“Ah, gods, Regan, Tá tú go hálinn, maise, as beautiful as the dawn, and as soft as clouds.” He cupped a breast, running his thumb over her sensitized nipple.
A shock wave of pleasure traveled from her nipple to her core, and she arched into him, wanting more, wanting his mouth on her.
“Ye drive me mad with wanting ye.” He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping her into a frenzy. “I’m helpless against your charms, I tell ye.”
She reached low between them, stroking him from the base of his erection to the tip, running her palm over the head. Regan reveled in the feel of him, his hardness and the velvety softness of his hot skin. His sudden intake of breath, the way he moved into her palm, caused a surge of wetness.
Nuzzling his throat, Regan inhaled his intoxicating essence, and she nipped at the spot where his pulse pounded. He hissed out a breath, and the sound went straight through her. Tipping her face up to his, Fáelán kissed her deeply. She loved the way he kissed, like she held center stage in his wildest fantasies.
His hands were everywhere then, inciting a riot of desire. Never had she lost herself like this with anyone. Never had she melted, body and soul, like she did with Fáelán. She opened her thighs, needing him to touch her there, and clever man that he was, he caught on quick. Stroking her, he circled her clit, but not quite touching her where she needed him to. He tortured her into a fever pitch until she strained and writhed against him.
“Fáelán . . . ,” she whispered. “Don’t tease.” He chuckled low in his throat, and she sucked his earlobe between her teeth and bit down in retaliation.
“Ahhh,” he breathed out, trembling against her.
Finally, he brought his palm over her cleft and pressed, moving up and down, creating a delicious friction, while a finger entered her to touch just the right place deep inside. He kissed her deeply, his tongue swirling around hers. Pressure built, and she surrendered, completely immersed in the moment. She came in an explosive rush, shuddering and helpless in his arms.
He rose to his knees between her thighs and sat back on his heels. His gaze moved hungrily over her. She was completely open to him, vulnerable and boneless. His chest rose and fell, and he ran his hands over her breasts, an expression of awe suffusing his features.
“Like a wild rose, all soft and pink,” he murmured, caressing her breasts. “And down here,” he said, bringing his hands to her sex. “All dewy as ye are for me, ’tis a gift beyond imagining.”
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and the intensity of the bond flowing between them. “I want you, Fáelán.” She reached for him, drawing him to her, and he thrust home, filling her physically and emotionally.
He made love to her slowly, taking her mouth in a demanding kiss. Regan held him close and wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing him deeper. His breathing came faster, and he pressed his face into her neck as he rocked into her. Pressure once again built in her core. She dropped her legs to dig her heels into the mattress, meeting his thrusts with hers, until she spasmed and tightened around him.
His muscles straining, Fáelán braced himself with his arms straight, threw his head back and came. He called out her name and shuddered with his release. Collapsing beside her, he gathered her in his arms and murmured sweet Irish endearments into her ear as they both recovered their breath and their heart rates slowed. Replete and overwhelmed by what they’d just shared, Regan couldn’t muster a coherent thought to save her life. Fáelán stroked her back, occasionally pressing her close, so her breasts squished against his chest.
Sighing heavily, he backed up a bit to look at her, smoothing the hair from her face. “I told ye ’twould be a very good thing between us, did I not?” With a grin of total male satisfaction, he winked at her. “Ye see, lassie, as a Fiann, I am sworn to be a good and generous lover, and I’m particularly devoted to the art, ye understand.”
She laughed, and he shot her a mock scowl. That only made her laugh harder, and tears slid down her cheeks. After weeks of tension and uncertainty, she’d built up plenty of steam that needed to be released. She widened her eyes. “Oh, you’re being serious?”
“Hmph.” He smacked her bottom. “As much as I’d like to tarry in bed with ye, we do need to be going. A quick shower, love, and then we must be off.”
