by A. S. Green
Cormac bit down on his lip. God he looked sexy doing that. And she liked the way he looked at her, too. She’d keep the memory of that look with her when this was over and he ultimately pushed her out the door.
“Just let me try and help you. What if we catch whoever you’re hunting? What if we get them before they hurt anyone else?”
“Ye really want to help me?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“I told you. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Cormac stared at her for a long second, then he wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, and muttered, “Fuck me.”
Meghan sighed. It was hardly a ringing endorsement of their new partnership, but then what had she expected?
The only thing there was to do now, was stick close, hopefully be of some use, and maybe get a couple more free meals out of the deal. If all that happened in the presence of a guy so beautiful it scorched her heart just to look at him, well that was just gravy, now wasn’t it.
“Would it be okay if I—” She’d meant to finish the question with take a shower. It had been two days, and she was starting to feel self-conscious. But before she could ask, there was a sudden thumping at the door, and they both turned to look.
“Wait here,” Cormac said as he crossed the floor. Meghan trailed right behind him. When he opened the door, there was no one there. But then…
Meghan’s gaze dropped to the doorstep, and there, standing up on its hind legs was the most adorable, long-eared, black rabbit she’d ever seen. “Oh my gosh! How cute!”
Cormac slammed the door and turned the lock.
“Cormac!”
“What?”
“Didn’t you see the little bunny?”
“I saw it.”
“Open the door. It was cute.”
“It isn’t cute,” he yelled.
There was a rapping sound again, and Cormac frowned.
Meghan looked at him incredulously, then she exhaled and grabbed the knob, whipping the door open.
The rabbit was gone—no surprise there; he’d probably scared the crap out of it—instead, it was a woman, not much taller than five feet, with long gleaming black hair. Her face was perfectly symmetrical; her skin, flawless; her dark brown eyes were flecked with gold, and her lips were full. She was, in a word, stunning.
“Am I interrupting a private moment?” the woman asked, crossing her arms and jutting out one hip.
“Púca,” Cormac growled, “you have very big ears.”
“’And you have a big mouth.” Then she turned her head to the side and gave Meghan an appraising look.
Ah, fuck. Meghan had seen that kind of look before, and she kicked herself for not seeing this coming. Of course Cormac MacConall would have a girlfriend, and of course she’d be beautiful.
Chapter Eight
CORMAC
Cormac exhaled with exasperation. It wasn’t like he could slam the door a second time. He had no choice but to make introductions now, and the last thing he needed was for Branna to know he had solicited the help of a pádraig. She was already assessing Meghan coolly and, judging by her facial expression, not coming to a favorable conclusion.
“So who’s this?” she asked, doing nothing to stop her lip from curling.
“No one,” Cormac snarled, and he stepped in front of Meghan to shield her with his body.
“She doesn’t seem like ‘no one,’” Branna said.
“Púca,” Cormac said, warningly.
“I don’t bite, MacConall. You don’t have to hide her.”
“Meghan, stay here,” he said, still covering her. “Branna and I will take this outside.”
“No,” Meghan said. “I’ll just get my things and—”
“Stay inside,” he barked. “And lock up. I’ve got a key.”
“Jesus. Fine,” she clipped. Then she muttered, “Bossy.”
Cormac pushed Branna backwards and out of the doorway, allowing for himself to exit. He turned over his shoulder and told Meghan, “This won’t take long.”
Meghan gave Branna her own appraising look, then she closed the door. Cormac waited for the sound of the lock before turning to explain.
Before he could speak, Branna said, “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Why are ye here?” he asked. Then he glanced toward the window, expecting to see Meghan spying on their conversation, but she wasn’t there. Whether that meant she didn’t feel threatened, or that she just didn’t care, he didn’t know.
Branna’s presence was not a welcome one. She was the only creature besides his brothers who had first-hand knowledge of all he’d lost, and though she had helped prevent his own tragic end, she would be forever emotionally tied to those events. They were civil with each other, usually, but seeing her never felt good.
She looked up at him with pity, and that made everything worse.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He’d rather have her look at him with disdain than with pity. Then he asked again, emphasizing each word, “Why…are…ye…here?”
She gave him her typical look of superiority. “Don’t read too much into it, handsome. It’s just a social call.”
“A social call.” He’d never known Branna to be social, unless that meant saying, Don’t look now but your family’s about to bite it.
She sighed and leaned against the side of the cottage. “Now, Cor-mac,” she said in a sweetly sing-song tone. “If you’re not care-ful, I’m going to start to think you don’t like me.”
He gave her a withering look. Then he tipped his head to the side indicating he meant for them to walk. She followed. He’d only gone a dozen steps from the cottage when his hands began to shake. Damn. His father had been right about that, too.
He distracted himself from his separation from Meghan by picking a fight with Branna. “I’m not going to be happy if your presence means someone is getting their head lopped off.” He meant Meghan, but he was, of course, also remembering his family.
