The Selkie

by Rosanna Leo

  He held out his hand, and she took it. Wondering that the touch of his hand should feel so much like home.

  They looked at the still-fuming Matthew. “You’ll regret this, Maggie,” he muttered

  as he charged down the path away from them. “You will. He’ll use you and toss you to the curb.”

  Maggie was too busy admiring Calan’s profile to spare Matthew another glance.

  Whatever, Matthew.

  Chapter 6

  Calan paused in the front hallway of his cottage, cursing his swollen dick for interfering with his brain waves. He’d lost his mind over a woman. A human woman.

  What was happening to him? He’d felt a bizarre need to make her breakfast, something he’d never done for anyone other than himself. And now he was ready to knock another man’s block off for her?

  He’d almost lost his self-control a few short moments ago. He’d been so enraged by the sight of Matthew’s hand on Maggie’s arm, he would have taken great pains to remove it forcibly. Indeed, he’d almost hurt the daft bugger. Would have if Maggie hadn’t been watching or if he hadn’t been able to harness his self-control.

  By all that was sacred, she brought out the beast in him. Made him lose the tight leash he had around his emotions, the ones that were so connected to the elements.

  How could that shithead treat her like that? How could any sane man cheat on her? By Loki’s wiles, five minutes in Maggie’s presence and all he could think of was cheating with her! That is, if he had anyone to cheat on. It wasn’t as if he had any lasting ties to Annette, or to anyone else for that matter.

  And now, here he was, in his home with her. Where there was a bed. Her small, cool hand tucked into his, the soft texture making him want to burst with unknown passion. The sound of her footsteps crossing the threshold making his heart pound.

  He’d never brought any woman to this place, no matter what she suspected. No one. At least, no one other than Kyla. Of course, she’d been different, like him. He hadn’t minded bringing her here. She’d understood that the small cottage was his sanctuary.

  But that was a long time ago, and Kyla was gone.

  Calan felt a numbing, little jolt of pain near his heart, but ignored it. It did no good to think of Kyla now. Not with Maggie’s hand in his.

  He still couldn’t believe she was here with him, in the delectable flesh. In his home away from home. Incredible.

  Whenever he’d been captured through time, he’d always stayed at the woman’s abode. And any time he’d gone looking for a spot of fun, again, he’d always ended up back at the woman’s place. Never thought twice about it. He’d always needed a private place to call his own, so his cottage had always remained off-limits.

  Why did it make him so happy to bring Maggie home? He felt ready to sing about it. Had the fucking lyrics and music already composed in his head, and the song was worthy of bloody Barry Manilow.

  He closed the door behind them and turned to her. Neither said a word. That was fine with him. Talking was the last thing on his mind at present.

  However, she’d expressed her need for a drink. He should probably make some attempt to be a good host, or any kind of host. He moved toward the cabinet that held his stash. “Is red fine?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide.

  She was nervous. She should be. He was thirsty, but not for wine.

  He steadied himself, cursing in his head the whole time, and reached for a bottle and two glasses. He poured, handed one of the goblets to her, and watched as she reached for

  it with a shaking hand. Poor thing downed it in one gulp.

  “Whoa,” he murmured, removing the glass from her hand and setting it down along with his. “Keep your wits about you, lass. I won’t have it said I compromised a woman in her cups.”

  “‘In her cups?’” She snorted. “Haven’t heard that one since the last period drama I watched on the BBC.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. His hands were itching to drag her body closer so he could kiss her. He shoved his hands behind his back. Not that it helped. He began imagining all the things he could do to her with his tongue instead.

  “So, are you … going to compromise me?” She looked up at him, the dare flashing in her beautiful, blue eyes. The wine already making her bold.

  He drew closer. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Just checking. That night on the beach, you were all action and no talk. Now you’re all talk and not much action. Do you like to confuse all your conquests? All the other women you seduce?”