“All right. At least I’m much calmer now.” She slid off the bed, stood up and raised her arms in a total body stretch. A languorous, sated contentment weighted her limbs. Fáelán’s hot, appreciative stare brought a grin to her face. “Come on. You’re right. We need to get going.” She was curious to see how he and his kin interacted. Hopefully she’d be able to ask them about Fáelán’s curse and their history with him. Though she still harbored doubts, with every fiber of her being, she wanted to believe his story.
After a hasty shower together, Fáelán urged Regan to get ready quickly. Once they were dressed, he grabbed her things and led her to his MINI Cooper, which he’d parked behind her car. He opened the back and tossed her bag and their jackets inside.
“You drive?” She flashed him a questioning look, pulled out her phone and snapped another picture of him. She’d also taken pictures of the two of them in bed, with the sheets pulled up to their chins and their heads touching close together.
“How did ye think I’d come for ye? Of course I drive.” He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt this good. Grinning broadly, he opened the passenger door for her. “I’ve had twenty days each year in which to learn to do many modern-day activities. I’ve a license, lassie. My kin . . .” He frowned. Did he really want to get into how he’d been born and died over and over—on paper anyway? “Well, I guess ye’d say they’ve helped me keep current.”
“Huh,” she said. “That’s a lot of centuries of change and new stuff to learn, especially the technology. I can’t imagine what it must be like to hold all of that in your brain.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but aye, I’ve taken in more than my share of change.”
Regan slid into the leather seat on the passenger side, and he closed the door. She watched him circle around to the driver’s side. Truth be told, he rather liked the way she couldn’t seem to take her eyes from him. He strutted a bit and threw his shoulders back, giving her a better showing of his fine form. She rolled her eyes as he settled himself behind the wheel and started the car.
“Boasty ghosty showing off?” she teased.
“Cursed Fiann showing off,” he asserted. “Newgrange, love. After what we shared in your bed, isn’t it well past time ye gave up the notion of my being a scáil?”
“Hmm.” She sighed but said nothing to contradict him.
As soon as he had them on the road, he reached for her hand and placed it under his on the gearshift. “I love the way your skin feels, ’tis so very soft and warm. I cannot get enough.” He squeezed her hand and glanced sideways at her. “’Tis odd, is it not? Weeks of getting to know ye, whilst not able to feel your warmth, detect even a hint of your sweet scent or to touch ye in any way, and now I’m overtaken with it all at once. I find I must touch ye in some way every second, or I might perish from the lack.”
“I know what you mean. Watching you open the car door and climb in . . . such an ordinary thing to do, but after weeks of having you pop in and out of places . . .” She shook her head. “It’s mind-boggling to say the least.”
When he shifted gears, he moved her hand with his, and ’twas as if they’d been shifting gears that way forever. How could he feel this familiar and intimate with her after such a short span of time? Aye, he’d come to her every single day since they’d met, but they’d been worlds apart. Truly, he’d enjoyed acting as her tour guide, sitting beside her while she did Internet searches. Even more so, the way they’d argued about history, politics and religion. Ofttimes, they’d had long conversations about nothing at all. And they’d shared mealtimes together, he with food pilfered from his trays, she with whatever she’d cooked for herself. “We get on well, d
o we not?”
She shot him a wry look. “As long as I’m not herding you toward the light, and you’re not telling me impossible tales of faerie curses.”
“Do ye truly still harbor doubts?” He canted his head and frowned at her.
She shrugged and stared out the window.
“Regan . . .” His chest tightened, and the depth of his hurt at her skepticism stunned him.
“Mmm?”
Ah, but not even he could predict how things would turn out between them. Could he honestly say he’d given his heart fully into her keeping? A wrench to his heart stole his breath, and doubt flooded his mind. He couldn’t say. The kind of love he desperately needed could not be forced. “Ah, never ye mind. We’ve five days, and I do not wish to bicker them away.”
“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, Fáelán. You have to admit this entire situation is bizarre.”
“Not to me, but then I’ve lived with the reality of my curse for nearly eighteen hundred years.”
