Whiskey & Witchcraft

by Kiki Howell

  The white walls and dark wooden cabinets trimmed in gold, fused together with marbled granite countertops, made a flawless transition from the great room of piers and water to the patio overlooking the ocean. Walls had been pushed aside, on runners, to open up to a gourmet kitchen in order to serve a large crowd. Some staff cooked while others waited hand and foot on his guests. She doubted anyone wanted for anything here. Ever. Just her.

  "Thank you. I don't mean to belittle the architecture, or sound like an impatient school boy, but are you ready to continue on outside? While I will grab an umbrella at the door, it would be best to try to beat the worst of the rain when it hits."

  She smiled, and he reached for her hand. On instinct, she pulled hers back only to watch his face tighten into a frown as his darkening eyes searched hers. He turned then, continued his walk to the patio. She followed even as the knot of guilt nauseated her stomach. The smells of food, that had a second ago been amazing, suddenly tortured.

  When he opened the glass door for her, and she stepped on to the stone patio that seemed to hang over the side of the cliff, the wind whipping hard against her body here, she gasped for a deep breath of fresh air. Yet, the sight took her breath away, just as it had before when she'd been younger. She hadn't been back to this house in well over a decade. A lot had changed, while a lot had stayed the same. No matter how much money she made herself, now, she'd never get used to grand shows of wealth like this one. They made her feel off somehow. She couldn't, or more like simply chose not to, explain the bitterness of some sort that managed to steep to the surface.

  While her own place cost her a pretty penny each month, still, she'd not done much in the way of decorating. Simply and sparsely furnished with what she liked rather than buying by name and price tag, she went against what she hoped her own customers would do. A contradiction unto herself, she'd never quite taken to her world. While she enjoyed her work immensely, she'd never owned up to or fit in with all the trappings that went along with the income it provided her.

  Poor little rich girl, she groaned in her own head. Yet that pang of true loneliness, the one that always came to haunt her in her times of self-pity, hit her, slapped her across the face even as she followed the love of her life down the side of the cliff, contemplating jumping over the edge to end the insanity driving her thoughts.

  She'd never felt that way in his arms, though. Back then, reckless, and thinking herself in love, he'd made her feel whole. He'd only encouraged her independence, her ability to stand on her own two feet without needing anyone else. He'd loved the drive that had made her who she was. He'd welcomed her knowledge. He'd supported her strength and stoked her desires. Damn, he had stoked her desires to a red hot inferno, all consuming, then, and just to think on it now. No one had ever done the same for her again. Maybe she compared them all to him, too, though she'd denied such a thing for years, so why own up to it now? An ill tempered laugh threatened to escape her throat, but she swallowed it down, continued on her way, fighting the wind. It felt good to fight something, why not the threatening storm that mirrored her mood, coming and going, ever changing, the brief moments of stillness rudely interrupted by the swipes of nature's fury?

  For a short time, though, he'd been the center of her world. She'd at least own up to that fact. It had been easy enough, since he'd have never asked her to give up anything. Proving that point, when his father had arranged for an opportunity for her to go study fashion in England, footing the bill as well, Ciaran had not stood in her way. He'd let her go. It had bothered her to this day, this moment more so. He'd not fought for her. Of course, she had no idea what his dear old dad had paid for to make it so, what threats the nasty dictator of the family had held over Ciaran's head.

  She had a good idea, though, of how dark his father's intimidations, bullying, ultimatums, whatever one wanted to call the man's diabolical means were, from what her mother had said, so she couldn't blame him. Regardless of her knowledge of how impossible his father had made it on him to follow her, to fight for their love, her heart never excused him from the pain he'd caused hers. Simply put, all rational facts and thoughts aside, the long and short of it remained that he hadn't torn down Heaven and Earth to be with her. Of course, neither had she to be with him, but it had been to protect her mother, at the time, from the threats of his father.

  This is getting you nowhere, as usual. Stay strong, Allanah, she yelled at herself, noticing even the voices in her head had grown flustered with her nonsense, stuttered over her thoughts. He's just a man. But, she knew that not to be true. She made a conscious effort to relax her shoulders, and untuck her elbows from her sides as she followed him down a paved trail of sorts, carved carefully into the side of the cliff.

