Faster than seemed possible, his body landed on hers, pinning her to the bed. After a moment of shock, she dropped her notebook and slapped at his face and shoulders. He caught her wrists easily and cuffed them above her head in one hand. Bucking and twisting, she tried to knee him in the groin and dislodge him. He didn’t budge. Solid and unyielding, the hard length of his body pressed hers against the mattress.
Finally, lungs aching, Rose stilled with exhaustion. She squeezed her eyes closed and turned her face away. A mix of anger and fear burned inside her. What would he do? “Let…me…up,” she said in a gasp.
He didn’t speak, didn’t move. His hot breath brushed her cheek. The fragrance of the woods, earth, and fresh air filled her nose. Gradually, Rose became aware of every place his body touched hers, especially the hand-span of hard male flesh crushed against her pubic bone. Beneath her skin, tingling nerves awakened and thrummed to life. Her breath caught halfway in. She snapped open her eyes and stared at the wall. Her hormones had to be kidding.
The woodsy scent of him slithered through her like a drug. A sparking ball of lust tangled with the fear in her belly. Slowly she turned her head on the pillow to face him. Derision shimmered in his vivid blue eyes, his beautiful face etched in uncompromising lines by the wintry sun filtering through the window.
“Get off me,” she ground out, and tried to yank her hands free. Their eyes locked for one scorching beat. Rose blinked and snatched a breath. “If you’ damned well cooperated, I wouldn’t have needed to come up here.”
He arched a brow and stared at her challengingly. She stared right back, something inside her feeding on the confrontation.
“If you’ had the patience to wait an hour, I’d have fetched the accounts,” he said in a tight voice. “But that’s not your true business with us, is it? Who sent you, Rose Tremain?”
Rose glanced away and cursed under her breath, then met his gaze again. “Don’t you understand English? Watch my lips. Francis Marchant.”
At her command, his gaze shifted to her mouth. His eyes narrowed to burning blue slits. Suddenly Rose couldn’t get enough air. Time paused between heartbeats. Niall flexed his hips against her, lowered his face, and parted his lips, then sighed and shook his head. “You’ve not the faintest idea what I’m speaking of, lass, have you?”
Angry with him for thinking about kissing her and, inexplicably, even angrier because he hadn’t followed through, she jerked on her wrists. “Let go. And stop poking me with your hard-on.”
His eyes widened; then he released her and leaped back off the bed. Stunned at the speed and impossibility of his move, she lay staring up at him like a fool for a few seconds before she got her brain in gear. After grabbing her notebook, she scrambled off the bed. Breathless, hot, and shaky, she staggered toward the door and caught hold of the doorframe.
Hesitating, she glanced back, her heart skittering as she scanned the hard male body that had so recently been pressed against her. She covered her face with her notebook to hide a slightly hysterical grin. It appeared the old wives’ tale was true. Niall’s long, sexy fingers did indeed indicate how another part measured up.
He shifted uncomfortably beneath her scrutiny. “Me reaction means nothing. Friction is all it was, right enough. Aye, friction.”
The heat in her belly cooled and she averted her gaze. He probably didn’t think she was pretty enough for him because he was so damn perfect.
As she turned to leave, the glint of silver decorating the top of Niall’s box caught her eye. A shimmer of remembered pleasure swept across her skin and hummed through the stone pendant nestled between her breasts. Whether Niall liked it or not, something very strange had just happened between them.
Niall stared at the photo of Ana on his computer screen and closed his eyes against a dark rush of guilt. Rose must have seen the picture. He hoped her knowledge wouldn’t put his little leprechaun sister at risk of discovery.
Although Rose must be the Cornish pisky Tristan wanted, she obviously thought she was human. The fairy part of her was buried so deeply, Niall would never have sensed it if she hadn’t touched his Magic Knot.
He glanced at the rumpled bed and remembered the soft heat of her body. Now that she’d touched his stones, the two of them were linked by a spirit bond normally shared only by lovers. Intimate parts of him throbbed in memory, craving physical connection to complete the union. Thank Danu he had fought the desire to kiss her. The last thing he needed was to get involved with Rose and make her a target for Ciar’s revenge. He had his hands full protecting Ana.
Niall touched the picture of his sister’s beautiful, wrinkled brown face. To keep her safe, Tristan must recast the spell of protection over Ana in the next few days. That meant Niall had no choice but to take Rose to the druid to ensure his cooperation.
He ground his teeth. He’d rather avoid involving Rose in his problems. She wasn’t looking for fairies. Left alone, she’d return to London none the wiser and live out the rest of her life as a human.
Maybe if he explained the situation to Tristan…He reached for the phone, but paused as he remembered the crafty gleam in the druid’s eyes when he’d heard about the pisky woman. Had the Cornish piskies really emigrated to America? Desperate for the druid’s help, he’d accepted that explanation without question. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Tomorrow he’d ride over to visit Tristan and explain that Rose thought she was human and knew nothing of the Good People. Niall sat back, opened his Internet stockbroking service, and watched the share values scroll across the screen. Tristan Jago was a greedy man. Surely he wouldn’t jeopardize the regular checks Niall paid him by refusing to cast the protection spell?
