“Right. Thanks.”
As her cheeks flushed with heat, she accepted the clothes. But he didn’t let go of them. He cocked his head in scrutiny. “So, why am I a heathen again?”
A nervous laugh fell from her mouth. “I don’t know where that came from. It was an outburst. It’s obvious you’ve been nothing but kind and gentlemanly. I’m sorry if I came off as rude.” His eyes played over her, toying with her already scrambling mind. She’d never seen such a brilliant color in a man’s eyes before and it was hard not to drown in them.
Finally, he let go of the clothes and reached for her backpack sitting on his couch. “Trust me, you didn’t come off as rude,” he soothed, handing over her things. “But you did give me too much credit with that ‘kind and gentlemanly’ nonsense. You might not think that come morning.”
Lorraine’s eyes widened.
“Joke, love,” he amended. “You know, for an American woman you sure are a bit uptight. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She couldn’t recall a time when she had been more embarrassed than right now and all she wanted to do was escape. Sneak out his bathroom window if he had one.
As he ushered her down the hall, she held fast to the clothes and backpack, recalling the strange vision and how she responded to it as though she were living it out in real time. First a winding river at the edge of a forest, and now a dark, damp cave…
She felt the slight brush of the man’s chest against her back as he leaned in and flipped on the light for her. The innocent act spurred an onset of not-so-innocent thoughts.
He was a beautiful man, probably the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on, and she hated that she acted like an absolute idiot in front of him. By now, he had to think she was a ditsy American tourist. He probably couldn’t wait for the moment when she’d walk out the door and leave, practically counting down the minutes when he would be finished babysitting her.
She backed up into the bathroom, ready to close the door, but he stepped in and pointed to the handle. “The lock works on the door if you feel the need. Holler if you need anything else and…don’t fall off the toilet.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. Yeah, he thinks I’m a royal dumb-ass. “Thanks.”
Closing the door, she glanced at the lock…and turned it. On the other side of the door, she swore she heard him chuckle as he padded away.
Every muscle in her body finally relaxed and she breathed a heavy sigh.
Alone at last.
Chapter Five
Lorraine sat on the edge of the bathtub and rummaged through her backpack, searching for her cell phone. Because of the time difference, she never put a call in for Patrick that morning and knew she needed to call him now before he got worried. In addition, she wanted to hear his voice. She hoped, in having him on the other end of the line, he could help her make sense of her day. Patrick had always been her safe harbor and right now, she could certainly use a calming dose of reality.
She used the speed dial option he had programmed for her ahead of time, inwardly thanking him for being so conscientious. After the day she had, she doubted she could remember his number, albeit the one she’s known for years.
Upon his cheerful ‘hello’ she sighed again and smiled.
“It’s about time you called me, Rain. I was beginning to worry about you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you this morning and then I got caught up in sight-seeing—”
“Too busy to call your best friend now that you’re in another country, huh? I see how you are.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“Chill out. I’m only teasing you. So, how’s Ireland?”
“It’s lovely. Better than I could’ve imagined,” she said as cheerfully as she could muster. “I’m staying at the Man of Aran Cottage you suggested.”
“So, what’s wrong?”
Patrick was good. He was always perceptive even when she feigned otherwise. She swallowed, not knowing where to start.
“Talk to me, Rain.”
She stood and paced the large bathroom. “You remember that dream I had, the morning I left?”
Patrick scoffed. “You mean the one with your dream guy in Viking clothes holding you down on the ground? Yeah…what about it?”
She paused in her steps, finding it hard to explain the rest. “What if I told you he’s here. On Inis Mór?”
Silence followed. The only thing she could hear was a long thought-provoking inhale. “I think you’ve had too much to drink at the pub, Rain. You best leave now before you feel it in the morning.”
“I’m not in a pub. I haven’t had one drop of alcohol.”
“Okay, so you’re tired,” he reasoned. “You had a long flight last night and you haven’t caught up after an exhausting day of sight-seeing. Just close your eyes and go to sleep—clear your head. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Patrick, listen to me,” she whispered loudly. “The man I’ve dreamed about for years is here. Of this, I am not mistaken. But…”
The next part of the story had her stumped. How could she explain zoning out and finding herself in a cave, arguing with the man about wet clothing and marriage, if she could hardly believe it herself?
“Rain? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“You cut out. You were saying you weren’t mistaken about the man, but…”
Lorraine tried her best to put words in place of what she saw. “Do you believe in past lives?”
“As in reincarnation?”
Lorraine sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, it sounds even more ridiculous when you say it. Just forget it.” She ran her hand through her tangled hair and glanced at the mirror hanging above the sink. The goose egg nesting on the top corner of her forehead stood out like a beacon. She had to be suffering from a concussion. Why else would she be acting this way?
It was her desperate attempt to make sense of it all. She examined the rest of her reflection and her overall disheveled appearance. She looked like something the cat dragged in, quite different from her handsome rescuer, who looked like a Men’s Health magazine model. Her mind freely wandered across every square inch of his perfectly balanced torso, starting at the wide expanse of his muscular shoulders and down the flat plane of his stomach.