Branna winced as if the memories hurt her as much as him.
Impossible.
He looked over his shoulder at the cottage, judging the distance and how quickly he could get back to Meghan if he needed to. “Is she in danger?”
“Not at the moment,” Branna said, giving him her back and continuing to stride down the dirt road.
Cormac lunged and stopped her, tugging back on her arm. They’d moved far enough. “Then let’s go back to my question. Why are ye here?”
“To prove to myself that you hadn’t turned me into a liar. Word on the street is you’ve taken on a business partner. That you’ve solicited the help of a pádraig. Of course, I told the sídhe they were mistaken.”
“There’s been no mistake.” He was going to have to be more discreet. Word traveled too fast among his kind.
“I see that. Are you sure it’s not a trick? She could be one of them.”
Cormac felt a trickle of doubt run through him. He’d never thought of that. And he did find her at the scene of a killing. But he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. She was too freaked out by the body to have been responsible. “She is not a Black Castle, so ye can go now.”
She sighed. “I don’t know. It might be fun to watch your self-flagellation routine for a while.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” But he knew what she meant. None of his kind would spend any amount of concentrated time with a pádraig, not if they could help it, anyway. He couldn’t help it. And that was true in more ways than one.
“What I mean, Cormac, is that you don’t do anything unless it makes you miserable.”
“Very funny.”
“Is it?”
Cormac stared at her for a second, then he shook his head and gave the best explanation he could, given he was still figuring things out for himself. “She’s not just any pádraig.”
It nearly killed him to admit that, even to himself, but there it was. He’d known it from the first time her scent filled his sensitive nose. Now it nearl
y killed him to be separated from it. Of course no one had predicted she’d be human.
What his da’s stories could not capture was the level of addiction he’d experience. Once his business arrangement with Meghan was over, he’d need a solid twelve-step program to get over her because there was no way a pádraig could live among the sídhe.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Branna asked. “Not just any pádraig?”
“Nothing,” he said. “She’s just…different, and I think she can help me find at least one of the Black Castle.”
She shook her head. “Don’t kid a kidder, Cormac.”
“It’s just a theory so far, but I think it has merit. The only wrinkle, she doesn’t know what I am…yet…or even why I’m hunting.”
She pushed air past her lips, making a little puh sound. “That’s going to be a hard secret to keep.”
“I know. I already tilted her.” His fingers twitched in agitation at the memory.
Branna’s eyes flew open in alarm. “A pádraig could never survive that.”
“She barely did.”
Branna glanced back to the cottage, her forehead knit. “So what’s your genius plan? Keep your secret for as long as you can? Get the job done, and then what?”
He gave her a sideways glance and narrowed his eyes. “And then nothing.”
She shook her head, then looked up at him in confusion. “We’ve moved all of thirty feet from that cottage, and I can feel the tension rolling off of you. What’s going on?”
Cormac let out an audible groan. Branna had always been good at reading him.
“Oh, fuck.” Her eyes went wide. “You’re not suggesting…”
“No. Of course not. I told ye. She’s just helping me.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Great, because that’s what I’m saying,” Cormac snarled. The length of this conversation—short as it was—had him on guard. He’d never talked this much with Branna before. She tended to pop up, deliver her dire messages, then pop right out again, faster than he could say hello.
“Love requires courage and faith, my friend.” She arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying she’s too weak…”
He gave her an incredulous look. “What the fuck are ye talking about? I don’t love her, and I sure as shit don’t want her to love me. She’s helping me. Period. End of story.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than he glanced back at the cottage. When he looked back, Branna had clearly noticed.
“You’re distracted,” she said matter-of-factly. “You want to be with her.”
He exhaled in exasperation. “I feel responsible for her. That’s all.”
She folded her arms. “You see? Right there. That will always be your greatest enemy, beyond any maniac Black Castle.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that if you want responsibility, there’s plenty of it to be had back at home.”
“Try again.” They’d had this argument in the past. She knew how he felt. He’d made a vow not to return until he’d settled the score. He wasn’t any closer to that goal than he had been fifty years ago, but he wasn’t about to quit now.
Branna sighed. “Fine. Then how about this? If all this pádraig is to you is another responsibility, get rid of her now. Any kind of help she can give you is short-lived.”
Short-lived.
His eyes narrowed. “And the truth slips out. Ye know about the bean sídhe from the other night.”
Branna folded her arms. “The danger isn’t any closer than it was then.”
“But no farther away, either,” he added knowingly.
“All I meant by ‘short-lived’ was that she’s human. You can’t keep her around forever.”
Cormac’s gut tightened, almost as badly as it did when he’d been trying to find Meghan’s pulse.
Fuck. It was wrong of him to impose himself on her life. He should have let her walk away when she wanted to.
A moment of silence passed between them, and then Branna seemed to concede. “Listen, if you think she can help, no harm in trying. Life isn’t worth much if you don’t take a few risks.”
