She jumped, and his brow rose in appreciation of the colorful and completely unexpected curse that escaped her pretty mouth.
Donovan was on his feet like a shot, a frantic round of barking filling the air as he loped toward Colin. The enormous dog halted just inside the fence, rising on his back legs and propping his large front paws on the gate. His entire body wiggled in welcome.
“Donovan,” she snapped sharply.
The dog’s deep barking stopped instantly, and he dropped to his haunches with a whine.
Colin looked up to find Keely sitting on her heels. The hand holding the claw pressed against the hat that had tilted to the side when her head whipped around at his greeting. A frown pulled at her mouth.
“What do you want?”
Okay, he thought, maybe she was a little angry.
He pushed open the gate. Donovan was up and at his side in a flash. He scrubbed at the dog’s wiry head.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Didn’t I humiliate myself enough for you yesterday?”
“Keely,” he crooned his regret at her accusation.
“You want more?” she asked in a stiffly pleasant tone flying in the face of the sparkling fire in her green eyes. “Fine. Why not have it all.” She turned back to the garden. “That night in the gazebo,” she began, raking at the thick stalk of a healthy weed, “when you accused me of playing games? I’d come to beg you to help me figure out the dreams.”
Donovan abandoned him to trot to his mistress, dropping to the ground at her side. He rested his head on his front paws with a pitiful expression in his big brown eyes. Colin knew just how he felt.
“I was seventeen,” she continued. “I was frightened. I was desperate at the thought of leaving Ireland, because I knew I was leaving something undone—something I didn’t understand, and had no way of figuring out.”
“I didn’t know, Keely,” he said softly, trying to explain.
She ignored him.
“You said we were friends, of a sort.” Her laugh was a humorless snort. “What a joke. Other than a handful of friendly acquaintances, I don’t have friends, Colin, not really. What I have are the dreams. But you’re right. You didn’t know, so don’t worry about it. You can walk away with a clear conscience. I’ll handle them, just as I always have.”
She tossed a thick stalk onto the small pile at her feet and set the claw at another. Her continued silence said she was done with him and expected him to go.
He abused her of that expectation by taking a seat at the small table beside the garden. He sat with his legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. Donovan lifted his head to stare at him, his dark brows puckered above darker eyes that seemed to plead with him to bring peace to the garden once more.
“I am your friend, Keely,” Colin told her, “and I’d like to help if I can.”
She paused at her chore, tilting her head to eye him suspiciously from beneath the brow of the hat. “Why would you want to do that?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Well, now, there’s a question. It turns out I’m not the sort of man who can ignore a mystery.”
“That’s not the impression you gave yesterday.”
“Yesterday I was near to being speechless.” A slow smile spread across his face as he decided how to break through her pique. “A man can be excused for being a bit rattled when sitting across from a lovely woman who’s just admitted to dreaming of him for the better part of a decade.”
She fell back on her heels, her eyes widening. “I didn’t admit to dreaming of you, Quinn.” She jabbed the claw in his direction. “I said you joined me in the dreams.”
“You’d consider that a distinction, and yet you admit you’ve been dreaming of me. I prefer my own interpretation.” Confusion knit her brow, and he could see she wasn’t sure if she wanted to blast him for being an arrogant ass, or smile. He pressed the advantage. “I’ve a clearer head this morning, darlin’. I’m here to offer my help.”
She didn’t react to his use of the endearment, but he didn’t miss the flash of interest in her eyes at his offer of help. “How, exactly, do you propose to do that?”
“These dreams we share.” He paused, pleased to see a faint blush spreading color on her cheeks. “They always take place at the Door?”
She nodded.
“The way I see it, you’ve made Dunhaven your home, but you’ve spent little time here. I, on the other hand, have lived the whole of my life in Dunhaven, except for the time I spent at university, and you’ll not be holding that against me.”
“I won’t, huh?”
He grinned. “No, darlin’, you won’t.”
“Hmm.” She glanced away, fiddling with the tool clutched in her lap.
He winked at Donovan, and gained a dog grin. Now they were getting somewhere.
“So,” he continued when she said nothing more, “you’ll be needing the help of someone familiar with the local history. The name you recalled. The one you said the woman called out—”
“Owein,” she interrupted.
“Yes, Owein. It happens I’m familiar with the name.”
She nodded and looked him square in the eye. “So am I. I believe he’s Owein the Fine, King of the Fairies.”
And just how had she learned that? He’d like to know.
“You know of him?”
“I’ve heard of him. Sean Connelly told me the tale of his human wife, Saraid, and their twin babies.”
Sean Connelly? What the hell was she doing with Sean Connelly? The man was happily married. To Nora Murphy! They had three little ones between them. He cleared his throat of the unexpected tang of jealousy.
“Well, as I said, I’ve heard the name before. My mother was in the way of being an amateur historian. She was forever digging up little details, scratching at her charts. I remember seeing the name somewhere in her papers.”
“Papers?” she asked, a flicker of excitement brightening her eyes. “Do you still have them?”
“I do.”
She scrambled to her feet. Gone was the anger of only moments before, replaced with a desperate hope twisting at his heart. “May I look at them? Today? Now?”