“Rain?”
Patrick’s voice stunted her thoughts. “Um…yeah?”
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re spacing out constantly and that’s not like you. Ever since you hit your head, you’ve been acting strange.”
Patrick’s words convinced her even more. “You’re right. I think I just need to rest.”
“Or better yet, see a doctor. They actually have those in Ireland, too, you know.”
Lorraine remembered the man mentioning a doctor up the road. “I was told there was a doctor up the street. I’ll look into it tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
As she disconnected the call, she took one last look in the mirror. What she wouldn’t give to have a shower right now. But that was asking too much. Her sexy host had already done enough for her and she didn’t want to inconvenience him any more than she already had. Between getting rain-soaked and sitting up in the wee hours of the night, she had caused him enough trouble and it was best she leave. Rain or no rain.
She gathered up the change of clothes he generously offered her—no sense in putting his clean, dry clothes on for a hike back to her B&B in the rain—and slung her backpack over her shoulder. Her only thoughts were on making an escape without looking any more senseless than before.
Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and opened it, ready to burst through and make her way out. A brick wall of solid male chest stopped her. She looked up, stunned.
He looked her over. “You didn’t change?”
“I know. I decided there was no sense in it. I’d only get your clothes wet when I leave—”
“Leave?” he interrupted. “You’re not going anywhere at this hour. And it’s pouring.”
“I realize it’s raining, but this is Ireland and I’ve come dressed for the occasion,” she said, tugging on the collar of her raincoat.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the frame of the door, blocking her in. “I don’t think so, love. If I let you leave, it would tarnish my honor.”
“Your…honor?”
“Indeed. To let a poor, lonely, injured beauty like yourself wander the craggy fields of the Erin in the middle of the night…in the rain…would not be very noble of me, now would it? Besides, I have enough fish searing in the kitchen for two. Hungry?”
Starving. But all she really heard was “a beauty like yourself.” Did he really think that or was he just being charming? She glanced over her appearance. Don’t flatter yourself, Rain.
“I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, but I really must go.” She tried to sneak passed the wide berth of his body, but he didn’t budge. In fact, he stepped toward her, forcing her to take a few steps backward. His virile male scent surrounded her, just as his dominant presence did. She knew that scent, recognized it as if she’d drawn it in so many times before.
“Look,” he explained, his face taking on a softer façade despite the strict angles of his chiseled face. “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot. Somewhere between you falling on your face and you waking up in my home, a much needed pleasantry has been overlooked. How about we start over? Say with introductions?”
With a casual grace, he reached into the small closet door to the right, pulling out a fluffy white towel. Handing it forward, like a gift, he smiled. “My name is Leif. Leif Dæganssen. I’m an archeologist from—”
“Hladir?”
Both of their eyes lit up, but for different reasons. Lorraine had no idea where that came from, nor did she even know where Hladir was. For some reason, the name Dæganssen seemed terribly familiar to her and the word Hladir automatically fell from her lips.
Leif cocked his head. “Hladir hasn’t existed for over a thousand years, but its location is in the vicinity of Trondheim, which is where I’m originally from. How did you know that? Are you a historian or something?”
How did I know that? She stumbled again on her words, loathing the fact that every time she spoke to him, she sounded like a babbling idiot. “L-lucky guess?”
He didn’t buy it.
“Really, I have no idea where that came from.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Right now, I have no idea where anything is coming from. I swear to you, I’m not crazy. I’m just a little ol’ Kentucky girl who feels about as lost as a needle in a hay stack.”
He held her by the arms now, his hands gripping gently above her elbows. “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain. I’ve seen my share of head injuries from collapsing castle ruins. It’s obvious you have a concussion and we’ll get you to a doctor in the morning. But for now, it’s best you stay put. I know you’re wary of spending the night in a stranger’s home, but there’s nothing the Man of Aran Cottage has to offer that I can’t. I have a spare room, complete with a working lock,” he added with wink. “I have a fireplace, hot running water, and a complimentary meal ready for the eating. I can’t promise the food is as good as Maura Wolfe’s, but it’s edible. So, what’s it to be?”
Did she actually have a choice? And how could she possibly turn him down? Everything sounded so inviting, especially the hot shower and food. Reluctantly, she accepted his offer, though she could hear Patrick’s rebuttal all the way from the States.
Leif flashed a smile, revealing a set of perfect, white teeth, parenthesized by deep, endearing laugh lines. “I’ll leave you to your shower then.” Bending slightly at the waist, as if in a noble bow, he backed out of the room.
“I’m Rain,” she spat hastily.
He froze at the door, his eyes piercing into her soul. “Excuse me?”
“My name is Lorraine O’Connor. But, my friends call me Rain.”
Another dazzling smile emerged across his alluring mouth. “Then Rain it is.”
He held her gaze for some time, as if he were turning her name over in his mind, testing the sound of it. If she had to come clean, she liked the sound of his name as well. It was distinctive, strong, and oh so Norse. It befit him well.
