moving,” Grace said, smiling sweetly as he arched a brow at her words.

  “Is that so? Perhaps I’ve been misinformed. I was led to believe that you were notified of the eviction as well as the change of ownership of this land. I do apologize if this comes as a shock, I was certain that you’d been contacted,” Dylan said, turning to look over his shoulder at one of the men who nodded at him in confirmation.

  “Aye, I’ve been notified,” Grace said, idly twisting a lock of hair around her finger, playing up the picture she was sure she currently presented – silly little dimwitted woman. Grace rarely used her looks for her own benefit, but she wasn’t against playing into the assumptions men made about her if it got her what she wanted. Which, at the moment, was for them to get off her land.

  “Ah, so, then… my offer stands,” Dylan said, a lazy smile on his lips, his eyes sharp as he watched her.

  “Sure and that’s kind of you,” Grace repeated. “But I’ll not be moving. You will be.”

  Dylan shoved his hands into his pockets, a look of mild frustration fluttering across his face, and glanced back at his men, who collectively shrugged their shoulders as if to say she was his problem. Grace couldn’t say why that annoyed her even more, but she decided then and there she’d teach them a little lesson. For if they wouldn’t take no for an answer, she had other ways to change their minds.

  “Miss O’Brien, I can understand that this is a bit distressing for you, but as your new landlord, I’m within my rights to evict you from the land,” Dylan said, his voice dead calm, a man used to people obeying his orders.

  “Mr. Kelly, as the current resident of this land, I’m telling you that you are wrong. This simply won’t be the case,” Grace said, her eyes boring into his, willing him to recognize her on any level. Something flashed in the depths of blue, but no recognition came to light. Instead, he pinched his nose and sighed.

>   “I don’t have all day to stand here and argue with you. Here’s my card. Call me to let me know when the moving van can come assist you,” Dylan said, handing her a card. Grace readily took it, just to have something with his energy on it. She’d study it later, but for now she noted the jump in her pulse when his hand lightly brushed over her palm.

  “You won’t be receiving that call from me. My solicitor is filing an injunction against you, so for now, you’re shut down. In the meantime, you’ll want to be moving your equipment off of my land,” Grace said, her chin up and fire in her eyes.

  “Is that so? Interesting,” Dylan murmured, pulling an iPhone out of his pocket and typing in a message. Grace briefly wondered how he got signal out here by the cliffs, and then shook her head to keep herself focused.

  “Interesting, the man says. I see you’re accustomed to getting your way. I’m sorry that your way won’t work in this particular instance. But I’m certain there’s loads of other coastline available in Ireland just begging for you to destroy it. Sadly – for you, certainly not for me – it won’t be this cove. I’ll have to be asking you once more to leave. I’d hate to bring the Garda out to assist you in your departure – Sheriff Maury with his new babe at home and all. I’m certain he’d be highly annoyed to be torn away from that to attend to a trespassing complaint.” Grace smiled, widening her eyes and hoping she was pulling off the guileless look. “But I suppose that, since I did help his darling wife Deborah deliver their new babe, he’d be feeling obliged to protect me from any… threats to my property.” Grace blinked up at Dylan, delighted to see that she’d finally worked her way under his cool exterior when anger flashed across his face.

  Then he smoothed his expression out once more. “I’m certain there’s no need for the authorities to come work out a simple misunderstanding,” Dylan said, his tone pitched to match hers in sweetness. “But I promise you now – for every day you cost me in building, that’s one less day you’ll have to pack up your pretty little cottage over there.”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Kelly?” Grace narrowed her eyes at him as she put her hands on her hips, refusing to budge from her position.

  “I never threaten women, especially beautiful ones,” Dylan said, a wide grin flashing across his face, surprising Grace into wanting to respond in kind. “I only make promises.”

  “You strike me as a man who is comfortable with breaking his promises,” Grace said, perhaps more sharply than intended.

  Dylan’s face went to stone. “I live by my word, Miss O’Brien. You’d do well to remember that,” he said, his voice dangerously soft, forcing Grace to lean forward slightly to catch the words the rising wind threatened to carry away.

  “As do I, Mr. Kelly. And I won’t be bullied. Off with you now, off my land.” Grace turned and made a shooing motion to the group of men, as if they were little more than pests to be done away with.

  The group of men shuffled their feet, uncertain of what to do, all of them reluctant to lose face in front of their boss. Dylan only quirked a small smile at her, seemingly delighted with her motions. It was as though he was appeasing a country bumpkin or some batty old woman, and Grace felt rage flash through her when she realized he had no intention of taking her seriously.

  The group of men started when, all at once, their car horns began honking on their own. Confused, they raced to their vehicles, only to jump back in shock when the doors flew open, beckoning them to jump inside. Grace swallowed a laugh while the men huddled together, the whites of their eyes showing in fear as the doors continued to open and close, the repetitive honking of the horns making it all but impossible to hear.

  Only Dylan held his ground, his eyes narrowed and hands on his lean hips as he first watched the trucks and then slid a lazy glance back to her.

  “That your work?” Dylan asked.

