by JoAnn Ross
“Our Kate provided a calm haven in the midst of all the storms,” Quinn was saying when Alec returned his mind to the conversation.
“Calm is not exactly the word I’d use to describe the effect she has on me.”
“I know the feeling. Only too well.” He waved at his wife who smiled and waved the baby’s hand toward him. “Want a word of advice from a veteran of the Castlelough romance wars?”
“I’m always open to advice.”
“You can run,” Quinn advised, masculine sympathy in his deeply set eyes. “But you cannot hide.”
Alec laughed. “I figured that out for myself by the second day.”
They fell silent for a time, watching the dancing. The brilliant sunlight of high noon allowed Alec to view Kate’s long firm legs through the gauzy blue and green skirt she was wearing today; the memory of the way she’d screamed his name when he’d made her come by biting the back of her knee was enough to make him hard again. Which, after how many times they’d made love last night, was amazing.
“I care about Kate. A great deal.” Quinn’s tone was mild, yet there was no mistaking the warning that flashed in his nearly black gaze. “We all do.”
“I’m not her bastard of a husband. I won’t hurt her.”
“If I thought you’d lay so much as a hand on her, I would have dragged you out into the surf and drowned you by now.”
Alec sensed it was no jest. Quinn Gallagher had earned his millions writing horror stories; with his newly discovered intuition, Alec had the feeling that not all the man’s monsters were fictional. “What worries me, and the rest of Kate’s family, is another matter. The woman you know now is not the woman she was three years ago. Nora tells me that until O’Sullivan ground away at her like that tide turns a boulder to sand, Kate used to be the happiest, most fun-loving, confident girl in Castlelough. It hasn’t been easy, but she’s managed to recover that girl, along with the strength of a woman who knows her own mind and desires. Which is why, if she wants you, and it appears she does, we’re all happy for her. So long as—”
“I don’t screw it up.”
“That’s more blunt than Nora asked me to phrase it, but yeah.”
“She’s special,” Alec said, weighing his words.
“I believe we’ve already determined that. And I hate like hell to sound like her father, but as I said, I care about her and since her brother and father are dead, the womenfolk have named me her designated protector. So,” he drew in a breath, “you got any intentions?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate a bit on that? Not for me, you understand. But Nora and Erin”—he tilted the neck of the bottle toward the reed slender physician with the short curls and gamine grin who’d offered Alec continual reassurance while Kate had been in her coma, or whatever it was—“are going to be cross-examining the hell out of me and it’ll be a whole lot easier for both of us in the long run if I can give them some answers.”
“I’ve got intentions,” Alec repeated, more firmly this time. “I just haven’t figured out what the hell they are.”
Quinn snorted. “Boy, have I been there.” He shook his head with chagrined humor. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell them something that should put them off for a while. Until you can get things sorted out.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Women are fabulous creatures. And they smell damn good, too. But in times like this, we guys have to stick together.”
They talked a bit longer, during which time Alec told Quinn that he’d enjoyed his novel about the ghost horses, and Quinn, in turn, surprised Alec by admitting that much of the characterization of the trainer who’d been haunted by the horses from the other world, had been taken from articles he’d clipped about Alec over the years.
“That’s quite a coincidence,” Alec said. “Not so much that we’d admire each other’s work, but that we’d both end up here, from entirely different parts of the States, on an Irish beach, with two women who’ve been best friends all their lives.”
Quinn tossed back his beer. “Like Kate always says, you can’t escape your destiny.”
Alec knew that at the end of his life, when he looked back over the months and years, this day would stand out as one of the highlights. The perfect weather, the bountiful food, the haul the beaming birthday boy was obviously tickled with, the companionship, all contributed to a pleasure he’d not known in a long time. But even that enjoyment was dampened whenever he’d look at the angry bruises no makeup could begin to hide on Kate’s exquisite face, and feel a stir of barely restrained rage.
After Jamie had blown out his candles and the cake and ice cream had been served, Alec sought out Brendan O’Neill, whom Kate had introduced as the owner of the Irish Rose pub, her late brother Connor’s childhood friend, and, more important to Alec, second cousin to the Garda sergeant who’d arrested O’Sullivan and sent him off to the hospital in Galway.
“Did you ask my cousin what hospital he’d been taken to?” Brendan answered Alec’s question about Cadel’s whereabouts in the Irish fashion, with one of his own.
“Yeah, but he said that he didn’t feel right about giving out police information.”
“No doubt because Cadel has made a great many enemies over the years who would be crowding the hallways, wanting to see the man finally on his back,” Brendan supposed. He rubbed his chin and eyed Alec thoughtfully. “Kate likes you.”
“I like her.”
“Aye. Isn’t that obvious for anyone with two eyes in their head?” He glanced over to where she was taking her turn flying her son’s green lough beastie kite. “When she was a young girl, not even in her teens, she thought herself to be in love with me. Followed her brother and me all over the place, she did. If she’d been any other girl, we would have found her a bother. But it’s difficult to resist our Kate.”
“So I’ve discovered.”