“Holler if you need anything else, Rain.”
As he closed the door, she stepped forward and placed a single hand upon it, feeling a sense of security behind the solid wood again. Though everything about him—his deep resonating voice, his husky scent, and his mesmerizing eyes—lingered in his absence, she heard the echo of Patrick’s voice, warning her. For no other reason than to satisfy Patrick, she reached down and turned the lock.
Chapter Six
Leif laughed inwardly as he heard the lock engage. Lorraine was definitely an odd sort of female, with all her outlandish outbursts and peculiar reactions, but no less interesting. She had this way about her that made him pay close attention, made him want to pay close attention, else he might miss something. No woman had ever been able to do that to him.
He was not a man easily beguiled. ‘Exceedingly picky’ were Kristoff’s words on many occasions when they could’ve had a few choice opportunities with several of the women who entered Tí Joe Mac’s Pub in Kilronan. But he always found a way to stay clear of them. Either their hair was too short, their fingers too long, or they were excessively giggly over anyone who spoke Gaelic to them. No matter how beautiful they were to the eye, Leif always managed to find some flaw, an imperfection he couldn’t get passed.
The only imperfection Lorraine possessed, if he could call it that, was being unreadable. Even then, he couldn’t rightfully hold it against her. He was glad that she left him guessing, left him wondering what she’d say or do next. Every time he spoke to her, he had no idea what would come out of her mouth.
And what a pretty mouth it was.
Her lips were a delicate shade of rose and looked just as supple as the petals from which its color derived. He imagined they felt as soft and delicate in a kiss, and longed to taste them, to press his lips against her and savor every blessed moment of it while watching her eyes close in automatic response.
Oh, those eyes…
Their exquisite brilliance utterly entranced him. He couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried. They shone as bright and vivid as the intrinsic color of an emerald, with flecks of lighter green pigments fissuring throughout.
Though they resembled rare jewels tucked within the hilt of a Viking warrior’s ceremonially-bent sword, uncovered from a sacred burial site, he couldn’t help but feel he was gazing into something he’d known and seen before. Words could not describe what he felt, except that his longing was innate—as if her eyes and all its wonders had been engraved on him from years past.
Again, he laughed inwardly, reminding himself that his entire week had fallen into the epitome of the absurd. Between finding the carved chest of treasured antiquities buried beneath his porch to having a gorgeous woman drop out of thin air at his feet, he could hardly believe his bizarre stroke of luck.
He quickly left the hallway and entered the kitchen, flipping the nearly burned fish in the pan. The unrelenting vision of her slick wet body clung to him like a wet blanket, drenched with his own lustful musings of what she’d feel like if he dared to touch her. At least, he was glad to know he was still a red-blooded man. As many times as Kristoff had ridiculed him for his lack of interest, tonight he didn’t have to ponder his gender. It was as plain as the nose on his face, and stuck out a bit further than he cared to admit.
Reaching down, he shifted himself, trying to award his erection some more room in his jeans, while cursing it all the same. “Now is not the time.”
“Not the time for what? Dinner?”
Leif turned at the sound of Lorraine’s voice and almost knocked the pan off the stove. He caught it by the handle, fortunately, steadying it before it slid
off the edge.
“I take it you’re not used to a woman in your home,” she stated discernibly.
Heaving a sigh, he smiled. “How was your shower?”
“Exhilarating.”
“Good.” He rallied his best casual voice and turned back to the fish, still simmering on the stove. As he resumed cooking, he secretly regarded the way the small swell of her breasts put curves in his oversized T-shirt. Though her dainty figure had been virtually swallowed up by his cotton drawstring sweats, he knew somewhere beneath all that fabric was an enticing set of feminine hips.
“Since my clothes were still damp, I hung them over the shower rod to dry,” she confessed. “I hope that’s all right.”
His grip tightened on the handle. The image of a lace-lined bra and delicate panties, hanging in his bathroom flashed in his mind and he could do little about the smile teasing the corners of his lips. Without facing her, he shrugged his shoulders, pretending he hardly cared and changed the subject. “I hope you’re hungry,” he replied, fisting a quartered lemon above the pan-seared cod and dousing it with lemon juice. “I’ve made enough for the whole village.”
He thought he heard a slight chuckle, regretting that he’d probably missed the first opportunity to see her smile. But he kept to his mission of transferring the food to the two plates sitting on the adjacent counter. That little feat required more of his attention given he wasn’t much of a practiced chef.
“It smells delicious.”
He added the final touches to the plate with a few island flowers he’d picked days ago—only because he heard from the more experienced chefs in Dublin’s pricey restaurants that presentation was everything—and a slice of soda bread on top. He turned around and caught her looking at him, but upon a place much lower than his eyes.
She cleared her voice and averted her gaze, feigning that she had ever been looking at his arse. For her sake, he acted as if he were none the wiser. “Please. Have a seat.”
She did as he suggested, wringing her hands in the extra length of cloth at her waist.
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 72
