by Jaime Rush
A large pan nestled with chicken thighs, onions, and mushrooms, bubbled gently. His mouth actually watered. Of course, he was looking at her again, so he couldn’t be sure which had done it.
He heard a groan come out of him, and yet he hadn’t made the sound. Olaf’s energy suffused him. Bloody hell, he could come uninvited.
“I can smell it through ye,” Olaf said, making a long, snuffly sound. “Food. Like nothin’ I’ve ever laid me eyes on, but heavenly all the same.”
She walked closer, looking at him, but not at him. “Did you find out anything about the Void?”
“I seen it. Scary thing, scarier than the Light.”
Jessie’s face was filled with both fear and hope. “The Light? You mean the light people see when they die?”
“That’s the one. I didna want to go to the Light when I was dyin’. Go and be judged for my sins? Och, no way. I committed plenty.”
Lachlan tapped the knife’s handle on the counter. “So you’re a coward, then? Afraid to go to the Void?”
Rage exploded through him. “Ye’ll not call me a coward! I faced a hundred swords in my life, gave my life for Scottish freedom.”
The same darkness he’d felt the first time Olaf came into him now inundated Lachlan. He held on, his fingers tightening on the edge of the counter. Focus on the cold stone, on being here, now. Don’t let him take over again. Because in his other hand he held a knife.
Lachlan lost his vision for a few seconds, but he came back to find Jessie shaking his shoulders, a fearful look on her face. “Come back, Lachlan!”
The knife was jammed one inch into the cutting board. He had no memory of doing it.
“Olaf, back off!” he commanded.
The rage ceased, but Olaf remained. “Ye know the MacLeod temper.”
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“More like a warning, I’d say. Dinna disrespect your kin.”
“And clinging to me isn’t disrespecting me?”
“I’m no’ ready to go yet, Lachlan. Ye’ve given me a second chance. I’ll no’ be giving it up soon.”
Lachlan knew the spirit would definitely be trouble. He would only tolerate him because he needed him. “Olaf, we’ll be with you after dinner. Be gone.”
Olaf didn’t go. Lachlan’s chest tightened.
“Ye would deny me a chance to taste of the living, just once? I been trapped here, denied the chance to live, to eat, to feel anything. Suffering so.”
He might have been denying himself, and thus Olaf, but at least he didn’t whine about it. “It’s not like you can eat with us.”
“Nae, but I can watch you eat, can smell through you.”
“I don’t want you groaning and sniffing while I eat.”
“I’ll be quiet. Won’t even know I’m there. Go on, then.”
Lachlan tightened his lips on words that wanted to come out.
“All right, I’ll go, leave ye to your dinner. Dinna worry, lass, I’ll come back to tell ye more about the Void. I think I can help. But there’ll be a price to pay.”
Lachlan felt the whoosh, almost a vacuum, as Olaf left. “I dinna—do not like that he can come and go as he pleases. We don’t know if we can trust him. Look what your uncle did to stay alive.”
She had her arms wrapped around herself, her earlier glow gone. “I know. But I need him to find my father. Whatever price he wants, I’ll pay it. Daddy . . . he’s my kin. My only kin. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.”
“Don’t let Olaf hear you say that.” He didn’t know if Olaf could hear or see what transpired when he wasn’t present. The thought pricked at Lachlan. He hoped not.
“Let’s eat,” she said, pulling the plates close to the pan.
He lit a candle that sat in a red glass bowl on the table after blowing off the dust. They shared a bottle of wine with dinner, but he only poured himself a token amount. She wouldn’t let him open the bottle unless he was going to share it with her, so he’d said he would. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, though, so after swigging the splash, he brought back a can of Guinness and a glass.
“Not really in a wine mood tonight.” He poured the beer into the glass.
“Look at the way the foam kind of moves down, instead of up, like rainfall.” She leaned forward to watch. “It’s all creamy, and the contrast between the dark and the light is pretty.” She grinned. “Who would have thought beer could be pretty? Especially black beer?”