Cormac bit down on his lips. He knew how much it cost her to say that. “And you’d tell me if it was too much of a risk?”
“Don’t I always?” she asked, going back to her earlier teasing tone.
“No,” he said grimly. “Never.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Then there’s your answer.”
Cormac blinked and, when he opened his eyes, all he saw was that blasted rabbit hopping away.
Chapter Nine
CORMAC
When Cormac returned to the cottage, he expected to find Meghan standing just inside the door, arms crossed, and waiting for answers. That’s where he’d be if their roles were reversed and he was waiting for her to return after talking to that guy in her sketch pad. Her scent had permeated the hearth room, but she wasn’t in it.
“Meghan?”
He walked into the bedroom, and her scent grew stronger, coming from the blankets and the indentation where she’d slept. He pushed down the clench in his gut and scanned the room. Her suitcase was still there. Open. But no Meghan. No sounds at all.
A chill ran through him, as his gaze darted to the back door that led from the bedroom to the lakeshore.
She wouldn’t leave now, would she? At least, not without her stuff.
He turned toward the bathroom. On the other side of its door, the faucet was dripping, as it had been for days, but there was no other sound from within. He tapped his fingers against the door. When there was no answer, he opened it.
A wall of steam rolled out and with it, Meghan, whose hand was on the knob. Her body was wrapped in nothing but a towel, and she landed hard against his chest. He caught her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other around her bare shoulders.
The hound in him jumped to its feet while Cormac the man whispered, “Oh, sweet Danu. Oh, Christ.” The feel of her warm body pressed against him—so different from when he’d merely carried her.
“Dude!” she whisper-yelled, as if afraid they’d be caught. “What the hell?”
“Shhh,” he said. “It’s just me.” Then he closed his eyes in mortification. Just me? Was that supposed to make this all better?
She slapped her hands against his chest, and he felt her towel loosen and slip just a bit between them.
“Are you crazy?” She was scolding him, but she still kept her voice low. “What’s your girlfriend going to think if she sees you in here?”
“Girlfriend?” he asked, his eyebrows pulling together.
“Uh. Hel-looo?” she said, all attitude but still doing nothing to pull away. “The pissed-off woman you were just talking to?”
He gave his head a little shake. “Are ye being serious?”
“Serious as the grave.” She glanced nervously toward the other room. “Which is where she’ll probably put me if she walks in here. They never blame the cheating boyfriend, it’s always the chick who takes the hit.”
“She’s not,” he said, fighting a grin, “my girlfriend.”
Cormac felt Meghan’s body soften against him, as if in relief. “Really?”
“Really.” He gave up on fighting the grin.
Her eyes went a little lazy, and she gave him more of her weight. “Well…I guess that’s good.”
Actually, this was bad. She was so much easier to resist when her hackles were raised. Sweet, pink, warm-from-the-shower Meghan was too much to handle. By Danu, the feel of her wet skin under his fingertips!
“Ye should get dressed,” he said, stepping back.
Her hand rose quickly to snag the slipping towel, and the implication that it could drop so easily made his thighs tense and his shaft harden. His glamoured pants grew tighter. He started breathing through his mouth. Control, control, control.
He scrubbed his palm over his face. Then he looked to the ceiling—anywhere but at Meghan.
The hound in him yowled
and lunged, but there was no way he’d let it loose. Unfortunately, the hound had never been one for logic, only instinct, and at the moment, it was going mad. Worse, it was starting to make some sense!
With a desperate growl, Cormac stormed out of the bedroom and shut the door between them.
* * *
Cormac glanced up from where he was sitting beside the fireplace, then he glanced away. Meghan had emerged, now fully dressed in a short black skirt with thick tights, a light blue cotton T-shirt that was fitted to her breasts and slim waist, and a worn cardigan. Her hair left wet marks on her shoulders.
“Sorry about…” he made a vague gesture in the direction of the bathroom. “I hope I didn’t embarrass ye.”
“You’re going to have to work harder if you’re trying to embarrass me.” Then she smiled shyly at him, contradicting her words. That smile nearly undid him, it was more alluring than her smart mouth, or her ridiculous body, and it was completely unnecessary. He was already fucked when it came to her.
She shrugged and walked farther into the room. “…though you should really knock the next time you open a bathroom door.”
“I did knock!” She couldn’t think he was so rude, could she? His hound whined pathetically, turning in a circle.
She smiled again. “Knock louder, then.”
A rumbling sound of an engine came from outside the cottage, then the sound stuttered. A few seconds later, there was a heavy thud against the front door and the rumbling drove away.
Cormac peered out the window, thinking an annoyed, What now? Branna had said word was spreading about his unconventional partnership, but none of the sídhe would come here, would they? The last thing he needed was a leannán on his doorstep. An angry leannán was not to be underestimated.
Fortunately, there was no one outside, at least as far as he could see from the window. Before he could move to the door and get a better view, the landline rang from the other room. Cormac walked swiftly into the bedroom to answer it. “Hello?”