“I was older than her by a few years, which meant more at that age, so I never thought of her as a female. Only my best friend’s sister. In later years, our little circle of three changed: Connor died, I moved to Dublin and took up the law for a while, and Kate, well, she wed herself to O’Sullivan.” The iced hatred and regret that had slipped into his easy tone were feelings Alec could identify with, all too well.
“When I returned to Castlelough, to take over my father’s pub, I was stunned that the wee faerie sprite who’d once been like my shadow had grown into a goddess. Needless to say, I fell the moment she walked into the Rose to fetch her husband home my first weekend behind the bar. Hard, I did. But I kept such feelings to myself because while Cadel didn’t love her, he was jealous of any man who might so much as glance at her, and I didn’t want to be creating more pain for her.
“I did not,” he stressed forcefully, “know that he’d been using his fists on her. If I had, I would have done away with him with no more thought that I might have crushed an insect beneath my boot.”
“Since you’re sharing this with me, may I ask what your feelings are now?”
“Oh, they’re much the same. But while I’ll admit to a bit of regret that by choosing to wait until she was legally free to make my case, I’m resolved to the fact that I’ve lost her to you.”
“You seem to be taking it well.”
He shrugged. “I love Kate. I only want for her to be happy, which you seem to make her. Besides, there’s always the chance that now that she’s grown up she might have outgrown her schoolgirl crush, and this way I can enjoy lovely thoughts of what might have been, rather than have to remember that she turned down any proposal of marriage, which may have harmed our friendship, which is as vital to me as breathing.”
“That’s very pragmatic of you.”
Another shrug. “We’re not so much known for it, but we Irish can be pragmatic when the situation calls for it. Isn’t that how we’ve survived, after all, during all the centuries of others bringing change to our little island?”
His faint smile
faded. His eyes became hard. His expression grim. It crossed Alec’s mind that as friendly and easygoing a man Brendan O’Neill was on the outside—and wasn’t that a necessary attribute in a bartender?—the inner man was far more intense. Still waters, he thought, with another flash of intuition.
“I did not tell you my little tale so you’d be concerned I was intending to move in on you. Or even to assure you that I’m giving you a clear field, since I doubt if I could influence her mind one way or another where you’re concerned. I’m telling you this so you’ll understand why a former friend of the Irish court is going to tell you where you can find O’Sullivan. And, while I’m not one to be recommending violence, mind you, if you happen to find your passion overruling your head, despite the fact that I’m running a pub these days, I’ve kept my license to practice law current and would be more than happy to take on your defense.”
“And if I don’t keep the bastard away from her?” Alec had every intention of doing exactly that, but he was curious how far O’Neill would go.
“I’ll kill him,” Brendan replied, proving that the Irish could, on occasion, be succinct.
After the party, Zoe went into the village for a movie and ice cream afterward with Mary Joyce and some of Mary’s schoolmates. The long day had caught up with the younger children, who were already nodding off in the tub, although the usual tractable Jamie had given Kate a bit of an argument when she’d told him that he couldn’t be wearing his new night vision goggles to bed. They’d compromised, by letting him keep them beside him, in the event he might feel the need to spy in the middle of the night.
“They fell asleep the minute their heads hit the pillow,” she reported as she entered her bedroom where Alec had been waiting for her. She closed the door and latched it.
He was standing beside the bed he’d just turned down, backlit by the moon. His shirt was open, baring the rippling of muscles she loved to run her hands and mouth down, his feet were bare, his eyes hot. Kate heard a faint moan, not realizing it had escaped her own throat. Her mind went a little light, as it occasionally did when she’d experience a bit of vertigo while standing on the very edge of the cliff, watching the seabirds soaring below her.
“Alec …” She reached out a hand to him.
He came to her, predatory gray eyes glinting. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”
No more than she wanted him. “Show me.” She went up on her toes and twined her arms around his neck. “Take me.”
Passion flared like a match set to dry straw. There was heat. And flame. And smoke. Kate had never realized that desire could be so primal. So thrilling. His mouth savaged hers, tormenting with harsh lips and teeth and tongue. His night beard scraped like sandpaper against her skin, his hands rough as they hiked up her skirt and grasped at her quivering thighs.
He rained stinging kisses over her face, demanding what she gave eagerly, his breath as hot as she imagined the winds must be in the Sahara. As hot as her blood.
She released her hold on him only long enough to lift her arms as he yanked her tunic over her head and unfastened her bra with a single quick flick of the wrist. With a half oath, half groan, he lifted her off her feet and took her breast in that ravenous mouth.
Kate shattered like a piece of Castlelough crystal, going so limp that if he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have slid to the floor.
But he gave her no time to regain her breath. Dragging his mouth back to hers, he ripped away the lace panties she’d chosen this morning just for him, freed himself and plunged into her, swallowing her sharp, ragged cry.
“You’re mine.” He was huge and hard as stone.
“Aye.” She was burning for him.
“Say it.” When he began to pull out, she arched back like a bow in a silent, desperate plea.
“Yours,” she gasped on a ragged sob of need.
His fierce eyes glimmered with satisfaction as he thrust deeper. Harder. He took her standing up, high against the door, muscles straining, heart pounding, so fast and furious Kate could only cling to him, her Scandalous Scarlet nails biting into his shoulders as climax after climax slammed through her.