“It’s why I came by. I thought you might be interested in a bit of digging into the past.”
“I’m interested. Oh, Quinn, I’m definitely interested. Just let me wash up a bit.”
The claw dropped to the ground, and Donovan scrambled to get out of her way as she flew to the back door of the cottage, peeling off the gloves as she went. The dog followed, skidding to a halt and almost knocking her over when she stopped short at the door to yank it open. She paused then, to look back at him over a shoulder.
There was none of the fey girl he remembered in the sorceress eyes studying him as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his sudden offer. He stood, his body tightening in appreciation of the picture she made, standing there on Morna’s stoop.
“Change your mind?” he asked, reigning in the need to step close and brush the smudge of dirt from her cheek. He’d have his hands on her soon enough.
She shook her head. “Why did you change yours?”
Because you’ve lived under the grip of the dreams long enough. Because breaking the curse will free us both from our relative visitations. Because with Owein’s promise of privacy, I want nothing more than to get you alone.
All true, but what he said instead, was, “Because eyes as beautiful as yours, Keely darlin’, should always sparkle with the hope I see in them now.”
Chapter Nine
“This can’t be right.” On her knees beside the low table, Keely leaned over an open notebook.
“What can’t be right?”
Keely glanced over at Colin. A layer of dust spoiled the perfection of the once pristine, white dress-shirt he wore with crisp jeans and glossy, black boots. The flaw did nothing to spoil the perfection of the man, however. Dark brows arched over mesmerizing blue eyes as he pulled a fat ledger from one o
f several boxes he’d brought down from the attic. He added it to the pile of aged notebooks on the table at the center of the Quinn’s extensive library.
Mentally scolding herself for ogling Colin when she was supposed to be searching for clues, she slid the open notebook she’d been reading across the table. She pressed a fingertip to an entry on the page.
“My name is here, and my parents, and Gran and Gramps. Why would we be listed in a Quinn family genealogy?”
“Possibly because the O’Brians are part of the Quinn genealogy,” he said evenly.
“Get out!”
She tugged the notebook back and studied the entries documenting her family line. Sure enough, an Agnes Quinn was listed as her—she did a quick calculation in her head—grandmother, with eight greats if front of the title. She sat back on her heels in amazement.
“Why didn’t I know this?”
He leaned over to glance at the page, shrugged, and went back to his search of the box. “It was a long time ago. Long enough for people to have forgotten the connection.”
“You knew of it,” she pointed out.
“I did. I sat often enough with my mother, as she poured over her charts, to learn the names tangled with the Quinns over the years. We’re a small community, Keely.” He pointed a long finger at the notebook. “If you go back far enough, you’ll find the name of just about every local family in that book.”
A sly smile curved her lips as she reasoned, “That would make you my cousin, wouldn’t it?”
His eyes narrowed on her, but there was humor in them. “Technically,” he agreed. “But a cousin far, far removed.” His own smile was sly as he crooned, “That would make us kissin’ cousins, wouldn’t it?”
The laugh fought to escape her lips and she dropped her head to hide her smile. She wasn’t surprised at the suggestive comment. From the moment she’d accepted his offer of help, she’d heard plenty of them—starting with that remark in the garden about her hopeful, and beautiful, eyes.
As incredible as it seemed, Colin Quinn was flirting with her. Her! Keely O’Brian. The smoldering looks and frankly sensual suggestions he’d been tossing her way were a far cry from the teasing attentions she’d received from him a decade ago. Back then, her tender heart had lived for glimpses of him, but whenever he’d turned his bright blue gaze on her that summer, it had been full of the laughing tolerance of a man for a particularly amusing child.
She wasn’t a child any longer, and having experienced the full force of his legendary charm, she had to admit that if he had looked at her then, the way he was now, she probably would have run screaming into the night. As it was, the sharp confidence in his eyes, as though he had no doubt of her eventual surrender to his irresistible, masculine allure, was enough to have her bracing for flight.
And that was a big fat lie!
Okay, so it was thrilling, having him look at her the way she’d seen him look at Nora all those years ago. Her problem was she wasn’t sure if it would be prudent to act on that thrill. She’d worked hard to purge her heart of the childhood fantasies she’d woven around Colin Quinn. Because of the dreams, he already filled her mind; risking her heart again would be foolish. Still, the sensual gleam of male appreciation in his eyes was gratifying, and went a long way toward healing the wound he’d dealt to her seventeen year-old heart.
“Huh,” she said without looking his way. She shrugged as though that thrill wasn’t turning her insides to mush. “I’ve always wanted a cousin.”
“It’s glad I am to hear that, darlin’.” She looked up to find his eyelids lowered to a sensual half-mast. He leaned over the table. “As it happens, I’ve a want for a certain cousin myself.”
She slapped a hand to his wide chest, snickering and trying to ignore the answering quiver rippling through her body. “So speaks the Don Juan of Dunhaven,” she said, using the moniker she’d heard whispered by the women of Dunhaven when she’d been too young to really appreciate its implications.
