Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7

by O'Malley, Tricia

  “And why aren’t you talking about love? This is the man you’ve dreamed about for ages. What did he tell you in the last dream? Where you asked him what he wanted you to learn?”

  “He told me he’s here,” Grace said, her voice cracking as she remembered. “He said he’s right here.”

  “And so he is. You don’t think you’ll be pulling the wool over my eyes on this one, do you? This is your great love. What do you plan to do about it?” Fiona folded her arms across her chest.

  “I… I have absolutely no idea,” Grace admitted, surprised to find that it was true. She hated not having an answer for the problems at hand, and this particular problem had just grown thorns, wrapped brambles around her heart, and threatened to suffocate her.

  “Well, you’d better figure it out, because if you think for a second that Dylan is going to sit back and wait for you to make your next move, you’d be dead wrong. The man is a force of nature – no moss grows on him. While you sit here and pout, he’s going to be building a counterattack. I suggest you hit him on both levels – his heart and his business sense. But then, what do I know? I’m just an old woman ghost who pops into your kitchen once in a while.”

  With that, Fiona blinked away, presumably in a huff, leaving Grace glaring at the space she had just occupied.

  “I’ll remind you that I have several lifetimes under my belt,” Grace grumbled, getting up from the rocking chair. “I’m not scared of a battle.”

  Even so, Grace ducked her head when Fiona sent thunder rumbling over the cottage, and Rosie cast a worried look at the roof.

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Grace said, but blew a kiss into the air anyway. Fiona always knew how to make her point.

  Chapter 12

  Reluctant to leave her property, although she doubted Dylan would come swooping in to bulldoze her cottage, Grace spent the rest of the day researching land laws in Ireland. For what felt like the hundredth time, she found herself staring off into space, her mind hopelessly fixated on the way the wind had blown a tendril of hair across Dylan’s forehead or the lazy confidence he displayed in the way he carried himself.

  Disgusted with herself for feeling like a love-struck teenager when she’d only spoken a few words to the man, Grace pushed away from her laptop and moved to the cabinet that held a small selection of Ireland’s finest whiskey offerings. She idly perused her choices but couldn’t decide, so she picked a bottle at random and poured herself a glass before sliding into the rocking chair in front of the fire she’d lit hours ago. Rosie, stretched out on the floor, lifted her head to see if there was any chance of a biscuit before settling back into her snooze.

  It was maddening, Grace thought as she contemplated the flames and took a long pull from her whiskey glass. The layers between her lifetimes were blurring, and it was as if she were being pulled back into the moods and feelings of another woman, yet had to carry herself as a somewhat sane woman in this time. Which meant that she couldn’t be aflutter for a man she’d just met – and one who was her adversary, at that. Not one person would believe or understand her feelings if she tried to explain them – well, perhaps her extended family would, with their magickal gifts, but for now Grace had to resign herself to the fact that Dylan Kelly was Public Enemy Number One in her world.

  Which meant she’d need to conduct herself with care in his presence, and make sure he didn’t wise up to her attraction. If he did, Grace was certain he’d use it against her. Dylan was a man who would use every tool available, and she was sure he wasn’t above playing on a woman’s interest if it got him what he wanted. And Grace refused to be one of the legions of women who seemed to hang on his arm in all his pictures.

  She sighed and pinched her nose, taking another sip of whiskey and letting the heat of it warm her core. It hadn’t taken her long to stray from looking up the boring laws of land rights and usage to scanning the society pages that seemed to love golden boy Dylan Kelly. If anyone asked her, Grace would lie through her teeth about the number of hours she’d spent Googling him, her nose wrinkled in a sneer at photo after photo of models and socialites draping his arms. The press loved him – from his philanthropic ways to his hardworking rags-to-riches story, to the way none of the women he dated ever had anything bad to say about him. Aside from the fact that he refused to commit, that is. It seemed he gently and kindly moved on from each woman, leaving them sighing after him, perpetually the one that got away. Whether it was his commitment to bachelorhood or his zest and enthusiasm for making money, Grace found herself distinctly annoyed by his life choices.