He threw back his head. A rough, feral growl was torn from his throat as he gave into his own release.
“Jesus.” He managed, walking like a drunken man, to carry her the few feet to the bed, where they collapsed together in a tangle of arms and legs. “Are we still alive?”
“From the thunderous messages my body would still be giving me, I’d say aye.” She was blissfully, gloriously limp and would be more than happy to stay right here, with Alec sprawled on top of her, for the rest of her life. “Though I may never be moving from here again.”
She felt him go absolutely still. Even his heart, which had been pounding like a bodhrán, seemed to pause for several significant beats.
“Christ.” He rolled off her. “I’m so damn sorry, Kate.”
“Sorry? What could you possibly be sorry for?”
“For the way I took you.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “I was like an animal.”
“Isn’t it a coincidence that we’d be having the same thought.” She smiled at the memory of how she’d imagined him metamorphosing, like an ancient Irish shapeshifter into that snarling, feral wolf she’d imagined him to be that first day, out on the cliff.
“My behavior was indefensible. Unpardonable.”
Those words, muttered with harsh self-disgust, made her eyes fly open. “Sure, it was not.”
“After what you went through …” He plowed his hands through his hair. Grimaced as he touched a fingertip to her breast. “Hell, I bruised you. The same way he did.”
Kate was stunned he’d be thinking such a thing. “Alec.” Unnerved by the self-loathing in his eyes, she went up on her knees and threw her arms around him. “You’re nothing like Cadel. Nothing,” she repeated firmly.
“I didn’t take any time. Any care. I ravished you, dammit.”
“Aye, you did. I’ll probably be stiff for a week.” And love every day of the erotic reminder.
“Christ,” he repeated. He shook his head. “You must hate me.”
“Don’t be talking foolishness.”
She’d been on the verge of telling Alec that she loved him, but now that their conversation had taken this sudden, unexpected and thorny path, not wanting him to feel pressured to return the words out of some misguided sense of guilt, Kate kept her feelings to herself. For now.
“It’s amazing enough that after your marriage to that bastard, you’d let any man put his hands on you,” he ground out. “Knowing what I know—especially about yesterday—I should have treated you more carefully.”
Kate didn’t know whether to laugh or to weep at such uncharacteristic behavior from this man, who had seemed to possess a wealth of self-confidence, so much so, she could understand why so many in the racing world had described him as arrogant. “It’s true that I wouldn’t let any man put his hands on me, but you’re not just any man.” Just the man I love, she thought with wonder.
“I wanted your hands on me.” She took hold of one of those hands, uncurled the tight fist one finger at a time, then pressed it against her body where even now shock waves continued. “This is what you do to me, Alec MacKenna. Why on earth would I be objecting to that?”
He didn’t answer. But she watched a bit of the tenseness leave his shoulders. “There was a time when I wouldn’t have been able to have even you touch me in such a way,” she admitted. “A time when even Michael or Brendan’s brotherly pats would have made my heart chill to ice in my breast. But thanks to therapy and time, I’ve moved beyond that. Don’t you think I’d be knowing the difference between passion and brutality? Could you possibly believe that I was thinking about sex in the barn yesterday?”
“You were almost raped.”
“Aye, I was, and as I told you, not for the first time. Which allows me to know firsthand that rape has nothing to do with sex or lo
vemaking between a man and a woman. It’s an act of violence. Something I need never fear from you.” She framed his face with her hands and kissed him hard. “It’s not at all the same.”
“No,” he agreed huskily. She could feel him slowly surrendering to the kiss. To her. “It’s not at all the same.” The worrisome mood shifted, like the dark of night giving way to the brilliance of day.
“We did it fast.” He touched his lips to hers, turned his hand and pressed a clever finger against her, fitting the flat of it to the curve of her body. “What would you say to trying it slow this time?”
“I’d say aye.”
He kissed her more deeply, sweeping the interior of her mouth with slow swirls of his tongue while gradually increasing the pressure on that tender pink flesh between her legs.
“Alec …” Her senses had begun to swim.
“What, love?” With his eyes on hers, he slid his long middle finger into her slick wet sheath.
Her vision blurred; she was flowing over his hand. “I can’t.”
His grin was quick, dark and thrillingly wicked. Another finger went even deeper, drawing a wet sucking sound from within her. “Want to bet?”
To her amazement, he showed her that she could. Again and again as he drove her higher and higher to where she had the freedom to fly, and in turn, to make him soar as well, above the clouds, past the stars, into the heart and heat of the sun.
29
IT WAS STILL DARK when Kate lay amidst the tangled sheets, watching him dress. He really did have the most amazing body. And she should know, since she’d explored every masculine bit of it. At first she’d been hesitant about taking on a more aggressive role that was so foreign to her.
That first time, in Andrew Sinclair’s suite in the stately Georgian Moyglare Manor, not far from the Curragh, where he’d stabled the horse he’d brought to Ireland to race, she’d played a passive role. The thrill of the forbidden, of being wanted by such a bold, brash man had proven more an intoxicant than whiskey.
