by Denise Agnew
“Hear that?” Jared asked from the living room, his voice teasing and good-natured. “Why don’t you guys come out here and have brandy and cigars with me.”
Ronan and Lachlan looked at each other, then laughed.
“No cigars in this house,” Lachlan said.
“But we do have brandy, right?” Ronan asked with a hopeful tone. “For later, that is?”
“You got it.” Lachlan sauntered out of the kitchen, his attempt at countrified accent deplorable. “I guess the womenfolk ain’t got no need for us, boys.”
Clarissa groaned while Erin smiled.
Ronan winked at Clarissa. Then almost as an afterthought, he slipped his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck and leaned forward to press a tender kiss to her forehead. She blushed right to the roots of her hair as he left the room.
The knowing looks Erin and Micky gave her almost made her squirm. At the same time, a guilty pleasure pulsed through her at this show of affection.
“What can we do to help you get dinner ready?” Micky asked.
Erin gave them an appreciative smile. “If you ladies would like to set the table, feel free.”
While anxious to start discussing what she knew with the whole group, she knew jumping into the middle of her fears wouldn’t be the best thing. Better to ease her way into the topic. “Thank you for inviting me here, Erin.”
“Any friend of Ronan’s is a friend of ours.”
Friend. An interesting word to describe her relationship with the mysterious man. Could she be called his friend? Some of the feelings he generated inside her had more to do with lust than friendship, but what else could you call their relationship?
Small talk ensued while Micky and Clarissa set the table. The dining room was beautifully furnished in a true late Victorian style without being overwrought. The burgundy tablecloth over the long dark wood table looked beautiful against the crystal wine glasses, the crystal vase centerpiece, and the pretty blue and white English ironstone.
Micky moved the large crystal vase centerpiece and put it on the sideboard. “You’ve had a traumatic couple of days in Pine Forest, Clarissa. It seems to happen to all of us when we get here. Welcome to Creepsville.”
“Oh, you can say that again,” Clarissa said.
“Good thing Ronan was there to save the day.”
Clarissa looked at Micky to see if hidden sarcasm resided there, but she didn’t detect anything but a genuine smile on the other woman’s face. “I owe him, believe me. There are things I don’t understand about what’s happened to me since I got here. I’m hoping everyone can help me clear things up.”
Micky paused as she put plates on the table. “In just the short time I’ve been in Pine Forest, I’ve had a rude awakening.”
“How’s that?”
“By discovering there is so much in Pine Forest that’s strange and evil. So much bizarreness it’s hard to define. Some of it is like a nightmare.”
Clarissa smiled. “I’ve picked that up already.”
“Are you prepared to listen to things that might not make sense? Things that don’t seem real?”
“Believe me, I’m used to that.”
For several moments they exchanged information on their connections to Pine Forest.
“I read about what happened at your inn, Micky. So are you living there now?”
“We thought at first we would, but everyone encouraged us to stay out at least until we can decipher what’s going to happen here in Pine Forest.”
Clarissa knew what would happen in Pine Forest if they didn’t stop the darkness from overtaking the town, but she wanted to wait until they’d gathered around the table before she explained what she knew. She returned to the kitchen with Micky and they’d been there less then a minute when Ronan walked in the room and came up behind her.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “Hurry up. The men are getting ravenous.”
She elbowed him gently, and his deep, rumbling laugh made her entire body tingle with sweet, gentle arousal. Being with him in a nonsexual environment still guaranteed she’d be driven batty in more ways than one. As his hands massaged her shoulders, she placed her right hand over his. When she realized what she was doing, she took her hand away.
Micky and Erin moved into the other room a moment, chattering away. No, no. Don’t leave me alone with him.
If you don’t want me to touch you, sweet colleen, just tell me.
The telepathy shocked her each time it happened, even when it shouldn’t. After the evening ended she’d ask him about his extraordinary ability once and for all.
He leaned down and whispered against her ear. “Feeling more relaxed?”
“No.”
His hands moved with gentle persistence, his voice low-pitched so no one else could hear. “Because my touch makes you aware of things you haven’t felt before?”
She turned toward him, and his hands dropped from her shoulders. His gaze appeared more serious than passionate, more worried than seductive.
Before she could answer, Micky and Erin came back into the kitchen.
Erin clapped once. “Okay, everyone, I think this show is on the road. Let’s eat. Sorley is late again, but we aren’t waiting on him.”
After placing serving dishes on the table, Micky, Erin, and Clarissa settled into their chairs. Lachlan and Jared sat down while Ronan filled everyone’s glasses with wine. They settled into a companionable pace, passing around dishes and making the inevitable chitchat.
As they started eating, Clarissa experienced a strange tension entering the room she didn’t understand. Everyone seemed tired, and she understood the feeling. It had already been two long days for her. Maybe they waited for her to speak up, to tell them why she needed to see them. If she didn’t get this off her chest she would scream. She might as well jump into the fire.
“Tell us why you needed to see everyone tonight,” Ronan said.