“Hearing you say that doesn’t make it any easier for me to accept.” She shifted to face him. “Tell me who I’m going to meet this afternoon.”
“Nephews, nieces and cousins, many, many generations removed.”
“Do you go by a surname?”
“Aye. Fáelán Breck O’Boyle.” He glanced at her. “Breck was my da’s name. It means freckled one.”
“Your name has a nice ring to it, and you obviously take after your dad with all those freckles.” She grinned. “So, were you able to take care of all your business this morning?”
He’d crossed the realms at midnight. For the first time ever, it had been a struggle to fix his attention upon his home. He would rather have gone straight to Regan. “I did. I rose early to break my fast with family afore running a few errands. All is in readiness.”
“What does that mean? What kind of errands?”
“Well, to court ye, I needed to lay my hands on some euros. Then there are always records needing to be updated, things to be renewed.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Though I’m only able to spend twenty days per year in this realm, I must maintain a life of sorts, or at least the appearance of a life.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Because ye believed me a scáil who made up a tale about being cursed by a mythical faerie princess?”
“Pretty much.” She took her hand from beneath his and fiddled with the purse in her lap.
She was being forced to confront her doubts about him, and the struggle showed plain upon her beautiful face. She’d come around, especially if he fell in love with her and the curse broke at last.
“So, you have a place where you stay while you’re here? Of course you do.” She huffed out a breath. “That sounded strange, didn’t it? Like you’re visiting from another country, and not from a different plane of existence.”
Fáelán reached for her hand and took it back without saying a thing, for there was no need to belabor the point.
“I didn’t sleep well last night. Too nervous about today, I guess.” Regan leaned her head back, lowered the backrest and closed her eyes. “Do you mind if I nap?”
“Not at all.” She fell asleep quickly, and he stole glances at her when he could. The joy of having her near was something to be savored. In truth, their lovemaking had affected him more deeply than he thought possible. Sex had always been enjoyable but never the intense, soul-sharing experience it had been with Regan. Never before had thoughts of enfolding his lover into his keeping entered his thoughts like they had with her.
He drove on, replaying the best part of his day thus far—making love to Regan. A few hours later, he parked in front of his home. “Awake, my beauty. We’re here.” He leaned close and kissed her forehead.
She blinked, stretched and peered out the window. “This is where your family lives?”
“Aye, and where I stay when I’m able.” He climbed out of the car and walked around to open her door. Fáelán tried to see the place through her eyes. The rectangular house of stone and stucco boasted two chimneys, one on either end, and a slate roof stretching betwixt them. Neatly trimmed hedges graced the front, and the first-floor windows all held flower boxes with red, pink and white geraniums and hanging ivy. ’Twas home, even in ancient times, and he did love the land.
He reached out his hand, and she took it. “I built this house for my kin in the early nineteenth century.”
“How?” Regan asked. “I mean, it costs money to build houses and buy land. It’s not like you were earning a paycheck while in the void.”
“Early on, my da counseled me to look to the future and to what might aid me in my new life. Should I be fortunate enough to see the curse ended, I’d need the means to make my way.” He shrugged. “Over the centuries, I gathered what small treasures I could, bringing them with me when I crossed from one realm to the other. Later, my kin stockpiled and protected everything for me, and when needed, we sold some of my horde. ’Tis how I purchased this land and built my home.”
A wave of regret swamped him. “The armband ye saw in the museum, for instance.” He’d hated selling his da’s gift, but he’d needed a living far more than he needed an ancient ornament. “Private collectors and museums love antiquities, especially weapons and adornments made of precious metals and gemstones.”
“Gathered what treasures you could, eh? Did you steal them?” she asked, her brow raised. “Other than what you owned, like your armband, I mean.”
“Not all.” His conscience nipped at him, and his face heated. “And the things I did steal were not taken from any who would suffer greatly from the loss—a bauble here, a dagger or a sword with a jeweled hilt there, books, coins, whatever might be worth something in the future.”
