Rogue on the Rollaway

by Shannon MacLeod

  Colleen missed the grin altogether, her wide eyes riveted to the bared muscles rippling on his arms and chest. Muscles…in my bed…Jaysus, Mary and Joseph. She gulped. “I’ll just bet you would,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door before her eyes could betray her.

  * * * *

  Faolan chuckled when he heard the door lock. “That’s a large shower, Princess. ‘Twould seem a shame to waste all that extra hot water,” he called after her.

  “No!” came the strangled reply.

  Faolan threw his head back and laughed. Dragging himself from the bed, he slipped on his shirt and padded barefoot to the kitchen to pour two mugs of the freshly brewed coffee. He contemplated for a moment before adding the correct amounts of cream and sugar to Colleen’s cup, then a lesser amount of each to his own. Carrying both cups back into the bedroom, he stood and listened at the bathroom door for a moment, hearing Colleen splashing around in the shower. He shifted both cup handles to one hand and rapped lightly on the door. “I’ve made yer coffee, Princess. Shall I bring it in to ye?”

  “You can’t, the door is–” Her sentence ended on a squeal.

  “On my honor, I’m not looking,” Faolan insisted, his eyes tightly closed, “unless of course ye don’t mind me seeing ye naked. I’d like that much, if my opinion counts for aught.”

  His good humor was infectious. “Back out of this room right now, or forsooth, I shall smite thee mightily with my towel, cracking it as a whip and raising welts the likes of which you have never seen,” she growled with mock ferocity, her voice shaking with the laughter she could no longer hide. “Leave the coffee, though.”

  His eyes still closed, he shrank against the doorframe and shuddered with feigned alarm. “What a dangerous wench ye are. Threatening me at every turn. And here’s poor me trying to court yer favor by bringing ye coffee. Well…” He sighed, “if yer going to do me injury then by God let me earn it.” He opened his eyes.

  Faolan’s breath caught in his throat to see her standing in the glass shower like a naiad of old, hot water running in crooked streams over the soft skin of her shoulders, her hair in wet disarray. The towel, now soaked, molded to her body and emphasized the curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips and shapely legs–he inhaled sharply and his eyes flickered in pleasure as he envisioned them wrapped around his waist–ending with the trimmest ankles and prettiest little toes he had ever seen. “By the saints, ye are lovely, Colleen.” His lips parted in a sensual smile. “Are ye sure there’s not room for two in there?”

  “Faolan? Get out of my bathroom,” she ordered.

  He gave her a sad, wounded look, setting her coffee mug down on the counter. “As ye wish, lady.” With a stiff bow, he turned and walked through the open bathroom door, back into the bedroom and sprawled across the bed. In full view of the shower. He took a long sip of his coffee. “Aye, even better than the History Channel, this.” He nodded with approval.

  “That is not what I meant and you know it!” she yelled.

  With a lot of eye rolling, a dramatic groan of exasperation and a muttered oath about “some women just canna be satisfied no matter how hard ye try” Faolan reluctantly rose. With one final offended sniff he pulled the bathroom door closed, leaving her to finish her shower in peace.

  * * * *

  Colleen emerged from her shower a few short minutes later. Vigorously toweling her hair, she appraised herself in the bathroom mirror and gave her reflection a stern talking to. “I don’t care how good it felt sleeping snuggled up next to him,” she said in a hushed whisper, “you need to get a grip. Yeah, he’s gorgeous, and yeah, it’s been a while but you barely know…” Her voice broke off in mid sentence and she smiled, remembering the comforting strength in his arms when they closed around her during the storm, his warm breath ruffling the fine hair over her ear as he held her close, the lullaby of his steady, beating heart…

  A light knock interrupted her reverie. “Might I enter?” Faolan’s deep voice filtered through. She hastily donned her robe and tied it with first one knot, then another before opening the door. He strode past her and lifted her brush from the counter. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the vanity seat. Blinking in surprise, she did so without question.

