by Silver James
“Where d’ya think yer goin’, Gwyn?”
She felt the color drain from her face as fear surged, making her fingers and toes tingle. Glancing around, she attempted to get her bearings, pretending his gruff words hadn’t scared her. “Home.”
“And you’d be knowin’ which direction that is?”
Another train entered the station, coming from the other direction. Doors opened and spit out a flood of people. Venn pushed her back against the wall, covering her with his big body. How did she not realize how much bigger he was? She wasn’t short at 5’6” but she had to tilt her head to see his eyes. His broad shoulders and chest completely hid her. Before, when he’d stood up to Dickie, he’s seemed slender—almost ephemeral and certainly not as substantial as this man who pressed against her.
Blood roared in her ears. Was that another train arriving? No, she decided, timing the thundering beat of her heart. Venn stepped back and she chilled, as if the heat in her blood was suddenly replaced by ice water. She looked up, licked her lips, and inhaled so deeply her breasts strained against her lacy bra.
His expression changed as he dipped his head. She licked her lips again, anticipating his kiss but his lips brushed her ear.
“Where do ya live, rich girl?”
Shocked, she cringed back from him, and he laughed at her stuttering attempt to answer.
“Ya’ve never ridden the subway, cailín. I need t’know yer address so I can see ya there safely.”
Gwyn reached deep, found her center and breathed. “Oh.” She had to suck in another breath before she could continue. What a mistake inhaling turned out to be! Scents of clove, orange, and something yeasty like fresh-baked bread filled her lungs. Her breasts brushed against his leather jacket as she inhaled and she watched his knowing smile bloom. The man knew exactly what he was doing. A mixture of fear and sexual want, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, screamed through her body, leaving her weak-kneed and breathless.
Venn flashed hot then cold as he watched Gwyn’s reaction to him. He needed her, the way a man needs a woman—naked and willing, cradling him between her thighs—but her vulnerability rasped at his nerves. He wanted to protect her, cushion her in bubble wrap so no hurt ever touched her. This was an alien feeling for him—one he didn’t like. At all. No entanglements, no attachments. Life was simpler that way. He lived to play his music, to receive accolades from his audience in the form of coins and bills dropped in his copper pot.
When he wanted company, all he had to do was smile at the ladies. They flocked to him, willing to warm his bed, open to adventures of the amorous kind. This woman? Fragile and strong. An innocent who had no place in his world but he was drawn to the very thing that should repel him. Venn had no inclination to soothe a spoiled heiress’s fears. Yet he’d stepped into her world, shouldered her problems.
He would have to examine his actions later. For now, he needed to rid himself of her. She was a complication and a distraction. “Yer address, cailín.”
“I…TriBeCa.” She mumbled the address as he took her arm and towed her along the platform. They weren’t too far, just another subway ride away. When the next train pulled in, he urged her onboard and followed.
Venn should have cut her loose, sent her to the surface to catch a cab, but he wasn’t ready to let her go, not yet. Something about her drew him like a leprechaun to a pot of gold. He leaned down and sniffed her hair. She smelled of cinnamon and coffee, not at all what he expected. He had no particular fondness for either scent, but the blending of the aromas tightened his abdominal muscles and stirred things slightly lower. Yeah, he definitely was not through with her.
After a short ride, he nudged her off the train and led her up to the street. A quick walk in frigid air brought pink to her cheeks. Venn relaxed as they walked with her arm tucked through his, her blooming like a Christmas rose. Across the street from her apartment building, she stumbled and froze. Venn pulled up short.
“Gwyn?” He noted her blanched face and wide, frightened eyes
“I can’t go home.” She ducked back toward an alley, pulling him along with her.
“What’s wrong?”
She gulped, the muscles of her throat working to draw his gaze. Her eyes darted from the man speaking to the uniformed doorman near the entrance, to her building, to him, and back again. “That’s Sumner. Dickie must have called him.”
Her hand trembled where he held it captive in the crook of his arm. Keeping her behind him, he stared across the street for the first real look at his rival.