  In any other woman, jealousy had always been nothing more than a troublesome, flitting emotion. Why was it that, in Maggie, it made him ashamed? And determined to prove she had it wrong. He didn’t want her to equate him with that bastard Matthew and the other goon before him.

  He supposed he wanted her to like him. To see beyond what she considered the selkie myth. To know him, Calan Kirk, and to like him as a man.

  He’d never quite wanted that before. Had never quite cared who liked him. Kyla had liked him, but that had been different. As he stood before Maggie in his cozy room, smelling the sweet wine on her breath, watching her bosom rise and fall with her uneven breaths, he was resolved. She would like him.

  If he had anything to do with it, by the time he was done, Maggie would like him a whole lot.

  *

  Once again, Maggie felt ashamed for lashing out at Calan, especially after he’d taken her part against Matthew. However, every time she remembered what Calan was supposed to be, each time she pictured him as a womanizing, studly selkie man, she felt gut rot. She shouldn’t care if he slept with every woman up and down the coast.

  But she did. She cared. More than she wanted to admit out loud or even in her tumultuous brain. Since she’d been dreaming of him, communing with him at night, she’d thought of him as her own, personal dream man. To be confronted with him in reality, and to discover that he was as randy as Tom Jones, made her eyes turn emerald with searing envy.

  “Were you telling the truth,” she whispered, “about all the women?”

  He’d been playing with her hand, but he dropped it now. “I can’t help what I am, Maggie.” His brown eyes turned down with a strange sadness. “In the many years that have been my life, yes, it’s happened a few times. I won’t lie to you. And here and there, being captured has even been pleasurable to me. Heaven knows I’ve gone looking for company myself once or twice. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a wee spot of companionship.”

  He drew in a deep breath, his gaze never leaving her face. He reached for her hands again, and entwined his fingers with hers. Then slowly, he moved his hands up the length

  of her arms and slid her jacket off her shoulders. Maggie thought she was beginning to see that flirtatious smile creep back into his eyes.

  “And even though I’ve been fighting it every step of the way, the gods take pity on me,” he continued, leaning to whisper into her ear, “I can no longer deny how much I want you.”

  His words sent a rush of feeling through her that began in her core and spread like wildfire as far as the tips of her fingers and toes. She wanted to believe him, that this possibly immortal man could want her so badly. Yet she knew his sensual words were probably only a part of his shtick. If Calan felt it was his mission to bring pleasure to lovelorn women, he would have learned to sweet-talk them along the way.

  “Why me?” She couldn’t resist asking.

  He drew closer, although she wouldn’t have thought it possible. His chest was upon hers, already crushing her full bosom and making her nipples pebble with delight. “Perhaps it’s because, as proud and capable a woman as you are, those shits convinced you that you weren’t special. And a wee part of you began to believe it. I plan to show you the error of your ways.”

  Without another word, Calan was upon her like a starving man who’d been invited to a sumptuous buffet. Gently, so as not to hurt her, but with a force that would not be denied, he p
inned her to the nearest wall. He encircled her with his arms. One hand buried itself in her red curls. The other hand was already reaching down, cupping and squeezing her bottom. He kissed her, ravishing her with his mouth, as if trying to slake a centuries-old thirst.

  Maggie could barely breathe. Once again, he’d seen into her. He’d seen that, despite her bravado, she was crushed inside. Used. Needed pampering and possibly some fixing.

  Maybe he could fix her. Help her recover from the worst few years of her life. Years that had taught her not to hope anymore. To just be.

  Don’t expect excitement or loyalty. Don’t expect five stars. You’re lucky to get three and a half. Hadn’t that inner dialogue plagued her for so long, despite the smile she kept plastered on her face?

  And why was it that every time she glanced at Calan, those elusive five stars flashed in front of her eyes?

  No. She was just hungry for him, hungry for a man who made her feel beautiful after men such as Matthew and Bobby had merely dropped hints that she could stand to lose a few pounds. She was merely starving for the temporary nourishment only Calan could provide with his lips and roaming fingers. “Oh, Calan,” she uttered, once his lips released hers and blazed a trail down her neck.