  Steps had been built where the incline became too steep, but there was always a handrail to hold on to, as cold as it was currently. The sight of the threatening to storm sky, the dark blue ocean, and jagged rock tamed by man were breathtaking, but none so much as the way his ass filled out his jeans. She flashed back to him getting out of bed, buck naked, thirteen years ago. The memory of his chiseled body as fresh as if she'd seen it yesterday. She didn't know what she was thinking following him down here, spending any more time with him than was absolutely necessary at the party. Though, truth be told, for all of her protests and fights, she'd felt a sense of excitement to see him again when, in brief moments, she'd finally relented to her own wayward emotions.

  She knew he'd kept himself fit. The newspapers liked to follow money, especially when the carrier of said wealth looked ready to shoot a cover of GQ or Men's Fitness. He had the hair, so dark brown it looked black in certain lighting, tossed wild about his head while always managing to look done, tamed. His scruffy styled beard, while heart-pumping, toe-curling amazing when he wore simple jeans and a shirt, like tonight, he could also pull off in a suit. The show stoppers, however, were his ice blue eyes to complete the package. However, no woman with eyes or a libido could look past his smooth skin that showed the lengths he went to care for himself as his clothing pulled taut over bulging muscles. She'd kissed each ridge and valley one once upon a time. His smell, hitting her on the wind, always a mix of musk and whiskey even when he'd been young and working in the factory, made her mouth water to taste him again. She tightened up every muscle against the warm, humid air, to hold back from doing any such damage to her psyche, no matter how much her physical body yearned to be against his.

  "Watch your step," he said, taking her hand when the steps curved around.

  She pulled hers back like he'd burned her this time, her skin tingling, hot as if he actually had. Her stomach clenched up over the butterflies flying about in it as she muttered an apology that got caught in the air, which on a sudden unexplained upheaval of the atmosphere had pushed furiously past them as if caught up in this moment, too.

  "It's okay," he offered, putting his hand in his jeans pocket. "Sorry. I was just trying to help. Just watch your last step there. Then, have a seat and I'll light the fire."

  The beauty of this spot replaced her moment of disgrace at the way she'd reacted to his touch twice now. In fact, as she took in the surroundings, her body's desire to touch him had her more disturbed. Fear had easily been upped by lust in no time flat, and that wasn't how she wanted to feel around him. She'd come here knowing it would be hard to see him, but reminding herself that according to all accounts, he'd become his father. Now, he'd claimed otherwise. Briefly, for less than a second, she clung to the hope she'd hidden away deep within her, that he was different, that they could somehow be together again. Confusion wasn't her strong suit. Going after what she wanted like a steam roller, that she could do.

  Regardless, she had a hard time directing her gaze, torn between letting her gaze rove over him or appreciating the stone fireplace that created a wall at the corner of the covered patio, if that is what you could call this lavish area plopped into a dug out spot in a cliff. If she spun in a circle, the beauty would astound her at every turn.
None more so than the man now leaning over, creating fire. Such a basic task, but as the light grew around him, the lapping yellow to orange flames became a backdrop. In the shadows the light created on his body, she found herself more and more impressed with his rugged good looks, his chiseled features.

  Her lips parting, she found herself stroking the flushed skin of her own arm, a poor surrogate for the object of her desire. Swallowing hard, forcing her eyes away, she marveled at the large, flat, sand-colored stones that matched the fireplace to the floor. As the glow of the flames increased, their little corner of the world brightened, countering the darkness, making her feel more remote, more alone with him than she had just mere seconds before. As she stood looking out into that black void, a flash of lightning lit the sky, highlighting the white caps on the crashing waves. The roar and rumble brought odd comfort to one as unsettled, as shaky as she felt. The ceiling above them consisted of dark wooden beams covered by some sort of glass, she guessed, that could take the weather, as here it still stood. She wished she could feel as solid, stable, and secure.

  "So, how is the whiskey business treating you?" she blurted as he moved toward her. "That is where you are mainly investing your time, right?" she asked as she cursed him for sitting next to her on the overwhelming outdoor couch one could curl up in with a good book and never want to get out of.