He’d been watching the foam, too, as she’d described it. He’d never noticed it before.
She gave him such a sweet smile, it made his throat go dry. “Silly, huh, getting all excited about beer foam?”
He lifted the glass to her. “I’ll never look at it the same again. Cheers.”
They drank then, sharing a smile. Their gazes held for a few moments, moments that felt like hours. He pulled his away and took another gulp of his beer, hardly tasting it. They grew quiet as they tucked into their meal. Salads he could take or leave, but the main dish was as incredible as its creator.
She made these intriguing sounds as she ate, closing her eyes and sinking into it. Everything she did, she savored. While cooking, she’d inhaled the garlic on her fingers as though it were the scent of the gods, commented on how the spices swirled in the oil and vinegar. Life was a sensual pleasure to her, and watching her was a sensual pleasure to him.
One he shouldn’t be partaking in for many reasons.
The candle cast a warm glow over her face, flickering as though it were alive. Could Olaf move currents, make breezes? Weren’t ghosts supposed to be cold?
She took another sip of wine. “Mm, I love the sweet-but-not-too-sweet flavor of this one, with just a hint of cherry.” She looked at the label on the bottle and laughed.
“What is it?”
“Ménage à Trois.”
Weirdly appropriate and inappropriate. He decided not to comment on that. “I know nothing about wines, but my parents liked this brand. I hadn’t even noticed what it was called.”
“I’m no expert either. I don’t buy much of it.”
Probably couldn’t afford it. He’d had to fight her on who would pay for the groceries. He’d taken her hand, wrapped around her wallet, and told her in no uncertain terms that he had plenty of money and would pay. She threatened to pay the next time.
Right.
Even in hiding, his father continued to work, getting grants and writing papers under a pseudonym. He made money, and he played the stock market. Lachlan and Magnus were set financially. Now Lachlan was making his own money with the car restoration business. No way would he let her pay a dime when she clipped coupons and bought cookbooks at thrift stores. Nor would she be paying for the damage to the trailer.
“You’re giving me a fierce look,” she said, peering at him from beneath her lashes.
“Sorry, just thinking about that price Olaf wants. Never mind that.” He took another drink. “Why haven’t you gotten jobs at restaurants? You’re amazing.”
She smiled, and he could see a hint of a buzz in her eyes. “I love to cook, but if I had to do it for a living, I’m afraid I’d lose that passion. Maybe if I opened my own place someday . . .” Her expression dimmed. “But that would entail a lot of paperwork. Possibly a liquor license. I don’t think so.”
“Who’s Jessie Bellandre?”
She blinked at the question. “Uh, me.”
“Jessie Bellandre died eleven years ago from a fatal form of muscular dystrophy. A disease that touches your heart. So who’s Jessie? Or more importantly, who are you really?”
She ran her finger along the top rim of her wineglass, deciding what to tell him. “You found that out when you thought I was some homicidal freak out to get your brother, I suppose.”
“That made me even more suspicious. Now it just makes me curious.”
She took a sip of wine, still buying time. “You’re going to hand me over to your brother when this is all over. Why does it matter to you?�
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Her words spiked through him. “We are friends, aren’t we? If things go well with you and Magnus, we’ll be in-laws.”
“And how will he feel, you knowing my secrets before he does?”
He wanted to kiss that little smirk off her face. Something else he’d done before Magnus, but he would cut out his tongue before saying a word about that.
“Point made, you cheeky girl.”
“Cheeky? What does that mean exactly?”
“You know, because you’re being it.”
She tried to hide her grin by taking another sip, finishing off her glass. “Time to clean up.”
“You sit. I’ll take care of it.” He stood and picked up their plates.
“Really?” She had a lazy smile on her face as she took him in. “Mm, what a prince you are.”
“No, no prince. Just a guy grateful for a good meal.”
She helped anyway. “It’ll make it go faster. I want to get it done so we can talk to Olaf.”