As evening approached, Rose ran down the stairs from her room at the Elephant’s Nest humming. Just when she’d been ready to tear out her hair with frustration at trying to make sense of the business records, the senior partner from her firm had rung. Michael’s loan had been cleared and the investigation called off. The King of Pentacles had spoken true. What ever Niall was involved in, he had money and connections.
But she didn’t want to think about him. One more night at the pub, and she’d be on her way to find her father.
When she jumped off the last stair into the hallway, Michael stepped out from behind the reception desk. He slid his eyes down her body as though he were imagining sliding her into his bed. Typical. Michael had been conspicuously absent when she wanted to question him. As soon as she changed into Lycra shorts and a sports bra, he miraculously appeared.
“Well, well.” He ambled up and waggled his eyebrows. “What a grand little body you were hiding beneath that sober suit.”
His attraction dragged at her. Rose stilled, clinging to her common sense. As he stepped closer and the smell of his aftershave wafted around, she noted the thud of her heart. Interesting: he affected her physically, but mentally she remained detached.
He moved closer, lips tilted into an appealingly wicked grin, and brushed his fingertips down her arm. “How about you and me celebrate my reprieve after I close up, darlin’? Me room’s on the top floor.”
“I know,” she said innocently, trying for a straight face and nearly making it. “The black-and-gold one, right? I saw it earlier when I was up there with Niall.”
“Niall?” Michael’s perfect, dark, winged eyebrows scrunched together. “What were you doing up in the flat with me brother?”
“Nothing you need to know about.” She patted him on the cheek. “I promise you, darlin’, I’m not your type.”
“Aye, that’s as may be. But are you me brother’s is what I’m asking meself.”
Rose turned away from the sudden flash of curiosity in Michael’s eyes. She attempted a casual shrug, but it came out as a nervous jerk.
The memory of Niall’s body pressed against hers had plagued her all afternoon. Rose halted and rubbed her temples. She could feel him close by. Darn. Why was she so sensitive to him?
She stomped out the door, halted
beside the low wall that divided the parking lot from the riverbank, and started stretching out her muscles. Forget Niall. Forget Michael. She stared into the dark water swirling against the reeds and planned the first steps she’d take to locate her father. She had five days to find him. Five days to make sense of her life.
Bending forward, she grabbed her ankles and stretched the backs of her thighs. As she stared at the pub between her legs, Niall strolled around the corner and stopped beside his bike, staring at her backside.
Rose straightened so fast the blood rushed out of her head, leaving it spinning. “Heck. You gave me a scare creeping up like that.”
He gazed at her for a moment, then pulled an oily rag from his pocket and turned to his bike. “If that’s what you call creeping, lass, you’re deaf.”
Rose finished her stretches, watching him out of the corner of her eye to check whether he looked at her. He didn’t. Damn Niall O’Connor. She jogged toward him, slapping her arms to warm up. He knelt in the dirt next to his bike, unscrewed a metal ring from the engine, and rested it on a rock.
“I wanted to ask you about your stone rings.” However hard she tried, Rose couldn’t stop thinking about how weird she’d felt when she touched them. And it was too much of a coincidence that they both had them. “What are they?”
He gave her a shuttered glance and shrugged. “A knickknack. Nothing more.”
She didn’t believe that for a moment. How could she make him open up? On inspiration, she hooked her finger in the chain around her neck, pulled her three linked stones out, and cradled them in her palm. “I don’t like anyone touching mine, either.” Normally she kept them hidden. But with Niall it was different, as though they shared a secret.
Niall glanced up from his task, his eyes wary. He dropped the rag and slowly rose to his feet. When he stared down at her stones, his eyes flashed with heat, then blanked.
“Don’t be foolish, lass,” he said, his voice strained. “Keep them hidden.”
The tang of engine oil blended with the woodsy scent of him. She tried to ignore the flush of her skin as she remembered the weight of his body on top of her. “Mother advised me to wear them. Weren’t you told the same?”
He turned, crunching the gravel beneath his boots, and went back to his bike. “Mine live in their box.” His curt tone suggested the discussion was over.
Rose fluffed her hair in frustration. Maybe she should just forget the stones and concentrate on what she’d come for. “Listen, you seem to know all the right people; maybe you can help me. I want to track down my father. I don’t have an address, but I’ve got a name….” She faltered, suddenly uneasy. After all the years of planning, she finally had a chance to find her father. Why was she hesitating? She shook away the feeling of foreboding. “He’s called Tristan Jago. Ever heard the name?”
Niall’s hands stilled their fiddling for a moment; then he shook his head without looking up. “Doesn’t ring any bells.” He hunched closer to the engine, and she got the message loud and clear. As far as he was concerned, their conversation was over.
“Fine. Never mind. I’m going to Truro tomorrow to check the electoral roll. Hopefully…” She stared at the back of his head. What was the point in wasting her breath? He wasn’t interested. “Well…I’m off for my run.”