  Grace was even more annoyed that he wasn’t the least bit concerned by the tiny display of magick she’d been unable to resist. “No sir,” she said, lying as prettily as she could. “The land here’s enchanted. You might want to do your research a bit more thoroughly before you pick your next spot to build. The spirits are obviously unhappy with you.” With that, she turned and whistled for Rosie, who raced ahead of her across the grass toward the cottage – toward home. Grace refused to look behind her, knowing that if she did she’d find Dylan staring after her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  She was delighted to hear the engines of the trucks roar to life as the men scurried from the cliffs. For this day, she’d won the battle.

  But she knew there was still a war to fight.

  Chapter 10

  Dylan kept quiet as he tapped out a text message to his solicitor, demanding a call within the hour and an explanation for the current legal state of affairs on what he’d thought was now his land. Liam, his foreman and one of his closest friends, chattered incessantly at the wheel as he took the hairpin turns of the road that hugged the cliff on the way back into the village.

  “What just happened? I’ve never seen anything like that. I’d heard, that I had – I was warned…” Liam shook his dark head of shaggy hair. “Down at the pub. They said the land was cursed or enchanted or whatever. But you know, Ireland, it’s all magick, no? I figured it was just one of those things.” Liam waved a hand in the air to illustrate his point.

  “It’s not magick,” Dylan grumbled.

  “Listen to himself, then. Telling me that’s not magick. I know magick when I’m seeing magick, don’t I? Car doors don’t just open and close of their own accord,” Liam said, tugging on a beard that had grown longer than he usually let it.

  “Gust of wind,” Dylan grumbled, propping one boot on his knee as he continued to work the computer in his hands.

  “Hell of a gust of wind if you ask me. I’d say more like a gust of woman, no? One hell of a woman there, too.” Liam whistled long and low, making Dylan get his back up. Which didn’t even make sense – why should he care what Liam thought of Miss O’Brien?

  “I’d say more like a hell of a problem. One that I don’t have the time or the inclination for,” Dylan said.

  “It’s a sad day when a man doesn’t have the time or inclination for the likes of a woman like that. I think every man there fell more than halfway in love with her – either because of the way she stood up to you or the way she looked, or both. It’s all of it. Some package,” Liam said, a faint smile hovering on his lips as he replayed the scene in his head.

  For the first time in their friendship, Dylan wanted to punch the man. Since the feeling shocked him, and he didn’t deal well with being out of control of his emotions, Dylan forced himself to think back to the picture Grace O’Brien had made as she’d squared off to him on the cliffs.

  Her face, flushed pink from the wind and her run across the grass, with her sunset hair tossing everywhere in the wind, had instantly made him think of a rumpled lover fresh from a tumble in bed. Her flimsy excuse for sleep shorts had barely covered her generous bum and curvy thighs. Dylan could only be grateful she’d had the forethought to pull a lumpy sweater over whatever else she was wearing – or perhaps not wearing – or she’d have had his entire crew kneeling at her feet. Her eyes, though – the deep blue ocean shade he’d only seen hours from land – had riveted him. If he was right, they changed color when she was angry, deepening to a midnight blue. Dylan wondered what they’d do when she was aroused.

  He’d wanted to hug her. The thought alone had surprised him into acting even more cantankerous than he usually did. But there was something about Grace – almost a familiarity – that made him want to pull her into his arms and protect her from everything and anything that threatened to hurt her. Granted, she’d probably kosh him on the head if he tried to fix any problems for her, but the instinct was there nonetheless. Dylan decided it must be because he had a natural inclination toward being a problem solver, and he certainly didn’t mind rescuing a damsel in distress when the occasion arose. Too bad that this time the person c
ausing the damsel’s distress was none other than himself.

  Shaking his head away from such thoughts, he looked down at the phone that vibrated in his hand.

  “She may be some package,” Dylan agreed, knowing his friend would see through him if he tried to deny it, “but she’s also some problem. One that I’m on the way to fixing.”

  “I look forward to watching that,” Liam murmured, but Dylan had already tuned him out, the phone pressed to his ear as he began to discuss strategy.

  Chapter 11

  It was him.

  Grace curled into the rocking chair. It had been hand-carved with love, the edges worn smooth by the years of comfort taken by those who sat in it, whiling away the hours before the fire. Usually, the rocking soothed her, but today it only served to agitate her further.

  Thump. Grace’s foot hit the floor each time she rocked forward, her mind racing. How could Dillon be here – be this man – and not recognize her? It was impossible not to feel the connection between them. Wasn’t it? He’d promised her that their love would transcend the bounds of time. And yet he’d stood there with barely a ripple of recognition on his too-handsome face and regarded her as nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing about his head.

  That had stung, more than she’d wanted it to. Grace had been so caught up in the wave of emotions that plummeted through her when she’d first seen Dillon that she could only commend herself for sticking strong, staying in the moment, and kicking the man’s decidedly delectable arse off her property. Her property. The man would learn soon enough that he was about to enter a battle of wills for which he had no training.

  Pulling his card out, Grace studied the words.

  Dylan Kelly, President. Ah, so that was what the DK stood for in DK Enterprises, Grace mused, noting that Dylan spelled his name differently in this life, though his initials remained the same. She would have to spend a little time researching his family line to see if she could find out anything more about what had happened to him through the years. Grace approved of the card; it was elegant, yet the pop of orange in the logo highlighted the neat navy-blue lettering. It was a smart choice, not just another boring business card. Unsure why that annoyed her even more, Grace closed her eyes and let the card sit in her palm as she went deep within.