The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3)
Page 8
Glenna’s eyes softened as she reached up, brushing a finger over his bloody lip. “I’m attracted to you, Sam. I won’t deny that. But I don’t have feelings for you.” She lowered her hand and something swam into her eyes—like sadness. “Not in the way you want. Or deserve. I’m not…” She turned away from him, looking back out the window. “I’m not capable of having those kinds of feelings.”
He turned her around by the shoulders to face him. “What kind of feelings?”
She lifted his hand, laying his palm over her heart. It was still beating rapidly, and her bare skin was still hot to the touch. But the fingers gripping his hand were cold. “I don’t feel that emotion, like others do.”
Sam eased his hand free, lifted the strap of her dress that had fallen, slowly inching it back up her shoulder. “Because you can’t? Or you won’t let yourself?”
When she didn’t answer, his gaze dropped to her arms and he saw the scars in the light for the first time. He traced his fingers down her forearms to her hands, where the thorns had drawn long jagged scars into her pale skin. “You were married before, Glenna. Surely you felt something for your husband.”
She shook her head. “It was a business arrangement.” Her voice grew distant and matter-of-fact. “He was a wealthy Dublin developer. He needed a beautiful woman to take to functions. I wanted to meet all the richest people in the city so they’d buy my art.”
“How…romantic.”
Glenna pried her hands free from his grip and stepped out of his arms. “Romance was never supposed to factor in.”
Sam picked up the edge in her voice and turned, watching her walk back to the easel. Her long skirt dragged over the stone floor. “Supposed to?”
“He was never supposed to fall in love.”
“But he did.”
“Yes.” She looked away. “He did.”
“Where is he now?”
Glenna picked up a new brush, but he noticed her hand shook slightly. “I don’t keep track of those things.”
“Well, I do,” Sam said softly, leaning against the windowsill. “Your husband died in a helicopter crash the day your divorce went through. His chopper went down in the English Channel.”
Glenna looked up at him, her expression cold. “That’s public knowledge. You could read about it in any paper in Ireland that year.”
“I know.” Sam nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “What I don’t know is why you tried to hide it.”
“I didn’t hide anything.” She dipped her brush in a well of black paint. She had lost a part of herself the day her husband died. She had only divorced him to save him from the curse, when she realized she could not keep him from falling for her. But nothing could save him. “I don’t like talking about it.”
“Because his body was never found?”
Glenna set down the brush, her eyes hardening. “Why do I get the feeling I’m becoming the subject of one of your investigations.”
“Should you be?”
“I think you should leave now, Sam.”
“I think I will,” Sam said, pushing off the wall and walking toward the door. “But I am curious…” He wandered outside, snagging the strap of his satchel and turning back around to face her. “Is this a single tragic event in your life, or is this a pattern for you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I had an interesting conversation with a bartender in Bray last night.”
Glenna’s whole body went still. “You’re crossing a line, Sam.”
“Am I?” Sam walked back toward her. “Good. I plan to cross all of them before this is done.” He pulled a small oil painting from his satchel and placed it on the edge of her easel.
Glenna’s face went pale when she saw the orange rose. “Where did you get that?”
“There was an auction last night in Dublin. I thought you might be there. That is…until I heard the story behind the paintings.” Sam leaned in, his lips a breath from her ear. “Next time you feel like talking, I’d like to know what the hell happened to those men.”
It was after midnight when Glenna stole down to the beach. An eerie haze shrouded the moon and her bare feet caught in the snares of kelp twisting over the rocks. A fire burned in the shadow of the cliffs, teasing the hem of her mother’s gold dress.
“The roses,” Glenna breathed. “They’re turning black.”
Moira’s eyes narrowed at her daughter’s knotted hair, paint-streaked dress, and bare feet. “I know.”
“I don’t understand.” Glenna’s pale green skirt floated around her ankles as she came to a stop across from her mother. “The curse shouldn’t be taking him. I’ve been so careful—”
“Not careful enough.” The flames snapped, snaking dark shadows over Moira’s face. “You cannot resist this man, Glenna.”
“I can. I need a new spell—”
“No,” Moira snapped. “I’m taking over now.”
“I’m handling it. You have to trust me.”
“I’m not good with trust.” Moira’s lips curved. “Besides, I want Sam. I have a use for him.”
Steam whispered over the silent water, drifting like ghosts into the night. “What do you mean? What are you going to do with him?”
“Don’t worry about things that don’t concern you anymore, darling.”
“But this does concern me.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t deserve this.”
Moira laughed, a bitter song gliding over the sea. She stepped over the fire, the hem of her dress crackling as it danced in the flames. “You’re falling for him, Glenna.”
“I’m not—”
“Shhh,” Moira murmured, lifting a hand adorned in glittering rubies and stroking it over her daughter’s pale cheek. “You’ve done much for me, Glenna. Much more than you will ever know.”
SAM BOLTED UPRIGHT when the door to his cottage flew open. His bare feet met the floor and he fumbled for the lamp, knocking it over as he tried to find the switch.
“Sam!” Glenna grasped the door frame to catch her breath.