  It was a strangely intimate moment. Colleen watched his face in the mirror, intent on detangling her thick mop with minimal discomfort. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rhythmic strokes of the brush. When at last he was satisfied with his handwork he stopped, setting the brush down on the vanity. She met his gaze in the mirror and offered him a tentative smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Faolan had a faraway look in his eyes. “I used to brush my wife’s hair like this,” he murmured. “’Tis a relaxing thing, she said. I thought mayhap ye’d enjoy it.”

  “It felt nice. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone brush my hair like that before,” she admitted. Leaning forward, he placed gentle hands on her shoulders then pulled the damp hair back far enough to expose her neck. His gaze met hers in the mirror again just before he bent down and placed a soft kiss just beneath her ear.

  He inhaled deeply and sighed. “Ye smell like the Highlands in summer,” he murmured. “That’s the closest a man like me will ever get to heaven.”

  “Thank you,” she blushed. She rose and headed back into the bedroom with Faolan following close behind her. “I’ve got to…” She cleared her throat, trying to recollect her composure, “…get ready for work now, so if you’d like to…go ahead and take a shower you’re welcome to.”

  Faolan bowed. “As my lady commands,” he said, disappearing behind the bathroom door with a wink. He didn’t lock it behind him, and she stared at the silver doorknob through suspicious eyes. But when I went in there, I thought I did…

  Shaking off the unsettling feeling she was missing something important, Colleen slipped into cotton slacks and a casual blouse before heading to the kitchen to start breakfast. She decided on blueberry waffles, popped four Eggos into the toaster and smiled in anticipation of his delight. She poured two glasses of cold orange juice and had just pulled the maple syrup out of the pantry when the doorbell rang.

  Frowning at the unexpected interruption, she grabbed a terry dishtowel on the way to answer the summons and dried her hands. Rising up on tiptoe, she looked through the peephole then let her forehead against the door fall against the door with an audible thump. “What do you want, Marc?” she called out wearily.

  “I have the papers I called you about,” Marc said, pointing to the thick folder he had tucked under his arm. “Can I come in, or are we going to just yell at each other through the door?” His face grew comically misshapen when he leaned in to look at the peephole, trying to see her on the other side.

  With an aggravated sigh, Colleen cracked open the door. “I told you to bring me these at work. What are you doing all the way over here, anyway?” Obviously dressed for work, his unbuttoned dress shirt collar was ready for the conservative tie she knew he would put on in the parking lot of the museum. And he was alone, Colleen noted with amusement. Unable to resist, she caved into her sudden wicked impulse. “Bambi didn’t come with you?” she asked with wide, innocent eyes.

  “It’s Brandi.” Marc pushed the door open and walked past her, looking all around. “It still looks pretty good, almost as nice as when I lived here. Except for the tacky movie posters,” his upper lip curled slightly at a movie still of the Serenity cast. “I liked the Seurat prints better.” He directed a puzzled glance at the large empty space left by the missing coffee table then peered past that in an obvious attempt to see into the bedroom.

  Colleen cleared her throat to regain his attention. “I didn’t,” she said, holding out her hand for the folder.

  He ignored her and strolled in the direction of the kitchen. “Is that fresh coffee I smell? I’d love a cup.”

  “You’re not staying, Marc.”

  “Don’t be that way, Colleen. I came all this way to bring you your stuff,” Marc
said but stopped short when he reached the kitchen entrance. He stared at the table set with breakfast for two then turned to her. “Awww…were you expecting me, sweetums?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “I doona think so,” a deep voice growled. Colleen’s heart stopped cold. They both turned at the same time to see Faolan standing at the master bedroom door clad in…yum, Colleen gave a heartfelt inner sigh…a towel. A very small towel knotted around his lean hips that looked to be in danger of slipping off at any moment. A girl could only hope. Six and a half feet of ripped muscle and undiluted testosterone with tiny rivulets of water still running down into the black curls covering his massive chest, his tangled hair stood out like a halo around his head. All he needed was a big sword and wings to look like an avenging angel fallen to earth. His long muscular legs braced apart, he stood with arms folded arrogantly across his chest. “And just who the hell are ye?” Faolan demanded.

  Marc’s mouth flopped opened and closed several times. Colleen fought to keep the giddiness out of her voice when she leaned forward and whispered, “He knows me, so I’m pretty sure he’s addressing you.”