His brain stuttered a moment. Rival? What was he thinking? He didn’t want Gywn—not forever. A quick tumble? Sure. Especially if it tweaked the wanker she was engaged to.
The arse had a bloody bodyguard fer chrissakes.
Even so, he studied the man. Tall. Athletic in a I-play-squash-and-golf sort of way. He had dark hair and dark eyes, as far as Venn could tell. He dressed befitting a man of industry. And his heart was as cold and black as winter’s midnight. Just like Venn’s.
For a fragile moment, he considered taking Gwyn home with him.
“Please?”
The whispered question pulled his attention back to the woman huddling behind him. “Please what, luv?”
“I need to get out of here. Will you take me to a hotel?”
And that was that. Her request deflated the thought bubble floating around his brain. Reason overcame folly.
“Sure.” He growled the word, then wanted to kick his own arse. Venn was better off with this bit o’fluff well and good away from him.
After a couple of blocks to muddy the trail, he hailed a cab, put her in the backseat, and said goodbye. He’d never see Lady High Muckity Muck again. Good riddance. He didn’t have room in his life for a high maintenance society girl wearing a diamond on her left hand the size of the Blarney Stone.
The cab pulled away, but he remained standing on the curb, watching. At the last moment, Gwyn turned to stare out the back window. She looked lost and forlorn, and again, that curious shift in his heart knocked up against his subconscious.
“Fa. Better to get m’self far away from the girl. She’s nothin’ but trouble and that’s fair certain.”
Shouldering his duffel, he headed back to the subway. He’d play to the crowds there, quick little ditties between trains to make up for the quids he’d already missed by runnin’ around like a feckin’ nursemaid to the poor little rich girl.
****
Venn set up shop, pulled out his violin, and played. People gathered waiting for their trains. Arrivals paused, listening before heading to the streets above. His bowl filled. Then a sassy brunette, older but with flashing green eyes, stopped and stayed, flirting with him between numbers.
“I’ll buy you dinner,” she offered. He knew what she really wanted. Her jewelry, perfect hair and makeup, and designer duds gave her away. Bored society wife looking for a dark and dangerous liaison. She lived close, and as he sat across from the woman in her expensive apartment, he couldn’t help but wish her eyes were blue.
Chapter Three
Room service arrived, the bell hop placing her tray on the table near the window so Gwyn would have a view of the city. Sumner would be tracking her credit card by now. She had maybe twenty-four hours before Dickie showed up at the door to escort her home.
She pushed the food on her plate around in desultory circles. Leaden skies reflected light back onto the buildings and streets. Somewhere out there a man named Venn McLyre lived. A man with shaggy blond hair, a gruff manner, and hazel eyes that shifted from green to brown like water in a pond.
She remembered the feel of his wool pea coat beneath her fingers, pictured the tarnished brass buttons. The jacket hung open, revealing the heavy fisherman’s knit sweater beneath. Black jeans, faded at the knees, scuffed combat boots, and fingerless leather gloves. What did he do for a living? He had the face of an angel, the soul of a poet, and the body of a…warrior. She snickered at her flight of fancy. There were no war
riors in this world. Soldiers, yes, but warriors? Like those of old? The knights and highlanders and lords of the romance novels she devoured? If men like that ever existed, they surely were extinct now.
Gywn would have this one night to herself. After her histrionics at the bridal shop, her mother would insist she return to the family brownstone. Or Sumner would put Dickie on twenty-four-seven guard duty. Instead of rushing out to enjoy her last night of freedom, she sat here alone, staring out the window. A star flickered brightly, catching her eye.
The clouds from earlier parted like a dirty lace curtain and that one star stood in stark relief against the midnight velvet sky. As she watched enthralled, the star appeared to grow before exploding in a shower of sparks as it arched across the heavens. Just like before, when she’d been a lonely teen. And just like before, she made the same wish on the falling star.
“Starlight, star bright.” Closing her eyes tightly, she wished for a man to love her. Her. Not her family name. Not her trust fund. Her. Eyes peered at her from behind her lids—eyes wild with magic and cloaked in mystery. She shivered and opening her eyes, stared out across the city. “Are you out there somewhere? Do you even know I exist?”