  The Dillon she’d known had cared about the simple things in life – exploring the world, sharing stories, learning new trades. He hadn’t been one for flash and extravagance. It would serve Grace well to remember that the man she’d met today had lived many lives since they had been together.

  And so had she.

  Grace downed her drink and whistled for Rosie to do her lock-up routine. Tamping down the fire, she readied herself for bed, exhausted after the upheaval of the day and the lack of sleep the night before. Maybe Fiona was right and she’d find the answer in her dreams that night. All she knew was that her emotions were stirred up, her mind was a tangled ball of confusion, and her heart felt like it wanted to jump out of her chest.

  It wasn’t long before she found herself back at the water’s edge, her heart drawn irresistibly and inexplicably to where she knew her man waited. Except this time, it wasn’t the lovely little strip of beach or the cottage they’d once shared together.

  “There she is,” Dylan laughed to her from where he stood, knee-deep in the water, a fishing line in his hand.

  “You shouldn’t fish in here,” Grace said automatically, as she looked up at the almost perfect half-circle of cliffs that sheltered the enchanted waters of Grace’s Cove – her cove.

  “Food for my love. Love gives and love takes, sort of like the ebb and flow of the waves, no?” Dylan smiled easily at her as he threw the line once more and Grace drew closer, helpless not to be near him. He radiated confidence and love, smiling casually over his shoulder as he continued to cast his line for dinner.

  “Love shouldn’t take,” Grace said, perching on a rock near him, unsure of where this dream was guiding her.

  “Sure it should, Grace,” Dylan said, using her name from this century, a sign that he didn’t remember her from before. “If one person gives and gives love, but takes none in return, they’ll end up an empty well. Don’t you think love should flow like a circle between two people? Some days you may love them more than they love you, and vice versa, but isn’t that the beauty of it? Together you are stronger than apart.”

  Grace considered his words, unsure of her footing here and in this time. Her heart knew this man before her, but her mind didn’t. For all she knew, this could be some magickal life lesson being taught to her by Fiona or any other spirits who had a mind to meddle in her love life. Never stupid, Grace decided to proceed with caution.

  “I suspect there is a yin-and-yang kind of flow to love, Dylan. You seem to be speaking from experience. Which of your women has taught you this love?”

  Obviously Grace was still peeved over the women she’d seen in the online magazines earlier, or that little tidbit probably wouldn’t have popped into her brain. Nonetheless, there it was.

  “There’s only one woman for me, Grace,” Dylan said, his smile wide and his eyes patient.

  “Excuse me if I’m struggling to believe that at the moment,” Grace bit out, a sullen expression settling onto her face. “Seeing as how you don’t even recognize me.”

  Dylan waded over to crouch down next to Grace. His fingers, wet with sea water, clutched her chin and forced her to tip her head up to meet his eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest – she so wanted to kiss this Dylan to see if he felt the same.

  “My heart sees you,” Dylan said, ever so softly, as he brought his palm to his chest.

  Grace closed her eyes and turned away, blinking back the te
ars that suddenly threatened.

  “But you don’t,” Grace whispered, turning once more to look at him when her eyes had cleared.

  “Not yet. Have faith in me,” Dylan said.

  Grace woke to tears drying on her cheeks – this time not for the love she’d relived and lost, but for a new poignant ache that blossomed in her chest. With all the challenges set before them, Grace didn’t think she could trust Dylan to see her – to really see her – for who she was to him.

  She feared this might be one battle she’d end up losing.

  Chapter 13

  Typically, Dylan was an early riser, as he often needed to field questions and answers from his offices in other countries. But this morning, he let his more-than-capable business managers attend to the details and instead he lingered in bed, his mind a morass of thoughts and emotions that stuck with him from his blurred dreams the night before. Most nights, after Dylan dropped into bed he slept an almost dreamless night through before waking early in the morning, refreshed and ready to conquer any new challenges that greeted him.