Sam righted the lamp, switching it on. “Glenna?”
Her face was pale, and her chest rose and fell as she struggled to breathe. She crossed the room to his dresser, yanking open the top drawer. “You have to leave.”
Sam stared at her. “What?”
She shook her head, those luxurious curls snapping around her shoulders. She pulled his clothes out, throwing them on the bed. “There’s no time.”
Sam stalked up behind her, shoving the drawer closed. “No time for what?”
“You need to leave the island.” She pushed a small metal object into his hand. “You’re not safe here.”
Sam looked down at the set of boat keys. “What the…?”
“Donal’s,” Glenna explained, brushing past him and snagging the strap of the duffel bag stashed under his bed. “Leave his boat at the wharf in Sheridan.” She stuffed his clothes into the bag. “Finn can give him a ride there tomorrow.”
“Glenna!” He grabbed her by the arms, twisting her around to face him. “Tell me what the hell is going on?”
“You need to leave the island, Sam.” Her voice was edged with panic, her eyes wild with fear. “Now!”
“I’m not leaving,” Sam growled.
“You want to know what happened to those men?” Fear shifted to anger like lightning. “The ones in Bray?” She jerked free of his grasp. “They died!” she shouted. “Because of me. My husband died because of me. And there are others—half a dozen others—who died because they fell for me.”
Sam took a step toward her. “Is this why you’ve been pushing me away all these months—because you’re afraid something’s going to happen to me if I fall for you?”
“No,” she breathed. But the roses scraped against the window, the long thorns re-growing from where she’d cut them off last night. “Yes.”
“Too fucking late, Glenna.” He grabbed her, his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss.
Sam twisted his hands in the material of her dress, sealing her to him. She could feel his heart hammering—a restless rhythm timed with her own. She ran her hands up his bare chest, over those broad shoulders. His muscles clenched, tightening under her touch.
“Sam,” she breathed as his lips trailed down her neck. Sparks danced from her fingertips. Whispers of smoke wafted into the room. A single flame rose up inside her, and the need for him whipped through her like the first rays of a winter sunrise, painting the ocean a glittering gold.
She shuddered as his teeth nipped the strap of her dress, edging it off one shoulder. Her nails dug into the hard muscles of his back as he carried her toward the bed. His foot caught the cord of the lamp. It toppled, the bulb shattering as it crashed to the floor. Fireflies of electricity snapped feverishly at the darkness that fell like a curtain of smoke.
Glenna reached blindly for the headboard, hooking her long legs around Sam’s waist as his knees bent and they tumbled together to the tangle of sheets that smelled faintly of mothballs and Sam’s sweat. He flipped her until she was on top of him, straddling him. She could feel the pulsing heat of him throbbing under her.
Those tawny eyes lifted, burning into hers as his hands grasped the thin neckline of her dress. The fabric tore, ripping through the silence. Buttons scattered into the folds of the sheets, like the threads of her past unraveling, her darkest secrets spilling into the room.
But he was not afraid of her. He was not afraid of them.
“Glenna,” he breathed, his voice hoarse with need. He molded his hands to her breasts and she reveled in the feel of his callused palms gliding over her heated flesh. She dipped her fingers into his thick blond hair—still tousled from sleep, and lowered her mouth back to his.
She had made love with men before, but she had never felt this throbbing ache in her chest—a painful tightening as if her heart would shatter if he pulled away. She deepened the kiss, her fingers twisting into his hair, tugging him closer. His teeth clamped down on her bottom lip greedily—nibbling, savoring, tasting. She wanted more, needed more of him.
Glenna’s breath caught when he dipped his mouth to the sensitive tip of her breast. Her insides melted, pooling desire between her legs as the heat of his mouth wrapped around her. She pressed herself against him as he peeled the rest of her dress away. It fell to the floor in a whisper of silk.
A low sound of yearning escaped her throat as his heated palms scorched a trail down her back, imprinting on her hips, pulling her closer. She could feel the hardness of him, every inch of him, sliding over her. She reached for the waistband of his black boxers—the only stitch of cloth between them now.
She tugged them down his narrow hips and rose over him. The thorns scraped at the windows, scratching at the paint. The song of the ocean, a whisper of waves in the windless night, floated over the fields. She heard his soft low groan, felt his fingers digging into her hips as she lowered herself over him, as their bodies joined—became one.
The song grew. The sea, quiet for so many days now, began to chant. She felt its power, its voice calling to her. The song built in a cresting surge over the island. And as they began to move, their bodies joined in ecstasy, the waves crashed, beating against the rocks like a drum.
She reveled in the feel of him inside her, in the burning heat that fanned out from her center until her whole body glowed, pulsing toward him like an ember feeding on his every touch. Sam buried himself inside her, setting a breathless, steady rhythm until they were one heartbeat, one flame.
Smoke poured through the window, threatening to swallow them whole. But the roses flashed through the darkness, their brilliant blooms illuminating the sheen of sweat clinging to Sam’s chiseled chest. Fire glinted in those whiskey eyes as he claimed her mouth in another scorching kiss.