“How did being a thief jibe with being a Fiann?”
He regretted the necessity, but he needed the means to protect himself and his people. “Ah, well, I only stole from our enemies, the English, mostly, or from arrogant, wealthy lords who oppressed us. I saw it as a continuation of my duty as a Fiann to protect the common folk.” His declaration was met with a skeptical look from Regan. “I had no choice, lassie. I had to ensure this land remained mine.”
“Are you still doing that, still stealing treasures?”
“Nay.” He shot her a sheepish look. “Once my kin and I learned about investing, there was no longer any need.”
Nodding, Regan shielded her eyes from the sun and looked toward the sea. “You have quite a view here.”
“Aye, ’tis breathtaking.” The front door opened, and his nephew stepped out. “Come, Regan. We are wanted.” He gestured toward the elderly silver-haired man standing at the door. Regan’s expression clouded at the sight of his nephew. He reached for her hand. “All will be well, sweetheart. Ye’ll see.”
“I’m always nervous about meeting new people.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Because of who I am and the abilities I have.”
Fáelán drew her close to his side and rubbed her shoulder. His heart ached for her. “These are my people, and they know there is far more to this world than meets the eye. Ye’ve naught to worry over.”
“I know. It’s a learned reaction from past experience. When most people learn that I see ghosts—and someone always spills the beans—they turn all judgmental. Then there are those who accuse me of being a con who preys on the grieving. Some are desperate to use me, while others are flat-out scared. I’ve suffered lots of rejection over the years.” She inhaled a long breath and let it out slowly. “OK. I’m ready.”
His chest ached with tenderness. Despite all her doubts and fears, she was willing to brave them for him. He fetched their things from the back of the car, and once again twining his fingers with hers, they walked to the front door. “Regan, this is Dr. James Ahearn, whom most call Jim. Nephew, this is Regan MacCarthy.”
Jim’s look bounced from him to Regan and back again. “Welcome, Regan, welcome. Come in!” He stood back to let her pass. “Buíchas le dia,” Jim m
uttered under his breath.
“Thank God, indeed.” Fáelán chuckled and patted the man’s shoulder.
“Not only can she bear your company, but she’s lovely besides,” Jim teased.
“Which are we thanking God for? That’s she’s lovely, or that she’s willing to suffer my company?”
“Both.” Jim grinned. “At last, there is hope.”
Regan cast him a look over her shoulder. He winked in response. She rolled her eyes, but he caught the barest hint of a smile.
“Aye.” He had hope, to be sure, but worry as well. Never one without the other, hope and worry always traveled as a pair. “There is hope.”
Chapter Seven
Fáelán ushered Regan into his house, and the sound of voices and laughter drifted to her from a spacious room to their left. The wainscoting on the walls of the room were the same golden oak as the double doors opened wide. A sectional couch faced a large fieldstone hearth, and several other seating arrangements were grouped throughout the space. This room alone had to be close to the square footage of her entire town house in Howth.
Regan stood at the threshold, eyeing the twenty-plus individuals within. A bar took up one corner, and a young man bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fáelán stood behind it, pouring drinks for an older couple. The bartender’s hair was short, more blond than auburn, and he didn’t have as many freckles. Still, if his hair were darker, he and Fáelán could easily pass for twins, or at least brothers.
Fáelán set his hand at the small of her back and gently moved her forward. All eyes turned to them, and greetings flew like swallows, dipping and swooping through the air.
“This is Regan MacCarthy,” Jim called over the din.
She was surrounded by smiling, happy faces in a wide range of ages. Hands took hers, someone patted her shoulder, and the younger children gamboled around the adults, picking up on the excitement. A surge of warmth spread through her. This was Fáelán’s family, and they were welcoming her into their midst.
“So you’re able to see Fáelán when he’s . . . um . . . ,” the young man who’d been behind the bar stammered.
Tangled in Time (The McCarthy Sisters) Page 11