Rose jogged away along the riverside path and didn’t let herself look back. After she left tomorrow, she would never see Niall again. What did it matter if he wasn’t interested in her? The only thing they had in common was the wretched stones. And that was probably a coincidence.
She found her rhythm, enjoying the satisfying slap of her feet and the building tension of muscle. The chill eve ning air invigorated her body, and the gentle swish of the river calmed her mind. When she returned to the pub, she’d read the tarot cards and ask questions about her father. She’d put off the reading for long enough. Rose had never been like her mother; she’d always felt her father must be the key to her identity.
Rose glanced around. Dusk spread dark, misty fingers beneath the overhanging branches of the woodland. The river glowed, a ribbon of moonbeams beside the path. Deep peace filled a hollow place inside her that she hadn’t noticed was empty.
After a couple of miles, Rose stopped where the path climbed away from the river into the trees. Night came faster in the country, and she didn’t want to be running beside water in the pitch-black. Retracing her steps, she rehearsed what to say when she introduced herself to her father.
Would he look like her? Rose hadn’t resembled her mother, who was extraordinarily beautiful until drugs and alcohol ravaged her looks.
With a startled squawk, a bird shot out of the woods before her. Shock stabbed her chest. Silly. It was nothing. No doubt she was far safer h ere than pounding the streets in London, and yet…
The fragrance of almonds drifted incongruously on the cool autumn air, raising the tiny hairs on her body. Rose increased her pace. She forgot about finding her father. With every scrap of awareness focused on the path, she watched for the welcoming lights of the pub.
Beside the path, a whip crack of sound reverberated through the thick darkness beneath the trees. Deep, primeval fear shot through her. She slowed, scanned the blackness wildly. Looking for something. Hoping for nothing. A patch of shadow detached itself from a tree trunk and moved toward her. Dragging her gaze away, she sprinted forward, muscles burning. The pub must be close. Would Niall still be outside? Would he hear if she shouted?
Sticky warmth brushed her shoulder. Rose screamed, ducked her head, spun around, flailed her arms. The track behind her stretched away quiet and empty. I’m going mad.
Gulping three deep breaths, she struggled to ground herself. “Calm down, woman. Calm down.” This was her mother’s fault, spooking her about Cornwall, making her imagine things. Rose flexed her shoulders, forcing herself to stand still and face the murky woodland to prove she wasn’t scared. She counted to three in her head, then moved forward, recovered her rhythm, and ran on toward the pub. “There’s nothing there, nothing there,” she chanted under her breath.
A sudden blast of air made her duck and throw her arms over her head. A monstrous black beast hung in the sky, blotting out the pale hook of the moon. Cold air sliced her throat as she gasped. Gagging on the cloying fragrance of almonds, she staggered back. Her shoe sank in wet mud. Arms wheeling, she scrambled to catch her balance.
The beast swooped down. Strong arms pulled her against a warm, oil-slicked chest. Rose screamed and battered the taut muscular arms circling her.
His long hair fluttered against her face in the draft from his wing beats. Rose gulped and tried to shout for help. Nothing came out but a terrified whimper.
He pressed his cheek to hers. Lips brushed her ear. “Welcome back, Rosenwyn,” a deep, gravelly voice whispered. “Remember me, sweet one? I remember you.”
The madness of fear gave Rose strength. As the devil man lifted her from the ground, she pounded with her fists, jabbed with her elbows.
“Shh, my love, don’t panic,” the dark voice crooned hot against her ear as he caught her arms to her sides. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve come to take you home.”
Home! Where was home—hell? Through the black, mind-numbing wash of terror one word of hope burned: Niall. She wasn’t sure if she screamed his name out loud or only in her thoughts, but somehow she sensed Niall’s startled response—his catch of breath and jolt of heart—as if they were her own.
Niall was her only chance.
Chapter Four
How could Rose be Tristan’s daughter?
Niall sat on the low wall beside the pub and stared at his bike as he pondered what he’d learned.
Now she planned to stay until she found her father. So much for his hope that if he paid off Michael’s loan she’d leave. How could Niall maintain his calm when every cell in his body was attuned to her? The only way to weaken the bond was physical distance. And the quickest way to achieve that was to introduce her to Tristan. On
e look at the decrepit druid and Rose would hightail it back to London.
Unable to resist the draw of an intimacy he’d never expected to experience, he closed his eyes and opened his senses to Rose. She twanged the invisible thread joining them with little flashes of emotion that tingled around the periphery of his awareness. A yearning for physical contact burned in his belly, the intimate spiritual bond more addictive than a drug and just as deadly. However much he wanted Rose, he must not give in to the desire. If Ciar discovered their relationship, she’d harm Rose to punish him.
He smiled as he sensed the emotions flowing from her thoughts: pleasure, satisfaction, curiosity, anticipation, then a jolt—a burn of fear. Niall snapped his eyes open and stared sightlessly as he concentrated on Rose. The fear subsided; the heat faded. Niall relaxed a notch. Then her terror flared so hotly, he clutched his head in pain as her voice reverberated inside his skull, screaming his name.
The Magic Knot Page 5