****
Venn watched the star fall and something curled deep inside—a memory as fleeting as the fiery trail, flaring for a moment before snuffing out into darkness. Frustrated, he pulled up the collar of his coat. That star meant something. It tugged at him, at his subconscious. No matter how hard he thought on it, he couldn’t decipher the message.
Clouds closed the curtain on the celestial display and snowflakes twirled on a puff of wind. Nine faeries dancing. The fanciful thought came unbidden. Feckin’ Irish myths. This world held no magic—no fair folk or leprechauns, no brownies or ban sidhe.
“Are you a guest, sir?”
Startled from his reverie, Venn glanced around. He stood in front of a boutique hotel with a uniformed doorman. Shocked, he shook his head and strode down the sidewalk, away from the man, the door, and the temptation that lurked within the bright lights of the place. Somewhere in that pile of brick and mortar, a woman waited.
Gwyn.
How had he ended up outside the very hotel she’d gone to? Leaning against a wall across the street, he surveyed the hotel’s windows. One softly illuminated window drew his gaze. Gwyn’s. He knew it as surely as his hand clutched his duffel bag. He willed her to come to the window, to look out, to see him. A shadow passed, and he held his breath. A face appeared. Hers. She looked down. He could almost feel her surprise when she recognized him. Her lips formed an “O” then she disappeared.
“Fool,” he whispered, the word a harsh whisper of condemnation. “She’ll think you’re a stalker. Or worse.”
Why did he care? Why had this woman gotten under his skin? He had no room or desire for entanglements, and the baggage this cailín hauled around was far more burden than he wanted to shoulder. Still, he lingered. Would she reappear? Would she sic security on him?
Like a cat with no sense of self-preservation, his curiosity got the best of him.
He was rewarded when Gwyn appeared at the entrance. She dashed onto the sidewalk, her head swiveling back and forth until she found him in the shadows. Oblivious to traffic, she crossed the street with single-minded purpose. He recognized the wonder in her expression, suspected it was mirrored in his own.
“I thought I’d never see you again.”
Her breathless words could have been confession or condemnation. Venn didn’t care. She was close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. His groin tightened as his shaft swelled with the want of her. He reached out, snagged her arm, pulled her to him.
“Ah, cailín. I think ya’ve bespelled me.”
Tires squealed and Venn instinctively faded deeper into the shadows, drawing Gwyn with him. Keeping her safely in the circle of his arms, he watched the car from that morning—gods, had he only known Gwyn for less than a day? The car double-parked, and Dickie jumped out to open the back door. Sumner Barrett stepped out. Venn’s opinion hadn’t changed.
Gwyn gasped and ducked behind him, though the shadows cloaked them. Barrett strode into the hotel like he owned the place, Dickie stumbling in his wake like an anxious puppy. The men disappeared inside.
“Damn.”
Her soft curse caught Venn by surprise. He arched a brow in question.
“I didn’t think they’d find me until tomorrow.” She offered a tentative smile. “Looks like you’ve saved me again.”
“So it appears.” In that moment, he decided. He was taking her home with him. The hounds hunting her couldn’t find her there. And he’d have the chance to explore her—and his attraction to her. “Come home with me.”
Debating whether to hail a cab or make their way to the subway, the decision was taken away when Gywn’s fiancé burst from the hotel and demanded the doorman tell him which direction she’d gone.
She trembled beneath his arm and he quickened his pace. “Come, luv. Keep yer head down and keep walkin’. We’ll get around the corner and find a cab.”
Something primal and fierce snapped to attention inside him. That this woman—his woman—should be so frightened unleashed something dark and dangerous. Ice formed in his veins as he promised silent retribution to any who dared harm her.
Chapter Four
Venn put the kettle on the stove, watching Gwyn from the corner of his eye. She wandered through his apartment, studying his musical instruments, his artwork, the cracks in the bare, brick walls—everything but him.
