“Did you use Gavin Maguire from Ballybeg?”
“Yeah.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you know him?”
A wry laugh escaped her lips. “I do indeed. I nearly married him.”
He shot her a concerned look. “He’s the guy who jilted you at the altar?”
“Yes, but that’s old news now.”
She wandered through the kitchen and peered into a bedroom beyond. The room was decorated in a nautical theme, complete with a frieze of anchors and fishing boats. “How beautiful.”
She put a foot inside and stumbled on an unseen flight of steps. Damian caught her arm and broke her fall. Heat shot through her veins as their eyes locked. Her vision blurred and she was back in Australia again. Judging by the spicy scent tickling her nose, he was even wearing the same after-shave.
“Muireann,” Damian murmured, his mouth centimeters from hers. “We shouldn’t—”
“I spent thirty years slotting into a role and doing everything I was supposed to do. Yet the very best thing in my life happened the moment I forgot about should.”
His intense gaze dropped to her mouth. “In that case—”
In the next instant, he closed the space between them and his lips met hers. They were warm, soft, inviting. She leaned into him, deepening the kiss. He tasted of coffee and peppermint gum, and she couldn’t get enough of him. It had been so long since she’d been kissed, so long since she’d felt the stirrings of true desire. And the last time she had, it had been for this man.
She tugged at the hem of his pullover and slid her hands underneath, kneading his nipples through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. His muscles were as hard as she remembered. Six months living in isolation hadn’t made him soft. Far from it. He’d obviously put in serious time in his home gym.
Damian groaned when she pinched one of his nipples. “You’re just as naughty as I remember.”
He trailed a line of kisses from her mouth to the pulse at the base of her throat. She gasped when he nibbled her skin. The sensation of his lips on her flesh, of his hands on her body, was almost unbearable.
“I want you to fuck me,” she said, tugging at the buttons of his jeans. “Quickly, before the baby wakes up.”
Damian drew back and opened his mouth as if to protest but she silenced him with another kiss. He proved easy to persuade.
“You’re too damn sexy,” he murmured. “If I had any sense—”
“Shh. Not another word.”
Muireann slipped a finger into his underwear and teased the tip of his shaft. He was rock hard and swollen with need. “This guy wants freedom,” she said, and pulled his cock out of his underwear.
The moment she took his cock between her palms and began to rub it, he sucked in a breath. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”
“Then I’d better get out of these jeans.” With reluctance, she let go of him and tugged on the zipper of her jeans.
As she rolled the jeans over her hips and thighs, Damian ran his hands over her bared flesh. “Beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “You’re absolutely perfect.”
When her jeans were off, he slipped his thumbs into the sides of her pink cotton undies and tugged. “You need to be naked.”
Muireann required no further motivation. She pulled her top over her head and discarded it on the floor. Then she moved to her bra. “Would you like to do the honors?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Hell, yeah.” He expertly unhooked her bra and eased the straps over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. “Fucking gorgeous.”
“I need you inside me,” she urged. “Right now.”
Damian made a mock bow. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”
As if by magic, he produced a condom wrapper from the back pocket of his discarded jeans and rolled it over his erect cock.
Picking her up, he put her on the kitchen counter and parted her thighs. When the tip of his shaft penetrated her, Muireann leaned back and wrapped her legs around his hips. His first thrusts were cautious, even hesitant. She pressed her heels against his buttocks, urging him to go deeper. Damian got the hint. As his movements grew more urgent, the tension inside her built.
“Faster,” she murmured. “Harder.”
He obeyed.
She soon ceased to think, caught up in the frenzy of long overdue lovemaking. She’d missed this—missed the heady sensation of skin against skin, missed feeling like a desirable woman rather than a frumpy mother.
When her orgasm hit, she cried out and Damian smothered her shout with a kiss. She rode wave after wave of pleasure. When he came, a second ripple of blissful release coursed through her body. Afterward, they stayed locked in their embrace.
“Muireann,” he panted against her neck, “that was fucking sensational.”
“Yeah,” she replied with a shaky laugh. “And to think I was afraid I wouldn’t remember how to do it.”
He laughed. “No fear of that.”
A little voice sounded from the living room. “Mama?”
Their gazes locked. He withdrew and helped her down from the counter.
“Coming, baby,” she called, struggling into her clothes. “Just a sec.”
When she was dressed, she hurried into the living room. James-David was sitting up, sucking his thumb. Bran snored beside him. Muireann picked up her son and covered his chubby cheeks in kisses. “Did you have a nice snooze?”
“Mama,” he repeated and tugged her hair.
Damian was leaning against the doorframe, his forehead creased. His mouth moved silently as if he wanted to say something, but the words weren’t making it from his brain to his tongue. “That wasn’t a good idea.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Probably not, but right now, I don’t care. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to have sex with you. And I’m pretty sure you enjoyed it just as much as I did.”
“Hell, yeah.” His gravelly voice made her ache in all the right places. “I’m just worried that us…getting involved…might complicate matters when it comes to sorting out James-David’s future.”