“And find out what price he intends to exact.”
Jessie and Lachlan went into the family room a half hour later. Though it was open to the courtyard, it was the darkest room of the house, having no exterior windows. His father had designed it that way to cut the glare on the huge television mounted on the wall. The furniture was earth tones, but the accent lighting and décor pieces, like the kitchen and sitting area, were bright colors and contemporary styles.
He remained standing, hands at his sides, tense expression on his face. “Time to find out what he wants. Olaf!”
“Ye’ve no need to yell, laddie. I’m ne’er verra far away.”
That’s what worries me. Lachlan held out his hands and saw the ghostly imprint of Olaf’s hands, even the dark, coarse hairs on the backs. “What did you find out about the Void?”
Olaf breathed in noisily. “Still smells delicious. Ah now, ye want to get right down to business, eh? I saw a great round ball, black as a stormy sky, it was, a place that felt like nothin’. Nae, less than nothin’. It could be the Void ye were talkin’ about.”
Jessie stepped closer, her face tightening. “Could you see inside?”
“It was solid, like the beast that man becomes. There was an opening, like if ye made a shallow cut into a melon. I could see in, but not verra far. I stayed away from it, and don’t ye dare call me a coward for it. I’ll no’ be trapped in some place for eternity, no’ even for a bonnie lass.”
Her expression fell. “But you said you could help.”
“I was afraid ye were gonna give me that look, like I let you down.” Olaf released a low sigh. “I think I could bring ye with me. If ye dare, ye could go in. I’ll hold onto ye, use the same magic that helped Lachlan with the hell doggies.”
She said, “I’ll do it,” at the same time Lachlan said, “No way.”
A ferocity blazed in her hazel eyes. “It’s my dad. I have to see if he’s there.”
“And get trapped there?” Lachlan’s heart squeezed at the thought of it.
“I’m sure you did everything you could to save your father when the house was burning down. But what if there had been one more thing to try, one last chance? You’d have done it, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s harsh, using my pain to convince me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But you’re right. I would have done.”
“Think back on those moments when Magnus was lying there dying. When I gave you that terrible choice. How did you feel?”
Desperate. In agony.
She nodded even though he hadn’t spoken the words aloud. “And if you could take the Darkness for him, you would have.”
“Aye.”
“That’s how I feel right now, about my father.”
She had him there. He would do anything for the people he loved. He couldn’t expect any less of her.
“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try. Olaf, is that the price? The risk that I might get trapped?”
“Nae, lassie. I dinna want to go back to that place. I’ll protect ye as well as I can, but I’m taking a risk myself. I’ll be asking for a taste of something pleasurable before I go.”
She smiled. “I’ll cook for you, anything you want. I’ll learn how to make a traditional Scottish dish.”
“Nae, that’s no’ the pleasure I mean. I want to feel a woman’s body one last time, feel everything that’s soft and warm and curvy about it.”
Was it a coincidence that he’d used words similar to what he himself had used earlier? Lachlan wondered. Probably not. Bastard, what was he on to?
Her face flushed, and she braced herself against the back of the couch. “But you can’t feel.”
“I can through the laddie, here.”
Lachlan’s hands fisted at his sides. If he could punch Olaf without punching himself, he would. “That’s disgusting. I won’t do it.”
“Och, I’m not asking ye to fondle her girly parts. Her shoulders, her stomach, her neck, and a kiss. It’s no’ much to ask, considering what I’m doing for her. Dinna tell me it’s something ye’ve not done with her yourself.”
“I cannot touch her like that. She’s my brother’s girl. You, a clansman, should understand and respect the code of honor between brothers.”
Olaf’s laugh was brusque. “Have ye read about the clan wars, how brother killed brother to steal his wife or to become head of the clan? I understand honor, but I feel what ye feel for the lass, how ye want to—”
“But we can’t always have what we want.” Lachlan didn’t want to hear what the spirit picked up.
Olaf’s essence blurred as he looked around. “Where is this brother, then? Why has he left his lassie alone?”