  “Marc…Marc Simmons,” he blurted out, stepping forward to offer his hand.

  Faolan’s head jerked up in surprise. “Is this the Marc?” he said to Colleen. When she nodded, he did what neither Colleen nor Marc would have expected in a million years. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. His whole body shook with the force of it and he had to clutch at the edge of the towel to prevent it from falling. “My apologies.” He waved to Marc when he was able to compose himself again, “I should clothe myself. Please, excuse me.”

  Shaking his head as the laughter started again, Faolan crossed the living room and disappeared behind the guest bedroom door. Colleen bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing herself at the outraged expression on her ex-husband’s face.

  Marc’s hand fell useless back to his side. He turned to give Colleen an accusatory glare. “What did you do? Hire somebody to be your boyfriend? You knew I’d be coming over and you paid him to be here. That’s pretty sad even for you, Colleen.”

  “Wow, you do think a lot of yourself, don’t you,” Colleen said, darting back into the kitchen when the browned waffles popped up. Picking them up with her fingertips, she dropped the hot squares on a waiting plate and stuck in four more. “As I told you last night, you may recall, Faolan’s my boyfriend, and we had no warning whatsoever you were coming over…”

  “He looks like a big, dumb gym rat.” Marc’s voice rose in his agitation and he threw the folder on the table. It landed with a heavy thunk. “Wait, let me guess. He’s gay, right?”

  “Not at the moment, he’s not,” Faolan snapped, stalking into the kitchen wearing only crimson silk pajama pants, accentuating the thick cords on either side of his abdomen and the trail of silky dark hair in between that disappeared into the intriguing territory beneath the low slung waistband. He moved with a predatory grace that belied his size, and Colleen succumbed to the overwhelming urge to sigh out loud this time, watching the heavy muscles slide and ripple under his skin. “And he’s not likely to become so until yer voice softens toward the woman.”

  Although Colleen caught the misunderstanding, she decided not to explain that particular term given the growing level of combustible testosterone in the kitchen. “Marc is under the impression I’m paying you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” she explained, placing her hand intimately over his heart. Faolan was so warm, his velvety skin caressing the slabs of hard muscle underneath. She fought against the urge to rub her cheek against the soft triangle of inky curls on his chest, and was almost disappointed when she won the battle.

  “Then he is a fool,” Faolan said simply, placing his hand over hers. “That honor is mine.” He captured her chin with his other hand and brushed his lips over hers. “Good morrow, Beauty.”

  “Good morning, darling,” Colleen said sweetly. “Sit down. Breakfast will be ready in just a moment.” With a nod, Faolan settled in at the table and leaned back in his chair, by all appearances relaxed and at ease. Colleen knew better. She felt the coiled tension rumbling like a live volcano when she laid her hand on Faolan’s chest, and knew it wouldn’t take much for it to erupt over all of them, with particular emphasis on Marc if Faolan’s unwavering gaze was any indication.

  First no men, now too many. One had got to go and survey says? Marc! Colleen turned to her ex husband and said, “I’d ask you to stay, except…well, I don’t want you to. Thanks for bringing the papers by, even if it was just an excuse for you to snoop.” She walked over to and stood by the kitchen entrance, a not so subtle hint to leave.

  “Jesus, Colleen, you’re being rather rude, don’t you–” Marc said. His criticism was interrupted by a large crack when the back of Faolan’s chair hit the floor as he shot up out of his seat to face the smaller man.

  Faolan’s voice was low and dangerous. “The lady has asked ye to leave. Best ye do so before I’m compelled to assist ye. Ye can go through the door on yer feet or on yer arse, I care not. But make no mistake, ye will go.”

  Marc sputtered his umbrage. “You don’t get to give the orders, Scotty. You don’t live here.”

  Colleen’s life flashed in front of her eyes as she jumped in between the large implacable rock and the smaller hard place. “Okay, now that’s–”

  “Certain of that, are ye?” Faolan took a step forward, but stopped abruptly and stared down at Colleen in utter disbelief. “Tell me he dinna just call me Scotty, lass. Surely the whelp’s not that daft.”