  But, today, he lingered. The bed, a generous king-size, had soft cotton sheets and a handwoven quilt in muted greens and golds. As usual, he’d taken up the whole bed, spreading his arms wide and piling all the pillows behind his head. The view of the water from the wide window that lined the wall in front of the bed promised a rainy morning, and Dylan was in no mood to rush from his cozy spot.

  He’d dreamt of her.

  Dylan grimaced as he punched a pillow and propped himself further up in order to gaze out at where the water met the horizon, barely discernable as one grey line melded with another. Somehow he’d known she’d be in his dreams, but there was no reason for it. Other than the fact that it had been ages since he’d lain with a woman, and she was a rumpled delightful wonderland of curves and flushed skin… Dylan grimaced as lust surged through him. His dreams had been anything but chaste, and he’d woken up with a taste for her in his mouth.

  Lust didn’t bother Dylan. It was something that came naturally when a man had his eye on someone who pleased his senses. The problem was more with the words he had dreamed about whispering into her lips, promises of a love that transcended all time. Words that made him uncomfortable in the stark light of day, like someone had taken a chink out of the armor he wore around his heart. It was a feeling he didn’t like, and one that he hoped could be tucked away. Because no matter how delightful a passing fancy with Grace would be, ultimately it would be unethical. He was her landlord, and it was best not to mix business with pleasure.

  It was a policy that had served him well through the years. He’d only had to learn that lesson once, in his early days when he had tended bar at a local pub during university. It wasn’t uncommon for his coworkers to have flings with each other – and every other uni student that passed through the door. He’d had his fair share of flings with the clientele, but had taken a particular shine to a new girl, Shelly, who had started working just after him. Young, naïve, and full of lust, he’d thought with the wrong head and dove into a heated three-week affair that had ended up poisoning his workplace when he’d called things off with Shelly. Dylan had found out that she didn’t mind sharing herself with more than one lad at a time, which was something he’d not been particularly pleased with. When her other beaus had broken off with her as well, Shelly had flitted back to Dylan, hoping to catch his eye again. He’d refused her advances, and she’d gone on to make his working life hell. Ever since that time, he’d learned never to cross those lines, no matter the temptation at hand. It had made for smart business decisions, and ultimately he’d gained more friends and respect along the way for not crossing boundaries.

  And a liaison with Ms. O’Brien, however tempting it might be, would most certainly muddy the water – water that he’d worked long and hard to clear his calendar for. Finally, he was able to work on a passion project after his heart – not one based on the financial outcome as well. The opportunity had come at a perfect time in his life, and Dylan was smart enough to not let a succulent rose of a woman cloud his head and pull his eyes from his goal.

  He sighed, stretching his long body as his mind flitted over the more interesting aspects of his dream. If real life with Grace was anything like his dream, it was a damn shame he’d be passing her up. But Dylan was nothing if not focused when he had an end goal in mind. It was a trait of his that had won him the admiration of many who worked for him, along with his willingness to dive right into the trenches. Be it cleaning one of his boats or helping on a new construction build, Dylan was never too aloof to get his hands dirty.

  Dylan let his mind wander over all the businesses he’d built since the time he’d bartended in college. University had been an easy study for him, and he’d double-loaded his classes to get in and out so he could take on the real world as quickly as he could. Luck had struck for Dylan early in the game, when a regular at the bar had invited him to come down to check out his boat one day. Never one to say no to a day on the water, Dylan had obliged and in a short time had struck up a friendship with the man. Soon the relationship had turned more into a mentorship, and he’d been taught the ways of shipbuilding, the ins and outs of running a business, and what to look for when hiring employees. Spying a keen eye for business and an aptitude to excel, his mentor had bankrolled Dylan’s first boat, and the rest, as they say, was history.