“Ahh,” he groaned. “It’s a cruel woman you are, to call up a reputation I gained when I was little more than a teenager. Experience has taught me to be much more discriminating these days.”
“It’s a smart woman, I am,” she mimicked in an imitation of his brogue. “And it’s your experience that has me worried.” He chuckled, and backed off. She picked up the open notebook once more. “Anyway, I came here to have a look at your mother’s papers, not to be seduced.”
“Sure, and I was thinking we could do both.”
His smile was so boyishly imploring she couldn’t help but laugh. She pointed at the stack of notebooks on the table. “Research, Quinn. You said you wanted to help.”
She bent over the notebook at his exaggerated sigh, and the whisper of turning pages was the only sound for several minutes.
“Colin Michael,” she read aloud, “Son of Colleen Quinn.” She met his gaze. “It doesn’t list your father.”
He shrugged, turning his attention back to the notebook he’d been reading. “My parents never married. He returned home to the States, to take up the reigns of his family’s business long before I was born.”
“What was his name?”
“Michael Sterling,” he muttered as though the name left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Colin Michael Sterling,” she tested the name quietly.
“Colin Quinn,” he corrected sharply. “I’ve no connection with the man, nor will I ever.”
Surprised by the subtle anger of his tone, Keely glanced his way. She studied his raven-black hair, those bright blue eyes, and the sharp cheekbones prominent in his strong bone structure. Recognition widened her eyes.
The über rich Sterling family practically owned Chicago. They certainly owned enough of its prime real estate to make the claim. As head of the powerful family, Michael Sterling’s image had graced enough publication covers to make Keely surprised she’d never noted the remarkable resemblance before.
“Michael Sterling of the Chicago Sterlings is your father?” she asked stunned.
“Discussing my sperm donor wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I offered my help,” he said without looking her way.
Touchy subject, she decided, and reached over to cover his hand with hers. She waited until he looked up.
“I’m sorry, Colin. If I’d know the subject was a painful one, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”
She could see, actually see, the battle he fought to put away the anger at the mention of his father, but finally his eyes cleared, and he turned his hand over to grip her fingers.
“Forget it. I’d just as soon we get back to your research.” He let her go when she tugged her hand free, but his voice dropped to a croon of pure carnal intent when he added, “Or better yet, we could get right to that seducing you mentioned.”
She smiled, glad that the angry tension had passed, and shoved one of the notebooks across the table at him. Ten minutes later, her heart was set to drumming in her chest as the words on the page all but leaped out at her.
“I found it!” She didn’t look up as Colin skirted the low table to squat down behind her. She read from the page. “Saraid, daughter to Fitzgerald and Sarah Quinn, married to Owein.” She traced the chart with a fingertip. “And look here,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “Ryan and Regan, twin son and daughter to Saraid Quinn and Owein!”
His face was inches from hers when she turned her head, his eyes focused on the documentation. She couldn’t help herself, she shrieked with excitement, spinning around on her knees and launching herself at him. Her fingers plunged into his hair, pulling his head down to hers so that she could plant a smacking kiss of triumph on his surprised mouth.
At least it started out surprised.
Immediately, his arms came around her and he slanted his head, taking control of the kiss. Recognition exploded in her head. His taste, the texture of his lips, were pleasures experienced once, but never forgotten. She’d been kissed often enough over the years, by men she�
��d liked and some who had professed to like her, but nothing compared to those few moments long ago in the gazebo—until now.
His tongue dipping into her mouth and tangling with hers was a sweet homecoming she’d never expected to know. She’d been fooling herself to think she’d left those memories behind. Jolted, she realized she had no choice where he was concerned. She had no desire to deny herself the thrill of being with Colin Quinn at last. If he took her on the floor this very moment, she wouldn’t have the breath to utter a complaint. One touch of his mouth had shown her the truth for what it was—she wouldn’t have the restraint.
Fortunately, she didn’t have the opportunity to test her theory. He broke the kiss and she opened her eyes to find him watching her. The same need, burning her to her core, was there in his eyes.
“When we come together, sweet Keely,” he stated in a rumbling brogue, “it won’t be a hasty coupling on the floor. We’ll take the time to explore and savor, and we’ll do it in a bed.”
She blinked in confusion and frustration when he set her away from him, shifting until there were several feet between them.
That’s it? Later babe?
For the last three hours, he’d been doing his best to get her to agree to put her search on hold, and climb into his lap. Poised like a bowstring before the arrow is fired, every muscle in her body was stretched to the point of snapping, and now he was content to wait?
Who’s playing games now?
Only when he reached down to adjust himself beneath the heavy denim of his jeans did she realize he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed. On closer inspection, raw, unfulfilled need tightened his mouth until a fine tendon jumped and quivered along the line of his clenched jaw. His darkened eyes sizzled with male restraint, and she followed his gaze to the open notebook.
She frowned. The first real clue to the dreams was right there in front of her, and he’d managed to make her forget all about it with a single kiss. No doubt about it, the man was hazardous to her intelligence. She took several cleansing breaths, ignoring the frustrated tension of her overheated body when the exercise proved fruitless.
Gift of the Realm Page 5
