“Time to go,” Meredith said.
“OK. I’ve kept you both long enough. Thanks for listening to me rant about my boasty ghosty.” She had things to do too. Like vacuuming, dusting and laundry. She had a chicken stew going in a slow cooker, and the town house smelled delicious, which gave it a cozy, homey feel. “Later.”
She ended the call and busied herself in domestic chores, the best thing she could do to keep her nerves at bay. How strange was her life? A man she found extremely attractive was coming over tonight, and there was no possibility of anything happening between them other than watching a movie. Not fair, dammit.
Fáelán picked at his supper, too worked up to eat. Finally, he pushed it away and poured the fae wine into his wineskin. Bathed, shaved and dressed in a clean tunic and trews, he’d done as much as he could to make himself presentable. ’Twas time to go. He’d never before left his island prison at night. What if the fae servant coming to take away the remains of his meal reported him missing? Worry dampened his excitement to be with Regan.
He strode to his lean-to, where he’d stashed the brush and boughs he’d gathered earlier. He bundled and tied everything into the rough shape of a sleeping man. Or that was what he hoped the result to be. Next he wrapped his cloak around the form and stuffed the hood with rolled cloth to look like his head. For the final touch, he threw his woolen blanket over the whole mess. Surveying the results, he grunted. “’Twill have to do.” By the time he finished his preparations, his insides were churning. He couldn’t let Regan down, but every instinct he possessed cried a warning that he shouldn’t go.
The way he saw it, there were three possibilities: Morrigan no longer cared about him, and he had naught to fear; Morrigan would want him to fall in love with Regan, so the fae princess could incite more mischief; or Morrigan would put a stop to his wanderings for the sole purpose of continuing to keep him a prisoner out of sheer meanness. No matter which case might be true, his best course was to use caution whilst wooing Regan.
Should he wait until after the servant came? Nay. There was no telling when that might be. His food always arrived on a schedule, but the gathering up of the remains? On that the fae were unpredictable, and ofttimes the servant who brought his breakfast also took the supper tray away.
Moving to the shadows beneath the pines, he listened and watched for several long minutes. Certain he was alone, he focused his thoughts and his will upon Regan’s home, which she’d allowed him to enter when they had returned from their travels. The whoosh and pull took him, and he appeared in her kitchen. She stood in the living room, staring out the front window. She shifted and fidgeted with the curtains. Regan watched for his arrival, and knowing so caused his breath to catch.
Could he hope ’twas anticipation that caused her to be so nervous? She’d admitted to wanting him, but wanting lived a far pace away from caring, and ’twas her caring he longed for. “What be ye looking for outside, Regan?”
She gasped and whirled around, her cheeks turning a most attractive pink. “God, Fáelán, you startled me.” She put a hand over her heart. “Whew, I’ll never get used to the way you pop in and out.”
“’Tis sorry I am to have startled ye, but I cannot knock, and ye did invite me in when last we were together. ’Twas this room I fixed my mind upon when leaving my island. Would it not seem odd to open your door to no one should one of your neighbors happen to be about?”
“I guess.” She gestured to the couch. “Have a seat. What kind of movies do you like? I suppose you’ve had plenty of opportunities to watch TV when visiting your family.”
He approached, and her eyes widened, and she twisted her hands together. “There’s no need to be so nervous, lassie. We’ve spent entire days together, have we not?”
“I know, and yet I am nervous.” She took another deep breath. “This is so strange. You’re here, and I can’t touch you.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “I mean—”
“Come to me, Regan. Let us see if the veil has thinned since last we tested the boundaries.” She walked to him, her expression one of hope and vulnerability. His blood rushed, and longing for her nearly scorched him to ash.
“OK,” she said, leaning into him.
Without thought he encircled her with his arms and tilted his forehead toward hers. “I have ye in my arms at last, but we’re a world apart all the same.”
She nodded, a half smile lifting the corners of her kissable lips. “Having your arms around me is like being surrounded with Bubble Wrap.”