“What’s this?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her question. She’d picked up one of the instruments and held it gingerly.
“Uilleann pipes, luv. The Irish version of bagpipes.”
“You…you must be very talented if you play all these.” Her wide-flung gesture took in the baby grand piano, the violins, guitars, harp, and various flutes and drums.
“Aye. I s’pose I am.”
“But you play on the street.”
He bristled at her insinuation. “’Tis no shame in that, girl.” Turning his back, he concentrated on preparing tea though he really wanted a tall glass of dark ale or better yet, a bottle of good Irish whiskey. Bringing Gwyn here was a bad idea.
Venn startled at the soft touch to his back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snobbish. I just…” She chuckled—a shy, self-deprecating sound. “I have no talent. For anything.” She swallowed nervously and retreated a bit as he handed her a mug. “Would you play for me?”
Tilting his head, he studied her. She certainly wasn’t what he’d come to expect from the nobs. Her expression, while tentative, was open, her eyes showing interest. He tossed a shrug with one shoulder. “What would you like me to play?”
A faint smile teased the corner of her mouth. “Would it be too trite if I asked for something traditionally Irish?”
Despite the curve of her lips, her blue eyes clouded with worry. She watched him warily, and his heart lurched. What sort of monster was she marrying that the asking of something so trivial had her tied up in such knots?
“Sure, luv.” He picked up the pipes, arranged the instrument in his lap, and played. He started with “The Road to Lisdoonvarna,” a spritely tune then segued into the haunting “Innisfree.” When he stopped playing, the last sad note echoed in his loft. Tears shimmered in Gwyn’s eyes.
“That was beautiful.” She sighed and sniffled. Her cheeks suffused with color beneath his gaze.
Venn smiled and set aside the pipes. He moved the stool to sit behind the harp, watching her through hooded lids. With elegant fingers, he plucked the strings. Gwyn leaned forward in anticipation as he plucked the opening notes. Within a few measures, he began to sing.
Goosebumps rose on Gwyn’s arms, and she rubbed them absently. Venn’s voice mesmerized her, tugging at her subconscious, swirling around and teasing her with kitten-paw touches. He seemed to glow as he sang, eyes unfocused, lost in his love song. Two lovers, the man
deemed unworthy of his beloved. He watched his lady love fade away, only to return to him in a dream, promising they would be together even though she was dead.
This was truly the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing she’d ever heard. Soul mates. Destined to be together. Her heart swelled when she realized she knew him. Had always known him. Focused on Venn, she swore a swirl of rainbow glitter danced around him. Magic. His voice was pure magic.
Venn stood and walked to her. Slow. Determined. Hungry. Sure. Wanting. Hurt radiated in the depths of his eyes, and she wanted to scratch out the eyes of the woman who had scarred his gentle soul, leaving such terrible pain behind. Lost in his gaze, she moved into his arms as he joined her on the couch.
His breath feathered across her cheek and ruffled her hair. A delicate shiver tiptoed through her as her eyes drifted shut. Her hands burrowed into his mane of soft hair and her lips parted in a sigh as his kisses trailed down her throat. His tongue teased her collarbone then stopped, much to her disappointment. Venn shifted slightly, and her breath caught as he took her mouth in a kiss full of fire and demand. His lips claimed hers. His tongue conquered hers, thrusting inside and tasting her fully. She arched against him, his hands scorching her skin as they burrowed beneath her sweater.
“Oh my lord,” she breathed.
He chuckled, his lips vibrating against hers. His hand caressed her tummy, one finger dipping below the waistband of her slacks, and the one was soon joined by his whole hand. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she stiffened as he explored farther, his fingertips teasing the soft curls hiding between her thighs.
She pulled her hands away from the silken mass of his hair, and they formed fists without her command. Gwyn pushed against his chest and turned her head to break the kiss.
Venn leaned away from her, studying her expression as if he could read her innermost thoughts. “Do you want me to stop, cailín?”
“Yes. No.” Her breathless voice sounded hollow to her ears. “I don’t know.”