  Too close!

  "Great, we did two hundred and forty five million liters last year between all of our distilleries."

  "Though I have no point of reference, it sounds impressive."

  "That's enough to fill one hundred Olympic sized pools," he offered, to which she tried to contemplate but lost her way with her lack of spatial intelligence.

  "So, what are you drinking there, or were drinking there, as it looks as if your ice has melted and watered it down?" She changed the subject, clinging on to whatever sane thought she could find as she rummaged through the many hanging out there.

  "True whiskey drinkers don't add ice. It dulls the flavor of the whiskey. It also reduces the temperature too much, inhibiting the flavor further while freezing the aroma. If you must, one cube is acceptable because taking it ‘neat' isn't acceptable either. One needs to add a splash of water to prevent the strong alcohol content from numbing our senses. Even then, one must be careful, though. The chlorine in tap water spoils the flavor, but spring water will enhance it. Blah. Blah. Blah. You don't remember my father always giving that speech?"

  "Uh, maybe. Uh no. I didn't really listen to the man when he spoke. Sorry, but he wasn't a man you needed to respond to. He just told stories or gave directions. I didn't have much stomach for his ego. Must sound horrible for a girl who took his money, let him pay for her education and pay for every string that needed to be pulled, but honestly, he did that for himself, not for me. He did it to keep me away from his oldest son, his protégé. Not that I'm not thankful to have had it, but being grateful to that man is hard. I couldn't have you, and at the time, the education he paid for was not nearly enough to make up for that fact. Taking it, taking all I could was the only revenge I had accessible to me," she said, spitting out each word before she caught herself, realized in her ire and injury, what she had reveled to him. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  She also couldn't look him in the eyes anymore. The subtle tropical print on the couch cushion became of utmost interest to her. Not what she'd have chosen, a plain sage green cushion with small accent pillows adding shades of browns, oranges, and wheat in a tribal stripe, but... Screw it. Look at him! No one in this family will ever intimidate you again. She'd already reminded herself of that a hundred times since getting trapped into coming by mother guilt. Licking her dry lips, she took to sucking in and biting the bottom one as she caught his gaze fixated there. A smile slowly twitched to life on his face. With that subtly evil grin, a strong awareness of her own heartbeat distracted her, at least a little, from the sensation of her core being flooded with warmth despite the prevailing chill in the air.

  "Don't apologize for speaking the truth. You've no idea what it means to me to hear you admit such a thing. And, you never have to explain hatred of my father to me. So many times I've wanted to walk away from it all, come for you, but he made it so that was impossible, as in threatening your safety. Without questions, please know I never came after you to protect you, from him, from what he threatened to do to you if I walked away. You have to understand that. If there had been any way, any way at all, I would have moved mountains, or dug a tunnel through one with just a spoon to get to you. Whatever it took. But, your safety came before my heart, even before the possibilities of breaking yours."

  "Threatened me how? Please, the truth. I have to know," she begged, hating the weak girl she heard pleading in her voice. "You never came for me. Nothing in my life has ever hurt me more."

  She'd gone for broke, seizing this moment in time, steamrolling ahead no matter what the outcome. She'd handle it. Later. Much better than she had the first time around, not knowing, waiting for him, suffering the agony of the loss. She'd waited years to ask the why of it all. His why of it all, rather than a second-hand explanation from her mother. Something lifted from her chest just having done so.

  Being honest. What a novel idea. The bitchiest voice in her head spat.

  "No. I didn't. Everything in me wanted to, but I wanted you to have your dreams, and I had to protect you and your mother."

  "He threatened us, but you won't tell me the threats? Of course. I always assumed he'd threatened you, since he threatened my mother as well if I didn't take his offer."

  "The bastard," he yelled, then another, an angrier gale this time, took the majority of the sound with it, absorbing the vowels and consonants into the storm, sweeping the deep set, primitive emotions they had carried with them out to sea. She'd swear he made the storm. While it seemed to sit just at the horizon, it had grown fiercer, more and more ferocious, since she'd come. She'd never seen anything like the way it swept in now that they were alone.