“I do believe the boundary has diminished a wee bit.” Their gazes locked. Her eyes darkened with desire, and his heart pounded in response. “Can ye hear it, mo a grá?”
She blinked. “Hear what?”
“My heart beating so strongly. I fear ’twill burst.” He tried to tighten his arms around her, tried like hell to get closer, but it only caused a shifting that nearly unbalanced the both of them. He let go of her. “Ye’ve no idea how badly I wish to kiss ye.”
She groaned and walked into her kitchen. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea. I don’t think I’ve ever been this frustrated or this . . . Gah, I don’t even have the words for everything I’m feeling right this minute, but it’s a shit storm, believe me.”
Her shoulders bunched as she opened the bottle of wine sitting on the counter and poured a glass for herself. She placed a pouch of popcorn in the microwave and started it, watching the bag expand through the glass, her back still turned to him.
He wished he could smell the popcorn. Hell, he wished he could fill his lungs with Regan’s unique scent. What might she smell like? Sweet? Spicy? Did she have a favorite perfume? “Faith, Regan. Ye have my word, I’ll not let ye down.”
“You don’t owe me anything, so there’s no possibility of letting me down,” she said to the microwave. “Don’t feel . . . obligated.”
“Obligated?” He frowned.
“You know what I mean.” Finally, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “I just can’t see anything coming from all of this. No future, you know?”
The sadness and skepticism clouding her features nearly broke him. “How can ye think such a thing? We’ve not yet begun. We’ve the whole of our lives afore us, and if—”
“Newgrange,” she whispered. “Let’s watch a movie. A romantic comedy. How about Leap Year with Amy Adams?” Regan took her popcorn from the microwave and dumped it into a plastic bowl.
“Whatever pleases ye would be fine.” Never afore had his chest ached with this heaviness pressing upon him as it did now. He couldn’t tolerate seeing her unhappy, and his helplessness to do aught to ease her doubts smote him. Frustration surged, and hatred for Morrigan ignited.
Fáelán forced himself into a calmer state and took a seat beside Regan on the couch. She fiddled with the remote control until she found the movie she’d mentioned and pushed “Play.”
“I used to watch the Irish version of the movie The Secret of Roan Inish all the time just to listen to the Gaeilge,” she said.
“Did ye now,” he said, unstopping his wineskin and taking a long pull.
She nodded. “And I have an Irish radio app on my phone that I listen to all the time while I’m driving.”
“Ah.” He hadn’t realized how painful falling in love could be. Had that been the reason why he’d never given his heart? Was he a coward after all? While Regan watched the ridiculous movie, he sank deep into his own dark thoughts. Fáelán huffed out a breath, eliciting a curious smile from Regan. “’Tis a silly movie,” he muttered.
“Do you want me to put something else on?” she asked, one delicate brow raised. “Something with exploding cars and fight scenes?”
“Nay. This will do, but the next time we watch a movie together, ’twill be my choice.”
“Deal.” She smiled, her eyes filled with amusement.
By God, her smiles and frowns could pierce through the toughest leather armor to find their mark—his heart. What if he gave her his love, and she refused to love him
back? His curse would be broken, aye, but he would break as well.
Regan yawned and leaned into him, or into the Bubble Wrap border separating them anyway. His insides tumbled, and more than anything he longed to stroke her silken hair and kiss her brow. This tenderness filling him had naught to do with lust and everything to do with an overpowering desire to enfold her into his keeping, and to see her happy, safe and protected. “Clonmacnoise tomorrow?”
“Sure, and I read about a pub in Athlone that has been in existence for nine hundred years. Sean’s Bar.” She raised her head to peer at him, her expression hopeful. “There’s a castle in the middle of town too. Can we visit both?”
“We can.”
She yawned and settled back to resume watching the movie. Occasionally she sipped her wine, but the bowl of popcorn sat untouched. Fáelán lifted his legs and set his feet atop the table, his entire being focused upon the woman sitting beside him. It wasn’t long before Regan’s breathing steadied and slowed. She’d fallen asleep. He looked his fill, memorizing the peacefulness suffusing her beautiful features and the way her lashes fanned against the smoothness of her cheeks. A lump rose to his throat, and a wave of possessiveness overtook him.