  “You’re radiant, Maggie.” He combed through her hair with his fingers. “I’ve never seen hair this color, or eyes so blue. You’re the loveliest creature I’ve ever seen.”

  The loveliest? It was hard to believe.

  He’d known a lot of women. That was one thing he had in common with Matthew. That, and the lies. Because he had to be lying about the whole selkie thing.

  The flaming torch of desire was suddenly doused. Selkie or not, Calan made no bones about the fact that women were his life. His apparent reason for being. That made him as good as a cheater.

  How many women were there anyway? She’d be damned if she stuck around long enough to find out.

  She pushed away from him. He looked at her, dazed. “Love…” he began.

  She tried hard to offer him her best, businesslike smile, knowing it probably looked like a smirk. “With all due respect, Calan, I’m not your love. And I’m not thirsty anymore. We have a pelt to find.”

  Maggie didn’t give him a chance to argue. She turned on her heel and headed back outside, standing by the Harley like a prim librarian until he joined her.

  * * * *

  Calan expected to be angry at Maggie’s change of heart. He even expected to be turned off, ready to walk away from the human woman who’d given him no peace for weeks on end. He was, strangely enough, none of those things.

  Instead, he felt nothing but a grim determination, and a little sadness.

  Because the other men in her life had disappointed her, hurt her, he was now being deprived of the chance to make her feel better. Sure, it pissed him off. After all, he’d already quietly acknowledged to himself that the only thing that would give him any sort of peace in this world was to be able to sink deep inside Maggie’s luscious body. Even just once. To be able to dig his fingers into her plump hips while he drove them both to dizzying heights of pleasure.

  Yes, he was sore about it. But mostly because of the darkness in her eyes. Those men had put that darkness there, had made her distrustful. He wanted to put the light back in her eyes, to see them sparkle with joy.

  He shouldn’t want it. When he remembered what the humans did to Kyla, how they used her, he shouldn’t want anything with a human woman.

  But he was weak. Men like him needed sweet release. And as much as he despised the race, there was nothing that stoked his fire like the feel of a velvety, human pussy swallowing his cock. And to see Maggie’s eyes light up at the same time … rapture.

  But Kyla … He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall for a human.

  Calan looked out the window at Maggie, standing uncomfortably by his Harley. Bending over to inspect the tires, as if she expected them to suddenly deflate. Her delicious, round arse in the air.

  Bloody hell. What he’d give to sink his teeth into that sweet bottom!

  He sounded like Angus that day when he’d first seen Elsie strolling along the beach. “Calan, brother,” he’d uttered, completely in her thrall. “See that gorgeous arse? That arse is mine, and so’s the angel that owns it. By Odin’s great cock, I’m gonna mark her and claim that woman. I’m going to sink my teeth into her and she’ll thank me for it.”

  And despite his Alpha-male bravado and boastful words, Angus had smiled like a buffoon and had followed Elsie down the beach like a lost puppy who’d spotted a discarded roast beef sandwich.

  Within days, they were mated. Swift and sure as a lightning bolt striking a lone golfer on an open course.

  Okay. He didn’t need to mate with Maggie. Didn’t need to profess some emotion he didn’t even feel. He could just do what he’d always done. Fuck her, find his pelt, and disappear. And hopefully feel much better for his efforts.

  This should be easy.

  So why did he want to go out there and just give the lass a hug? Tell her it would all be well in the end? Make her as happy as an oystercatcher bird with a belly full of

  shellfish?

  He wanted to be the instrument for a human woman’s happiness. It defied reason. It went against every instinct he’d had for years. Sure, humans were good for a little fun and he’d taken his share. But they were greedy and sometimes just plain evil. If he had any sense, he’d pack Maggie off to a B&B, go find the pelt on his own, and run.