Clarissa paused as she sipped the delicious fruity white wine. Had he read her mind again? His calm façade told her nothing.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Maybe she’d like to eat first,” Erin said, glaring at Ronan. “Give her a little time.”
Ronan winked at Clarissa, then smiled at Erin. “Sorry. I’m just eager to hear her story.”
Clarissa took another healthy swallow of her drink before she answered. “It’s all right. If I don’t tell you now, I might lose my nerve.” She cut into the succulent chicken and began. “I mentioned to Erin on the phone earlier today that I grew up in Pine Forest, so I’m aware of its strange history.” She smiled. “It was a weird place to be a child.”
“Was it frightening?” Jared asked as he speared a cauliflower floret.
Clarissa took a deep breath. “I imagine it was for many children, but it was especially bizarre for me. I was able to see and hear many things other children couldn’t.”
Before she could continue, a strange popping sound came from the living room. Everyone seemed to go on full alert. Ronan sat up straighter, and so did Jared and Lachlan.
“It’s just me,” a distinctly Irish male voice said from the living room.
A skinny man walked into the room, his smile wide. His narrow, slightly pockmarked face would never be called handsome. Yet the charm in his grin almost made up for his lack of looks. Short, untamed black hair tousled over the small man’s head. He was dressed in a blue flannel shirt, jeans, and boots.
As he walked toward Clarissa, he said, “This must be the lovely Clarissa.”
Ronan introduced them. “Sorley, this is Clarissa Gaines. Clarissa, Sorley Dubhe.”
“Or as they said in Ireland many moons ago, Somhairle Dubhe,” Sorley said.
“Your Gaelic name.” Clarissa shook his hand and smiled.
“That it is. Has the big guy here—” he slapped Ronan on the back, “—told you his Irish name?”
“Not yet,” Ronan said. “We’re barely acquainted.”
“It’s Ronan Ciaran,” Sorley said. “Which really means little seal black. Very strange name if you were to ask me.”
“No one’s asking,” Ronan said with a polite, but definite edge.
Suitably chastised, Sorley made a courtly bow.
Unable to resist his quirkiness, Clarissa returned his grin. “Very pleased to meet you, Sorley.”
“Sure, and a supreme pleasure it is to meet a friend of Ronan’s,” Sorley said.
While everyone else looked amused, Ronan’s raised eyebrow and cynical expression made her hesitate to joke with Sorley.
Sorley sat in the vacant chair between Ronan and Erin. “Sorry I was late. The feckin’—” he glanced at Clarissa, “I mean the weather is gettin’ weird again. A front is comin’ in. Might snow again before it clears for a good strip tomorrow.”
“Lovely,” Micky said with a sigh. “I think we’ve had enough snow for awhile.”
“On a different subject, I thought Gilda and Tom were comin’, too?” Sorley asked.
“Mark has the flu,” Lachlan said, then turned his gaze on Clarissa. “Gilda works with Erin at the library and Tom is her husband. Mark is their son.”
Erin poured more wine for herself, then offered the bottle around the table. “Before you came in, Sorley, Clarissa was telling us about why she needed to meet with us tonight and what brings her to Pine Forest.”
Clarissa reached for her water glass and took a fortifying sip. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got all evening,” Jared said.
Unfortunately her nerves jumped and pinged with worry. She stared at the tablecloth. “When I was a little girl, I used to have precognitive dreams. Sometimes I still do.”
She waited, glancing around the table to see the reactions she obtained. Everyone gazed at her with genuine interest. Maybe they wouldn’t think she’d lost her mind after all.
“And?” Micky asked softly.
“I was a toddler when I started having night terrors. I never remembered what they were about until I was about five. I dreamt the same thing over and over, sometimes as much as three times a week.”
“That must have been horrible,” Erin said, her expression sincere and worried.
Clarissa nodded. “I didn’t know what to do or how to make it go away. My parents took me to a local doctor, a psychiatrist. He claimed I was trying to get attention from my parents, even if it was negatively. When he questioned me about the dreams, I always felt like he was patronizing and telling me to stop making things up.” She toyed with her food, pushing her chicken around the plate. “My parents stopped taking me to him after about a month of appointments. They thought I was cured because I didn’t mention the dreams anymore. At least not for a while. I figured if I was going to get punished every time I told them about the dream, there was no point in telling them.”
Ronan frowned. “Your parents punished you for telling them about a dream?”
His incredulous, angry expression made her feel gratified in a strange way. Every time this man defended her, regardless of how small the gesture, something deep and profound moved inside her. Satisfaction. A sense of belonging and a deepening of feeling inside where she’d never been touched before.
She didn’t want to feel anything extraordinary for this odd, yet compelling man. The more she tried to resist the reaction, the more it tortured her.
She continued. “The punishment was metaphorical. If a child discovers there are negative consequences like going to a psychiatrist who tells you that you’re making it all up, the child sometimes stop what they’re doing. In my case I pretended I wasn’t having the dreams any more.”
“That must have been so hard on you.” Micky’s voice held sympathy. “What happened then?”
“The dreams continued into my teens, though by then I had the nightmares maybe once a month.”