He leaned close, trying like hell to catch even a hint of the heat and the scent radiating from her skin. Unable to sense anything, he had to content himself with watching her sleep.
That she existed at all truly was a miracle, and this nagging worry plaguing him was naught but anxiety about his cursed state. All he had to do was give his heart fully in order to be free. As Regan had pointed out, could it really be that simple? Why not? Morrigan had more to occupy her time than fretting over a mortal lover from ages past.
Chapter Six
Yoga had always been the cure-all for whatever ailed Regan, but today not even Ashtanga helped calm her. Still, she persisted, moving through the postures while her mind continued to twist and turn along its own chaotic path. Today was the day, the nineteenth of June. Fáelán had told her to expect him anytime after noon. He’d be with his family for a while first, and they lived in County Waterford, two and a half hours away from Howth. He’d said he had business to see to, and once he’d taken care of it, he’d come for her. She gave up on yoga and opted for a hot bath, hoping a good soak might help untangle the knots she’d tied herself into.
By the time she’d wasted an hour in a hot bath, dressing and applying makeup—on the off chance Fáelán really would show up—it was nearing lunchtime. Too bad she was too nervous to eat. She’d already packed a bag, since they’d be spending the night in Waterford. Now what? She fought the compulsion to stare out the window like a lovesick teen.
Restless energy sent her into a frenzy of tidying. She sorted through the pile of junk mail that had accumulated, making a game out of crumpling the pieces and trying to hit the trash can from varying distances. Then she reorganized one of the kitchen cabinets, all the while refusing to watch the clock.
She was in the middle of making a pot of chamomile tea when a firm knock resounded through the room. She jerked, spilling hot water on the counter. “Oh, God.” Could it be? Biting her lip, she wiped her hands on a towel and tossed it over the spill. She hurried across the room, opened the front door . . . and lost her breath. Her jaw dropped.
There he stood, in all his hot magnificence. So much adrenaline surged through her system that all she could do was gape. Fáelán wore jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt that showed off his sculpted torso. Gulp. His shiny auburn hair had been unbraided and brushed smooth. Today he wore it neatly tied back. She itched to set it free and mess it up.
They faced each other in silence, taking inventory. God, he was beautiful.
Once the adrenaline receded, her legs could barely hold her upright. “Come in,” she managed to rasp out. The vein on the side of Fáelán’s neck pulsed, and his face had turned a dusky red. Good to know she wasn’t the only one finding the moment more than a little unsettling. He stepped across her threshold, closed the door behind him and slouched against it as if he needed the support. She could relate.
Regan reached out and placed her trembling hand upon his chest, needing tangible proof he was real. His warmth radiated up her arm along a path straight to her heart. He was warm, solid and breathing. His heart beat like crazy beneath her palm—not even remotely ghostlike.
She swallowed against the strangling lump clogging her throat. “I needed proof,” she whispered, patting his chest. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
“Did I not tell ye I would be, oh doubting one?” He placed both of his hands over hers where they rested on his chest.
Hers wasn’t the only voice with a telltale quiver. Fáelán brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed the tips. Then he pressed her palm against his cheek. “Mo a míorúilt lómhar, is this naught but a dream? Are ye really here as well, or have I conjured ye from the depths of my despair?” he asked, his eyes misting.
His gaze roamed over her, coming back to stare into her eyes with such intensity she could hardly draw a breath. “Fáelán . . .” She needed him to hold her. She longed to feel his vibrancy, his aliveness. Inhaling deeply, she caught the earthy scent wafting from him, like he’d spent the day in fresh pine-infused air and sunshine. The space between them arced with pent-up sexual tension. “Would you—”
“I would.” He drew her against him, his breathing ragged.