She struggled to breathe, her hands sliding over his slick skin. She met him beat for beat, her body arching like a bow as the furnace flamed to life inside her. Petals unfurled, the vines clinging to the whitewash, scratching at the glass. She cried out his name as the wave of passion tore through her.
Her head fell onto his shoulder as his body clenched under hers. She shuddered as he pulled the last tremors from inside her. She pressed her hand to the warm glass of the window, streaked with steam. Black petals rained to the ground. He wrapped her in his arms, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m not leaving you, Glenna.”
When Sam got to the dock the next morning, Glenna was already waiting for him. She stood at the edge of the pier, gazing out at the horizon. Her thick brown tresses were bound, clasped in a copper clip that caught the morning sunlight. A yellow purse was draped over one shoulder and dark jeans tucked into tall leather boots hugged her shapely legs.
The cry of a gull echoed over the harbor as he stepped onto the pier. Glenna turned at the sound of his boots hitting the planks. The sunlight bathed her pale skin in an ethereal glow. Her eyes were guarded, her full mouth—painted scarlet—gave nothing away.
Sam’s legs felt heavy as he walked to her. Glenna’s black knit top crossed over her breasts and cinched around her slender waist with a knot off to one side. His fingers itched to set her curls free so they tumbled over her bare shoulders. He thought back to the day they’d first met. It was in the bar at O’Sullivan’s pub during the Midsummer’s Eve festival, when he’d come to the island in search of Tara.
He’d asked Glenna if she was a selkie, a woman of the sea who could bewitch a grown man. She’d laughed, but he was only half-joking. Because even then, in the crowded barroom, he’d felt the pull of her, the unmistakable threads of enchantment spinning around him until he was caught in her spell.
He knew the truth now—that the blood of the selkies did run in her veins. And he was bound to her now as a captain was bound to his ship. If one went down, so did the other. He was not afraid of the roses growing outside his cottage. What happened to Glenna’s lovers before was not happening to him. They had broken two curses on this island together.
They would find a way to break this one. And he was certain—certain—Brigid was the key to unlocking all the clues.
He was close enough now to spy the pale blue crystals that hung from Glenna’s ears. The hand that rested lightly on the strap of her purse was adorned in a variety of glittering gemstones. She had her armor back on, Sam mused. She opened her mouth to say something, and he gave into the instinct to lean down and plant his lips on hers.
He felt her stiffen, and grabbed her arms before she stepped back off the edge of the pier. She let out a muffled protest, hooking a hand in the front of his T-shirt to keep from falling. He pulled her to him, deepening the kiss. When he finally let her go, she was out of breath.
“Good morning,” he murmured huskily, easing her away from the edge of the pier.
Glenna jerked the strap of her purse back up her shoulder. “Don’t do that again,” she warned, brushing past him. Her heeled boots clicked over the metal platform leading up to the ferry. Sam turned, watching the sway of her hips. He unhooked his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt and slid them onto his face.
Searching Dublin hospitals for a Jane Doe wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured his first date with Glenna. And he had a feeling she wasn’t going to make this task any easier. In fact, he was fairly certain the only reason she was tagging along was to try and stop him. He nodded to Finn as he boarded the ferry, and the skipper raised an eyebrow at the spectacle on the pier. Sam smiled. Good thing he knew how to shift her focus.
TARA STOOD AT the window of her cliff cottage, watching the ferry motor toward the mainland. A
bouquet of dried lavender hung from a silver ribbon tied to a nail at the top of the window, and she breathed in the sweet floral scent. But it did little to calm her. She could feel the shift in the ocean; the change in the winds.
Dominic had gone down to Sam’s to have a look at the roses. The door to the cottage creaked when he opened it. He walked inside, shutting the door behind him.
Tara didn’t bother to turn. “Did you see them?”
“Aye.” Dominic crossed the room to her. “I saw them.”
Outside the window, Tara’s seashell chimes clinked in the wind. “How many?”
“At least a dozen.”
Tara closed her eyes. “They grew back.”
Dominic came up behind her, settling his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her back gently against his hard chest. She could feel his heartbeat through his sweat-soaked shirt. The odor of earth and roses clung to his skin. “You’re sure there was only the one rose yesterday?”
Tara nodded.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “There’s nothing underneath the plant.”
“How far did you dig?”
“Far enough. And there’s no use trying to cut roots. They’re as tough as iron.”
“Did you see Sam?”
Dominic shook his head. “He and Glenna are on the ferry, headed to Dublin.”
Tara looked back at the ferry. Glenna and Sam would be in Dublin by mid-afternoon. The sea surged against the rocks far below, like a slow steady build days before a storm. The waters had finally risen, quenching the parched beaches. But the dried-out kelp and driftwood that had piled on the beaches for days floated off shore—a serpent-like tangle of debris.
“Glenna knows something,” Tara said quietly. “I’m sure of it.” She turned in Dominic’s arms so she was facing him. “Why else would she go with him to Dublin?”
“Sam has a knack for digging out truths. If she’s hiding something, he’ll find it.”