“What were the dreams about?” Ronan asked, his eyes a liquid warm brown that encouraged her.
Clarissa put down her fork. Despite the resolve she’d felt returning to her childhood stomping ground and coming here to confess what she knew, a wave of uncertainty washed over her. She stared at them, frozen.
“It’s all right, sweet colleen, you can tell us.” Ronan’s endearment, spoken in that husky, unmistakably Irish tone, reassured her. “We aren’t going to condemn you.”
“Sure, and we’ve seen enough buggered strange things in our lives to tell forty more tales,” Sorley said.
“Believe me, whatever it is, you can trust us,” Micky said. “And if it helps us to save this town, we need all the information we can get.”
Clarissa couldn’t seem to speak of it, her throat tight. Tears filled her eyes. Embarrassment followed close behind. “No…I…maybe this was all a mistake.” Flustered beyond anything she expected, she pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here and—”
She didn’t know how to explain her behavior. She didn’t know what to think. As she headed into the living room, awash in mortification and unbelievable sadness, she heard Ronan mutter a curse.
She hadn’t gone far before he clasped her shoulders from behind and halted her. “Wait. It’s all right.”
Clarissa shivered, her mind filled with confusion at how she’d come this far and now couldn’t seem to push the words passed her throat. “I…no. I can’t.”
Ronan turned her to face him. Instead of anger she saw worry and determination. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To talk.”
His big palm and fingers enclosed her much smaller hand as he led her down the hall and into a room a couple of doors down on the right. Ronan clicked on the light and turned the dimmer switch to a lower, less glaring illumination. He released her hand and closed the door with a solid click.
He returned to Clarissa and cupped her shoulders, his grip more reassuring than anything. “Let’s cut to the chase. Everyone in this house understands the paranormal and believes in it. Do you honestly think we’d chastise you for telling us about the dreams?”
Clarissa wanted to believe him the way she wanted to breathe. “I’m sorry. I thought I was all prepared. Then, in spite of the weird things I’ve experienced the last two days, I couldn’t tell you about my dreams.”
“Do you know why?”
She pulled out of his grip, unwilling to give away all her secrets in a rush. If she allowed him to touch her, she’d lose her perspective. Maybe touch made it easier for him to read her mind.
She glanced around the room, noticing details for the first time. Decorated like the rest of the house in an understated Victorian motif, the large bedroom featured blue and green tones in the wallpaper and in the fluffy comforter that covered the dark wood four-poster double bed.
Before she could turn back to Ronan, he clasped her upper shoulders by her neck and restarted that maddening yet comforting massage. “You came to this town to write a book and take photographs of haunted places, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to capture other haunted places here, eh?” His fingers pressed into her muscles, kneading away the tension with slow rhythm.
“Of course.”
“Let me be your escort while you’re here.”
She did turn around then, surprised at his offer. The caring in his dark eyes made her stomach flutter with attraction, that steadily melting combustion that hovered whenever he came near. This close she felt his heat, his force of personality.
“Why would you want to?” she asked.
“You have to ask?”
“Yes.”
With slow deliberation, he leaned in and placed a tender kiss on her lips, then drew back slightly. “This is why.” Her lips tingled, her breath c
oming faster, her heartbeat calling to the male in him. “And this is why.” His lips tasted her again, then he pulled back. Again he dipped in for a soft kiss. “And this is why.”
She put her hand up, covering his mouth with index and middle finger. “Everyone is going to wonder what is taking us so long.”
“Who cares?” he murmured, diving in for a kiss that went a little longer. She responded, tasting him as he tasted her. Once again he backed off. “Are you worried they might guess we’re kissing?”
“Yes.”
“Would that be so bad?”
She thought about it, then sank into the burning attention in his gaze. The smoldering fire in his eyes warmed her at the same time it challenged, and when that slow burn turned to a full bonfire she’d better watch out. Deep in her body, her pores, her very soul she acknowledged the essence of Ronan Kieran that defined him. It called to Clarissa in a mysterious way she couldn’t quite understand. The way he looked at her now said the next kiss, and the one after wouldn’t be so tentative.
Ronan’s arms slipped around her, drawing her against his hard chest as his fingers plunged into her hair. His mouth took hers, his kiss a hungry exploration that demanded to find answers. As his mouth twisted over hers, he didn’t hold back. Her lips parted as she followed his lead. His tongue moved inside, stroking and teasing her mouth with a sexual prowess that made her body shiver with cravings. She arched against him, her arms going around his neck as she dove into the embrace with her heart. Moments lengthened as the kiss lingered. His hand caressed her back, then he cupped her ass and pressed his hips into her.
Oh, my God.
The Irishman owned a hard-on that felt as strong as a spike. An ache started between her legs, a demand for fulfillment she knew she couldn’t have right now, and most likely not with this man. Everything within her responded as his tongue took her mouth repeatedly, his hands pressed and kneaded her flesh deliciously, and her nipples tingled with the need to be touched. She felt something simmering inside him, something that wanted to break free. She couldn’t concentrate on it, not with her needs shifting and changing, her physical wants screaming for total completion.