“I don’t see why it should,” she said, “unless we let it.”
Indecision flickered across his handsome features. “I want to touch you, Muireann. I want to take you into my bed, worship every centimeter of your sexy little body. And I want to do it over and over again.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t want to fuck this up,” he said roughly. “I don’t do long-term relationships, and you don’t deserve anything less than one hundred percent commitment.”
“Who says I’m looking for commitment?”
“You’re the mother of my son. The DNA result will only confirm what I already know. If I want to be part of James-David’s life, sleeping with his mother is a lousy idea.”
She ruffled James-David’s hair. “Turned out pretty well the last time.”
Damian gave a reluctant smile. “Yeah. It did. But I’m bad news, Muireann. I fuck everything up.”
“Not everything. Your band is super successful.”
“My former band.” He grimaced and dropped his gaze to the ground. “You’ll find out sooner or later. Confetti Underground is done.”
“But you spend hours in your studio,” she said, searching his face. “What are you working on?”
A flush stained his cheeks. “Solo material. I don’t know if it will ever be good enough to record.”
“You’re grieving for your friend—.
“And my mother.”
“I’m so sorry, Damian. I didn’t realize your mother was dead.”
He nodded. “She passed away late last year. She had heart disease. It wasn’t unexpected.”
“But still a horrible loss.”
“Yes.”
He fell silent for a moment, and then cleared his throat. “I’ll carry James-David and we can explore some more. Let’s look at the lower levels first, then work our way to the top.”
“Okay,” she said
slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. “Sounds like a plan.”
The interior of the renovated lighthouse was gorgeous. Each level housed a different living area. She stopped to admire the main bathroom, loving how it wrapped around the entire internal wall.
A partially open drawer in one of the bedrooms snagged her attention. Frowning, she eased it open and then gasped. “Come quick.”
He darted over to her side, carrying the slumbering toddler. “Have you found something?”
“Look.” She pointed to four tins of tuna, one of which was open. “This is half eaten. Given how fresh it looks, it can’t have been opened that long ago. And the bed looks as though it’s been slept in. Are you sure no one from the house has been here?”
Damian blinked. “I’m certain. Besides, Jean-Baptiste keeps us well fed. Why would we want to nick tins of tuna and hide them in the lighthouse?”
Muireann opened more cupboards and drawers. “What about the builders? Could they have left food lying about?”
“I moved in six months ago and I was in the lighthouse as recently as three or four weeks ago. I didn’t notice any food in here.” Damian sniffed at the tin of tuna and put it down with a low growl. “This is getting ridiculous.”
When he slid a gun out of his jacket pocket, Muireann’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Wait here with the baby and keep this with you. I’ll check the upper levels.”
“Are you sure you want to go up there unarmed?”
He flashed her a wry smile. “Know much about hand-to-hand combat?”
She shook her head.
“Well, I do. I spent five years in the British army before the band hit it big. I’d feel more comfortable knowing you had the gun.”
She frowned. “Why the British army? Is one of your parents British?
He nodded. “My father is from Northern Ireland.”
After he left, Muireann held her little son tight.
“Mama,” he said and snuggled against her breasts.
She struggled to keep her voice even. “Hey, cutie. Are you having fun?”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled into her neck, oblivious to her rapid pulse and rising sense of panic.
She jerked to attention at the sound of swearing. Damian came clattering down the metal stairs. “Someone’s definitely been staying here. There’s a sleeping bag on the top floor. And judging by the smell of it, its owner is none too clean.”
“Do you think it was the man who died?”
“He dossed in the lighthouse and decided to have a dip in the guesthouse hot tub for a change?” Damian shook his head. “None of this makes sense. And if he’s still alive, where is he now? The only place the security team hasn’t checked is the caves. Scaling down the cliffs was too dangerous during the bad weather.”
“You need to speak to the police.”
“I know. I’ll borrow a satellite phone from the security team and call Sergeant Glenn. He and his colleague searched the island the day we found the body. If they’d noticed the sleeping bag and open tin of food, surely they would have mentioned it.”
Damian moved around the bedroom, checking drawers and shelves.
Muireann held James-David close against her chest. “The island seems an unlikely place for a squatter.”
“Whoever was here is no ordinary squatter.” Damian’s voice was grim. He removed a metal object from behind a row of books on one of the shelves and held it out for her to see.
Muireann’s pulse raced. “Oh my God.”
A pistol glinted on his palm.
She pulled her baby close. “Is it one of yours?”
His jaw tightened. “I have licenses for several firearms, but this definitely isn’t one of mine.”
She exhaled sharply. “You need to contact the police immediately.”
He walked to a window and looked out. “I’d offer to take you to the mainland right now, but the sea is too rough for the boat.”
“Tomorrow will be fine. We’ll all be together in the main house.” She stroked the dog’s head with a shaking hand. “And we have Bran to watch over us. Let’s see how good a guard dog he is.”
That elicited a small laugh from the dog’s master. “A useless one, I expect. He’s big but he’s not into confrontation.”