“He’s been injured,” Lachlan said. “He’s recuperating elsewhere, and I would be the lowest of the low to move in on her while he’s down.”
“I ne’er went off to battle without a kiss from a fair lassie. Still won’t.” Olaf crossed his ephemeral arms over his chest, as stubborn as any Scot.
“I’ll do it.” Jessie laid that soulful gaze on him that made his heart bleed.
Hell, he was only a man, and as it turned out, not a very strong one. Even worse, he couldn’t tell if the feeling of exultation was his or Olaf’s.
“Dinna worry, laddie, it’s not on ye. It was forced on ye, and ye wouldna let this lass down.”
They didn’t even know if Olaf could take her there. He might be making it up. Lachlan could see, though, that doubt didn’t matter. If there was a chance, a wee one, it was all that mattered to her.
“I’m going with you, then.”
“’Tis honorable, but it’ll be enough to keep her from floating off. Dinna worry, I’ll do my best to keep her safe.”
“For my dad,” she whispered, stepping closer. “It won’t mean anything. It’s just a touch between friends.” She gave him a hesitant smile, knowing he wasn’t buying that.
“And ye touch him, too, lassie. I want to feel a woman’s touch on me.”
“Olaf, you’re killing me.” Lachlan tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut for a second.
“Let’s get to it,” she said, all business. She squared her shoulders and held her breath, which raised her knockers and made them swell. The black lace around the edge of her dark green top contrasted with her creamy skin.
“Put ye hand right at her neck—”
“One condition,” Lachlan said between gritted teeth. “No directing. I can manage on my own.”
Olaf didn’t say anything for a moment. “All right. Suppose ye dinna want me making groaning noises either.”
“Definitely not.”
Lachlan waited for a moment, making sure Olaf was in the background. Silence. He touched Jessie’s face, running his thumb along her cheek and down to her jaw. Her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure but she forced them open. His thumb ran over her mouth, the mouth he would kiss. He ran the back of his fingers down the length of her neck and over the curve of her shoulder. Then he reached the fab
ric of her shirt. There wasn’t much skin showing. The top with faded words about rock and roll had long sleeves. As though she, too, realized that limitation, she grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head.
He could hardly breathe at the sight of her. The delicate pink bra left her cleavage a shelf of tempting flesh. The spray of freckles over her collarbone and shoulders and the mole at the curve of her neck were all now seared into his mind.
She started unbuttoning his shirt, all of her attention on the task. Her nails grazed his skin as she worked the buttons. He could see down into her bra, the intriguing crevice that begged for his tongue to dip into. When she got to the bottom buttons, she’d no doubt see his cock straining against his jeans.
He didn’t want to think about that. He ran his fingers through her hair, down her neck in the kind of stroking motion that—
He stopped the thought. Keep it together. No matter how hard it is, no pun intended, you’ve got to get through this with your honor intact.
He trailed his fingers down her back instead as she worked the last buttons. She might be afraid, but she was fearless. She’d stood in front of him while he’d been out of it and wielding a sword, for God’s sake. Jessie would do what needed to be done, because she was amazing, strong, brave . . . and incredibly soft. Her skin felt like silk beneath his fingers.
She pushed his shirt back, and he shrugged out of it and let it drop to the floor. She touched his pecs, first with her fingertips, then the whole of her hands. She drew her hands down him, avoiding the bandage and the bruised area. He forced himself to breathe. The heat from her touch sank into his body, as though he were a block of butter and her hands were made of fire. He melted around her, felt all of him melt. He shut his eyes against it, all the while his body yearning for more.
No, he couldn’t lose himself in her. Not mine. Never mine.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He was grimacing, he realized. “Aye, it hurts.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t mean on the outside, do you?”
“No.”
“When you said that before, I couldn’t figure it out. But now I know.” She nodded toward his hand on her back, her eyes closing as she seemed to sink into his touch. “I know exactly what you mean.”