  He couldn’t give in to his desire, not when it was clearly poisonous. It was taking over his life, and he liked his life the way it was! Where was his common sense?

  He stared at her through the window. Contemplated the soft line of her jaw and the swell of her bosom. His body betrayed him immediately, his cock thumping against the fly of his jeans.

  He grabbed his spare leather jacket, trudged out of the cottage, and locked the door behind him.

  Ah, fuck common sense.

  Chapter 7

  Maggie was relieved to finally arrive at the Olde Bookshop, an antiquarian bookstore right in the heart of Kirkwall. Not so much because it was their destination, but because the ride had been little more than sweet torture.

  To have to climb on that sexy deathtrap and be forced to cling to Calan’s hard body after being so frustrated had been almost unbearable. Especially because she didn’t really know why she felt so cross. She knew she was taking out her feelings of betrayal on Calan and that he didn’t deserve it. But every time he looked at her with those dark eyes that seemed to know so much about her she wanted to lash out.

  Almost as much as she wanted to bury herself in his embrace and forget the rest of the world.

  He climbed off the bike and held out a webbed hand to help her.

  Webbed hand. She stared at it. Could it really be?

  “Thanks,” she whispered, at a loss.

  He put his hands on her arms to steady her once she was off, damn her wobbly motorcycle legs! Oh, who was she kidding? She was wobbly because of him, not the bike. Everything would be a whole lot easier if he’d only stop touching her!

  “Look,” he murmured, gazing down at her, “let’s just go in, see if your gran left any strange packages for you and leave. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

  “I agree.”

  They’d parked a dozen or so spots down the road from the bookstore because the spots in front had been taken. Maggie looked up toward the shop. In that second, an old man swiftly exited the store, locked the door behind him, turned over a homemade sign that said Out For Dinner and disappeared down the road. Chasing down his lunch as if his life depended on it.

  “Hey,” Maggie called, but the gentleman had already turned the corner. “Oh, wonderful! Now what?”

  Calan proffered her a sly smile, not that he had any other kind. “Follow me, love.” He took her hand and pulled her along toward the store.

  Once at the door, he looked around to make sure no one was watching. H
e put his hand around the doorknob, not touching it, but surrounded it with his fingers. He closed his eyes as if praying.

  “What are you doing? Willing a locked door to open?”

  He opened one eye at her. “Hush, please. I need to concentrate.” He closed his eye again.

  Good, polite Maggie, by-the-book Maggie, kicked into full force. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. And it’s not like we should go in anyway. It’s against the law! All I need is to be thrown in the clink over this damned skin. Calan, I mean it. Stop … stop trying to be a Jedi! It won’t work!”

  She heard a click. Calan opened his eyes, looked at her and grinned. He opened the door and held it open. “Your chariot awaits.”

  “But … but…” She gawked at him, opening and closing her mouth a few times. “Well, clearly, the owner didn’t lock it properly.”

  Calan scowled. “Oh, it was locked.”

  She slid in and he followed. “I don’t think so, because that would make you The Amazing Kreskin.”

  “Or a selkie with inhuman powers.” He didn’t lose the grin but his eyes hardened slightly. “Which one is easier to believe, Maggie?”

  “Oh, let’s just find the pelt. We can argue about what you are later,” she muttered, at the end of her rope. She looked around the cramped shop. It was filled from top to bottom with books, not just on shelves, but spilling over onto other surfaces too. They were piled on the floor and shoved in every corner. It was a book hoarder’s paradise. It was no wonder Gran loved it here, although Maggie couldn’t figure out how the old woman had avoided breaking her hip whilst maneuvering through the place. “If Gran worked here, maybe she had a little locker or a drawer to put her things.”

  “Good idea,” he concurred. “I’ll check in back. You look in the shop. Maybe she stuffed my pelt behind one of those wretched piles of moldy books.” Shaking his head over the clutter, Calan disappeared into the back room.