  “Whelp?” Marc guffawed, but Colleen didn’t miss the sudden look of concern that crossed his paling face. She turned to face Marc, holding her arms out in an effort to separate the two men.

  Faolan took another step. Colleen’s bare feet skittered over the tile, not finding any traction as his large body pushed against her back. As if she could. “Seriously, guys, this is getting–”

  “You need to tell Lurch there to back off,” Marc snapped, but the quaver in his voice betrayed just how fast his former bravado was leaving the building.

  “Both of you need to stop this right–” Colleen squeaked, her voice deserting her entirely.

  Faolan placed both hands around her waist and lifted her gently but easily out of his way, displaying the impressive strength in those large biceps. “See to breakfast, Blossom. This will only take a moment.” He smiled, dropping a kiss on her still damp hair. Turning his full attention to Marc, the smile vanished and he lowered his head like a bull about to charge.

  Having decided discretion was the better part of valor, Marc whirled and bolted for the door. “Never mind, I can take the hint. I’ll just see myself out,” he threw back over his shoulder. Faolan followed hot on his heels. Oblivious to both men, Colleen stopped at the kitchen door and peeked at the ongoing drama through splayed fingers. Marc was fumbling for the doorknob when a large hand slammed against the door next to his head, barring his exit.

  Towering over him, Faolan leaned down and whispered against Marc’s ear. “Know this,” he snarled, his burr thickening, “Cross me, boy, and I will end ye. Cross her,” he jerked his head toward the kitchen, “and there will be nae place to hide ye from me. She’s well shed of ye, and I’ll no’ have ye sniffin’ around trying to crawl back into her good graces. D’ye ken?”

  Marc swallowed heavily and nodded. Faolan gave the smaller man the pretense of a charming smile, lowering the tension level to a more bearable degree. “Now that we’ve gotten that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, the name’s Faolan MacIntyre and I’m going to lie and say I’m pleased to meet ye. I’ve heard much about ye–none of it good, I’m sorry to say.” He chuckled. “At any rate, I’m fair certain Colleen’s beside herself with joy that ye brought her belongings to her, but in the future, I think it best if ye let her know yer coming. We might have been occupied, ye know,” he gave Marc a meaningful wink. “The woman is mine now, and I willna have her upset again. Have we an
understanding?”

  At Marc’s grudging nod, Faolan straightened and opened the door. “Strange–I thought ye’d be…taller. Off ye go, lad,” he said, slamming it closed behind the fleeing man. There was a definite masculine swagger in his step when he reentered the kitchen.

  Having retreated hastily back into the kitchen Colleen sat waiting for him at the table with her arms crossed. “And what was all that about?” she demanded. “It’s a little early in the day for pissing contests.”

  The look on Faolan’s face was priceless. “Pissing contest?” he asked incredulously, taking the seat opposite her.

  “Animal Planet stuff…you know, like territorial squabbles between breeding males over…” her voice trailed off as understanding sunk in and she got all warm and fuzzy inside. “You were protecting me,” she said.

  Faolan gave her a warm smile. “Aye, Princess. I dinna like him before I met him, and I like him even less now. He’s a spoiled, petulant pup. If he bothers ye again, I’ll want to know about it.”

  “That pup is the same age as…never mind,” Colleen said with a self conscious laugh. “I guess you do have a year or two on him.” She saw her error in judgment at once. Marc was a mere boy in comparison to this battle hardened warlord who now sat in her kitchen stuffing his face with… “Hey, leave some of those for me,” she cried, grabbing for the disappearing plate of waffles.

  Marc didn’t put in an appearance at the gift shop all day, likely still licking the deep wounds on his ego. Colleen giggled, knowing Brandi had probably heard more manly versions of the mornings events, each more unlikely than the last. She tried–she really did–but couldn’t muster one single ounce of sympathy for the younger woman.

  That night after dinner they watched Star Wars: A New Hope. She crossed her fingers that sci-fi wouldn’t be too overwhelming for him, but Faolan enjoyed it immensely. He seemed unusually interested in the Jedi Mind Trick scene, even asking her to back it up so that he could watch Sir Alec Guinness tell the storm troopers “these are not the droids you seek” a second and third time. “Are such things possible now, lass?” he asked, saucer eyed.