Her expression grew serious. “Do you need me to come with you to the police station tomorrow?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I’d like a witness to say where and when I found the pistol. In the meantime—” he retrieved a sandwich bag from a drawer in the kitchen, “—I’m taking it with us. I’ll lock it in my safe until tomorrow.”
“Speaking of tomorrow…” She trailed off, locking eyes with him.
He looked up sharply. “Yes?”
“I’d like to spend the evening with you before we go back to Ballybeg for the weekend. Maybe talk this time?” Her gaze was steady and although her tone wasn’t seductive, Damian got her meaning loud and clear.
“I’d like that,” he said hoarsely. “I’d like that a lot.”
THIRTEEN
The walk back to the house was tense. Evening was closing in and bringing bad weather in its wake. Instead of strolling at the leisurely pace of their earlier walk, Darko and Muireann hurried back to the safety of the house.
When they reached the courtyard, Jean-Baptiste waved from the herb garden. “I rescue last of herbs before the next storm,” he shouted in his thick French accent.
“Good thinking,” Darko replied vaguely, his mind already on the conversation he needed to have with Sergeant Glenn. It wasn’t going to be pretty.
In front of the house, Jackson, the head of the new security team, was barking orders at one of his underlings. He glanced up at their approach. For a millisecond, Darko thought he noticed a sneer on the man’s face, but by the time they drew closer, the man was greeting them with a broad smile. He flexed his shoulders. Jean-Baptiste’s paranoia must be rubbing off on him.
“Had a nice walk?” Jackson asked, his expression perfectly affable.
“We need to borrow your phone,” Muireann said before Darko had a chance to respond.
Jackson’s eyebrows shot north. “Is something the matter?”
“I’ll discuss it with you later,” Darko said quickly. “The baby has an earache. We’d like to call a doctor to see what we should do until we can get him to the mainland.”
Jackson regarded the beaming toddler with open skepticism. “Sure.” He slipped a phone from his pocket and handed it to over.
“Thanks.” Clutching the phone, Darko maneuvered Muireann up the steps and into the house.
When they were inside, Muireann grabbed his arm. “Why did you lie to him?”
“Something Jean-Baptiste said earlier made me hesitate. It’s probably nothing. I’ll brief Jackson’s team once I’ve spoken to Sergeant Glenn.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Okay. While you make the phone call, I’ll take James-David upstairs and get him changed.”
“Sure. I’ll come up when I’m done.”
Darko took the stairs down to his studio two at a time, punching in Sergeant Glenn’s mobile phone number as he descended. The policeman answered on the second ring.
“Glenn speaking.”
“This is Darko Dunne out on Inish Glas.”
“Ah.” Darko heard a rustle of papers in the background. “Just the man I wanted to talk to. I have news for you.”
“Seriously?” Darko frowned. “I’m calling you with news.”
Glenn chuckled. “You go first, then.”
Darko shut the door of his studio and settled into his desk chair. “Jean-Baptiste, my chef, discovered that tinned food was missing from our reserves. He insisted they’d been stolen. I was inclined to dismiss his fears, but we later discovered someone was staying in the lighthouse.”
“What makes you think that? It looked uninhabited when I checked it on Sunday.”
“We found some of the missing food, including a half-eaten tin of tuna, plus an old sleeping bag.�
�
Sergeant Glenn considered this information. “Very odd. I don’t remember seeing a sleeping bag.”
“And there’s the not so insignificant matter of the pistol.”
Glenn was instantly on the alert. “You found a weapon?”
“I’m about to put it in my safe. Now what did you want to speak to me about?”
“A body washed up on the beach near Cobh. The man matched the description you gave me: dark hair, swarthy complexion, ace of spades tattoo, early forties.”
Darko’s heart leaped. “Was he strangled?”
“No. The man had seawater on his lungs. He’d also been in a fight before he went into the water.”
Darko pinched the bridge of his nose. “But that makes no sense. The man I saw was already dead. If he’d drowned, it should have been in the hot tub. He had marks around his neck, but I didn’t notice any sign he’d been beaten up.”
“We’re still waiting for the toxicology report. Perhaps he partied in your hot tub and was passed out when you found him.”
“Then conveniently came round the moment we left and decided to throw himself off the cliffs? Jaysus, man. Surely you don’t buy that story?”
“I’m not sure what I ‘buy’, Mr. Dunne,” Glenn said with a sigh, “but it’s more plausible than your disappearing corpse story. I’m bothered that the hot tub contained no trace that anyone had been there.”
“Where does this leave your investigation?”
“At the moment, we’re focusing on identifying the man who washed up on the beach. The pathologist thinks he might be a foreigner, judging by his dental work. He’s guessing Eastern European.” Darko heard more rustling of papers. “I have a photograph of the dead man and a close-up of his tattoo. I’d like you to cast an eye over them. And I want to come out to Inish Glas to have another look at that bathroom.”
“I’ll be in Ballybeg tomorrow. I can call by the station.”
“Perfect. Would eleven o’clock suit?”
“Sure. I can take you back to the island with me if you want.”
“No need. The Coast Guard will bring me out.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 17