  With the wind picking up, the first big drops of rain hitting hard against the roof above them, she could swear it was feeding off of the emotions swarming between them. The waves crashed against the rocks far below, rising up like furious ghosts from their past when bright streaks of electricity cut across the sky. Honestly, she'd no idea if his father could still hurt them. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had put another up to the task of keeping them apart, like one of his two younger brothers who'd worshiped at the man's feet.

  Ominously overcast and incensed, the ocean raged in a direct connection to her own wash of impassioned affections with the thoughts of never being free to love this man. Long rolls of rumbling thunder could be heard in the not so far off distance, the appropriate gothic background music for their meeting. The past and present on a rampage against them. Or, was that only in her mind? Set by fate, churned by energy, or just a disastrous coincidence, the storm finally hit. The drops fell hard in a sheet around them, new walls to keep them in, make her feel safe and sheltered away from the real world.

  As the next bolt of lightning sent a current through her, he grabbed her by the upper arms, eliciting a squeak, barely audible, that he swallowed as his lips met hers with all the fury of the night. She welcomed the affliction of his mouth crushing hers as tears burned and threatened behind closed eyes. His arms moved in time with his lips, fast and furious, embracing her, drawing her in. He held so tight she swore her bones would snap. Yet in all of these years, she'd never felt so at home, so loved, in anyone's arms.

  He had her on her back in no time at all. His erection, the one she could see clearly in her mind, each ridge, each vein memorized, pressed between her open thighs. The ache for him to be buried deep inside her, pounding into her in pace with the ocean beating against the rocks, grew almost too much for her to overcome. She grabbed his ass, the cheeks bunched tight under his jeans, and pushed up against him, though they already couldn't be any closer. The pressure made her cry out as he pulled h
is mouth from hers to growl.

  Opening her eyes, she gasped, the hair lifting on the nape of her neck, as a sliver of fear took hold. His eyes seemed to glow in a flash of red, before a black to dark blue storm emerged behind the usual cool ultramarine. Breath long held burst forth from her lungs, though she remained speechless. Something malevolent seemed to grip them both, an evil entity that had come from out of the stormy sky to stop them from continuing.

  He pushed from her then, stomping to the fire. His hands gripped the stone mantel. The stonework crumbled to gravel between his fingers.

  She sat up then, a scream lodged in her throat, trying to come up with an explanation for it all, something normal, natural, more probable than what she knew it to be. Though, she'd never let on to him. To tell him she knew about his family's curse, would be to tell him about her family's secrets. He wouldn't know about her, because part of the deal when his father had saved her mother from Ireland had been that she would do as he asked as long as he kept her secrets quiet. She couldn't be found here by those who wished revenge upon her family. She cringed, tightening the muscles in her throat to hold in the primal scream still waiting there to be heard.

  She only thought to say, I need to go, though the words never left her mouth as she fled up the cliff, knowing, sensing, he wouldn't follow her. As the rain came down harder, beat in cold pellets against her warm skin, her dress soaked through. Crying, slipping, yet continually moving, she made her way around the house rather than go back inside. She stopped, each breath burning her lungs, at her mother's car. Sliding down to a puddle, she sat there, upright only because of the metal at her back. Taking out her phone, she texted her mother to come to the car. In the distance, she heard an animalistic cry, one more of rage than sadness, though it surely bore both.

  Something inside her understood beyond mere comprehension that if a broken heart could break again, hers had shattered into a million pieces to fill the emptiness she experienced so profoundly right now. Ciaran Byrne would never be hers. Why she'd let the fantasy percolate for even a second tonight, she'd no idea. If she even had it in her, she'd have to start the healing process all over again. The overwhelming thought made her shut down, shut herself off, as she had for so long to deaden the pain. All she wanted was a warm, dry bed with stacks of heavy blankets to hide in, maybe never come out again except for him. The emotions of it hit her like déja vu. She'd had to, again, find her will to go on, alone. She'd have to find the lies she'd told herself the first time in order to pick up her life, and move through it each day, one damn foot in front of the other, just get from point A to point B without fail, without feeling.