  Dylan had named his first boat The Pirate Queen, much to the delight of his investor. In five years’ time, he’d tripled his boat inventory, and had set up daily tours and shipping routes all over Ireland. In ten years’ time, he’d expanded his business into worldwide enterprises. Dylan never stopped learning, and he always loved a challenge. But in the last year or two, things had grown stagnant for him. It had only been when he’d decided one day to sail down the coast of Ireland for a few weeks, taking his favorite boat, The Pirate Queen, and a few of his best mates with him, that he’d discovered something that called to his heart once more.

  They’d had great craic, with Liam at the helm – swinging the boat into various ports along the coast, telling tall tales in little harbor towns, meeting pretty girls they’d slip away from at dawn, all the while taking a much-needed respite from the demands of running a worldwide company. But when they’d worked their way down the coast and stumbled upon the little of village of Grace’s Cove, Dylan had stood up and taken notice.

  It had felt like coming home.

  Colorful houses clustered on the green hills rising up from the water, like brightly colored ornaments on a Christmas tree. Single-lane roads wove here and there, the cars not paying too much mind as to which way to travel, only giving a casual beep and wave to go ahead when meeting one another on the lane. Fishing boats huddled each night at the harbor, and the delicious scents of the fresh catch grilling at quaint restaurants wafted through the air. Perhaps it was no less and no more pretty than any other harbor town he’d docked The Pirate Queen at, but Dylan fell instantly and head over heels in love with Grace’s Cove.

  Since that time, Dylan had been determined to find a way to come back. At first, Liam had suggested he just buy a holiday home in the village and visit a few weeks a year. But that hadn’t been enough for Dylan. He needed to make a mark – to do something here – and the thought of coming back to Grace’s Cove had been like an itch between his shoulders that he couldn’t reach, until he’d upped and said no to any new projects and had come to the village to see his dream through. His managers had all looked shocked when he’d personally given them raises, more responsibilities, and the authority to make decisions without him having to sign off on every document. Dylan trusted implicitly the people he’d brought into his company, and they’d more than proven themselves over the years.

  So here he was – alone in this bed; dreaming of a witchy-eyed woman with mermaid hair, who he was more than certain had some kind of magick readily at her disposal; with a stalled construction project, no pressing deadlines on any of his businesses, and a
slew of unanswered questions about just what kind of magick he was actually dealing with at the cove.

  His lips quirked as he thought about his mother and how delighted she would be if she knew he was taking magick seriously. She’d always had a fanciful side to her, reading to Dylan the myths of mermaids or the selkies who haunted the waters. Catherine loved nothing more than to find stone circles, read about pagan rituals, and set up crystals to shoo fairies from her gardens. She’d promised Dylan that one day, as he rode his boat over the waters, he’d see something that he wouldn’t be able to explain away with all his pragmatic logic and business sense. Ever the sailor, Dylan had indulged his mother in her stories – and sure, there was a time or two while at sea that he might – might – have glimpsed something on the horizon that he couldn’t explain. Catherine liked to insist it was the mermaids. Dylan liked to insist she’d had one too many whiskies before bed each night.

  Glancing at the phone that buzzed by his side, Dylan’s lips curved into a smile.

  “Mum, you’ll never guess. I think I’ve finally seen a mermaid.”

  Her squeal of delight was enough to cheer him up, and soon he’d forgotten the unsettling dreams of the night before and was ready to get on with his day.

  With the first stop being to investigate the supposed ‘enchanted waters’ of this cove that he’d heard so much about over dinner the night before.

  Chapter 14

  Grace had started her morning with a quick visit to Martin who, to her delight, had not only spent much of the previous day writing and filing the injunction she’d requested, but had also, it seemed, made moves where his secretary Anne was concerned.

  He had just quietly informed Grace of a few things she might be able to add to her strategy, should it become necessary.