His mouth sought hers, and his kiss stole her ability to do anything but feel. Sensations coursed through her in a rush so powerful she trembled from the sheer strength of her response. The reality of his presence still stunned her. A mix of arousal, relief and happiness rendered her speechless. He moaned against her lips and plowed his fingers into her hair, sending need coiling low in her belly.
“I can scarce keep my legs beneath me, lassie. I’ve yearned to touch ye, to hold ye close for what seems like all the long centuries I’ve lived.” He trailed kisses along her jawline and down to the sensitive spot between her shoulder and her neck. “’Twill be a trial indeed to keep my hands from ye, but we must be on our way. We’ve plans.”
His erection pressed against her, and she throbbed and ached with wanting him. “Plans?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled into his warmth. The heat radiating from him, coupled with the way he smelled, drugged her senses. “Can’t the plans wait?”
He kissed her forehead and set her away from him. “I’m taking ye to meet my kin as we agreed, and they await our arrival. There’s to be a gathering at three.” He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and peered at her. “And later, I intend to take ye out on a date. We’ll have a fine meal, listen to traditional Irish music, and there will be dancing. Ye deserve to be courted properly, love.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for weeks? I’m not suggesting we spend the afternoon in bed, Fáelán.” She still didn’t know if he’d told the truth about being cursed, but he was here now, and she’d wanted him since the day they’d met.
He did his deep chest-purring thing, and tendrils of desire unfurled within her. Breathless and needy, she rose to her toes and kissed him. She tugged his T-shirt out of his jeans and slid her palms up his bare sides. His skin was soft and warm, and he smelled so damn good.
His tongue circled around hers, and he drew her closer. “Ye tempt me away from my good intentions, woman,” he growled into her ear.
A shiver of pleasure sluiced through her. “Give in.” She took his hand and tugged him toward the stairs leading to her bedroom. He resisted for a moment. “Fáelán, honestly, I don’t want to meet your family feeling like I do right now.”
His eyes darkened, and his nostrils flared. “And how is that?”
“Hot and bothered. We’ve already had this discussion. I want you; you want me.” She flashed him a disgruntled look. “Remember?”
“Aye, I recall, and we agreed ’tis a good thing indeed.” He drew her back into his arms and kissed her again, crushing her to him. “Lead me wher
e you will, mo a grá. I am yours to command.”
Grá meant “love.” She’d looked it up. Her eyes stung, and more than anything, she wanted him to love her, so he could be free. Then maybe they’d be able to forge a future together.
This time when she tugged at his hand, he followed. She’d never wanted anyone the way she wanted him. Breathless, her heart pounding, she led him to her bedroom. Fáelán scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently before backing up a step.
Keeping his eyes fixed upon her, he kicked off his shoes, undid his belt and stripped naked in no time flat. Her boasty ghosty wasn’t shy about his body, nor did he have a reason to be. He was a work of art. Tattoos covered his sculpted chest and broad shoulders. The man was perfect, freckles and all.
His gaze still drilling into hers, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her. “’Tis your turn, my beauty.” He removed her shoes and socks, massaging one foot, then the other.
She sighed with pleasure, and he rose to undo her jeans, sliding them down slowly, kissing the bare skin along the way, then tossing her pants to the floor. He paused to gaze at her lacy, pink panties, a sexy grin lighting his features. He scooted down on the mattress and skimmed his lips over her belly.
“Ahh, that tickles.”
“In a good way?” He peered up at her, one side of his mouth turned up.
She nodded. He tugged her panties down, kissed and nibbled her hips, moving to her thighs, sliding the pink lace lower. He tossed the panties to the floor and began working his way back up, kissing and nibbling every inch of her. Finally, he rid her of her blouse and bra in the same agonizingly slow, seductive manner.
Somewhere along the way, her bones had liquefied. She explored his body, sliding her hands up his back and then over his amazing chest. They came together, skin to skin, sexual energy and heat building between them. She was already wet and throbbing for his touch.
Tangled in Time (The McCarthy Sisters) Page 10
